Taking breath for a second he rushed once more into the fray, arms straining, wrenching with his great back.

And yet again his voice was raised in oaths and lamentations:-"I tell you that I'll have you ...

Oh you rascal! Isn't it hot?
.

.

I'm pretty nearly finished ..." His complaints ripened into one mighty cry:--"Boss! We are going to kill ourselves making land." Old Chapdelaine's voice was husky but still cheerful as he answered: "Tough! Edwige, tough! The pea-soup will soon be ready." And in truth it was not long before Maria, once more on the door-step, shaping her hands to carry the sound, sent forth the ringing call to dinner.
Toward evening a breeze arose and a delicious coolness fell upon the earth like a pardon.