"She
ain't no ship of our parts. I never seen the like o' she."
There was a glinting of light cast forth by bright brasses, and I could
see a red spot which appeared to indicate the presence of a woman on
board, clad perhaps in a crimson cape or shawl.
We kept on staring at her for some time, as people do in forsaken places
when a stranger passes by, and we returned to the bedside.
The day stretched out its interminable length, but the night was longer
still. The children had been put to bed in dark corners, after a meal of
fish and hard bread. The smallest had clamored for some tea.
"There ain't no more," said the mother.
I had noticed that she had put aside a very small package of this luxury,
on a high shelf.
"Why don't you give them some?" I asked. "You forget that you have a
little laid aside."
"There won't be none left fer you," she answered.
I ordered her to put the kettle on the fire at once and make tea for her
young ones, and bade her take some also.
"I told Sammy Moore to bring some to-morrow," I told her.
I am afraid that I dozed a good many times, that night, on the little low
stool near the bed. There was not much to be done. Gradually it dawned
upon me that the man was getting better. The stimulants had produced some
reaction, and the hot dry skin was becoming moister. I feared it might be
but a temporary improvement, and hardly dared mention it. Yet the man was
no longer delirious.
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