“The ol’ feller lived all alone, under Seven Stars Head, in a bit of a white house with black trimmin’s, jus’ within the Tickle, where ’twas nice an’ warm an’ still; an’ he kep’ his house as neat an’ white as a ol’ maid with a gray tomcat an’ a window-garden o’ geraniums, an’, like all the ol’ maids, made the best fish on fifty mile o’ coast. ’Twas said by the ol’ folks o’ Gingerbread Cove that their fathers knowed the time when Bill Hulk had a partner; but the partner got lost on the Labrador, an’ then Bill Hulk jus’ held on cotchin’ fish an’ keepin’ house all alone, till he got the habit an’ couldn’t leave off. Was a time, I’m told, a time when he had his strength—was a time, I’m told, afore he wore out—was a time when Bill Hulk had a bit o’ money stowed away in a bank t’ St. John’s. Always ’lowed, I’m told, that ’twas plenty t’ see un through when he got past his labor. ‘I got enough put by,’ says he. ‘I got more’n enough. I’m jus’ fishin’ along,’ says he, ‘t’ give t’ the poor. Store in your youth,’ says he, ‘an’ you’ll not want in your age.’ But somehow some o’ them St. John’s gentlemen managed t’ discover expensive ways o’ delightin’ theirselves; an’ what with bank failures an’ lean seasons an’ lumbago, ol’ Bill was fallen poor when first I traded Gingerbread Cove. About nine year after that, bein’ then used t’ the trade o’ that shore, I ’lowed that Bill had better knock off an’ lie in the sun till ’twas time for un t’ go t’ his last berth. ‘’Twon’t be long,’ thinks I, ’an’ I ’low my owners can stand it. Anyhow,’ thinks I, ‘’tis high time the world done something for Bill.’ “But— “‘Tumm,’ says he, ‘how many books is kep’ by traders in Newf’un’land?’ “I ’lowed I didn’t know. “‘Call it a round million,’ says he. “‘What of it?’ says I. “‘Nothin’ much,’ says he. “‘But what of it?’ says I. “‘Well,’ says he, ‘if you was t’ look them million books over, goin’ as easy as you please an’ markin’ off every line o’ every page with your forefinger, what d’ye think would come t’ pass?’ “I ’lowed I couldn’t tell. “‘Eh?’ says he. ‘Come, now! give a guess.’ “‘I don’t know, Bill,’ says I. “‘Why, Tumm,’ says he, ‘you wouldn’t find a copper agin the name o’ ol’ Bill Hulk!’ “‘That’s good livin’,’ says I. “‘Not a copper!’ says he. ‘No, sir; _not if you looked with spectacles_. An’ so,’ says he, ‘I ’low I’ll jus’ keep on payin’ my passage for the little time that’s left. If my back on’y holds out,’ says he, ‘I’ll manage it till I’m through. ’Twon’t be any more than twenty year. Jus’ a little spurt o’ labor t’ do, Tumm,’ says he, ‘afore I goes.’ “‘More labor, Uncle Bill?’ says I. ‘God’s sake!’ “‘Nothin’ much,’ says he; ‘jus’ a little spurt afore I goes in peace.’