Some one oughter put a deesist on thet packet.

She'll snore till midnight, an' jest when we're gittin' our sleep she'll strike adrift.

Good job we ain't crowded with craft hereaways.

But I ain't goin' to up anchor fer Chatham.

She may hold." The wind, which had hauled round, rose at sundown and blew steadily.
There was not enough sea, though, to disturb even a dory's tackle, but the Carrie Pitman was a law unto herself.