“’ Theer’s a dainty sitovation. Theer’s Mr. Thomas Doane, outlaw and smuggler, and theer’s Mr. Lancy Doane his brother, coast-guardsman. Now, if them two should ‘appen to meet on Lincolnshire coast, Lord, theer’s a sitovation for ye--Lord, theer’s a cud to chew! ‘Ere’s one gentleman wants to try ‘is ‘and at ‘elpin’ Prince Charlie, and when ‘is Up doesn’t amount to anythink, what does the King on ‘is throne say? He says, “As for Thomas Doane, Esquire, aw’ve doone wi’ ‘im.” And theer’s another gentleman, Mr. Lancy Doane, Esquire. He turns pious, and says, “Aw’m goin’ for a coast-guardsman.” What does the King on his throne say? ‘E says, “Theer’s the man for me.”’” But aw says, “Aw’ve doone, aw’ve doone wi’ Mr. Lancy Doane, Esquire, and be damned to ‘im!” He! he! Theer’s a fancy sitovation for ye. Mr. Thomas Doane, Esquire, smuggler and outlaw, an’ Mr. Lancy Doane, Esquire, coast-guardsman. Aw’ve doone. Ho! ho! That gits into my crop.’ “I tell you these things, Cousin Fanny, because I’m doubtin’ if you ever heard them, or knew exactly how things stood that night. I never was a friend of Lancy Doane, you understand, but it’s only fair that the truth be told about that quarrel, for like as not he wouldn’t speak himself, and your father was moving in and out; and, I take my oath, I wouldn’t believe Faddo and the others if they was to swear on the Bible. Not that they didn’t know the truth when they saw it, but they did love just to let their fancy run. I’m livin’ over all the things that happened that night--livin’ them over to-day, when everything’s so quiet about me here, so lonesome. I wanted to go over it all, bit by bit, and work it out in my head, just as you and I used to do the puzzle games we played in the sands. And maybe, when you’re a long way off from things you once lived, you can see them and understand them better. Out here, where it’s so lonely, and yet so good a place to live in, I seem to get the hang o’ the world better, and why some things are, and other things aren’t; and I thought it would pull at my heart to sit down and write you a long letter, goin’ over the whole business again; but it doesn’t. I suppose I feel as a judge does when he goes over a lot of evidence, and sums it all up for the jury. I don’t seem prejudiced one way or another. But I’m not sure that I’ve got all the evidence to make me ken everything; and that’s what made me bitter wild the last time that I saw you. Maybe you hadn’t anything to tell me, and maybe you had, and maybe, if you ever write to me out here, you’ll tell me if there’s anything I don’t know about them days.