I found a handy chink i’ the rock to plant it in, an’ a rovin’ pain I had in my stomach while I was fixin’ it.  That was the egg, I dessay.  An’ my head in a maze, too:  but I’d sense enough to think now what a fool I was not to have took Jeff’s shirt off’n, to serve me for a flag.  Hows’ever, my own bein’ wringin’ wet, an’ the sun pretty strong just then, I slipped it off an’ hitched it atop o’ the oar to dry an’ be a flag at the same time, till I could rig up some kind o’ streamer, out o’ the seaweed.  An’ then I was forced to vomit.  And that’s about the last thing, Mister Geake, I can mind doin’.  ’Tis all foolishness after that.  They tell me that a ’Merican schooner, the Shawanee, sighted my shirt flappin’, an’ sent a boat an’ took me off an’ landed me at New Orleens.  My head was bad—­oh, very bad—­an’ they put me in a ‘sylum an’ cured me.  But they took eight year’ over it, an’ I doubt if ‘tis much of a job after all.  I wasn’ bad all the time, I must tell you, sir; but ’tis only lately my mem’ry would work any further back ‘n the wreck o’ the barque.  Everything seemed to begin an’ end wi’ that.  ’Tis about a year back that some visitors came to the ’sylum.  There was a lady in the party, an’ something in her face, when she spoke to me, put me in mind o’ Na’mi, an’ I remembered I was a married man.  Inside of a fortnight, part by thinkin’—­’tis hard work still for me to think—­part by dreamin’, I’d a-worried it all out.  I was betterin’ fast by that.  Soon as I was well enough to be discharged, I worked my passage home in a grain ship, the Druid, o’ Liverpool.  I was reckonin’ all the way back that Na’mi’d be main glad to see me agen.  But now I s’pose she won’t.”

“It’ll come nigh to killin’ her.”

“I dessay, now, you two have got to be very fond?  She used to be a partic’lar lovin’ sort o’ woman.”

“I love her more ’n heaven!” William broke out; and then cowered as if he half expected to be struck with lightning for the words.

“I heard of her havin’ married, down at the Fifteen Balls, at Troy.  I dropped in there to pick up the news.”

“What!  You’ve been tellin’ folks who you be!”

“Not a word.  First of all I was minded to play off a little surprise ‘pon old Toms, the landlord, who didn’ know me from Adam.  But hearin’ this, just as I was a-leadin’ up to my little joke, I thought maybe ’twould annoy Na’mi.  She used to be very strict in some of her notions.”

William Geake took two hasty turns up and down the little parlour.  His Bible, in which before breakfast he had been searching for a text, lay open on the side table.  Behind its place on the shelf was a small skivet he had let into the wall; and in that drawer was stored something over twenty-five pounds, the third of his savings.  Geake kept a bank-account, and the balance lay at interest with Messrs. Climo and Hodges, of St. Austell.  But he had the true countryman’s aversion to putting all his eggs