----"

"The frost? I tell thee what--a bonnier lad than thou, and one that I
loved better far, lies frozen in his grave."

"Well, here's a brave load of wood! I gathered it on the beach."

"Wood! aye, ragged fragments! There's many such drifting about in this
world."

"Like enough, mother: and, ragged as they are, there's many a bold
fellow with rags on his back that would be glad to warm his hands over
them."

"There's one in his grave will never warm himself again." And here the
old woman began to mutter her unintelligible songs.

"So!--the old crooning!" said the young man to himself: and, going up
to the fire, he said--"Mother, you mind nothing: you've no thought for
any of us; and one of these days you'll be doing something or other
that will bring the police rats upon us: and then all's up; and we
shall all go to the old tree."

"To the tree? go, and welcome! And I'll go with you. All the tribe of you
is not worth a hair of _him_ that I knew once. And when the day comes
that some are outside and knocking at the door that _shall_ knock (well
I wot) one of these days,--and all you are hushed and trembling within,
and the proudest of you shaking at the knees,--then comes my time for
laughing: and I will open the door, and cry--Here they are!"

The young man muttered something to himself, pushed aside the cauldron,
and laid on some faggots and dry wood,--so that the rude hovel was
suddenly illuminated with splendour.

"Aye!" said the old woman, "best make a beacon-fire, and light all the
constables up hither!"

"Well, better be hanged than freeze!--But, mother--mother, where's the
warm broth for the poor perishing soul when he wakes?"

"What!" said the old woman angrily, "shall I go down on my knees, and
tend him like a son of my own? Well I remember the day (woe is me!) that
they all scoffed at me when I moaned for one that was _not_ a stranger:
as God's my help, I'll be no laughing-stock again: it's my turn to laugh
next."

"But Nicholas, mother--it's Nicholas that bids us tend him; and our
souls are pledged for the stranger's."

"Nicholas! eh? Oh! yes, bonny Nicholas! And _his_ soul is in pledge
too. The old one has had him once by the head: and for that time he let
him go: but he _has_ him for all that: the noose is fast; and there's
no sheers will ever cut _that_ noose."

Without paying any further regard to her words, the young man filled a
kettle with water and placed it on the fire: then, sha