Mr. Barnett stopped to shake hands with a few of them, and I heard little
bits of their talk, which made me feel very unhappy.
"I jist seen Frenchy little whiles ago," one of them was saying, "and
they wuz tears runnin' erlong the face o' he. Yes, man, he were cryin'
like a young 'un, though some does say as his bye be better. Things must
sure be awful bad with th' doctor."
The fisherman brandished his splitting knife as he spoke, and, with his
torn oilskins dripping with blood and slime he was a terrible-looking
figure, until his arms fell to his side and he stood there, an abject
picture of dejection.
Then I heard a woman's voice. She is a poor thing whose husband and two
sons were "ketched" last year, as they say, by these dreadful seas, and
some think that her brain is a little affected.
"I mistrust as they is times when th' Lord 'Un's kept too busy ter be
tendin' ter all as needs Him bad," she cried.
"Hush, woman!" an old man reproved her. "Ye'll be temptin' the wrath o'
God on all of us wid sich talkin's."
The poor creature stopped, awed by the dread possibilities of bringing
down further punishment upon the Cove, and began to weep in silence.
The men had removed their sou'westers and their caps when we came up to
them. I believe that our arrival relieved them a little from their fears.
They have such a touching faith in all who have been kind and friendly to
them.
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