“Well, Job,” I said, “they tell me that drowning is the pleasantest kind of death that there is.”

His face brightened up immediately, and he replied:  “Thou’s tellin’ true, lad, an’ what’s more, I know all about it.  If anybody wants to know what it’s like to be drowned, send ’em to Job Hesketh.  If I’d as mony lives as an owd tom-cat, I’d get shut on ’em all wi’ drownin’.”

Job’s spirits were evidently restored, so I urged him to get on with his story.

“Well,” he continued, “I tugged an’ tewed as lang as I could, but my mouth began to get full o’ watter, my legs an’ airms were dead beat, an’ I reckoned that ‘twere all ower wi’ me.  An’ then a fearful queer sort o’ thing happened me.  I were i’ my father’s farm on t’ wold, laikin’ wi’ my brothers same as I used to do when I were a lile barn.  An’, what’s more, I thowt it were my ninth birthday.  You see, when I were nine yeer owd, my father gave me two gimmer lambs an’ I were prouder yon day nor iver I’d bin i’ my life afore.  Weel, that were t’ day that had coom back; I knew nowt about drownin’, but theer was I teein’ a bit o’ ribbin’ about t’ lambs’ necks an’ givin’ ’em a sup o’ milk out o’ a bottle.  An’ then I were drivin’ wi’ my father an’ mother i’ t’ spring-cart to Driffield markit.  I’d donned my best clothes and my nuncle had gien me a new sixpenny-bit for a fairin’, an’ I were to buy choose-what I liked.  Well, I were aimin’ to think how I sud spend t’ brass when I got to Driffield, when suddenly I weren’t a lile barn no more.  I were Job Hesketh, vesselman at Leeds Steel Works, and I were drownin’ i’ t’ sea.  I saw a boat noan so far away and I tried to holla to t’ boatman, but ’twere no use; all my strength had given out, an’ my voice were nobbut a groan.  An’ then——­”

Job paused, and I looked up into his face.  A strange radiance had come over it, such as I had never seen there before.  I had heard it said that all that was brightest in a man’s past life rises like a vision before his eyes when, in the act of drowning, his body sinks once, and then again, beneath the water, but I had never before confronted a man who could relate in detail what had happened to him.  Then there was Job’s story about his return ticket to heaven, which puzzled me, and I urged him to continue his story.

“Thou’ll reckon I’m talkin’ blether,” he went on, “but I tell thee it’s true, ivery word on it.  I’ll tak my Bible oath on it.  All on a sudden I were stannin’ i’ a gert park, and eh! but there were grand trees.  They were birk-trees, an’ their boles were that breet they fair glistened i’ t’ sunleet.  An’ underneath t’ birks were bluebells, yakkers an’ yakkers o’ bluebells, an’ I thowt they were bluer an’ breeter nor ony I’d seen afore.  There were all maks o’ birds i’ t’ trees—­spinks an’ throstles an’ blackbirds—­an’ t’ air aboon my head were fair wick wi’ larks an’ pipits singin’ as canty as could be.  Weel, I followed along t’ beck-side while I com to a gert lake, wi’ lads an’