"Come, now, sit you down a bit, Zed," said Phil, in a tone of hearty kindness, that always came over Zed's more boisterous nature with the power of a sweet lull after a squall,—"sit you down a bit, and let's have a bit o'talk, while you rest yourself, for I'm sure your old bones must ache with pain and weariness. Now, I say, Zed, just tell me, will you, what would you do with this gold if you found it?" "Do with it!" exclaimed Zed, staring at the fiddler, though the fiddler could not stare at him; "what would I do with it, Phil?" "Ay, what would you do with it? Are you tired of the old boat, after we've cruised in her so many long years?" "Tired of her! God forbid!" answered Zed, with warmth rendered ludicrous by his insobriety; "no, Phil! you and I will never forsake the old boat until our own poor old timbers fall fairly in pieces!" "I thought you could not be thinking about that," said Phil; "but what, then, I say, Zed,—what could you contrive to do with this gold, if you found it?" "We could comfort the hearts of poor Dick Toller's motherless and fatherless children, and poor Bob Wilson's and Joe Martin's widows with it, you know, Phil," answered the old fisherman. "God bless your old heart, Zed!" cried Phil, grasping his old comrade's hand, while his voice faltered with deep emotion, "that's spoken just like you! But I tell you, Zed, it is but a wild scheme to be killing yourself with trying to find this gold." "To speak truth," said Zed, interrupting the other, "I begin to think so, too: only, you see, Phil, this old head o'mine always turns so wild when I happen to be such a fool as to take rum when they offer it me. As you always say, Phil, if one could but have the resolution to stick to Sir John Barleycorn instead of——" "Well, well, Zed, say no more about it," said Phil, remembering that the transgression was not entirely confined to his friend; "shovel in the moulds as soon as you can, and let us be making our way home, for yon's twelve by the church clock, and we mustn't be after sunrise, you know, to-morrow; 'twill be bad luck if we be, depend on't." So Zed shovelled in the earth as fast as his aches and pains would permit him; and at length Phil threw the pick-axe over his shoulder, and Zed bearing the fiddle-box, and shovel, and lanthorn, without spending more time in talking, they hied them home as nimbly as they could, dropping the pick-axe and shovel over the Talbot yard wall as they went by, and speedily throwing themselves on their joint bed, when they had reached it, fell asleep almost in a moment.