no longer.

"So the cook an' me put out in the punt t' land at Whoopin' Harbor, with
the crew wishin' the poor cook well with their lips, but thinkin', God
knows what! in their hearts. An' he was in a wonderful state o' fright.
I never _seed_ a man so took by scare afore. For, look you! he thunk she
wouldn't have un, an' he thunk she would, an' he wisht she would, an' he
wisht she wouldn't; an' by an' by he 'lowed he'd stand by, whatever come
of it, 'for,' says he, 'the crew's g-g-got t' have better c-c-cookin' if
I c-c-can g-g-get it. Lord! Tumm,' says he, ''tis a c-c-cold night,'
says he, 'but I'm sweatin' like a p-p-porp-us!' I cheered un up so well
as I could; an' by an' by we was on the path t' Liz Jones's house, up on
Gray Hill, where she lived alone, her mother bein' dead an' her father
shipped on a barque from St. Johns t' the West Indies. An' we found Liz
sittin' on a rock at the turn o' the road, lookin' down from the hill at
the _White Lily:_ all alone--sittin' there in the moonlight, all
alone--thinkin' o' God knows what!

"'Hello, Liz!' says I.

"'Hello, Tumm!' says she. 'What vethel'th that?'

"'That's the _White Lily,_ Liz,' says I. An' here's the cook o' that
there craft,' says I, 'come up the hill t' speak t' you.'

"'That's right,' says the cook. 'Tumm, you're right.'

"'T' thpeak t' _me!_' says she.

"I wisht she hadn't spoke quite that way. Lord! it wasn't nice. It makes