But, lass, 'twas done o' purpose. That was the one man
in all the parish that would ha' risked his neck to let me free. 'Twas
Lancy Doane, who's give me as many beatings in his time as I him. We were
always getting foul one o' t'other since I was big enough to shy a bit of
turf at him across a dyke, and there isn't a spot on's body that I
haven't hit, nor one on mine that he hasn't mauled. I've sat on his head,
and he's had his knee in my stomach till I squealed, and we never could
meet without back-talking and rasping 'gainst the grain. The night before
he joined the coast-guardsmen, he was down at the Book-in-Hand, and 'twas
little like that I'd let the good chance pass--I might never have
another; for Gover'ment folk will not easy work a quarrel on their own
account. I mind him sittin' there on the settle, his shins against the
fire, a long pipe going, and Casey of the Lazy Beetle, and Jobbin the
mate of the Dodger, and Little Faddo, who had the fat Dutch wife down by
the Ship Inn, and Whiggle the preaching blacksmith. And you were standin'
with your back to the shinin' pewters, and the great jug of ale with the
white napkin behind you; the light o' the fire wavin' on your face, and
your look lost in the deep hollow o' the chimney. I think of you most as
you were that minute, Cousin Fanny, when I come in.
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