"Seven . . . count . . ." he whispered.
"Lord have mercy upon us!" the Gaffer muttered to his beard as he moved
away. "Long Ede; gone crazed!"
And yet, though an hour or two ago this had been the worst that could
befall, the Gaffer felt unusually cheerful. As for the others, they
were like different men, all that day and through the three days that
followed. Even Lashman ceased to complain, and, unless their eyes
played them a trick, had taken a turn for the better. "I declare, if I
don't feel like pitching to sing!" the Snipe announced on the second
evening, as much to his own wonder as to theirs. "Then why in thunder
don't you strike up?" answered Dan Cooney, and fetched his concertina.
The Snipe struck up, then and there--"Villikins and his Dinah"!
What is more, the Gaffer looked up from his "Paradise Lost," and joined
in the chorus.
By the end of the second day, Long Ede was up and active again. He went
about with a dazed look in his eyes. He was counting, counting to
himself, always counting. The Gaffer watched him furtively.
Since his recovery, though his lips moved frequently, Long Ede had
scarcely uttered a word. But towards noon on the fourth day he said an
extraordinary thing.
"There's that sleeping-bag I took with me the other night. I wonder if
'tis on the roof still. It will be froze pretty stiff by this.
You might nip up and see, Snipe, and"--he paused--"if you find it, stow
it up yonder on Bill's hammock.
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