"I don't know so much about that," ses Bill, thinking about the
arguments some of them had 'ad with Ted about the bottle. "Was it arter
they was married, cookie, that it 'appened? Are you sure?"

"Certain sure. It was a week arter," ses the cook.

"Very well, then," ses Bill, slapping 'is bad leg by mistake; "if they
didn't marry, it couldn't 'appen, could it?"

"Don't talk foolish," ses the cook; "they must marry. I saw it in my
dream."

"Well, we'll see," ses Bill. "I'm going to 'ave a quiet talk with
Joseph about it, and see wot he ses. I ain't a-going to 'ave my pore gal
murdered just to please you and make your dreams come true."

He 'ad a quiet talk with Joseph, but Joseph wouldn't 'ear of it at fust.
He said it was all the cook's nonsense, though 'e owned up that it was
funny that the cook should know about the wedding and Emily's name, and
at last he said that they would put it afore Emily and let her decide.

That was about the last dream the cook had that v'y'ge, although he told
old Bill one day that he had 'ad the same dream about Joseph and Emily
agin, so that he was quite certain they 'ad got to be married and
killed. He wouldn't tell Bill 'ow they was to be killed, because 'e said
it would make 'im an old man afore his time; but, of course, he 'ad to
say that _if_ they wasn't married the other part couldn't come true. He
said that as he 'ad never told 'is dreams before--except in the case of
Bill's leg--he couldn't say for certain that they couldn't be prevented
by taking care, but p'r'aps, they could; and Bill pointed out to 'im wot
a useful man he would be if he could dream and warn people in time.

By the time we got into the London river old Bill's leg was getting on
fust-rate, and he got along splendid on a pair of crutches the carpenter
'ad made for him. Him and Joseph and the cook had 'ad a good many talks
about the dream, and the old man 'ad invited the cook to come along 'ome
with 'em, to be referred to when he told the tale.

"I shall take my opportunity," he ses, "and break it to 'er gentle like.
When I speak to you, you chip in, and not afore. D'ye understand?"

[Illustration: Break it to 'er gentle like 248]

We went into the East India Docks that v'y'ge, and got there early on a
lovely summer's evening. Everybody was 'arf crazy at the idea o' going
ashore agin, and working as cheerful and as willing as if they liked
it. There was a few people standing on the pier-head as we went in