"You wouldn't like to eat a heron-sue, for they're as rank as stinking fish, I've heard say," continued Phil; "and what else you would have done with it I'm quite at a loss to guess: but never mind, Zed, you've got a cooler, now,—and I think you won't be so hot again for some time to come." "Well, well, it's all in our lifetime," said Zed, resolving to be cheerful; "only pull away, and let us get to our own fire-side, that I may dry my old skin, there's a jolly fellow!" "So I will, Zed," replied Phil, and doubled the force of his strokes at the oar; "but I hope you'll promise me not to resume your gold-digging when we land under the old castle-walls." "I will, I will, Phil,—and so don't banter me any more; I shall be a cooler man for some time to come, after this, depend on't," answered Zed, with his teeth chattering. And Zed spoke as truly as ever a prophet spoke, and much more truly than many; for, although he got well warmed ere he went to bed, yet his participation of so much extra liquor at the wedding, his foolish freak at money-digging the preceding night, and his cold bath to conclude, operating together upon his aged frame, produced rheumatic effects which never left him. Zed Marrowby and Phil Garrett left their voyaging at the close of that summer. True, they made all fit and industrious preparation for the next spring; and Zed's heart was gleefully bent on resuming their old cruises on their beloved Trent, and in their beloved old boat; but Phil listened with a foreboding heart to the deep cough which shook Zed's old body through the winter, and often interrupted his fervid utterances of what pleasure he expected when summer should come again. And when Zed Marrowby would exclaim, "We shall have another merry summer's cruise yet, Phil!" Phil Garret would answer with more solemnity, much more, than was his wont to put on, "Don't say so till you're are sure. I think, Zed, we shall cruise no more in this world; and I hope our next port will be in a better land." Zed poohed and pshawed, for some time, at this "solemn way o' talking," as he called it; but at length he began to feel that Phil was right—he grew feebler as the spring drew nearer, and when it came, feeling the expectation to be vain of ever stepping again into the beloved old boat, he took Phil's advice—for he said he always thought it worth more than the parson's—and strove to fix his mind on reaching the happy port in the better land. Zed Marrowby's end was calm and peaceful; and so was that of Phil Garret, his faithful companion, who was also laid under the green sod in old Torksey churchyard within six months after. The memory of their names and lives is well-nigh lost in the rural locality where they lived; but there is not a saying more common in old Lincolnshire to this day than that quaint caution so often uttered by the blind fiddler to his less grave comrade, "Don't say so till you are sure!"