“‘The same,’ says I. ‘You got a bad berth there, Botch. I wish you was aboard the berg with me.’ “‘Oh,’ says he, ‘the pan’ll _do_. I gets a bit choked with spray when I opens my mouth; but they isn’t no good reason why I shouldn’t keep it shut. A man ought t’ breathe through his nose, anyhow. That’s what it’s _for_.’ “’Twas a bad day—a late dawn in a hellish temper. They wasn’t much of it t’ see—just a space o’ troubled water, an’ the big unfeelin’’ cloud. An’, God! how cold it was! The wind was thick with dry snow, an’ it come whirlin’’ out o’ the west as if it wanted t’ do damage, an’ meant t’ have its way. ’Twould grab the crests o’ the seas an’ fling un off like handfuls o’ white dust. An’ in the midst o’ this was poor Botch o’ Jug Cove! “‘This wind,’ says I, ‘will work up a wonderful big sea, Botch. You’ll be swep’ off afore nightfall.’ “‘No,’ says he; ‘for by good luck, Tumm, I’m froze tight t’ the pan.’ “‘But the seas’ll drown you.’ “‘I don’t know,’ says he. ‘I keeps breakin’ the ice ’round my neck,’ says he, ‘an’ if I can on’y keep my neck clear an’ limber I’ll be able t’ duck most o’ the big seas.’ “It wasn’t nice t’ see the gentle wretch squattin’ there on his haunches. It made me feel bad. I wisht he was home t’ Jug Cove thinkin’ of his soul. “‘Botch,’ says I, ‘I _wisht_ you was somewheres else!’ “‘Now, don’t you trouble about that, Tumm,’ says he. ‘Please don’t! The ice is all on the outside. I’m perfeckly comfortable inside.’ “He took it all so gracious that somehow or other I begun t’ forget that he was froze t’ the pan an’ bound out t’ sea. He was ’longside, now; an’ I seed un smile. So I sort o’ got his feelin’; an’ I didn’t fret for un no more. “‘An’, Tumm,’ says he, ‘I’ve had a wonderful grand night. I’ll never forget it so long as I lives.’ “‘A what?’ says I. ‘Wasn’t you cold?’ “‘I—I—I don’t know,’ says he, puzzled. ‘I was too busy t’ notice much.’ “‘Isn’t you hungry?’ “‘Why, Tumm,’ says he, in s’prise, ‘I believes I is, now that you mentions it. I believes I’d _like_ a biscuit.’ “‘I wisht I had one t’ shy,’ says I. “‘Don’t you be troubled,’ says he. ‘My arms is stuck. I couldn’t cotch it, anyhow.’ “‘Anyhow,’ says I, ‘I wisht I had one.’