"There, in the corner, lies poor wee Freezing Powders, and, my dear
Ralph, one hour will see it all over with him. The captain and Allan
and Rory can hardly last much longer."
"God help us, then," said Ralph, wringing his hands, and giving way to a
momentary anguish.
The unhappy negro boy was stretched, to all appearance lifeless, close
by the side of his favourite's cage.
Despite his own grief, Ralph could not help feeling for that poor bird.
His distress was painful to witness. If his great round eyes could have
run over with tears, I am sure they would have done so. I have said
before that Cockie was not a pretty bird, but somehow his very ugliness
made Ralph pity him now all the more. Nor was the grief of the bird any
the less sad to see because it was exhibited in a kind of half ludicrous
way. He was not a moment at rest, but he seemed really not to know what
he was doing, and his anxious eye was hardly ever withdrawn from the
face of the dying boy:--jumping up and down from his perch to his
seed-tin and back again, grabbing great mouthfuls of hemp, which he
never even broke or tried to swallow, and blowing great sighs over his
thick blue tongue. And the occasional sentence, too, the bird every now
and then began but never finished,--
"Here's a--"
"Did you--"
"Come--"
All spoke of the anguish in poor Cockie's breast.
A faint moaning was heard in the adjoining cabin, and Ralph hurried away
from the table, and Sandy was left alone.