legacy, 'pon which, he sets up as jowter--han'some painted cart, tidy
little mare, an' all complete, besides a bravish sum laid by. A man of
substance, sirs--a life o' much price, as you may say. Aw, Zeb, my son,
'tis hard to lose 'ee, but 'tis harder still now you're in such a very
fair way o' business!"

"Hold thy clack, father, an' tie thicky knot, so's it won't slip."

"Shan't. I've a-took boundless pains wi' thee, my son, from thy birth
up: hours I've a-spent curin' thy propensities wi' the strap--ay, hours.
D'ee think I raised 'ee up so carefully to chuck thyself away 'pon a
come-by-chance furriner? No, I didn'; an' I'll see thee jiggered afore
I ties 'ee up. Pa'son Babbage--"

"Ye dundering old shammick!" broke in the parson, driving the ferule of
his cane deep in the sand, "be content to have begotten a fool, and
thank heaven and his mother he's a gamey fool."

"Thank'ee, Pa'son," said Young Zeb, turning his head as Jim Lewarne
fastened the belt of corks under his armpits. "Now the line--not too
tight round the waist, an' pay out steady. You, Jim, look to this.
R-r-r--mortal cold water, friends!" He stood for a moment, clenching
his teeth--a fine figure of a youth for all to see. Then, shouting for
plenty of line, he ran twenty yards down the beach and leapt in on the
top of a tumbling breaker.

"When a man's old," muttered the parson, half to himself, "he may yet
thank God for what he sees, sometimes. Hey, Farmer! I wish I was a
married man and had a girl good enough for that naked young hero."