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Chapter 7

           

           Ididmybestinthesmalltimeallowedmetomakesomethinglikeaman,orratherIshouldsaysomethinglikeaboy,ofthepoorcreature,Ransome.Buthismindwasscarcetrulyhuman.Hecouldremembernothingofthetimebeforehecametosea;onlythathisfatherhadmadeclocks,andhadastarlingintheparlour,whichcouldwhistle“TheNorthCountrie;”allelsehadbeenblottedoutintheseyearsofhardshipandcruelties.Hehadastrangenotionofthedryland,pickedupfromsailor’sstories:thatitwasaplacewhereladswereputtosomekindofslaverycalledatrade,andwhereapprenticeswerecontinuallylashedandclappedintofoulprisons.Inatown,hethoughteverysecondpersonadecoy,andeverythirdhouseaplaceinwhichseamenwouldbedruggedandmurdered.Tobesure,IwouldtellhimhowkindlyIhadmyselfbeenuseduponthatdrylandhewassomuchafraidof,andhowwellfedandcarefullytaughtbothbymyfriendsandmyparents:andifhehadbeenrecentlyhurt,hewouldweepbitterlyandsweartorunaway;butifhewasinhisusualcrackbrainhumour,or(stillmore)ifhehadhadaglassofspiritsintheroundhouse,hewouldderidethenotion.

           ItwasMr.Riach(Heavenforgivehim!)whogavetheboydrink;anditwas,doubtless,kindlymeant;butbesidesthatitwasruintohishealth,itwasthepitifullestthinginlifetoseethisunhappy,unfriendedcreaturestaggering,anddancing,andtalkingheknewnotwhat.

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