“I will accept them with pleasure, Davy, and I am very much obliged to you for your kindness. I am very fond of eels,—we get them so seldom, they are quite a treat. I have not seen you out in the boat lately, Jarvis?” “Maybe you’ll never see me out in her agin,” said the fisherman. “I’m thinking my fishing days are ’most over; boat, tackle and measter are all worn out together. I’ve parted with the boat; how’somever. An’ as to the sea, I allers look’d upon its broad face with pleasure, but t’has been a cruel enemy to me and mine; my path, I’m thinking, will be over it no more.” Flora saw the tear glistening in the old man’s eye, and she tried to divert his attention by asking him what he had done with his dog—“with dear, old ‘Nep?’” “I shot him.” The seaman’s thin lips quivered, and his whole frame trembled. “Ay, I shot my good dog—my brave, faithful dog,—the best, the truest friend man ever had; an’ I’ve niver know’d a happy hour since.” The bright drops were now raining down the old man’s cheeks. Flora reached him a chair, and begged him to sit down. The fisherman mechanically obeyed, with his chin sunk between his hands, and his elbows resting on his knees. For some minutes both were silent, until the old man said, in a thick, husky voice— “Yes, I shot ‘Nep’—shot him with my own hand. It wor cruel and wicked of me to do the like, but I wor mad—stark staring mad, and who’s to blame? You see, my lady, he wor with us that terrible Saturday night, when we went off to put the pilot on board the brig _Sally_, from Shields. Comin’ back it wor pitch dark, an’ the sea runnin’ mountains high, Sam Masters ran the boat plump upon the pier, an’ we wor upset on the bar. Nep saved Sam Masters and Ben Hardy, but he let my Harry drown. I never rebelled agin’ the providence of God till then; but I trust He’ll forgive what the old man said in his mortal distress. Instead of thanking Him, when I sor that so many wor safe, an’ encouragin’ Nep for having saved two on ’em, I cursed the dog for an ungrateful brute for saving strangers, an’ letting my Harry be lost. I dashed him off whenever he’d come whining around, to lick my hands an’ make friends, an’ when I got home I took down the old gun—poor Harry’s gun—and called Nep out upon the cliff an’ shot him dead. “I repented the moment I sor him drop. It wor too late then. I thought that both Davy and Harry would have blamed me for taking the poor brute’s life—for they wor mortal fond of ’un. The next morning I wor up by daybreak, and down to the piers in the little boat to see if I might chance to light upon the dead body.