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Stockton, Frank Richard, 1834-1902

"Rudder Grange"


"Hello!" he said, "are you after a canal-boat adrift?"
"Yes," I panted.
"I thought you was," he said. "You looked that way. Well, I can
tell you where she is. She's stuck fast in the reeds at the lower
end o' Peter's Pint."
"Where's that?" said I.
"Oh, it's about a mile furder up. I seed her a-driftin' up with
the tide--big flood tide, to-day--and I thought I'd see somebody
after her, afore long. Anything aboard?"
Anything!
I could not answer the man. Anything, indeed! I hurried on up the
river without a word. Was the boat a wreck? I scarcely dared to
think of it. I scarcely dared to think at all.
The man called after me and I stopped. I could but stop, no matter
what I might hear.
"Hello, mister," he said, "got any tobacco?"
I walked up to him. I took hold of him by the lapel of his coat.
It was a dirty lapel, as I remember even now, but I didn't mind
that.
"Look here," said I. "Tell me the truth, I can bear it. Was that
vessel wrecked?"
The man looked at me a little queerly. I could not exactly
interpret his expression.
"You're sure you kin bear it?" said he.
"Yes," said I, my hand trembling as I held his coat.
"Well, then," said he, "it's mor'n I kin," and he jerked his coat
out of my hand, and sprang away. When he reached the other side of
the road, he turned and shouted at me, as though I had been deaf.
"Do you know what I think?" he yelled. "I think you're a darned
lunatic," and with that he went his way.


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