Pa'son Babbage--" "Ye dundering old shammick!" broke in the parson, driving the ferule of his cane deep in the sand, "be content to have begotten a fool, and thank heaven and his mother he's a gamey fool." "Thank'ee, Pa'son," said Young Zeb, turning his head as Jim Lewarne fastened the belt of corks under his armpits.

"Now the line--not too tight round the waist, an' pay out steady.

You, Jim, look to this.
R-r-r--mortal cold water, friends!" He stood for a moment, clenching his teeth--a fine figure of a youth for all to see.

Then, shouting for plenty of line, he ran twenty yards down the beach and leapt in on the top of a tumbling breaker.
"When a man's old," muttered the parson, half to himself, "he may yet thank God for what he sees, sometimes.

Hey, Farmer! I wish I was a married man and had a girl good enough for that naked young hero." "Ruby an' he'll make a han'some pair." "Ay, I dare say: only I wasn't thinking o' _her_.