"'Tis once in a way, sure enough, that a boat can lay alongside the
Gunnel. But the wind's falling, and the night'll be warm. I reckon
if you stay in the boat, Old John, she'll ride pretty comfortable;
and I'll give the word to cast off at the leastest sign."

"Once in a way"--ah, sirs, it isn't twice in a way there comes such a
night as that was! We lit the light at sunset, and hoisted it, and
made tea, talking like children all the while; and my father the
biggest child of all. Old John had his share passed out to him, and
ate it alone out there in the boat; and, there being a lack of cups,
Bathsheba and I drank out of the same, and scalded our lips, and must
kiss to make them well. Foolishness? Dear, dear, I suppose so.
And the jokes we had, calling out to Old John as the darkness fell,
and wishing him "Good night!" "Ou, aye; I hear 'ee," was all he
answered. After we'd eaten our tea and washed up, I showed Bathsheba
how to crawl into her bunk, and passed in the baby and laid it in her
arms, and so left her, telling her to rest and sleep. But by and by,
as I was keeping watch, she came out, declaring the place stifled
her. So I pulled out a mattress and blankets and strewed a bed for
her out under the sky, and sat down beside her, watching while she
suckled the child. She had him wrapped up so that the two dark eyes
of him only could be seen, staring up from the breast to the great
bright lantern above him. The moon was in her last quarter, and
would not rise till close upon dawn; and the night pitchy dark around
us, with a very few stars. In less than a minute Bathsheba gave a
start and laid a hand on my arm.

"Oh, Tom, what was that?"