"I really can't say," replied the parson.

"Goin' to de dev'," said the sweetly-smiling yonng man.

The schooner-captain, leaning against the shrouds, and even Baptiste,
laughed outright.

"O Jools, you mustn't!"

"Well, den, w'at I shall do wid _it?_"

"Any thing!" answered the parson; "better donate it away to some poor
man"--

"Ah! Misty Posson Jone', dat is w'at I want. You los' five hondred
dollar'--'twas me fault."

"No, it wa'n't, Jools."

"_Mais_, it was!"

"No!"

"It _was_ me fault! I _swear_ it was me fault! _Mais_, here is five
hondred dollar'; I wish you shall take it. Here! I don't got no use for
money.--Oh, my faith! Posson Jone', you must not begin to cry some
more."

Parson Jones was choked with tears. When he found voice he said: