ay (an' she _was_ good, Sir, al'ays), an' I seemed
all opened, somehow, an' I knowed how to pray."

While the words were coming tenderly from the weather-beaten fisherman,
I could not help being moved, and glanced over toward the daughter's
seat; but she was gone, and, turning round, I saw her going quietly,
almost stealthily, and very quickly, _toward the cove_.

The father gave no heed to her leaving, but went on with his tale:--

"Then the wind began to fall down, an' the snow knocked off altogether,
an' the sun comed out; an' I sid th' Ice, field-ice an' icebargs,
an' every one of 'em flashun up as ef they'd kendled up a bonfire,
but no sign of a schooner! no sign of a schooner! nor no sign o'
man's douns, but on'y ice, every way, high an' low, an' some places
black water, in-among; an' on'y the poor swiles bawlun all over,
an' I standun amongst 'em.

"While I was lookun out, I sid a great icebarg (they calls 'em)
a quarter of a mile away, or thereabouts, standun up,--one end
a twenty fathom out o' water, an' about a forty fathom across,
wi' hills like, an' houses,--an' then, jest as ef 'e was alive
an' had tooked a notion in 'e'sself, seemunly, all of a sudden
'e rared up, an' turned over an' over, wi' a tarrible thunderun
noise, an' comed right on, breakun everything an' throwun up great
seas; 't was frightsome for a lone body away out among 'em! I stood
an' looked at un, but then agen I thowt I may jes' so well be goun
to thick ice an' over Noofundland-ways a piece, so well as I could.
So I said my bit of a prayer, an' told Un I could n' help myself;
an' I made my confession how bad I'd been, an' I was sorry, an ef
'E 'd be so pitiful an' forgive me; an' ef I mus' loss my life,
ef 'E 'd be so good as make me a good Christen first,--an' make
_they_ happy, in course.

"So then I started; an' first I goed to where my gaff was, by the
mother-swile an' her whelp. There was swiles every two or three
yards a'most, old uns an' young uns, all round everywhere; an'
I feeled shamed in a manner: but I got my gaff, an' cleaned un,
an' then, in God's name, I took the big swile, that was dead by
its dead whelp, an' hauled it away, where the t' other poor things
could n' si' me, an' I sculped[11] it, an' took the pelt;--for I
thowt I'd wear un, now the poor dead thing did n' want to make
oose of un no more,--an' partly becase 't was sech a lovun thing.
An' so I set out, walkun this way for a spurt, an' then t' other
way,