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One morning old Sledge got capsized out of his wherry,
halibut and all, at the Spring Market, in P* * * * *,
under the old dynastiness of that institution, and was
nearly drowned when they got him out. He was so near
death that the ones who caught him could n't see any
signs of life in him. But they rolled him and rubbed
him and shook him, and sent off among the neighbors for
warm blankets to put him in. Old Mrs. Twist, who
lived on Church Hill, in the kindness of her heart,
stripped her beds at once, and left her work all hanging,
as she said, by “sixes and sevens,” to go and help bring
the man to. She warmed the blankets, and rubbed
away vigorously at the inanimate Sledge, working as if
her heart was in the operation, as undoubtedly it was.
After a while, the rubbing took effect, or, as some
suggested, his ugly nature refused to die, and he
revived — slowly — slowly — first a gape and then a groan—
then he opened his eyes, and the first person he looked
upon was Mrs. Twist, busily engaged in her benevolent
manipulations. He looked at her a moment, and consciousness
returned.

“Ah!” said he, as he spit the salt water out of his
codlike mouth, “glad to see ye; been looking arter ye
for a long time; would like to have ye pay me the two
shillings ye owe me!”

Mrs. Twist assured us it was the most unthankfulest
thing she ever heard of, and we think so too.

p677-357

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