side, peerin' down through the sparkly water. For the world like
the days I spint with the pearlers, watchin' the coral banks
a-growin' the same as so many gardens under the sea. There it
was, the anchor-ice, clingin' an' clusterin' to ivery rock, after
the manner of the white coral.

'But the best of the sight was to come. Just after clearin' the
tail of the riffle, the water turns quick the color of milk, an'
the top of it in wee circles, as when the graylin' rise in the
spring, or there's a splatter of wet from the sky. 'Twas the
anchor-ice comin' up. To the right, to the lift, as far as iver a
man cud see, the water was covered with the same.

An' like so much porridge it was, slickin' along the bark of the
canoe, stickin' like glue to the paddles. It's many's the time I
shot the self-same riffle before, and it's many's the time after,
but niver a wink of the same have I seen. 'Twas the sight of a
lifetime.' 'Do tell!' dryly commented Bettles. 'D'ye think I'd
b'lieve such a yarn? I'd ruther say the glister of light'd gone
to your eyes, and the snap of the air to your tongue.' ''Twas me
own eyes that beheld it, an' if Sitka Charley was here, he'd be
the lad to back me.' 'But facts is facts, an' they ain't no
gettin' round 'em. It ain't in the nature of things for the water
furtherest away from the air to freeze first.' 'But me own eyes-'
'Don't git het up over it,' admonished Bettles, as the quick
Celtic anger began to mount.

'Then yer not after belavin' me?' 'Sence you're so blamed
forehanded about it, no; I'd b'lieve nature first, and facts.'