“Lord bless the boy!” exclaimed my sister, as if she didn't quite mean that but rather the contrary.
“From the Hulks!”
“Oh-h!” said I, looking at Joe. “Hulks!”
Joe gave a reproachful cough, as much as to say, “Well, I told you so.”
“And please, what's Hulks?” said I.
“That's the way with this boy!” exclaimed my sister, pointing me out with her needle and thread, and shaking her head at me. “Answer him one question, and he'll ask you a dozen directly.
Hulks are prison-ships, right 'cross th' meshes.” We always used that name for marshes, in our country.