"But he's her only son; and you know, Mrs.Matson, the heart of a mother." The widow's hard face softened; a tender shadow passed over it; the memory of some old bereavement melted her; and as she passed into the house I saw her put her checked apron to her eyes.
By this time Skipper Evans, who had been slowly working his way up street for some minutes, had reached the gate.
"Look here!" said he.

"Here's a letter that I've got by the Polly Pike from one of your old patients that you gave over for a dead man long ago." "From the other world, of course," said the Doctor.
"No, not exactly, though it's from Labrador, which is about the last place the Lord made, I reckon." "What, from Dick Wilson ?" "Sartin," said the Skipper.
"And how is he ?" "Alive and hearty.

I tell you what, Doctor, physicking and blistering are all well enough, may be; but if you want to set a fellow up when he's kinder run down, there's nothing like a fishing trip to Labrador, 'specially if he's been bothering himself with studying, and writing, and such like.

There's nothing like fish chowders, hard bunks, and sea fog to take that nonsense out of him.

Now, this chap," (the Skipper here gave me a thrust in the ribs by way of designation,) "if I could have him down with me beyond sunset for two or three months, would come back as hearty as a Bay o' Fundy porpoise." Assuring him that I would like to try the experiment, with him as skipper, I begged to know the history of the case he had spoken of.
The old fisherman smiled complacently, hitched up his pantaloons, took a seat beside us, and, after extracting a jack-knife from one pocket, and a hand of tobacco from the other, and deliberately supplying himself with a fresh quid, he mentioned, apologetically, that he supposed the Doctor had heard it all before.
"Yes, twenty times," said the Doctor; "but never mind; it's a good story yet.