"If you ain't goin' up to the Cobdens, ye kin, can't ye?
Here's a lot o' letters jest come that I know they're expectin'.

Miss Lucy's" (many of the village people still called her Miss Lucy, not being able to pronounce her dead husband's name) "come in yesterday and seems as if she couldn't wait.
This storm made everything late and the mail got in after she left.
There ain't nobody comin' out to-day and here's a pile of 'em--furrin' most of 'em.

I'd take 'em myself if the snow warn't so deep.

Don't mind, do ye?
I'd hate to have her disapp'inted, for she's jes' 's sweet as they make 'em." "Don't mind it a mite, Susan Tucher," cried the captain.

"Goin' there, anyhow.