ll Adams," said Mr. Jope, and again the tall seaman
touched his hat. "Is it Eli you're missin'? He's in the cask."

"Oh!"

"We'll hoick him up to the store, Bill, if you're ready? It looks a
nice cool place. And while you're prizin' him open, I'd best explain
to his Reverence and the barber. Here, unship the shore-plank; and
you, A. Grigg and Son, lend a hand to heave. . . . Aye, you're right:
it weighs more'n a trifle--bein' a quarter-puncheon, an' the best
proof-spirits. Tilt her _this_ way, . . . Ready? . . . then
w'y-ho! and away she goes!"

With a heave and a lurch that canted the boat until the water poured
over her gunwale, the huge tub was rolled overside into shallow
water. The recoil, as the boat righted herself, cast the small
barber off his balance, and he fell back over a thwart with heels in
air. But before he picked himself up, the two seamen, encouraging
one another with strange cries, had leapt out and were trundling the
cask up the beach, using the flats of their hands. With another
_w'y-ho!_ and a tremendous lift, they ran it up to the turfy plat,
whence Bill Adams steered it with ease through the ruinated doorway
of the store. Mr. Jope returned, smiling and mopping his brow.

"It's this-a-way," he said, addressing the Parson. "Eli Tonkin his
name is, or was; and, as he said, of this parish."

"Tonkin?" queried the Parson. "There are no Tonkins surviving in
Botusfleming parish. The last of them was a poor old widow I laid to
rest the week after Christmas."

"Belay there! . . . Dead, is she?" Mr. Jope's face exhibited the
liveliest disappointment. "And after the surprise we'd planned for
her!" he murmured ruefully. "Hi! Bill!" he called to his shipmate,
who having stored the cask, was returning to the boat.

"Wot is it?" asked Bill Adams inattentively. "Look here, where did
we stow the hammer an' chisel?"

"Take your head out o' the boat an' listen. The old woman's dead!"

The tall man absorbed the news slowly.

"That's a facer," he said at length. "But maybe we can fix _her_ up,
too? I'll stand my share."

"She was buried the week after Christmas."

"Oh?" Bill scratched his head. "Then we can't--not very well."

"Times an' again I've heard Eli talk of his poor old mother," said
Mr. Jope, turning to the Parson. "Which you'll hardly believe it,
but though I knowed him for a West Country man, 'twas not till the
last I larned what parish he hailed from. It happened v