"Six hours more driftin' about in thet boat, with the sun a-broilin' his brain-box an' his wits wool-gatherin' in delirimums, would ha' flummuxed him to a haar, I guess.

He wer so mad when we got him aboard thet he took me fur his gran'mother, Lorry sunthin' or other--I'm durned if I ken kinder rec'lect the name!" "So he tells me," said Fritz, laughing at the idea of old Lorischen being mistaken for the broad-shouldered, red-faced, whaling captain.
The old nurse, who was very particular about her personal appearance, would have had a fit at the bare supposition, much less at such an allusion to her age as would have supposed her ancient enough to be Eric's grandmother! "Never mind, mister," continued the skipper, giving Eric a hearty slap on the back, which made the lad wince although he smiled at what the worthy sailor intended for a little friendly attention.

"He's all right now, the b'y is--ain't you, my bully, hey ?" "Yes; all right, captain, all right, sir, thanks to you," replied Eric.
"Thet's your sort," said the skipper exultantly.

"We've coddled him up an' made a man of him ag'in, we hev, sirree.

Jerusalem, mister, you wouldn't know him ag'in for the skillagalee young shaver we h'isted aboard! An', what is more, mister, look here, we've made a sailor of the b'y since he's been along of us in the _Pilot's Bride_--none of your lazy, good-for-nothin' idlers; but, a reg'ler downeaster cat block, clear grit an' no mistake, a sailor every inch of him, yes, sir!" "I should have thought he had seen enough of the sea, eh ?" said Fritz, turning to Eric with a smile.
"Thunder, mister!" exclaimed the Yankee skipper indignantly.