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MacDonald, George, 1824-1905

"The Seaboard Parish Volume 1"

"
"Well, sir," she answered, with a sigh, "I trust they're none the less safe
for that. It would be a strange thing for an old woman like me, well-nigh
threescore and ten, to suppose that safety lay in not being drownded. Why,
they might ha' been cast on a desert island, and wasted to skin an' bone,
and got home again wi' the loss of half the wits they set out with.
Wouldn't that ha' been worse than being drownded right off? And that
wouldn't ha' been the worst, either. The church she seem to tell me all the
time, that for all the roaring outside, there be really no danger after
all. What matter if they go to the bottom? What is the bottom of the sea,
sir? You bein' a clergyman can tell that, sir. I shouldn't ha' known it if
I hadn't had bys o' my own at sea, sir. But you can tell, sir, though you
ain't got none there."
And though she was putting her parson to his catechism, the smile that
returned on her face was as modest as if she had only been listening to his
instruction. I had not long to look for my answer.
"The hollow of his hand," I said, and said no more.
"I thought you would know it, sir," she returned, with a little glow of
triumph in her tone.


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