"Pollick? Mackereel?—Glory amen! Shell clams an' finnan haddie! God bless ye, brother Christy! For His mercy indooreth forever!" he chanted in a hoarse rapture, to the silent village. "Satisfieth my mouth with good things, so that my youth is renooed like—like the American eagle, hey, cap'n?—I al'ays loved the dear old stars 'n' strikes. What 'll ye take home this noon? An' how's yer wife, that blessed sister?—lookin' young an' handsome as a wax doll, but a dear true follerer."
The captain approached, dredging from a pocket his meagre handful of coins. He eyed the dirty fanatic with a mild pity.
"What's a haddie to-day, Cap'n Gale?" he said. "The Black Hawk minds her helium jest as clever, I s'pose?" And, by the habit of patience, he listened through the fisherman's wild outpouring,—each symptom of his crazy schooner, and body, and soul.
… "Doubts an' backslidin's, an' turrible cracklin's in the drums o' my head, like fish a-fryin'. But I persevere a-sailin' alone, an' keep her on the lubber p'int for
