‘Life is very uncertain,’ said I.

‘That is true,’ said the man, with a sigh.

‘We are here one moment, and gone the next,’ I continued.  ’As I passed through the streets of a neighbouring town, I saw a respectable woman drop down, and people said she was dead.  Who knows but that she too had a son coming to see her from a distance, at that very time?’

‘Who knows, indeed?’ said the man.  ’Ah, I am afraid my mother is dead.  Well, God’s will be done.’

‘However,’ said I, ’I should not wonder at your finding your mother alive.’

‘You wouldn’t?’ said the man, looking at me wistfully.

‘I should not wonder at all,’ said I; ’indeed, something within me seems to tell me you will; I should not much mind betting five shillings to fivepence that you will see your mother within a week.  Now, friend, five shillings to fivepence—­’

‘Is very considerable odds,’ said the man, rubbing his hands; ’sure you must have good reason to hope, when you are willing to give such odds.’

‘After all,’ said I, ’it not unfrequently happens that those who lay the long odds lose.  Let us hope, however.  What do you mean to do in the event of finding your mother alive?’

‘I scarcely know,’ said the man; ’I have frequently thought that if I found my mother alive I would attempt to persuade her to accompany me to the country which I have left—­it is a better country for a man—­that is, a free man—­to live in than this; however, let me first find my mother—­if I could only find my mother—­’

‘Farewell,’ said I, rising.  ’Go your way, and God go with you—­I will go mine.’  ‘I have but one thing to ask you,’ said the man.  ‘What is that?’ I inquired.  ’That you would drink with me before we part—­you have done me so much good.’  ‘How should we drink?’ said I; ’we are on the top of a hill where there is nothing to drink.’  ‘But there is a village below,’ said the man; ‘do let us drink before we part.’  ’I have been through that village already,’ said I, ‘and I do not like turning back.’  ‘Ah,’ said the man, sorrowfully, ’you will not drink with me because I told you I was—­’ ‘You are quite mistaken,’ said I, ’I would as soon drink with a convict as with a judge.  I am by no means certain that, under the same circumstances, the judge would be one whit better than the convict.  Come along!  I will go back to oblige you.  I have an odd sixpence in my pocket, which I will change that I may drink with you.’  So we went down the hill together to the village through which I had already passed, where, finding a public-house, we drank together in true English fashion, after which we parted, the sailor-looking man going his way and I mine.