Uncle Terry

It's goin' to be a nasty night, said Uncle Terry, coming in from the shed and dumping an armful of wood in the box behind the kitchen stove, an the combers is just a humpin' over White Hoss Ledge, an' the spray's flyin' half way up the lighthouse. The Lord a massy help any poor soul that goes ashore to night, responded a portly, white haired woman beside the stove, as a monster wave made the little dwelling tremble.