Where's my boy Tom to carry it?
Send for my boy Tom.

He was always a good boy till he got along with them poachers.' 'Listen,' he said, 'listen! There's bells a-ringing--ringing in my head.

Come you here, Paul Tregarva.' He pulled Tregarva's face down to his own, and whispered,-- 'Them's the bells a-ringing for Miss Honor's wedding.' Paul started and drew back.

Harry chuckled and grinned for a moment in his old foxy, peering way, and then wandered off again.
'What's that thumping and roaring ?' Alas! it was the failing pulsation of his own heart.

'It's the weir, the weir--a-washing me away--thundering over me .-- Squire, I'm drowning,--drowning and choking! Oh, Lord, how deep! Now it's running quieter--now I can breathe again--swift and oily--running on, running on, down to the sea.