But having recovered from his terror at the idea that Pete was a spirit, Cæsar began to take him to task for being a living man. “How's this?” said he. “Answer me, young man, I've praiched your funeral.” “You'll have to do it again, Mr. Cregeen, for I'm not gone yet,” said Pete. “No, but worth ten dead men still,” said Black Tom. “And my goodness, boy, the smart and stout you're looking, anyway. Been thatching a bit on the chin, eh? Foreign parts has made a man of you, Peter. The straight you're like the family, too! You'll be coming up to the trough with me--the ould home, you know. I'll be whipping the chiss ashore in a jiffy, only Cæsar's that eager to help, it's wonderful. No, you'll not then?” Pete was shaking his head as he went up the gangway, and seeing this, Cæsar said severely-- “Lave the gentleman alone, Mr. Quilliam. He knows his own business best.” “So do you, Mr. Collecting Box,” said Black Tom. “But your head's as empty as a mollag, and as full of wind as well. It's a regular ould human mollag you are, anyway, floating other people's nets and taking all that's coming to them.” They were ashore by this time; one of the quay porters was putting the trunk into the gig, and Cæsar was removing the horse-cloth and the nose-bag. “Get up, Mr. Peter, and don't listen to him,” said Cæsar. “If my industry and integrity have been blessed with increase under Providence----” “Lave Providence out of it, you grasping ould Ebenezer, Zachariah, Amen,” bawled Black Tom. “You've been flying in the face of Providence all your life, Tom,” said Cæsar, taking his seat beside Pete. “You haven't though, you miser,” said Black Tom; “you'd sell your soul for sixpence, and you'd raffle your ugly ould body if you could get anybody to take tickets.” “Go home, Thomas,” said Cæsar, twiddling the reins, “go home and try for the future to be a better man.” But that was too much for Black Tom. “Better man, is it? Come down on the quay and up with your fiss, and I'll show you which of us is the better man.” A moment later Cæsar and Pete were rattling over the cobbles of the market-place, with the dog racing behind. Pete was full of questions. “And how's yourself, Mr. Cregeen?” “I'm in, sir, I'm in, sir, praise the Lord.” “And Grannie?” “Like myself, sir, not getting a dale younger, but caring little for spiritual things, though.” “Going west, is she, poor ould angel? There ought to be a good piece of daylight at her yet, for all. And--and Nancy Joe?” “A happy sinner still,” said Cæsar. “I suppose, sir, you'd be making good money out yonder now? We were hearing the like, anyway.” “Money!” said Pete. “Well, yes. Enough to keep off the divil and the coroner. But how's--how's----” “There now! For life, eh?” said Cæsar. “Yes, for life; but that's nothing,” said Pete; “how's----” “Wonderful!” cried Cæsar; “five years too! Boy veen, the light was nearly took out of my eyes when I saw you.”