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"And told to stick their head in it, so they shouldn't see death staring at 'em."

"—along with the goods they had brought."

"A harp!" cried Mr. George. "My mother brought a harp and a Paisley shawl and got five hundred acres for 'em—estimated value of harp being twenty guineas. She'd better have gone straight to heaven with it."

"Yes, sir!" continued Mr. Bell, unheeding.

"No, sir!" broke in Mr. George. "Do you wish me unborn?"

Mr. Bell paused to smile, then continued:

"Mr. Grant, sir, these gentle ladies and gentlemen were dumped in the sand along with their goods. Well, there were a few cattle and sheep and horses. But what else? Harps. Paisley shawls. Ornamental glass cases of wax fruit, for the mantelpiece; family Bibles and a family coach, sir. For that family coach, sir, the bringer got a thousand acres of land. And it ended its days where they landed it, on the beach, for there wasn't an inch of road to drive it over, nor anywhere to drive it to. They took off its wheels and there it lay. I myself have sat in it."