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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Doctor Luke of the Labrador, by Norman Duncan
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Doctor Luke of the Labrador
+
+Author: Norman Duncan
+
+Release Date: November 30, 2006 [EBook #19981]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DOCTOR LUKE OF THE LABRADOR ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: "I've a bad son, the day, Skipper Tommy," said my
+Mother.--Page 23.]
+
+-----------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+DOCTOR LUKE OF THE LABRADOR
+
+BY
+NORMAN DUNCAN
+
+GROSSET & DUNLAP
+
+Publishers--New York
+
+-----------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+Copyright, 1904, by FLEMING H. REVELL COMPANY
+
+New York: 158 Fifth Avenue
+Chicago: 63 Washington Street
+Toronto: 27 Richmond Street, W
+London: 21 Paternoster Square
+Edinburgh: 30 St. Mary Street
+
+-----------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+To
+My Own Mother
+and to
+her granddaughter
+Elspeth
+my niece
+
+-----------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+To the Reader
+
+However bleak the Labrador--however naked and desolate that
+shore--flowers bloom upon it. However bitter the despoiling sea--however
+cold and rude and merciless--the gentler virtues flourish in the hearts
+of the folk.... And the glory of the coast--and the glory of the whole
+world--is mother-love: which began in the beginning and has continued
+unchanged to this present time--the conspicuous beauty of the fabric of
+life: the great constant of the problem.
+
+                                                                 N. D.
+
+College Campus,
+Washington, Pennsylvania,
+October 15, 1904.
+
+-----------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+CONTENTS
+
+I.       Our Harbour                                               13
+II.      The World from the Watchman                               17
+III.     In the Haven of Her Arms                                  29
+IV.      The Shadow                                                35
+V.       Mary                                                      48
+VI.      The Man on the Mail Boat                                  57
+VII.     The Woman from Wolf Cove                                  70
+VIII.    The Blind and the Blind                                   79
+IX.      A Wreck on the Thirty Devils                              89
+X.       The Flight                                               102
+XI.      The Women at the Gate                                    110
+XII.     Doctor and I                                             115
+XIII.    A Smiling Face                                           125
+XIV.     In the Watches of the Night                              133
+XV.      The Wolf                                                 138
+XVI.     A Malady of the Heart                                    150
+XVII.    Hard Practice                                            167
+XVIII.   Skipper Tommy Gets a Letter                              182
+XIX.     The Fate of the Mail-Boat Doctor                         191
+XX.      Christmas Eve at Topmast Tickle                          202
+XXI.     Down North                                               219
+XXII.    The Way from Heart's Delight                             222
+XXIII.   The Course of True Love                                  239
+XXIV.    The Beginning of the End                                 258
+XXV.     A Capital Crime                                          265
+XXVI.    Decoyed                                                  287
+XXVII.   The Day of the Dog                                       305
+XXVIII.  In Harbour                                               320
+
+-----------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+[Illustration: SKETCH MAP of OUR HARBOR]
+
+-----------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+
+
+
+DOCTOR LUKE of THE LABRADOR
+
+I
+
+OUR HARBOUR
+
+
+A cluster of islands, lying off the cape, made the shelter of our
+harbour. They were but great rocks, gray, ragged, wet with fog and surf,
+rising bleak and barren out of a sea that forever fretted a thousand
+miles of rocky coast as barren and as sombre and as desolate as they;
+but they broke wave and wind unfailingly and with vast unconcern--they
+were of old time, mighty, steadfast, remote from the rage of weather and
+the changing mood of the sea, surely providing safe shelter for us folk
+of the coast--and we loved them, as true men, everywhere, love home.
+
+"'Tis the cleverest harbour on the Labrador!" said we.
+
+When the wind was in the northeast--when it broke, swift and vicious,
+from the sullen waste of water beyond, whipping up the grey sea, driving
+in the vagrant ice, spreading clammy mist over the reefs and rocky
+headlands of the long coast--our harbour lay unruffled in the lee of
+God's Warning. Skull Island and a shoulder of God's Warning broke the
+winds from the north: the froth of the breakers, to be sure, came
+creeping through the north tickle, when the sea was high; but no great
+wave from the open ever disturbed the quiet water within. We were fended
+from the southerly gales by the massive, beetling front of the Isle of
+Good Promise, which, grandly unmoved by their fuming rage, turned them
+up into the black sky, where they went screaming northward, high over
+the heads of the white houses huddled in the calm below; and the seas
+they brought--gigantic, breaking seas--went to waste on Raven Rock and
+the Reef of the Thirty Black Devils, ere, their strength spent, they
+growled over the jagged rocks at the base of the great cliffs of Good
+Promise and came softly swelling through the broad south tickle to the
+basin. The west wind came out of the wilderness, fragrant of the far-off
+forest, lying unknown and dread in the inland, from which the mountains,
+bold and blue and forbidding, lifted high their heads; and the mist was
+then driven back into the gloomy seas of the east, and the sun was out,
+shining warm and yellow, and the sea, lying in the lee of the land, was
+all aripple and aflash.
+
+When the spring gales blew--the sea being yet white with drift-ice--the
+schooners of the Newfoundland fleet, bound north to the fishing, often
+came scurrying into our harbour for shelter. And when the skippers,
+still dripping the spray of the gale from beard and sou'wester, came
+ashore for a yarn and an hospitable glass with my father, the trader,
+many a tale of wind and wreck and far-away harbours I heard, while we
+sat by the roaring stove in my father's little shop: such as those which
+began, "Well, 'twas the wonderfullest gale o' wind you ever
+seed--snowin' an' blowin', with the sea in mountains, an' it as black as
+a wolf's throat--an' we was somewheres off Cape Mugford. She were
+drivin' with a nor'east gale, with the shore somewheres handy t'
+le'ward. But, look! nar a one of us knowed where she were to, 'less
+'twas in the thick o' the Black Heart Reefs...." Stout, hearty fellows
+they were who told yarns like these--thick and broad about the chest and
+lanky below, long-armed, hammer-fisted, with frowsy beards, bushy brows,
+and clear blue eyes, which were fearless and quick to look.
+
+"'Tis a fine harbour you got here, Skipper David Roth," they would say
+to my father, when it came time to go aboard, "an' here, zur," raising
+the last glass, "is t' the rocks that make it!"
+
+"T' the schooners they shelter!" my father would respond.
+
+When the weather turned civil, I would away to the summit of the
+Watchman--a scamper and a mad climb--to watch the doughty little
+schooners on their way. And it made my heart swell and flutter to see
+them dig their noses into the swelling seas--to watch them heel and leap
+and make the white dust fly--to feel the rush of the wet wind that drove
+them--to know that the grey path of a thousand miles was every league of
+the way beset with peril. Brave craft! Stout hearts to sail them! It
+thrilled me to watch them beating up the suddy coast, lying low and
+black in the north, and through the leaden, ice-strewn seas, with the
+murky night creeping in from the open. I, too, would be the skipper of a
+schooner, and sail with the best of them!
+
+"A schooner an' a wet deck for me!" thought I.
+
+And I loved our harbour all the more for that.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Thus, our harbour lay, a still, deep basin, in the shelter of three
+islands and a cape of the mainland: and we loved it, drear as it was,
+because we were born there and knew no kinder land; and we boasted it,
+in all the harbours of the Labrador, because it was a safe place,
+whatever the gale that blew.
+
+
+
+
+II
+
+The WORLD From The WATCHMAN
+
+
+The Watchman was the outermost headland of our coast and a landmark from
+afar--a great gray hill on the point of Good Promise by the Gate; our
+craft, running in from the Hook-an'-Line grounds off Raven Rock, rounded
+the Watchman and sped thence through the Gate and past Frothy Point into
+harbour. It was bold and bare--scoured by the weather--and dripping wet
+on days when the fog hung thick and low. It fell sharply to the sea by
+way of a weather-beaten cliff, in whose high fissures the gulls, wary of
+the hands of the lads of the place, wisely nested; and within the
+harbour it rose from Trader's Cove, where, snug under a broken cliff,
+stood our house and the little shop and storehouse and the broad
+drying-flakes and the wharf and fish-stages of my father's business.
+From the top there was a far, wide outlook--all sea and rock: along the
+ragged, treeless coast, north and south, to the haze wherewith, in
+distances beyond the ken of lads, it melted; and upon the thirty wee
+white houses of our folk, scattered haphazard about the harbour water,
+each in its own little cove and each with its own little stage and great
+flake; and over the barren, swelling rock beyond, to the blue
+wilderness, lying infinitely far away.
+
+I shuddered when from the Watchman I looked upon the wilderness.
+
+"'Tis a dreadful place," I had heard my father say. "Men starves in
+there."
+
+This I knew to be true, for, once, I had seen the face of a man who came
+crawling out.
+
+"The sea is kinder," I thought.
+
+Whether so or not, I was to prove, at least, that the wilderness was
+cruel.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+One blue day, when the furthest places on sea and land lay in a thin,
+still haze, my mother and I went to the Watchman to romp. There was
+place there for a merry gambol, place, even, led by a wiser hand, for
+roaming and childish adventure--and there were silence and sunlit space
+and sea and distant mists for the weaving of dreams--ay, and, upon rare
+days, the smoke of the great ships, bound down the Straits--and when
+dreams had worn the patience there were huge loose rocks handy for
+rolling over the brow of the cliff--and there was gray moss in the
+hollows, thick and dry and soft, to sprawl on and rest from the delights
+of the day. So the Watchman was a playground for my mother and me--my
+sister, my elder by seven years, was all the day long tunefully busy
+about my father's comfort and the little duties of the house--and, on
+that blue day, we climbed the broken cliff behind our house and toiled
+up the slope beyond in high spirits, and we were very happy together;
+for my mother was a Boston maid, and, though she turned to right
+heartily when there was work to do, she was not like the Labrador born,
+but thought it no sin to wander and laugh in the sunlight of the heads
+when came the blessed opportunity.
+
+"I'm fair done out," said I, at last, returning, flushed, from a race to
+Beacon Rock.
+
+"Lie here, Davy--ay, but closer yet--and rest," said she.
+
+I flung myself at full length beside her, spreading abroad my sturdy
+little arms and legs; and I caught her glance, glowing warm and proud,
+as it ran over me, from toe to crown, and, flashing prouder yet through
+a gathering mist of tears, returned again.
+
+"I knows why you're lookin' at me that way," said I.
+
+"And why?" said she.
+
+"'Tis for sheer love o' me!"
+
+She was strangely moved by this. Her hands, passionately clasped of a
+sudden, she laid upon her heart; and she drew a sharp, quivering
+breath.
+
+"You're getting so--so--strong and--and--so _big_!" she cried.
+
+"Hut!" said I. "'Tis nothin' t' cry about!"
+
+"Oh," she sobbed, "I'm _proud_ t' be the mother of a son!"
+
+I started up.
+
+"I'm that proud," she went on, hovering now between great joy and pain,
+"that it--it--fair _hurts_ me!"
+
+"I'll not have you cry!" I protested.
+
+She caught me in her arms and we broke into merry laughter. Then to
+please her I said that I would gather flowers for her hair--and she
+would be the stranded mermaid and I the fisherman whom she besought to
+put her back in the sea and rewarded with three wishes--and I sought
+flowers everywhere in the hollows and crevices of the bald old Watchman,
+where, through years, some soil had gathered, but found only whisps of
+wiry grass and one wretched blossom; whereupon I returned to her very
+wroth.
+
+"God made a botch o' the world!" I declared.
+
+She looked up in dismay.
+
+"Ay," I repeated, with a stamp of the foot, "a wonderful botch o' the
+world He's gone an' made. Why, they's but one flower on the Watchman!"
+
+She looked over the barren land--the great gray waste of naked rock--and
+sighed.
+
+"But one?" she asked, softly.
+
+"An I was God," I said, indignantly, "I'd have made _more_ flowers an'
+made un _bigger_."
+
+She smiled in the way of one dreaming.
+
+"Hut!" I went on, giving daring wing to my imagination. "I'd have made a
+hundred kinds an' soil enough t' grow un all--_every one o' the whole
+hundred!_ I'd have----"
+
+She laid a soft hand on my lips. "'Tis a land," she whispered, with
+shining eyes, "that grows rosy lads, and I'm well content!"
+
+"'Tis a poor way," I continued, disregarding her caress, "t' gather soil
+in buckets. _I'd_ have made enough t' gather it in _barrows_! I'd have
+made lots of it--heaps of it. Why," I boasted, growing yet more
+recklessly prodigal, "I'd have made a _hill_ of it somewheres handy t'
+every harbour in the world--as big as the Watchman--ay, an' handy t' the
+harbours, so the folk could take so much as they wanted--t' make
+potato-gardens--an'--an' t' make the grave-yards deep enough. 'Tis a
+wonderful poor way," I concluded with contempt, "t' have t' gather it in
+buckets from the rocks!"
+
+My mother was laughing heartily now.
+
+"'Twould not be a better world, thinks you?" said I. "Ay, but I could
+do better than that! Hut!" I cried, at last utterly abandoned to my
+imagination, "I'd have more things than potatoes grow in the ground an'
+more things than berries grow on bushes. _What_ would I have grow in the
+ground, says you? Is you thinkin' I don't _know_? Oh, ay, mum," I
+protested, somewhat at a loss, but very knowingly, "_I_ knows!" I was
+now getting rapidly beyond my depth; but I plunged bravely on, wondering
+like lightning, the while, what else _could_ grow in the ground and on
+bushes. "I'd have _flour_ grow in the ground, mum," I cried,
+triumphantly, "an' I'd have sea-boots an' sou'westers grow on the
+bushes. An', ecod!" I continued, inspired, "I'd have fishes grow on
+bushes, already split an' cleaned!"
+
+What other improvements I would have made on the good Lord's handiwork I
+do not know. Skipper Tommy Lovejoy, being on the road to Trader's Cove
+from the Rat Hole, where he lived alone with his twin lads, had spied us
+from Needle Rock, and now came puffing up the hill to wish my mother
+good-day: which, indeed, all true men of the harbour never failed to do,
+whenever they came near. He was a short, marvellously broad, bow-legged
+old man--but yet straight and full of strength and fine hope--all the
+while dressed in tight white moleskin (much soiled by the slime of the
+day's work), long skin boots, tied below the knees, and a ragged cloth
+cap, which he kept pulled tight over his bushy grey hair. There was a
+mild twinkle forever lying in the depths of his blue eyes, and thence,
+at times, overflowing upon his broad brown face, which then rippled with
+wrinkles, from the roots of his hair to the fringe of white beard under
+his chin, in a way at once to make one laugh with him, though one could
+not quite tell why. We lads of the harbour loved him very much, for his
+good-humour and for his tenderness--never more so, however, than when,
+by night, in the glow of the fire, he told us long tales of the fairies
+and wicked elves he had dealt with in his time, twinkling with every
+word, so that we were sorely puzzled to know whether to take him in jest
+or earnest.
+
+"I've a very bad son, the day, Skipper Tommy," said my mother, laying a
+fond hand on my head.
+
+"Have you, now, mum!" cried the skipper, with a wink. "'Tis hard t'
+believe. He've been huntin' gulls' nests in parlous places on the cliff
+o' the Watchman, I'm thinkin'."
+
+"'Tis worse than that."
+
+"Dear man! Worse than that, says you? Then he've took the punt beyond
+the Gate all by hisself."
+
+"'Tis even worse than that. He's not pleased with the dear Lord's
+world."
+
+Skipper Tommy stopped dead and stared me in the eye--but not coldly, you
+must know; just in mild wonder, in which, it may be, was mixed some
+admiration, as though he, too, deep in his guileless old heart, had had
+some doubt which he dared not entertain.
+
+"Ay," said I, loftily, "He've not made flowers enough t' suit _my_
+taste."
+
+Skipper Tommy rubbed his nose in a meditative way. "Well," he drawled,
+"He haven't made many, true enough. I'm not sayin' He mightn't have made
+more. But He've done very well. They's enough--oh, ay, they's enough t'
+get along with. For, look you! lad, they's no real _need_ o' any more.
+'Twas wonderful kind of Un," he went on, swept away by a flood of good
+feeling, as often happened, "t' make even one little flower. Sure, He
+didn't _have_ t' do it. He just went an' done it for love of us. Ay," he
+repeated, delighting himself with this new thought of his Lord's
+goodness, "'twas wonderful kind o' the Lard t' take so much trouble as
+that!"
+
+My mother was looking deep into Skipper Tommy's eyes as though she saw
+some lovely thing therein.
+
+"Ay," said I, "'twas fair kind; but I'm wishin' He'd been a bit more
+free."
+
+My mother smiled at that. Then, "And my son," she said, in the way of
+one poking fun, "would have _flour_ grow out of the ground!"
+
+"An' did he say that!" cried Skipper Tommy.
+
+My mother laughed, and Skipper Tommy laughed uproariously, and loudly
+slapped his thick thigh; and I felt woefully foolish, and wondered much
+what depth of ignorance I had betrayed, but I laughed, too, because
+Skipper Tommy laughed so heartily and opened his great mouth so wide;
+and we were all very merry for a time. At last, while I wondered, I
+thought that, perhaps, flour _did_ grow, after all--though, for the life
+of me, I could not tell how--and that my mother and Skipper Tommy knew
+it well enough; whereupon I laughed the merrier.
+
+"Come, look you!" then said Skipper Tommy, gently taking the lobe of my
+ear between his thick, hard thumb and forefinger. "Don't you go thinkin'
+you could make better worlds than the Lard. Why, lad, 'tis but _play_
+for _Him_! _He've_ no trouble makin' a world! I'm thinkin' He've made
+more than one," he added, his voice changing to a knowing whisper. "'Tis
+my own idea, but," now sagely, "I'm thinkin' He did. 'Tis like that this
+was the first, an' He done better when He got His hand in. Oh, ay, nar a
+doubt He done better with the rest! But He done wonderful well with this
+one. When you're so old as me, lad, you'll know that though the Lard
+made few flowers He put a deal o' time an' labour on the harbours; an'
+when you're beatin' up t' the Gate, lad, in a gale o' wind--an' when you
+thinks o' the quiet place t'other side o' Frothy Point--you'll know the
+Lard done well by all the folk o' this world when He made safe harbours
+instead o' wastin' His time on flowers. Ay, lad, 'tis a wonderful well
+built world; an' you'll know it--then!"
+
+We turned homeward--down the long road over the shoulder of the
+Watchman; for the evening was drawing near.
+
+"They's times," said Skipper Tommy, giving his nose a puzzled tweak,
+"when I wonders how He done it. 'Tis fair beyond me! I wonders a deal,
+now, mum," turning to my mother, his face lighting with interest, "about
+they stars. Now, mum," smiling wistfully, "I wonders ... I wonders ...
+how He stuck un up there in the sky. Ah," with a long sigh, "I'd sure
+like t' know that! An' wouldn't you, mum? Ecod! but I _would_ like t'
+know that! 'Twould be worth while, I'm thinkin'. I'm wishin' I could
+find out. But, hut!" he cried, with a laugh which yet rang strangely sad
+in my ears, "'tis none o' my business. 'Twould be a queer thing, indeed,
+if men went pryin' into the Lard's secrets. He'd fix un, I 'low--He'd
+snarl un all up--He'd let un think theirselves wise an' guess
+theirselves mad! That's what He'd do. But, now," falling again into a
+wistful, dreaming whisper, "I wonders ... wonders ... how He _does_
+stick them stars up there. I'm thinkin' I'll try t' think that out--some
+day--so people could know, an' wouldn't have t' wonder no more.
+I--wonders--if I could!"
+
+We walked on in silence--down the last slope, and along the rocky path
+to Trader's Cove; and never a word was spoken. When we came to the turn
+to our house we bade the skipper good-evening.
+
+"Don't you be forgettin'," he said, tipping up my face with a finger
+under my chin, "that you'll soon be thinkin' more o' harbours than o'
+flowers."
+
+I laughed.
+
+"But, ecod!" he broke out, violently rubbing his nose, until I was
+fairly concerned for it, so red did it turn, "that was a wonderful good
+idea about the flour!"
+
+My mother looked at him sharply; then her eyes twinkled, and she hid a
+smile behind her hand.
+
+"_'Twould_ be a good thing t' have it grow," the old man continued.
+"'Twould be far better than--than--well, now--makin' it the way they
+does. Ecod!" he concluded, letting his glance fall in bewilderment on
+the ground, "I wonders how they _does_ make flour. I wonders ... wonders
+... where they gets the stuff an'--an'--how they makes it!"
+
+He went off, wondering still; and my mother and I went slowly home, and
+sat in the broad window of our house, which overlooked the harbour and
+fronted the flaring western sky; and then first she told me of the kind
+green world beyond.
+
+
+
+
+III
+
+IN THE HAVEN of HER ARMS
+
+
+There was a day not far distant--my father had told my mother with a
+touch of impatience that it _must_ come for all sons--when Skipper Tommy
+took me with one of the twin lads in the punt to the Hook-an'-Line
+grounds to jig, for the traps were doing poorly with the fish, the
+summer was wasting and there was nothing for it but to take to hook and
+line: which my father's dealers heartily did, being anxious to add what
+fish they could to the catch, though in this slower way. And it was my
+first time beyond the Gate--and the sea seemed very vast and strange and
+sullen when we put out at dawn--and when the long day was near done the
+wind blew gray and angry from the north and spread a thickening mist
+over the far-off Watchman--and before night closed, all that Skipper
+Tommy had said of harbours and flowers came true in my heart.
+
+"We'll be havin' t' beat up t' the Gate," said he, as he hauled in the
+grapnel.
+
+"With all the wind she can carry," added little Jacky, bending to lift
+the mast into the socket.
+
+In truth, yes--as it seemed to my unknowing mind: she had all the wind
+she could carry. The wind fretted the black sea until it broke all
+roundabout; and the punt heeled to the gusts and endlessly flung her
+bows up to the big waves; and the spray swept over us like driving rain,
+and was bitter cold; and the mist fell thick and swift upon the coast
+beyond. Jacky, forward with the jib-sheet in his capable little fist and
+the bail bucket handy, scowled darkly at the gale, being alert as a cat,
+the while; and the skipper, his mild smile unchanged by all the tumult,
+kept a hand on the mainsheet and tiller, and a keen, quiet eye on the
+canvas and on the vanishing rocks whither we were bound. And forth and
+back she went, back and forth, again and again, without end--beating up
+to harbour.
+
+"Dear man!" said Skipper Tommy, with a glance at the vague black outline
+of the Watchman, "but 'tis a fine harbour!"
+
+"'Tis that," sighed Jacky, wistfully, as a screaming little gust heeled
+the punt over; "an'--an'--I wisht we was there!"
+
+Skipper Tommy laughed at his son.
+
+"I does!" Jacky declared.
+
+"I--I--I'm not so sure," I stammered, taking a tighter grip on the
+gunwale, "but I wisht we was--there--too."
+
+"You'll be wishin' that often," said Skipper Tommy, pointedly, "if you
+lives t' be so old as me."
+
+We wished it often, indeed, that day--while the wind blustered yet more
+wildly out of the north and the waves tumbled aboard our staggering
+little craft and the night came apace over the sea--and we have wished
+it often since that old time, have Jacky and I, God knows! I had the
+curious sensation of fear, I fancy--though I am loath to call it
+that--for the first time in my life; and I was very much relieved when,
+at dusk, we rounded the looming Watchman, ran through the white waters
+and thunderous confusion of the Gate, with the breakers leaping high on
+either hand, sharply turned Frothy Point and came at last into the
+ripples of Trader's Cove. Glad I was, you may be sure, to find my mother
+waiting on my father's wharf, and to be taken by the hand, and to be led
+up the path to the house, where there was spread a grand supper of fish
+and bread, which my sister had long kept waiting; and, after all, to be
+rocked in the broad window, safe in the haven of my mother's arms, while
+the last of the sullen light of day fled into the wilderness and all the
+world turned black.
+
+"You'll be singin' for me, mum, will you not?" I whispered.
+
+"And what shall I sing, lad?" said she.
+
+"You knows, mum."
+
+"I'm not so sure," said she. "Come, tell me!"
+
+What should she sing? I knew well, at that moment, the assurance my
+heart wanted: we are a God-fearing people, and I was a child of that
+coast; and I had then first come in from a stormy sea. There is a
+song----
+
+"'Tis, 'Jesus Saviour Pilot Me,'" I answered.
+
+"I knew it all the time," said she; and,
+
+  "'Jesus, Saviour, pilot me,
+  Over life's tempestuous sea,'"
+
+she sang, very softly--and for me alone--like a sweet whisper in my ear.
+
+  "'Unknown waves before me roll,
+  Hiding rock and treacherous shoal;
+  Chart and compass came from Thee:
+  Jesus, Saviour, pilot me!'"
+
+"I was thinkin' o' that, mum, when we come through the Gate," said I.
+"Sure, I thought Skipper Tommy might miss the Way, an' get t'other side
+o' the Tooth, an' get in the Trap, an' go t' wreck on the Murderers,
+an'----"
+
+"Hush, dear!" she whispered. "Sure, you've no cause to fear when the
+pilot knows the way."
+
+The feeling of harbour--of escape and of shelter and brooding peace--was
+strong upon me while we sat rocking in the failing light. I have never
+since made harbour--never since come of a sudden from the toil and the
+frothy rage of the sea by night or day, but my heart has felt again the
+peace of that quiet hour--never once but blessed memory has given me
+once again the vision of myself, a little child, lying on my mother's
+dear breast, gathered close in her arms, while she rocked and softly
+sang of the tempestuous sea and a Pilot for the sons of men, still
+rocking, rocking, in the broad window of my father's house. I protest
+that I love my land, and have from that hour, barren as it is and as
+bitter the sea that breaks upon it; for I then learned--and still
+know--that it is as though the dear God Himself made harbours with wise,
+kind hands for such as have business in the wild waters of that coast.
+And I love my life--and go glad to the day's work--for I have learned,
+in the course of it and by the life of the man who came to us, that
+whatever the stress and fear of the work to be done there is yet for us
+all a refuge, which, by way of the heart, they find who seek.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+And I fell asleep in my mother's arms, and by and by my big father came
+in and laughed tenderly to find me lying there; and then, as I have been
+told, laughing softly still they carried me up and flung me on my bed,
+flushed and wet and limp with sound slumber, where I lay like a small
+sack of flour, while together they pulled off my shoes and stockings and
+jacket and trousers and little shirt, and bundled me into my
+night-dress, and rolled me under the blanket, and tucked me in, and
+kissed me good-night.
+
+When my mother's lips touched my cheek I awoke. "Is it you, mama?" I
+asked.
+
+"Ay," said she; "'tis your mother, lad."
+
+Her hand went swiftly to my brow, and smoothed back the tousled, wet
+hair.
+
+"Is you kissed me yet?"
+
+"Oh, ay!" said she.
+
+"Kiss me again, please, mum," said I, "for I wants--t' make sure--you
+done it."
+
+She kissed me again, very tenderly; and I sighed and fell asleep,
+content.
+
+
+
+
+IV
+
+THE SHADOW
+
+
+When the mail-boat left our coast to the long isolation of that winter
+my mother was even more tender with the scrawny plants in the five red
+pots on the window-shelf. On gray days, when our house and all the world
+lay in the soggy shadow of the fog, she fretted sadly for their health;
+and she kept feverish watch for a rift in the low, sad sky, and sighed
+and wished for sunlight. It mystified me to perceive the wistful regard
+she bestowed upon the stalks and leaves that thrived the illest--the
+soft touches for the yellowing leaves, and, at last, the tear that fell,
+when, withered beyond hope, they were plucked and cast away--and I asked
+her why she loved the sick leaves so; and she answered that she knew but
+would not tell me why. Many a time, too, at twilight, I surprised her
+sitting downcast by the window, staring out--and far--not upon the rock
+and sea of our harbour, but as though through the thickening shadows
+into some other place.
+
+"What you lookin' at, mum?" I asked her, once.
+
+"A glory," she answered.
+
+"Glory!" said I. "They's no glory out there. The night falls. 'Tis all
+black an' cold on the hills. Sure, _I_ sees no glory."
+
+"'Tis not a glory, but a shadow," she whispered, "for you!"
+
+Nor was I now ever permitted to see her in disarray, but always, as it
+seemed to me, fresh from my sister's clever hands, her hair laid smooth
+and shining, her simple gown starched crisp and sweetly smelling of the
+ironing board; and when I asked her why she was never but thus lovely,
+she answered, with a smile, that surely it pleased her son to find her
+always so: which, indeed, it did. I felt, hence, in some puzzled way,
+that this display was a design upon me, but to what end I could not
+tell. And there was an air of sad unquiet in the house: it occurred to
+my childish fancy that my mother was like one bound alone upon a long
+journey; and once, deep in the night, when I had long lain ill at ease
+in the shadow of this fear, I crept to her door to listen, lest she be
+already fled, and I heard her sigh and faintly complain; and then I went
+back to bed, very sad that my mother should be ailing, but now sure that
+she would not leave me.
+
+Next morning my father leaned over our breakfast table and laid his
+broad hand upon my mother's shoulder; whereupon she looked up smiling,
+as ever she did when that big man caressed her.
+
+"I'll be havin' the doctor for you," he said.
+
+She gave him a swift glance of warning--then turned her wide eyes upon
+me.
+
+"Oh," said my father, "the lad knows you is sick. 'Tis no use tryin' t'
+keep it from un any more."
+
+"Ay," I sobbed, pushing my plate away, for I was of a sudden no longer
+hungry, "I heared you cryin' las' night."
+
+My sister came quickly to my side, and wound a soft arm about my neck,
+and drew my head close to her heart, and kissed me many times; and when
+she had soothed me I looked up and found my mother gloriously glad that
+I had cried.
+
+"'Tis nothing," then she said, with a rush of tenderness for my grief.
+"'Tis not hard to bear. 'Tis----"
+
+"Ay, but," said my father, "I'll be havin' the doctor t' see you."
+
+My mother pooh-poohed it all. The doctor? For her? Not she! She was not
+sick enough for _that_!
+
+"I'm bent," said my father, doggedly, "on havin' that man."
+
+"David," cried my mother, "I'll not have you do it!"
+
+"I'll have my way of it," said my father. "I'm bent on it, an' I'll be
+put off no longer. 'Tis no use, m'am--nar a bit! The doctor's comin' t'
+see you."
+
+"Ah, well!" sighed my mother.
+
+"Ay," said my father, "I'll have that man ashore when the mail-boat
+comes in the spring. 'Tis well on t' December now," he went on, "an' it
+may be we'll have an early break-up. Sure, if they's westerly winds in
+the spring, an' the ice clears away in good season, we'll be havin' the
+mail-boat north in May. Come, now! 'twill not be later than June, I
+'low. An' I'll have that doctor ashore in a hurry, mark my words, when
+the anchor's down. That I will!"
+
+"'Tis a long time," said my mother.
+
+Every morning, thereafter, she said that she was better--always
+better--much, much better. 'Twas wonderful, she said, 'twas fair past
+making out, indeed, that she should so soon grow into a fine, hearty
+woman again; and 'twould be an easy matter, said she, for the mail-boat
+doctor to cure _her_--when he came. And she was now more discreet with
+her moods; not once did I catch her brooding alone, though more than
+once I lay in wait in dark corners or peered through the crack in the
+door; and she went smiling about the house, as of old--but yet not as of
+old; and I puzzled over the difference, but could not discover it. More
+often, now, at twilight, she lured me to her lap, where I was never
+loath to go, great lad of nine years though I was; and she sat silent
+with me, rocking, rocking, while the deeper night came down--and she
+kissed me so often that I wondered she did not tire of it--and she
+stroked my brow and cheeks, and touched my eyes, and ran her finger-tips
+over my eyebrows and nose and lips, ay, and softly played with my
+lips--and at times she strained me so hard to her breast that I near
+complained of the embrace--and I was no more driven off to bed when my
+eyes grew heavy, but let lie in her arms, while we sat silent, rocking,
+rocking, until long, long after I had fallen asleep. And once, at the
+end of a sweet, strange hour, making believe to play, she gently pried
+my eyes wide open and looked far into their depths--so deep, so long, so
+searchingly, so strangely, that I waxed uneasy under the glance.
+
+"Wh-wh-what--what you----" I began, inarticulately.
+
+"What am I looking for?" she interrupted, speaking quickly.
+
+"Ay," I whimpered, for I was deeply agitated; "what you lookin' for?"
+
+"For your heart," said she.
+
+I did not know what she meant; and I wondered concerning the fancy she
+had, but did not ask, for there was that in her voice and eyes that made
+me very solemn.
+
+"'Tis but a child's heart," she sighed, turning away. "'Tis but like the
+hearts," she whispered, "of all children. I cannot tell--I cannot tell,"
+she sobbed, "and I want--oh, I want so much--to know!"
+
+"Don't cry!" I pleaded, thrown into an agony by her tears, in the way of
+all children.
+
+She sat me back in her lap. "Look in your mother's eyes, lad," said she,
+"and say after me this: 'My mother----'"
+
+"'My mother----'" I repeated, very soberly.
+
+"'Looked upon my heart----'"
+
+"'Looked upon my heart----'" said I.
+
+"'And found it brave----'"
+
+"'An' found it brave----'"
+
+"'And sweet----'"
+
+"'An' sweet----'"
+
+"'Willing for the day's work----'" said she.
+
+"'Willing for the day's work----'" I repeated.
+
+"'And harbouring no shameful hope.'"
+
+"'An' harbouring--no shameful--hope.'"
+
+Again and again she had me say it--until I knew it every word by heart.
+
+"Ah," said she, at last, "but you'll forget!"
+
+"No, no!" I cried. "I'll not forget. 'My mother looked upon my heart,'"
+I rattled, "'an' found it brave an' sweet, willing for the day's work
+an' harbouring no shameful hope.' I've not forgot! I've _not_ forgot!"
+
+"He'll forget," she whispered, but not to me, "like all children."
+
+But I have not forgotten--I have not forgotten--I have never
+forgotten--that when I was a child my mother looked upon my heart and
+found it brave and sweet, willing for the day's work and harbouring no
+shameful hope.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The winter fell early and with ominous severity. Our bleak coast was
+soon too bitter with wind and frost and snow for the folk to continue in
+their poor habitations. They were driven in haste to the snugger inland
+tilts, which lay in a huddle at the Lodge, far up Twisted Arm, in the
+blessed proximity of fire-wood--there to trap and sleep in hardly
+mitigated misery until the kindlier spring days should once again invite
+them to the coast. My father, the only trader on forty miles of our
+coast, as always dealt them salt beef and flour and tea with a free
+hand, until, at last, the storehouses were swept clean of food, save
+sufficient for our own wants: his great heart hopeful that the catch of
+next season, and the honest hearts of the folk, and the mysterious favor
+of the Lord, would all conspire to repay him. And so they departed, bag
+and baggage, youngsters and dogs; and the waste of our harbour and of
+the infinite roundabout was left white and silent, as of death itself.
+But we dwelt on in our house under the sheltering Watchman; for my
+father, being a small trader, was better off than they--though I would
+not have you think him of consequence elsewhere--and had builded a stout
+house, double-windowed, lined with felt and wainscotted with canvas, so
+that but little frost formed on the walls of the living rooms, and that
+only in the coldest weather.
+
+"'Tis cozy enough," said my father, chucking my mother under the chin,
+"even for a maid a man might cotch up Boston way!"
+
+Presently came Skipper Tommy Lovejoy by rollicking dog-team from the
+Lodge to inquire after my mother's health--to cheer us, it may be, I'm
+thinking, with his hearty way, his vast hope, his odd fancies, his
+ruddy, twinkling face. Most we laughed when he described his plan (how
+seriously conceived there was no knowing) for training whales to serve
+as tugboats in calms and adverse winds. It appeared, too, that a similar
+recital had been trying to the composure of old Tom Tot, of our harbour,
+who had searched the Bible for seven years to discover therein a good
+man of whom it was said that he laughed, and, failing utterly, had
+thereupon vowed never again to commit the sin of levity.
+
+"Sure, I near fetched un," said Skipper Tommy, gleefully, "with me
+whales. I come near makin' Tom Tot break that scandalous vow, zur,
+indeed I did! He got wonderful purple in the face, an' choked in a
+fearsome way, when I showed un my steerin' gear for the beast's tail,
+but, as I'm sad t' say, zur, he managed t' keep it in without bustin'.
+But I'll get un yet, zur--oh, ay, zur--just leave un t' me! Ecod! zur,
+I'm thinkin' he'll capsize with all hands when I tells un I'm t' have a
+wheel-house on the forward deck o' that wha-a-ale!"
+
+But the old man soon forgot all about his whales, as he had forgotten to
+make out the strange way the Lord had discovered to fasten His stars to
+the sky; moved by a long contemplation of my mother's frailty, he had a
+nobler inspiration.
+
+"'Tis sad, lass," he said, his face aquiver with sympathy, "t' think
+that we've but one doctor t' cure the sick, an' him on the mail-boat.
+'Tis _wonderful_ sad t' think o' that! 'Tis a hard case," he went on,
+"but if a man only thunk hard enough he'd find a way t' mend it. Sure,
+what _ought_ t' be mended _can_ be mended. 'Tis the way o' the world. If
+a man only thinks hard an' thinks sensible, he'll find a way, zur, every
+time. 'Tis easy t' think hard, but 'tis sometimes hard," he added, "t'
+think t' the point."
+
+We were silent while he continued lost in deep and puzzled thought.
+
+"Ecod!" he burst out. "I got it!"
+
+"Have you, now?" cried my father, half amused, half amazed.
+
+"Just this minute, zur," said the skipper, in a glow of delighted
+astonishment. "It come t' me all t' oncet."
+
+"An' what is it?"
+
+"'Tis a sort o' book, zur!"
+
+"A book?"
+
+"Ay, 'tis just a book. Find out all the cures in the world an' put un in
+a book. Get the doctor-women's, an' the healers', an' the real doctor's,
+an' put un right in a book. Has you got the dip-theria? Ask the book
+what t' do. 'Dip-theria?' says the book t' you. 'Well, that's sad. Tie a
+split herring round your neck.' S'pose you got the salt-water sores.
+What do you do, then? Why, turn t' the book. 'Oh, 'tis nothin' t' cure
+_that_,' says the book. 'Wear a brass chain on your wrist, lad, an'
+you'll be troubled no more.' Take it, now, when you got blood-poison in
+the hand. What is you t' do, you wants t' know? 'Blood-poison in the
+hand?' says the book. 'Good gracious, that's awful! Cut off your hand.'
+'Twould be a wonderful good work," the skipper concluded, "t' make a
+book like that!" It appeared to me that it would.
+
+"I wonder," the skipper went on, staring at the fire, a little smile
+playing upon his face, "if _I_ couldn't do that! 'Twould surely be a
+thing worth doin'. I wonder--I wonder--if I couldn't manage--somehow--t'
+do it!"
+
+We said nothing; for he was not thinking of us, any more, as we
+knew--but only dreaming of the new and beneficent work which had of a
+sudden appeared to him.
+
+"But I isn't able t' write," he muttered, at last. "I--I--_wisht I
+could_!"
+
+"'Twould be a wonderful fine work for a man t' do," said my father.
+
+"'Tis a wonder, now," said Skipper Tommy, looking up with a bright face,
+"that no one ever thought o' doin' that afore. T' my mind," he added,
+much puzzled, "'tis very queer, indeed, that they's nar a man in all the
+world t' think o' that--but _me_!"
+
+My mother smiled.
+
+"I'm thinkin' I'll just _have_ t' try," Skipper Tommy went on, frowning
+anxiously. "But, ecod!" he cried, "maybe the Lard wouldn't like it. Now,
+maybe, He wants us men t' mind our business. Maybe, He'd say, 'You keep
+your finger out o' My pie. Don't you go makin' no books about cures.'
+But, oh, no!" with the overflow of fine feeling which so often came
+upon him. "Why, _He_ wouldn't mind a little thing like that. Sure, I
+wouldn't mind it, meself! 'You go right ahead, lad,' He'd say, 'an' try
+t' work your cures. Don't you be afeared o' Me. _I'll_ not mind. But,
+lad,' He'd say, 'when I wants my way I just got t' _have_ it. Don't you
+forget that. Don't you go thinkin' you can have _your_ way afore I has
+_Mine_. You just trust Me t' do what's right. I know My business. I'm
+_used_ t' running worlds. I'm wonderful sorry,' He'd say, 't' have t'
+make you feel bad; but they's times, b'y,' He'd say, 'when I really
+_got_ t' have My way.' Oh, no," Skipper Tommy concluded, "the Lard
+wouldn't mind a poor man's tryin' t' make a book like that! An' I thinks
+I'll just _have_ t' try."
+
+"Sure, Skipper Tommy," said I, "I'll help you."
+
+Skipper Tommy stared at me in great amaze.
+
+"Ay," said my mother, "Davy has learned to write."
+
+"That I have," I boasted; "an' I'll help you make that book."
+
+"'Tis the same," cried Skipper Tommy, slapping his thigh "as if 'twas
+writ already!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+After a long time, my mother spoke. "You're always wanting to do some
+good thing, Skipper Tommy, are you not?" said she.
+
+"Well," he admitted, his face falling, "I thinks and wonders a deal,
+'tis true, but somehow I don't seem t'----"
+
+"Ay?" my father asked.
+
+"Get--nowhere--much!"
+
+Very true: but, even then, there was a man on the way to help him.
+
+
+
+
+V
+
+MARY
+
+
+In the dead of winter, great storms of wind and snow raged for days
+together, so that it was unsafe to venture ten fathoms from the door,
+and the glass fell to fifty degrees (and more) below zero, where the
+liquid behaved in a fashion so sluggish that 'twould not have surprised
+us had it withdrawn into the bulb altogether, never to reappear in a
+sphere of agreeable activity. By night and day we kept the fires roaring
+(my father and Skipper Tommy standing watch and watch in the night) and
+might have gone at ease, cold as it was, had we not been haunted by the
+fear that a conflagration, despite our watchfulness, would of a sudden
+put us at the mercy of the weather, which would have made an end of us,
+every one, in a night. But when the skipper had wrought us into a
+cheerful mood, the wild, white days sped swift enough--so fast, indeed,
+that it was quite beyond me to keep count of them: for he was marvellous
+at devising adventures out-of-doors and pastimes within. At length,
+however, he said that he must be off to the Lodge, else Jacky and
+Timmie, the twins, who had been left to fend for themselves, would
+expire of longing for his return.
+
+"An' I'll be takin' Davy back with me, mum," said he to my mother, not
+daring, however, to meet her eye to eye with the proposal, "for the
+twins is wantin' him sore."
+
+"Davy!" cried my mother. "Surely, Skipper Tommy, you're not thinking to
+have Davy back with you!"
+
+Skipper Tommy ventured to maintain that I would be the better of a run
+in the woods, which would (as he ingeniously intimated) restore the
+blood to my cheeks: whereupon my mother came at once to his way of
+thinking, and would hear of no delay, but said--and that in a fever of
+anxiety--that I must be off in the morning, for she would not rest until
+I was put in the way of having healthful sport with lads of my age. So,
+that night, my sister made up three weeks' rations for me from our store
+(with something extra in the way of tinned beef and a pot of jam as a
+gift from me to the twins); also, she mended my sleeping-bag, in which
+my sprouting legs had kicked a hole, and got out the big black wolfskin,
+for bed covering in case of need. And by the first light of the next day
+we loaded the komatik, harnessed the joyful dogs and set out with a
+rush, the skipper's long whip cracking a jolly farewell as we went
+swinging over the frozen harbour to the Arm.
+
+"Hi, hi, b'y!" the skipper shouted to the dogs.
+
+Crack! went the whip, high over the heads of the pack. The dogs yelped.
+"Hi, hi!" screamed I. And on we sped, raising a dust of crisp snow in
+our wake. It was a famous pack. Fox, the new leader, was a mighty,
+indomitable fellow, and old Wolf, in the rear, had a sharp eye for
+lagging heels, which he snapped, in a flash, whenever a trace was let
+slack. What with Fox and Wolf and the skipper's long whip and my cries
+of encouragement there was no let up. On we went, coursing over the
+level stretches, bumping over rough places, swerving 'round the turns.
+It was a glorious ride. The day was clear, the air frosty, the pace
+exhilarating. The blood tingled in every part of me. I was sorry when we
+rounded Pipestem Point, and the huddled tilts of the Lodge, half buried
+in snow, came into view. But, half an hour later, in Skipper Tommy's
+tilt, I was glad that the distance had been no greater, for then the
+twins were helping me thaw out my cheeks and the tip of my nose, which
+had been frozen on the way.
+
+That night the twins and I slept together in the cock-loft like a litter
+of puppies.
+
+"Beef!" sighed Jacky, the last thing before falling asleep. "Think o'
+that, Timmie!"
+
+"An' jam!" said Timmie.
+
+They gave me a nudge to waken me. "Thanks, Davy," said they both.
+
+Then I fell asleep.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Our folk slept a great deal at the Lodge. They seemed to want to have
+the winter pass without knowing more than they could help of the various
+pangs of it--like the bears. But, when the weather permitted them to
+stir without, they trapped for fox and lynx, and hunted (to small
+purpose) with antiquated guns, and cut wood, if they were in the humour;
+and whatever necessity compelled them to do, and whatever they had to
+eat (since there was at least enough of it), they managed to have a
+rollicking time of it, as you would not suppose, without being told. The
+tilts were built of slim logs, caulked with moss; and there was but one
+room--and that a bare one--with bunks at one end for the women and a
+cock-loft above for the men. The stove was kept at red heat, day and
+night, but, notwithstanding, there was half an inch of frost on the
+walls and great icicles under the bunks: extremes of temperature were
+thus to be found within a very narrow compass. In the evening, when we
+were all gathered close about the stove, we passed the jolliest hours;
+for it was then that the folk came in, and tales were told, and (what
+was even more to our taste) the "spurts at religion" occurred.
+
+When the argument concerned the pains of hell, Mary, Tom Tot's daughter,
+who was already bound out to service to the new manager of the store at
+Wayfarer's Tickle (expected by the first mail-boat), would slip softly
+in to listen.
+
+"What you thinkin' about?" I whispered, once.
+
+She sat remote from the company, biting her finger nails, staring,
+meanwhile, from speaker to speaker, with eyes that were pitifully eager.
+
+"Hell," she answered.
+
+I was taken aback by that. "Hell, Mary?" I exclaimed.
+
+"Ay, Davy," she said, with a shudder, "I'm thinkin' about hell."
+
+"What for?" said I. "Sure, 'twill do you no good to think about hell."
+
+"I got to," said she. "I'm goin' there!"
+
+Skipper Tommy explained, when the folk had gone, that Mary, being once
+in a south port of our coast, had chanced to hear a travelling parson
+preach a sermon. "An'," said he, "'tis too bad that young man preached
+about damnation, for 'tis the only sermon she ever heared, an' she isn't
+seemin' t' get over it." After that I tried to persuade Mary that she
+would not go to hell, but quite dismally failed--and not only failed,
+but was soon thinking that I, too, was bound that way. When I expressed
+this fear, Mary took a great fancy to me, and set me to getting from
+Skipper Tommy a description of the particular tortures, as he conceived
+they were to be inflicted; for, said she, he was a holy man, and could
+tell what she so much wished to know. Skipper Tommy took me on his knee,
+and spoke long and tenderly to me, so that I have never since feared
+death or hell; but his words, being repeated, had no effect upon Mary,
+who continued still to believe that the unhappy fate awaited her,
+because of some sin she was predestined to commit, or, if not that,
+because of her weight of original sin.
+
+"Oh, Davy, I got t' go!" she moaned, tearing one of her nails to the
+quick.
+
+"No, no!" I cried. "The Lard 'll never be so mean t' you."
+
+"You don't know Him," she said, mysteriously. "You don't know what He's
+up to."
+
+"Bother Him!" I exclaimed, angered that mortals should thus be made
+miserable by interference. "I wisht He'd leave us be!"
+
+"Hush!" she said, horrified.
+
+"What's He gone an' done, now?" I demanded.
+
+"He've not elected me," she whispered, solemnly. "He've left _me_ with
+the goats."
+
+And so, happily, I accumulated another grudge against this misconception
+of the dear Lord, which Skipper Tommy's sweet philosophy and the jolly
+companionship of the twins could not eliminate for many days. But
+eventually the fresh air and laughter and tenderness restored my
+complacency. I forgot all about hell; 'twas more interesting to don my
+racquets and make the round of the fox traps with the twins, or to play
+pranks on the neighbours, or to fashion curious masques and go mummering
+from tilt to tilt. In the end, I emerged from the unfortunate mood with
+one firm conviction, founded largely, I fear, upon a picture which hung
+by my bed at home: that portraying a rising from the dead, the grave
+below, a golden, cloudy heaven above, wherefrom a winged angel had
+descended to take the hand of the free, enraptured soul. And my
+conviction was this, that, come what might to the souls of the wicked,
+the souls of the good were upon death robed in white and borne aloft to
+some great bliss, yet lingered, by the way, to throw back a tender
+glance.
+
+I had never seen death come.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+In three weeks my rations were exhausted, and, since it would have been
+ungenerous in me to consume Skipper Tommy's food, I had the old man
+harness the dogs and take me home. My only regret was that my food did
+not last until Skipper Tommy had managed to make Tom Tot laugh. Many a
+night the old man had tried to no purpose, for Tom Tot would stare him
+stolidly in the eye, however preposterous the tale to be told. The twins
+and I had waited in vain--ready to explode at the right moment: but
+never having the opportunity. The last assault on Tom Tot's composure
+had been disastrous to the skipper. When, with highly elaborate detail,
+he had once more described his plan for training whales, disclosing, at
+last, his intention of having a wheel-house on what he called the
+forward deck----
+
+"What about the fo'c's'le?" Tom Tot solemnly asked.
+
+"Eh?" gasped the skipper. "Fo'c's'le?"
+
+"Ay," said Tom Tot, in a melancholy drawl. "Isn't you give a thought t'
+the crew?"
+
+Skipper Tommy was nonplussed.
+
+"Well," sighed Tom, "I s'pose you'll be havin' t' fit up Jonah's
+quarters for them poor men!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+At home, in the evening, while my mother and father and sister and I
+were together in the glow of the fire, we delighted to plan the
+entertainment of the doctor who was coming to cure my mother. He must
+have the armchair from the best room below, my mother said, that he
+might sit in comfort, as all doctors should, while he felt her pulse; he
+must have a refreshing nip from the famous bottle of Jamaica rum, which
+had lain in untroubled seclusion since before I was born, waiting some
+occasion of vast importance; and he must surely not take her unaware in
+a slatternly moment, but must find her lying on the pillows, wearing her
+prettiest nightgown, which was thereupon newly washed and ironed and
+stowed away in the bottom drawer of the bureau against his unexpected
+coming. But while the snow melted from the hills, and the folk returned
+to the coast for the seal fishing, and the west winds carried the ice to
+sea, and we waited day by day for the mail-boat, our spirits fell, for
+my mother was then fast failing. And I discovered this strange
+circumstance: that while her strength withered, her hope grew large, and
+she loved to dwell upon the things she would do when the doctor had made
+her well; and I wondered why that was, but puzzled to no purpose.
+
+
+
+
+VI
+
+The MAN on The MAIL-BOAT
+
+
+It was in the dusk of a wet night of early June, with the sea in a
+tumble and the wind blowing fretfully from the west of north, that the
+mail-boat made our harbour. For three weeks we had kept watch for her,
+but in the end we were caught unready--the lookouts in from the
+Watchman, my father's crew gone home, ourselves at evening prayer in the
+room where my mother lay abed. My father stopped dead in his petition
+when the first hoarse, muffled blast of the whistle came uncertain from
+the sea, and my own heart fluttered and stood still, until, rising above
+the rush of the wind and the noise of the rain upon the panes, the
+second blast broke the silence within. Then with a shaking cry of "Lord
+God, 'tis she!" my father leaped from his knees, ran for his sea-boots
+and oilskins, and shouted from below for my sister to make ready his
+lantern. But, indeed, he had to get his lantern for himself; for my
+mother, who was now in a flush of excitement, speaking high and
+incoherently, would have my sister stay with her to make ready for the
+coming of the doctor--to dress her hair, and tidy the room, and lay out
+the best coverlet, and help on with the dainty nightgown.
+
+"Ay, mother," my sister said, laughing, to quiet her, "I'll not leave
+you. Sure, my father's old enough t' get his own lantern ready."
+
+"The doctor's come!" I shouted, contributing a lad's share to the
+excitement. "He've come! Hooray! He've come!"
+
+"Quick, Bessie!" cried my mother. "He'll be here before we know it. And
+my hair is in a fearful tangle. The looking-glass, lassie----"
+
+I left them in the thick of this housewifely agitation. Donning my small
+oilskins, as best as I could without my kind sister's help--and I shed
+impatient tears over the stiff button-holes, which my fingers would not
+manage--I stumbled down the path to the wharf, my exuberant joy
+escaping, the while, in loud halloos. There I learned that the mail-boat
+lay at anchor off the Gate, and, as it appeared, would not come in from
+the sea, but would presently be off to Wayfarer's Tickle, to the north,
+where she would harbour for the night. The lanterns were shining
+cheerily in the dark of the wharf; and my father was speeding the men
+who were to take the great skiff out for the spring freight--barrels of
+flour and pork and the like--and roundly berating them, every one, in a
+way which surprised them into unwonted activity. Perceiving that my
+father's temper and this mad bustle were to be kept clear of by wise
+lads, I slipped into my father's punt, which lay waiting by the
+wharf-stairs; and there, when the skiff was at last got underway, I was
+found by my father and Skipper Tommy Lovejoy.
+
+"Ashore with you, Davy, lad!" said my father. "There'll be no room for
+the doctor. He'll be wantin' the stern seat for hisself."
+
+"Leave the boy bide where he is," Skipper Tommy put in. "Sure, he'll do
+no harm, an'--an'--why, zur," as if that were sufficient, "he's
+_wantin_' t' go!"
+
+I kept silent--knowing well enough that Skipper Tommy was the man to
+help a lad to his desire.
+
+"Ay," said my father, "but I'm wantin' the doctor t' be comfortable when
+he comes ashore."
+
+"He'll be comfortable enough, zur. The lad'll sit in the bow an' trim
+the boat. Pass the lantern t' Davy, zur, an' come aboard."
+
+My father continued to grumble his concern for the doctor's comfort; but
+he leaned over to pat my shoulder while Skipper Tommy pushed off: for he
+loved his little son, did my big father--oh, ay, indeed, he did! We were
+soon past the lumbering skiff--and beyond Frothy Point--and out of the
+Gate--and in the open sea, where the wind was blowing smartly and the
+rain was flying in gusts. My father hailed the steamer's small-boat,
+inbound with the mail, to know if the doctor was in verity aboard; and
+the answer, though but half caught, was such that they bent heartily to
+the oars, and the punt gave a great leap and went staggering through the
+big waves in a way to delight one's very soul. Thus, in haste, we drew
+near the steamer, which lay tossing ponderously in the ground-swell, her
+engines panting, her lamps bright, her many lights shining from
+port-hole and deck--all so cozy and secure in the dirty night: so
+strange to our bleak coast!
+
+At the head of the ladder the purser stood waiting to know about landing
+the freight.
+
+"Is you goin' on?" my father asked.
+
+"Ay--t' Wayfarer's Tickle, when we load your skiff."
+
+"'Twill be alongside in a trice. But my wife's sick. I'm wantin' t' take
+the doctor ashore."
+
+"He's aft in the smokin'-room. You'd best speak t' the captain first.
+Hold her? Oh, sure, _he'll_ hold her all night, for sickness!"
+
+They moved off forward. Then Skipper Tommy took my hand--or, rather, I
+took his; for I was made ill at ease by the great, wet sweep of the
+deck, glistening with reflections of bright lights, and by the throng
+of strange men, and by the hiss of steam and the clank of iron coming
+from the mysterious depths below. He would show me the cabin, said he,
+where there was unexampled splendour to delight in; but when we came to
+a little house on the after deck, where men were lounging in a thick fog
+of tobacco smoke, I would go no further (though Skipper Tommy said that
+words were spoken not meet for the ears of lads to hear); for my
+interest was caught by a giant pup, which was not like the pups of our
+harbour but a lean, long-limbed, short-haired dog, with heavy jaws and
+sagging, blood-red eyelids. At a round table, whereon there lay a short
+dog-whip, his master sat at cards with a stout little man in a
+pea-jacket--a loose-lipped, blear-eyed, flabby little fellow, but,
+withal, hearty in his own way--and himself cut a curious figure, being
+grotesquely ill-featured and ill-fashioned, so that one rebelled against
+the sight of him.
+
+A gust of rain beat viciously upon the windows and the wind ran swishing
+past.
+
+"'Tis a dirty night," said the dog's master, shuffling nervously in his
+seat.
+
+At this the dog lifted his head with a sharp snarl: whereupon, in a
+flash, the man struck him on the snout with the butt of the whip.
+
+"That's for you!" he growled.
+
+The dog regarded him sullenly--his upper lip still lifted from his
+teeth.
+
+"Eh?" the man taunted. "Will you have another?"
+
+The dog's head subsided upon his paws; but his eyes never once left his
+master's face--and the eyes were alert, steady, hard as steel.
+
+"You're l'arnin'," the man drawled.
+
+But the dog had learned no submission, but, if anything, only craft, as
+even I, a child, could perceive; and I marvelled that the man could
+conceive himself to be winning the mastery of that splendid brute. 'Twas
+no way to treat a dog of that disposition. It had been a wanton
+blow--taken with not so much as a whimper. Mastery? Hut! The beast was
+but biding his time. And I wished him well in the issue. "Ecod!" thought
+I, with heat. "I hopes he gets a good grip o' the throat!" Whether or
+not, at the last, it was the throat, I do not know; but I do know the
+brutal tragedy of that man's end, for, soon, he came rough-shod into our
+quiet life, and there came a time when I was hot on his trail, and
+rejoiced, deep in the wilderness, to see the snow all trampled and gory.
+But the telling of that is for a later page; the man had small part in
+the scene immediately approaching: it was another. When the wind and
+rain again beat angrily upon the ship, his look of triumph at once gave
+place to cowardly concern; and he repeated:
+
+"'Tis a dirty night."
+
+"Ay," said the other, and, frowning, spread his cards before him. "What
+do you make, Jagger?"
+
+My father came in--and with him a breath of wet, cool air, which I
+caught with delight.
+
+"Ha!" he cried, heartily, advancing upon the flabby little man, "we been
+waitin' a long time for _you_, doctor. Thank God, you've come, at last!"
+
+"Fifteen, two----" said the doctor.
+
+My father started. "I'm wantin' you t' take a look at my poor wife," he
+went on, renewing his heartiness with an effort. "She've been wonderful
+sick all winter, an' we been waitin'----"
+
+"Fifteen, four," said the doctor; "fifteen, six----"
+
+"Doctor," my father said, touching the man on the shoulder, while Jagger
+smiled some faint amusement, "does you hear?"
+
+It was suddenly very quiet in the cabin.
+
+"Fifteen, eight----" said the doctor.
+
+My father's voice changed ominously. "Is you listenin', zur?" he asked.
+
+"Sick, is she?" said the doctor. "Fifteen, ten. I've got you, Jagger,
+sure ... 'Tis no fit night for a man to go ashore ... Fifteen, ten, did
+I say? and one for his nibs ... Go fetch her aboard, man ... And two
+for his heels----"
+
+My father laid his hand over the doctor's cards. "Was you sayin'," he
+asked, "t' fetch her aboard?"
+
+"The doctor struck the hand away.
+
+"Was you sayin'," my father quietly persisted, "t' fetch her aboard?"
+
+I knew my father for a man of temper; and, now, I wondered that his
+patience lasted.
+
+"Damme!" the doctor burst out. "Think I'm going ashore in this weather?
+If you want me to see her now, go fetch her aboard."
+
+My father coughed--then fingered the neck-band of his shirt.
+
+"I wants t' get this here clear in my mind," he said, slowly. "Is you
+askin' me t' fetch that sick woman aboard this here ship?"
+
+The doctor leaned over the table to spit.
+
+"Has I got it right, zur?"
+
+In the pause the spectators softly withdrew to the further end of the
+cabin.
+
+"If he won't fetch her aboard, Jagger," said the doctor, turning to the
+dog's master, "she'll do very well, I'll be bound, till we get back from
+the north. Eh, Jagger? If he cared very much, he'd fetch her aboard,
+wouldn't he?"
+
+Jagger laughed.
+
+"Ay, she'll do very well," the doctor repeated, now addressing my
+father, "till we get back. I'll take a look at her then."
+
+I saw the color rush into my father's face. Skipper Tommy laid a
+restraining hand on his shoulder.
+
+"Easy, now, Skipper David!" he muttered.
+
+"Is I right," said my father, bending close to the doctor's face, "in
+thinkin' you says you _won't_ come ashore?"
+
+The doctor shrugged his shoulders.
+
+"Is I right," pursued my father, his voice rising, "in thinkin' the
+gov'ment pays you t' tend the sick o' this coast?"
+
+"That's my business," flashed the doctor. "That's my business, sir!"
+
+Jagger looked upon my father's angry face and smiled.
+
+"Is we right, doctor," said Skipper Tommy, "in thinkin' you knows she
+lies desperate sick?"
+
+"Damme!" cried the doctor. "I've heard that tale before. You're a pretty
+set, you are, to try to play on a man's feelings like that. But you
+can't take _me_ in. No, you can't," he repeated, his loose under-lip
+trembling. "You're a pretty set, you are. But you can't come it over me.
+Don't you go blustering, now! You can't come your bluster on me.
+Understand? You try any bluster on me, and, by heaven! I'll let every
+man of your harbour die in his tracks. I'm the doctor, here, I want you
+to know. And I'll not go ashore in weather like this."
+
+My father deliberately turned to wave Skipper Tommy and me out of the
+way: then laid a heavy hand on the doctor's shoulder.
+
+"You'll not come?"
+
+"Damned if I will!"
+
+"By God!" roared my father. "I'll take you!"
+
+At once, the doctor sought to evade my father's grasp, but could not,
+and, being unwise, struck him on the breast. My father felled him. The
+man lay in a flabby heap under the table, roaring lustily that he was
+being murdered; but so little sympathy did his plight extract, that, on
+the contrary, every man within happy reach, save Jagger and Skipper
+Tommy, gave him a hearty kick, taking no pains, it appeared, to choose
+the spot with mercy. As for Jagger, he had snatched up his whip, and was
+now raining blows on the muzzle of the dog, which had taken advantage of
+the uproar to fly at his legs. In this confusion, the Captain flung open
+the door and strode in. He was in a fuming rage; but, being no man to
+take sides in a quarrel, sought no explanation, but took my father by
+the arm and hurried him without, promising him redress, the while, at
+another time. Thus presently we found ourselves once more in my
+father's punt, pushing out from the side of the steamer, which was
+already underway, chugging noisily.
+
+"Hush, zur!" said Skipper Tommy to my father. "Curse him no more, zur.
+The good Lard, who made us, made him, also."
+
+My father cursed the harder.
+
+"Stop," cried the skipper, "or I'll be cursin' him, too, zur. God made
+that man, I tells you. He _must_ have gone an' made that man."
+
+"I hopes He'll damn him, then," said I.
+
+"God knowed what He was doin' when he made that man," the skipper
+persisted, continuing in faith against his will. "I tells you I'll _not_
+doubt His wisdom. He made that man ... He made that man ... He made that
+man...."
+
+To this refrain we rowed into harbour.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+We found my mother's room made very neat, and very grand, too, I
+thought, with the shaded lamp and the great armchair from the best-room
+below; and my mother, now composed, but yet flushed with expectation,
+was raised on many snow-white pillows, lovely in the fine gown, with one
+thin hand, wherein she held a red geranium, lying placid on the
+coverlet.
+
+"I am ready, David," she said to my father.
+
+There was the sound of footsteps in the hall below. It was Skipper
+Tommy, as I knew.
+
+"Is that he?" asked my mother. "Bring him up, David. I am quite ready."
+
+My father still stood silent and awkward by the door of the room.
+
+"David," said my poor mother, her voice breaking with sudden alarm,
+"have you been talking much with him? What has he told you, David? I'm
+not so very sick, am I?"
+
+"Well, lass," said my father, "'tis a great season for all sorts o'
+sickness--an' the doctor is sick abed hisself--an' he--couldn't--come."
+
+"Poor man!" sighed my mother. "But he'll come ashore on the south'ard
+trip."
+
+"No, lass--no; I fear he'll not."
+
+"Poor man!"
+
+My mother turned her face from us. She trembled, once, and sighed, and
+then lay very quiet. I knew in my childish way that her hope had fled
+with ours--that, now, remote from our love and comfort-alone--all
+alone--she had been brought face to face with the last dread prospect.
+There was the noise of rain on the panes and wind without, and the heavy
+tread of Skipper Tommy's feet, coming up the stair, but no other sound.
+But Skipper Tommy, entering now, moved a chair to my mother's bedside,
+and laid a hand on hers, his old face illumined by his unfailing faith
+in the glory and wisdom of his God.
+
+"Hush!" he said. "Don't you go gettin' scared lass. Don't you go gettin'
+scared at--the thing that's comin'--t' you. 'Tis nothin' t' fear," he
+went on, gloriously confident. "'Tis not hard, I'm sure--the Lard's too
+kind for that. He just lets us think it is, so He can give us a lovely
+surprise, when the time comes. Oh, no, 'tis not _hard_! 'Tis but like
+wakin' up from a troubled dream. 'Tis like wakin' t' the sunlight of a
+new, clear day. Ah, 'tis a pity us all can't wake with you t' the beauty
+o' the morning! But the dear Lard is kind. There comes an end t' all the
+dreamin'. He takes our hand. 'The day is broke,' says He. 'Dream no
+more, but rise, child o' Mine, an' come into the sunshine with Me.' 'Tis
+only that that's comin' t' you--only His gentle touch--an' the waking.
+Hush! Don't you go gettin' scared. 'Tis a lovely thing--that's comin' t'
+you!"
+
+"I'm not afraid," my mother whispered, turning. "I'm not afraid, Skipper
+Tommy. But I'm sad--oh I'm sad--to have to leave----"
+
+She looked tenderly upon me.
+
+
+
+
+VII
+
+The WOMAN from WOLF COVE
+
+
+My mother lay thus abandoned for seven days. It was very still and
+solemn in the room--and there was a hush in all the house; and there was
+a mystery, which even the break of day could not dissolve, and a shadow,
+which the streaming sunlight could not drive away. Beyond the broad
+window of her room, the hills of Skull Island and God's Warning stood
+yellow in the spring sunshine, rivulets dripping from the ragged patches
+of snow which yet lingered in the hollows; and the harbour water rippled
+under balmy, fragrant winds from the wilderness; and workaday voices,
+strangely unchanged by the solemn change upon our days, came drifting up
+the hill from my father's wharves; and, ay, indeed, all the world of sea
+and land was warm and wakeful and light of heart, just as it used to be.
+But within, where were the shadow and the mystery, we walked on tiptoe
+and spoke in whispers, lest we offend the spirit which had entered in.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+By day my father was occupied with the men of the place, who were then
+anxiously fitting out for the fishing season, which had come of a sudden
+with the news of a fine sign at Battle Harbour. But my mother did not
+mind, but, rather, smiled, and was content to know that he was about his
+business--as men must be, whatever may come to pass in the house--and
+that he was useful to the folk of our harbour, whom she loved. And my
+dear sister--whose heart and hands God fashioned with kind purpose--gave
+full measure of tenderness for both; and my mother was grateful for
+that, as she ever was for my sister's loving kindness to her and to me
+and to us all.
+
+One night, being overwrought by sorrow, it may be, my father said that
+he would have the doctor-woman from Wolf Cove to help my mother.
+
+"For," said he, "I been thinkin' a deal about she, o' late, an' they's
+no tellin' that she wouldn't do you good."
+
+My mother raised her eyebrows. "The doctor-woman!" cried she. "Why,
+David!"
+
+"Ay," said my father, looking away, "I s'pose 'tis great folly in me t'
+think it. But they isn't no one else t' turn to."
+
+And that was unanswerable.
+
+"There seems to be no one else," my mother admitted. "But, David--the
+doctor-woman?"
+
+"They _does_ work cures," my father pursued. "I'm not knowin' _how_
+they does; but they does, an' that's all I'm sayin'. Tim Budderly o' the
+Arm told me--an' 'twas but an hour ago--that she charmed un free o'
+fits."
+
+"I have heard," my mother mused, "that they work cures. And if----"
+
+"They's no knowin' what she can do," my father broke in, my mother now
+listening eagerly. "An' I just wish you'd leave me go fetch her. Won't
+you, lass? Come, now!"
+
+"'Tis no use, David," said my mother. "She couldn't do anything--for
+me."
+
+"Ay, but," my father persisted, "you're forgettin' that she've worked
+cures afore this. I'm fair believin'," he added with conviction, "that
+they's virtue in some o' they charms. Not in many, maybe, but in some.
+An' she might work a cure on you. I'm not sayin' she will. I'm only
+sayin' she might."
+
+My mother stared long at the white washed rafters overhead. "Oh," she
+sighed, plucking at the coverlet, "if only she could!"
+
+"She might," said my father. "They's no tellin' till you've tried."
+
+"'Tis true, David," my mother whispered, still fingering the coverlet.
+"God works in strange ways--and we've no one else in this land to help
+us--and, perhaps, He might----"
+
+My father was quick to press his advantage. "Ay," he cried, "'tis very
+_likely_ she'll cure you."
+
+"David," said my mother, tearing at the coverlet, "let us have her over
+to see me. She might do me good," she ran on, eagerly. "She might at
+least tell me what I'm ailing of. She might stop the pain. She might
+even----"
+
+"Hush!" my father interrupted, softly. "Don't build on it, dear," said
+he, who had himself, but a moment gone, been so eager and confident.
+"But we'll try what she can do."
+
+"Ay, dear," my mother whispered, in a voice grown very weak, "we'll
+try."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Skipper Tommy Lovejoy would have my father leave _him_ fetch the woman
+from Wolf Cove, nor, to my father's impatient surprise, would hear of
+any other; and he tipped me a happy wink--which had also a glint of
+mystery in it--when my father said that he might: whereby I knew that
+the old fellow was about the business of the book. And three days later,
+being on the lookout at the window of my mother's room, I beheld the
+punt come back by way of North Tickle, Skipper Tommy labouring heavily
+at the oars, and the woman, squatted in the stern, serenely managing the
+sail to make the best of a capful of wind. I marvelled that the punt
+should make headway so poor in the quiet water--and that she should be
+so much by the stern--and that Skipper Tommy should be bent near
+double--until, by and by, the doctor-woman came waddling up the path,
+the skipper at her heels: whereupon I marvelled no more, for the reason
+was quite plain.
+
+"Ecod! lad," the skipper whispered, taking me aside, the while wiping
+the sweat from his red face with his hand; "but she'll weigh five
+quintal if a pound! She's e-_nar_-mous! 'Twould break your heart t' pull
+_that_ cargo from Wolf Cove. But I managed it, lad," with a solemn wink,
+"for the good o' the cause. Hist! now; but I found out a wonderful
+lot--about cures!"
+
+Indeed, she was of a bulk most extraordinary; and she was rolling in
+fat, above and below, though it was springtime! 'Twas a wonder to me,
+with our folk not yet fattened by the more generous diet of the season,
+that she had managed to preserve her great double chin through the
+winter. It may be that this unfathomable circumstance first put me in
+awe of her; but I am inclined to think, after all, that it was her eyes,
+which were not like the eyes of our folk, but were brown--dog's eyes, we
+call them on our coast, for we are a blue-eyed race--and upon occasion
+flashed like lightning. So much weight did she carry forward, too, that
+I fancied (and still believe) she would have toppled over had she not
+long ago learned to outwit nature in the matter of maintaining a
+balance. And an odd figure she cut, as you may be sure! For she was
+dressed somewhat in the fashion of men, with a cloth cap, rusty
+pea-jacket and sea-boots (the last, for some mysterious reason, being
+slit up the sides, as a brief skirt disclosed); and her grizzled hair
+was cut short, in the manner of men, but yet with some of the coquetry
+of women. In truth, as we soon found it was her boast that she was the
+equal of men, her complaint that the foolish way of the world (which she
+said had gone all askew) would not let her skipper a schooner, which, as
+she maintained in a deep bass voice, she was more capable of doing than
+most men.
+
+"I make no doubt o' that, mum," said Skipper Tommy Lovejoy, to whom, in
+the kitchen, that night, she propounded her strange philosophy; "but you
+see, mum, '_tis_ the way o' the world, an' folks just _will_ stick t'
+their idees, an', mum," he went on, with a propitiating smile, "as you
+is only a woman, why----"
+
+"_Only_ a woman!" she roared, sitting up with a jerk. "Does you say----"
+
+"Why, ay, mum!" Skipper Tommy put in, mildly. "You _isn't_ a man, is
+you?"
+
+She sat dumb and transfixed.
+
+"Well, then," said Skipper Tommy, in a mildly argumentative way, "'tis
+as I says. You must do as the women does, an' not as a man might want
+to----"
+
+"Mm-a-an!" she mocked, in a way that withered the poor skipper. "No, I
+isn't a man! Was you hearin' me _say_ I was? Oh, you _wasn't_, wasn't
+you? An' is you thinkin' I'd _be_ a man an I could? What!" she roared.
+"You isn't _sure_ about that, isn't you? Oh, my! Isn't you! Well, well!
+He isn't _sure_," appealing to me, with a shaking under lip. "Oh, my!
+There's a man--_he's_ a man for you--there's a _man_--puttin' a poor
+woman t' scorn! Oh, my!" she wailed, bursting into tears, as all women
+will, when put to the need of it. "Oh, dear!"
+
+Skipper Tommy was vastly concerned for her. "My poor woman," he began,
+"don't you be cryin', now. Come, now----"
+
+"Oh, his _poor_ woman," she interrupted, bitingly. "_His_ poor woman!
+Oh, my! An' I s'pose you thinks 'tis the poor woman's place t' work in
+the splittin' stage an' not on the deck of a fore-an'-after. You does,
+does you? Ay, 'tis what I _s'posed_!" she said, with scorn. "An' if
+_you_ married _me_," she continued, transfixing the terrified skipper
+with a fat forefinger, "I s'pose you'd be wantin' me t' split the fish
+you cotched. Oh, you would, would you? Oh, my! But I'll have you t'
+know, Skipper Thomas Lovejoy," with a sudden and alarming change of
+voice, "that I've the makin's of a better ship's-master than _you_. An'
+by the Lord Harry! I'm a better _man_," saying which, she leaped from
+her chair with surprising agility, and began to roll up her sleeves,
+"an' I'll prove it on your wisage! Come on with you!" she cried,
+striking a belligerent attitude, her fists waving in a fashion most
+terrifying. "Come on an you dare!"
+
+Skipper Tommy dodged behind the table in great haste and horror.
+
+"Oh, dear!" cried she. "He won't! Oh, my! _There's_ a man for you. An'
+I'm but a woman, is I. His poor woman. Oh, _his_ woman! Look you here,
+Skipper Thomas Lovejoy, you been stickin' wonderful close alongside o'
+me since you come t' Wolf Cove, an' I'm not quite knowin' what tricks
+you've in mind. But I'm thinkin' you're like all the men, an' I'll have
+you t' know this, that if 'tis marriage with me you're thinkin' on----"
+
+But Skipper Tommy gasped and wildly fled.
+
+"Ha!" she snorted, triumphantly. "I was _thinkin_' I was a better man
+than he!"
+
+"'Tis a shame," said I, "t' scare un so!"
+
+Whereat, without uttering a sound, she laughed until the china clinked
+and rattled on the shelves, and I thought the pots and pans would come
+clattering from their places. And then she strutted the floor for all
+the world like a rooster once I saw in the South.
+
+
+
+
+VIII
+
+THE BLIND and The BLIND
+
+
+Ah, well! at once she set about the cure of my mother. And she went
+tripping about the house--and tripping she went, believe me, stout as
+she was, as lightsome as one of Skipper Tommy's fairies--with a manner
+so large and confident, a glance so compelling, that 'twas beyond us to
+doubt her power or slight her commands. First of all she told my mother,
+repeating it with patience and persuasive insistence, that she would be
+well in six days, and must believe the words true, else she would never
+be well, at all. And when my mother had brightened with this new hope,
+the woman, muttering words without meaning, hung a curious brown object
+about her neck, which she said had come from a holy place and possessed
+a strange and powerful virtue for healing. My mother fondled it, with
+glistening eyes and very tenderly, and, when the doctor-woman had gone
+out, whispered to me that it was a horse-chestnut, and put her in mind
+of the days when she dwelt in Boston, a little maid.
+
+"But 'tis not healin' you," I protested, touching a tear which had
+settled in the deep hollow of her cheek. "'Tis makin' you sad."
+
+"Oh, no!" said she. "'Tis making me very happy."
+
+"But you is cryin'," said I. "An' I'm thinkin' 'tis because you wisht
+you was in Boston."
+
+"No, no!" she cried, her lip trembling. "I'm not wishing that. I've
+_never_ wished _that_! I'm glad your father found me and took me where
+he wished. Oh, I'm glad of that--glad he found and loved me--glad I gave
+myself to his dear care! Why, were I in Boston, to-day, I would not have
+my dear, big David, your father, lad, and I would not have your sister,
+and I would not have----"
+
+"Me?" I put in, archly.
+
+"Ay," she said, with infinite tenderness, "_you,_ Davy, dear!"
+
+For many days, thereafter, the doctor-woman possessed our house, and
+I've no doubt she was happy in her new estate--at table, at any rate,
+for there she was garrulent and active, and astoundingly active, with
+less of garrulence, on feast days, when my father had pork provided. And
+she had a way with the maids in the kitchen that kept the young men from
+the door (which my sister never could manage); and I have since been led
+to think 'twas because she sought to work her will on Skipper Tommy
+Lovejoy, undisturbed by the clatter and quick eyes of young folk. For
+Skipper Tommy, to my increasing alarm and to the panic of the twins, who
+wished for no second mother, still frequented the kitchen, when the
+day's work was done, and was all the while in a mood so downcast, of a
+manner so furtive, that it made me sad to talk with him. But by day our
+kitchen was intolerable with smells--intolerable to him and to us all
+(save to my sister, who is, and ever has been, brave)--while the
+doctor-woman hung over the stove, working with things the sight of which
+my stomach would not brook, but which my mother took in ignorance,
+hoping they would cure her. God knows what medicines were mixed! I would
+not name the things I saw. And the doctor-woman would not even have us
+ask what use she made of them: nor have I since sought to know; 'tis
+best, I think, forgotten.
+
+But my mother got no better.
+
+"Skipper David," said the doctor-woman, at last, "I'm wantin' four
+lump-fish."
+
+"Four lump-fish!" my father wondered. "Is you?"
+
+"Oh, my!" she answered, tartly. "Is I? Yes, I is. An' I'll thank you t'
+get un an' ask no questions. For _I'm_ mindin' _my_ business, an' I'll
+thank _you_ t' mind _yours_. An' if _you_ thinks _you_ can do the
+doctorin'----"
+
+"I'm not seekin' t' hinder you," said my father, flushing. "You go on
+with your work. I'll pay; but----"
+
+"Oh, will you?" she cried, shrilly. "He'll pay, says he. Oh, my! He'll
+_pay_! Oh, dear!"
+
+"Come, now, woman!" said my father, indignantly. "I've had you come, an'
+I'll stand by what you does. I'll get the lump-fish; but 'tis the last
+cure you'll try. If it fails, back you go t' Wolf Cove."
+
+"Oh, my!" said she, taken aback. "Back I goes, does I! An' t' Wolf Cove?
+Oh, dear!"
+
+My father sent word to the masters of the cod-traps, which were then set
+off the heads, that such sculpin as got in the nets by chance must be
+saved for him. He was overwrought, as I have said, by sorrow, overcome,
+it may be, by the way this woman had. And soon he had for her four
+green, prickly-skinned, jelly-like, big-bellied lump-fish, which were
+not appetizing to look upon, though I've heard tell that starving folk,
+being driven to it, have eaten them. My sister would not be driven from
+the kitchen, though the woman was vehement in anger, but held to it that
+she must know the character of the dose my mother was to take. So they
+worked together--the doctor-woman scowling darkly--until the medicine
+was ready: which was in the late evening of that day. Then they went to
+my mother's room to administer the first of it.
+
+"'Tis a new medicine," my mother said, with a smile, when she held the
+glass in her hand.
+
+"Ay," crooned the doctor-woman, "drink it, now, my dear."
+
+My mother raised the glass to her lips. "And what is it?" she asked,
+withdrawing the glass with a shudder.
+
+"Tut, tut!" the doctor-woman exclaimed. "'Tis but a soup. 'Twill do you
+good."
+
+"I'm sure it will," my mother gently said. "But I wonder what it is."
+
+Again she raised the glass with a wry face. But my sister stayed her
+hand.
+
+"I'll not have you take it," said she, firmly, "without knowin' what it
+is."
+
+The doctor-woman struck her arm away. "Leave the woman drink it!" she
+screamed, now in a gust of passion.
+
+"What's--this you're--giving me?" my mother stammered, looking upon the
+glass in alarm and new disgust.
+
+"'Tis the eyes o' four lump-fish," said my sister.
+
+My mother dropped the glass, so that the contents were spilled over the
+coverlet, and fell back on the pillows, where she lay white and still.
+
+"Out with you!" said my sister to the doctor-woman. "I'll have no more
+o' your cures!"
+
+"Oh, my!" shrilled the woman, dropping into her most biting manner.
+"_She_ won't have no more o' my cures! Oh, dear, she----"
+
+"Out with you!" cried my sister, as she smartly clapped her hands under
+the woman's nose. "Out o' the house with you!"
+
+"Oh, 'tis _out_ with me, is it? Out o' the _house_ with me! Oh, dear!
+Out o' the house with _me_! I'll have you t' know----"
+
+My sister ignored the ponderous fist raised against her. She stamped her
+small foot, her eyes flashing, the blood flushing her cheeks and brow.
+
+"Out you go!" she cried. "_I'm_ not afeared o' you!"
+
+I stood aghast while the doctor-woman backed through the door. Never
+before had I known my gentle sister to flash and flush with angry
+passion. Nor have I since.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Next morning, my father paid the woman from Wolf Cove a barrel of flour,
+with which she was ill content, and traded her two barrels more for the
+horse-chestnut, which my mother wished to keep lying on her breast,
+because it comforted her. To Skipper Tommy Lovejoy fell the lot of
+taking the woman back in the punt; for, as my father said, 'twas he that
+brought her safely, and, surely, the one who could manage that could be
+trusted to get her back without accident.
+
+"An' 'tis parlous work, lad," said the skipper, with an anxious shrug,
+while we waited on the wharf for the woman to come. "I'm very much
+afeared. Ay," he added, frowning, "I is that!"
+
+"I'm not knowin' why," said I, "for the wind's blowin' fair from the
+sou'west, an' you'll have a fine time t' Wolf Cove."
+
+"'Tis not that," said he, quietly. "Hist!" jerking his head towards our
+house, where the woman yet was. "'Tis _she_!"
+
+"I'd not be afeared o' _she_," said I. "'Twas but last night," I added,
+proudly, "my sister gave her her tea in a mug."
+
+"Oh, ay," said he, "I heared tell o' that. But 'tis not t' the point.
+Davy, lad," in an undertone which betrayed great agitation, "she've her
+cap set for a man, an' she's desperate."
+
+"Ay?" said I.
+
+He bent close to my ear. "An' she've her eye on _me_!" he whispered.
+
+"Skipper Tommy," I earnestly pleaded, "don't you go an' do it."
+
+"Well, lad," he answered, pulling at his nose, "the good Lard made me
+what I is. I'm not complainin' o' the taste He showed. No, no! I would
+not think o' doin' that. But----"
+
+"He made you kind," I broke in, hotly, "an' such as good folk love."
+
+"I'm not knowin' much about that, Davy. The good Lard made me as He
+willed. But I'm an obligin' man. I've turned out, Davy, most wonderful
+obligin'. I'm always doin' what folks wants me to. Such men as me, lad,"
+he went on, precisely indicating the weakness of his tender character,
+"is made that way. An' if she tells me she's a lone woman, and if she
+begins t' cry, what is I to do? An' if I has t' pass me word, Davy, t'
+stop her tears! Eh, lad? Will you tell me, David Roth, _what_ is I t'
+do?"
+
+"Turn the punt over," said I, quickly. "They's wind enough for that,
+man! An' 'tis your only chance, Skipper Tommy--'tis the only chance
+_you_ got--if she begins t' cry."
+
+He was dispirited. "I wisht," he said, sadly, "that the Lard hadn't made
+me _quite_ so obligin'!"
+
+"'Tis too bad!"
+
+"Ay," he sighed, "'tis too bad I can't trust meself in the company o'
+folk that's givin' t' weepin'."
+
+"I'll have the twins pray for you," I ventured.
+
+"Do!" he cried, brightening. "'Tis a grand thought! An' do you tell them
+two dear lads that I'll never give in--no, lad, their father'll never
+give in t' that woman--till he's just _got_ to."
+
+"But, Skipper Tommy," said I, now much alarmed, so hopeless was his
+tone, stout as his words were, "tell my father you're not wantin' t' go.
+Sure, he can send Elisha Turr in your stead."
+
+"Ay," said he, "but I _is_ wantin' t' go. That's it. I'm thinkin' all
+the time o' the book, lad. I'm wantin' t' make that book a good book.
+I'm wantin' t' learn more about cures."
+
+"I'm thinkin' _her_ cures isn't worth much," said I.
+
+He patted me on the head. "You is but a lad," said he, indulgent with my
+youth, "an' your judgment isn't well growed yet. Some o' they cures is
+bad, no doubt," he added, "an' some is good. I wants no bad cures in my
+book. I'll not _have_ them there. But does you think I can't _try_ un
+all on _meself_ afore I has un _put_ in the book?"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+When the punt was well through North Tickle, on a free, freshening wind,
+I sped to the Rat Hole to apprise the twins of their father's unhappy
+situation, and to beg of them to be constant and importunate in prayer
+that he might be saved from the perils of that voyage. Then, still
+running as fast as my legs would go, I returned to our house, where,
+again, I found the shadow and the mystery, and the hush in all the
+rooms.
+
+"Davy!"
+
+"Ay, Bessie," I answered. "'Tis I."
+
+"Our mother's wantin' you, dear."
+
+I tiptoed up the stair, and to the bed where my mother lay, and, very
+softly, I laid my cheek against her lips.
+
+"My sister sent me, mum," I whispered.
+
+"Yes," she sighed. "I'm--just wanting you."
+
+Her arm, languid and light, stole round my waist.
+
+
+
+
+IX
+
+A WRECK on The THIRTY DEVILS
+
+
+Fog--thick, stifling, clammy! A vast bank of it lay stranded on the
+rocks of our coast: muffling voices, making men gasp. In a murky cloud
+it pressed against my mother's windows. Wharves, cottages, harbour
+water, great hills beyond--the whole world--had vanished. There was
+nothing left but a patch of smoking rock beneath. It had come--a grey
+cloud, drifting low and languidly--with a lazy draught of wind from the
+east, which had dragged it upon the coast, spread it broadcast and
+expired of the effort to carry it into the wilderness.
+
+"Wonderful thick, b'y!" was the salutation for the day.
+
+"'S mud," was the response.
+
+Down went the barometer--down, down, slowly, uncompromisingly down!
+'Twas shocking to the nerves to consult it.
+
+"An' I'm tellin' you this, lads," said a man on my father's wharf,
+tugging uneasily at his sou'wester, "that afore midnight you'll be
+needin' t' glue your hair on!"
+
+This feeling of apprehension was everywhere--on the roads, in the
+stages, in the very air. No man of our harbour put to sea. With the big
+wind coming, 'twas no place for punt, schooner or steamer. The waters
+off shore were set with traps for the unwary and the unknowing--the
+bluffs veiled by mist, the drift ice hidden, the reefs covered up. In a
+gale of wind from the east there would be no escape.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Through the dragging day my mother had been restless and in pain. In the
+evening she turned to us.
+
+"I'm tired," she whispered.
+
+Tired? Oh, ay! She was tired--very, very tired! It was near time for her
+to rest. She was sadly needing that.
+
+"An' will you try t' sleep, now?" my sister asked.
+
+"Ay," she answered, wanly, "I'll sleep a bit, now, if I can. Where's
+Davy?"
+
+"Sure, mama," said I, in surprise, "I'm sittin' right by the bed!"
+
+"Ah, Davy!" she whispered, happily, stretching out a hand to touch me.
+"My little son!"
+
+"An' I been sittin' here all the time!" said I.
+
+"All the time?" she said. "But I've been so sick, dear, I haven't
+noticed much. And 'tis so dark."
+
+"No, mum; 'tis not so very. 'Tis thick, but 'tis not so very dark. 'Tis
+not lamp-lightin' time yet."
+
+"How strange!" she muttered. "It seems so very dark. Ah, well! Do you go
+out for a run in the air, dear, while your mother sleeps. I'm thinking
+I'll be better--when I've had a little sleep."
+
+My sister busied herself with the pillows and coverlet; and she made all
+soft and neat, that my mother might rest the better for it.
+
+"You're so tender with me, dear," said my mother "Every day I bless God
+for my dear daughter."
+
+My sister kissed my mother. "Hush!" she said. "Do you go t' sleep, now,
+little mother. Twill do you good."
+
+"Yes," my mother sighed, "for I'm--so very--tired."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+When she had fallen asleep, I slung my lantern over my arm and scampered
+off to the Rat Hole to yarn with the twins, making what speed I could in
+the fog and untimely dusk, and happy, for the moment, to be free of the
+brooding shadow in our house. The day was not yet fled; but the light
+abroad--a sullen greyness, splashed with angry red in the west, where
+the mist was thinning--was fading fast and fearfully. And there was an
+ominous stirring of wind in the east: at intervals, storm puffs came
+swirling over the hills from the sea; and they ran off inland like mad,
+leaving the air of a sudden once more stagnant. Fresh and cool they
+were--grateful enough, indeed, blowing through the thick, dead dusk--but
+sure warning, too, of great gusts to come. We were to have weather--a
+gale from the northeast, by all the lore of the coast--and it would be a
+wild night, with the breakers of Raven Rock and the Thirty Black Devils
+leaping high and merrily in the morning. As I ran down the last hill,
+with an eye on the light glowing in the kitchen window of Skipper Tommy
+Lovejoy's cottage, I made shift to hope that the old man had made
+harbour from Wolf Cove, but thought it most unlikely.
+
+He had.
+
+"You got home, Skipper Tommy," I cried, shouldering the door shut
+against a gust of wind, "an' I'm glad o' that! 'Tis goin' t' blow most
+awful, I'm thinkin'."
+
+My welcome was of the gloomiest description. I observed that the twins,
+who lay feet to feet on the corner-seat, did not spring to meet me, but
+were cast down; and that Skipper Tommy, himself, sitting over the fire
+with a cup of tea on the table at his elbow, was glum as a deacon.
+
+"Oh," said he, looking up with the ghost of a laugh, "I got in. You
+wasn't frettin' about _me_, was you, Davy? Oh, don't you ever go
+frettin' about me, lad, when--ah, well!--when they's nothin' but fog t'
+fear. Sure, 'twasn't no trouble for _me_ t' find North Tickle in the
+fog. Ah, me! If 'twas only that! Sure, I bumped her nose agin the point
+o' God's Warning, an' rattled her bones a bit, but, lad, me an' the punt
+is used t' little things like that. Oh, ay," he repeated, dismally, "I
+got _in_."
+
+Evidently the worst had happened. "Did you?" said I, blankly. "An' was
+you--was you--_cotched_?"
+
+"Is you thinkin' o' _she_, Davy?" he answered. "Well," in a melancholy
+drawl, smoothing his stubble of grey beard, his forehead deeply
+furrowed, "I'm not admittin' I is. But, Davy," he added, "she cast a
+hook, an'--well, I--I nibbled. Yes, I did, lad! I went an' nibbled!"
+
+One of the twins started up in alarm. "Hark!" he whispered.
+
+We listened--but heard nothing. A gust of wind rattled the window, and,
+crying hoarsely, swept under the house. There was nothing more than
+that.
+
+"Hist!" said the twin.
+
+We heard only the ominous mutter and sigh of the gust departing.
+
+"Jacky," said the skipper, anxiously, "what was you thinkin' you heared,
+b'y?"
+
+Jacky fidgetted in his seat. "'Twas like the mail-boat's whistle, zur,"
+he answered, "but 'twas sort o' hoarser."
+
+"Why, lad," said the skipper, "the mail-boat's not handy by two hundred
+miles! 'Twas but the wind."
+
+But he scratched his head in a puzzled way.
+
+"Ay, maybe, zur," Jacky replied, still alert for a sound from the sea,
+"but 'twas not _like_ the wind."
+
+Skipper Tommy held up his hand. "Ay," said he, when we had listened a
+long time, "'twas but the wind."
+
+"Ay," said we all, "'twas but the wind."
+
+"Ah, well, Davy," the skipper resumed, "she cast a hook, as I was
+sayin', an' I nibbled."
+
+The twins groaned in concert.
+
+"But the good Lard, Davy," the skipper went on, "had sent a switch o'
+wind from the sou'west. So they was a bit o' lop on the sea, an' 'twas
+t' that I turned, when the case got desperate. An' desperate it soon
+got, lad. Ah, indeed! 'long about Herring Head it got fair desperate.
+'Skipper Thomas,' says she, 'we're gettin' old, you an' me,' says she.
+'Sure, mum,' says I, 'not _you_, mum! I'll never give in t' that,' says
+I."
+
+Our faces fell.
+
+"'Twas what I done," the skipper persisted, with an air of guilt and
+remorse. "I just, felt like doin' it, an' so I done it. 'I'll never give
+in to it, mum,' says I, 'that _you're_ gettin' old.'"
+
+I groaned with the twins--and Skipper Tommy made a dismal quartette of
+it--and the wind, rising sharply at that moment, contributed a chorus of
+heartrending noises.
+
+"Ay," the skipper continued, "'twas a sad mistake. 'Twas floutin'
+Providence t' say a word like that to a woman like she. But I just felt
+like it. Then, 'Oh, dear,' says she, ''tis barb'rous lonely t' Wolf
+Cove,' says she. ''Tis too bad, mum,' says I. An' I throwed the bow o'
+the punt plump into a wave, Davy, lad, an' shipped a bucket o' water.
+'An',' says she, 'it must be lonely for you, Skipper Thomas,' says she,
+'livin' there at the Rat Hole.'"
+
+Skipper Tommy paused to sigh and tweak his nose; and he tweaked so often
+and sighed so long that I lost patience.
+
+"An' what did you do then?" I demanded.
+
+"Took in more water, Davy," he groaned, "for they wasn't nothin' else I
+could think of. 'An',' says she, 'is it not lonely, Skipper Thomas,'
+says she, 'at the Rat Hole?' 'No, mum,' says I, takin' aboard another
+bucket or two, 'for I've the twins,' says I. With that she put her
+kerchief to her eyes, Davy, an' begun t' sniffle. An' t' relieve me
+feelin's, lad, for I was drove desperate, I just _had_ t' let the top of
+a wave fall over the bow: which I done, Davy, an' may the Lard forgive
+me! An' I'm not denyin' that 'twas a sizable wave she took."
+
+He stared despondently at the floor.
+
+"She gathered up her skirts," he went on. "An', 'Ah, Skipper Thomas,'
+says she, 'twins,' says she, 'is nothin'. 'Sure,' says she, 'twins is no
+good on a cold winter's night.' I'm not denyin', Davy," said the
+skipper, solemnly, looking me straight in the eye, "that she scared me
+with that. I'm not denyin' that me hand slipped. I'm not denyin' that I
+put the tiller over a _wee bit_ too far--maybe a foot--maybe a foot an'
+a half, in the excitement o' the moment--I isn't quite sure. No, no! I'm
+far, lad, from denyin' that I near swamped the boat. ''Tis gettin'
+rough,' says she. 'Ay,' says I, 'an' we'll be gettin' along a deal
+better, mum,' says I, 'if you bail.' So I kep' her bailin', Davy," the
+skipper concluded, with a long sigh and a sad wag of the head, "from
+Herring Head t' Wolf Cove. An', well, lad, she didn't quite cotch me,
+for she hadn't no time t' waste, but, as I was sayin', she cast a hook."
+
+"You're well rid o' she," said I.
+
+Timmie rose to look out of the window. "Hear the wind!" said he, turning
+in awe, while the cottage trembled under the rush of a gust. "My! but
+'twill blow, the night!"
+
+"Ah, Timmie," sighed the skipper, "what's a gale o' wind t' the snares
+o' women!"
+
+"Women!" cried I. "Sure, she'll trouble you no more. You're well rid o'
+she."
+
+"But I _isn't_ rid o' she, Davy," he groaned, "an' that's what's
+troublin' the twins an' me. I isn't rid o' she, for I've heared tell
+she've some l'arnin' an' can write a letter."
+
+"Write!" cried I. "She won't write."
+
+"Ah, Davy," sighed the skipper, his head falling over his breast,
+"you've no knowledge o' women. They never gives in, lad, that they're
+beat. They never _knows_ they're beat. An' that one, lad, wouldn't know
+it if she was told!"
+
+"Leave her write so much as she wants," said I. "'Twill do you no harm."
+
+"No harm?" said he, looking up. "No harm in writin'?"
+
+"No," said I. "Sure, you can't read!"
+
+The twins leaped from the corner-seat and emitted a shrill and joyful
+whoop. Skipper Tommy threw back his head, opened his great mouth in
+silent laughter, and slapped his thigh with such violence that the noise
+was like a pistol shot.
+
+"No more I can," he roared, "an' I'm too old t' l'arn!"
+
+Laughter--a fit of it--seized him. It exploded like a thunder-clap, and
+continued, uproariously, interrupted by gasps, when he lost his breath,
+and by groans, when a stitch made him wince. There was no resisting it.
+The twins doubled up in the corner-seat, miserably screaming, their
+heels waving in the air; and Davy Roth collapsed on the floor, gripping
+his sides, his eyes staring, his mouth wide open, venting his mirth, the
+while, in painful shrieks. Skipper Tommy was himself again--freed o' the
+nets o' women--restored to us and to his own good humour--once again
+boon comrade of the twins and me! He jumped from his chair; and with a
+"Tra-la-la!" and a merry "Hi-tum-ti-iddle-dee-um!" he fell into a
+fantastic dance, thumping the boards with his stockinged feet, advancing
+and retreating with a flourish, bowing and balancing to an imaginary
+partner, all in a fashion so excruciatingly exaggerated that the twins
+screamed, "Don't, father!" and Davy Roth moaned, "Oh, stop, zur, please,
+zur!" while the crimson, perspiring, light-footed, ridiculously
+bow-legged old fellow still went cavorting over the kitchen floor.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+But I was a child--only a child--living in the shadow of some great
+sorrow, which, though I did not know it, had pressed close upon us.
+There flashed before me a vision of my mother lying wan and white on
+the pillows. And I turned on my face and began to cry.
+
+"Davy, lad!" said the skipper, tenderly, seeking to lift my head. "Hush,
+lad! Don't cry!"
+
+But I sobbed the harder.
+
+"Ah, Davy," the twins pleaded, "stop cryin'! Do, now!"
+
+Skipper Tommy took me on his knee; and I hid my face on his breast, and
+lay sobbing hopelessly, while he sought to sooth me with many a pat and
+"Hush!" and "Never mind!"
+
+"I'm wantin' t' go home," I moaned.
+
+He gathered me closer in his arms. "Do you stay your grief, Davy," he
+whispered, "afore you goes."
+
+"I'm wantin' t' go home," I sobbed, "t' my mother!"
+
+Timmie and Jacky came near, and the one patted my hand, and the other
+put an arm around me.
+
+"Sure, the twins 'll take you home, Davy," said the skipper, softly,
+"when you stops cryin'. Hush, lad! Hush, now!"
+
+They were tender with me, and I was comforted; my sobs soon ceased, but
+still I kept my head against the skipper's breast. And while there I
+lay, there came from the sea--from the southwest in a lull of the
+wind--breaking into the tender silence--the blast of a steam whistle,
+deep, full-throated, prolonged.
+
+"Hist!" whispered Jacky. "Does you not hear?"
+
+Skipper Tommy stood me on my feet, and himself slowly rose, listening
+intently.
+
+"Lads," he asked, his voice shaking, "was it the mail-boat?"
+
+"No, zur!" the twins gasped.
+
+"Is you sure?"
+
+"'Tis not the way she blows, zur!"
+
+"'Tis surely not she," the skipper mused. "In the sou'west she'd be out
+of her course. Hark!"
+
+Once more the long, hoarse roar broke the silence, but now rising again
+and again, agonized, like a cry for help.
+
+"Dear Lard!" skipper Tommy cried, putting his hands to his face. "'Tis a
+big steamer on the Thirty Black Devils!"
+
+"A wreck!" shouted Jacky, leaping for his jacket. "A wreck! A wreck!"
+
+Distraction seized the skipper. "'Tis a wreck!" he roared. "My boots,
+lads! Wreck! Wreck!"
+
+We lads went mad. No steamer had been wrecked on the coast in our time.
+There were deeds to do! There was salvage to win!
+
+"Wreck!" we screamed. "Wreck! Wreck! Wreck!"
+
+Then out we four ran. It was after dark. The vault was black. But the
+wind had turned the fog to thin mist. The surrounding hills stood
+disclosed--solid shadows in the night. Half a gale was blowing from the
+sea: it broke over the hills; it swooped from the inky sky; it swept
+past in long, clinging gusts. We breasted it heads down. The twins
+raised the alarm. Wreck! Wreck! Folk joined us as we ran. They were in
+anxious haste to save life. They were gleeful with the hope of salvage.
+What the sea casts up the Lord provides! Wreck! Wreck! Far-off cries
+answered us. The cottage windows were aglow. Lanterns danced over the
+flakes. Lights moved over the harbour water. Wreck! Wreck! On we
+stumbled. Our feet struck the road with thud and scrape. Our lanterns
+clattered and buzzed and fluttered. Wreck! Wreck! We plunged down the
+last hill and came gasping to my father's wharf.
+
+Most of our folk were already vigorously underway towards South Tickle.
+
+"Lives afore salvage, lads!" my father shouted from his punt.
+
+My sister caught my arm.
+
+"'Tis a big steamer, Bessie!" I cried, turning.
+
+"Ay," she said, hurriedly. "But do you go stay with mother, Davy. She've
+sent me t' Tom Turr's by the path. They're t' fetch the wrecked folk
+there. Make haste, lad! She've been left alone."
+
+I ran up the path to our house.
+
+
+
+
+X
+
+THE FLIGHT
+
+
+It was late in the night. My mother and I sat alone in her dim-lit room.
+We were waiting--both waiting. And I was waiting for the lights of the
+returning punts.
+
+"Davy!" my mother called. "You are still there?"
+
+"Ay, mother," I answered. "I'm still sittin' by the window, lookin'
+out."
+
+"I am glad, dear," she sighed, "that you are here--with me--to-night."
+
+She craved love, my love; and my heart responded, as the knowing hearts
+of children will.
+
+"Ah, mother," I said, "'tis lovely t' be sittin' here--all alone with
+you!"
+
+"Don't, Davy!" she cried, catching her breath. "I'm not able to bear the
+joy of it. My heart----"
+
+"'Tis so," I persisted, "'cause I loves you so!"
+
+"But, oh, I'm glad, Davy!" she whispered. "I'm glad you love your
+mother. And I'm glad," she added, softly, "that you've told me
+so--to-night."
+
+By and by I grew drowsy. My eyes would not stay open. And I fell asleep
+with my head on the window-sill. I do not know how long I slept.
+
+"Davy!" my mother called.
+
+"Ay?" I answered, waking. "Sure, I been asleep!"
+
+"But you're not wanting to go to bed?" she asked, anxiously. "You'll not
+leave your mother all alone, will you?"
+
+"No, no, mama!"
+
+"No," she said. "Do not leave your mother, now."
+
+Again I fell asleep. It may be that I wasted a long, long time in sleep.
+
+"Davy!" she called.
+
+I answered. And, "I cannot stay awake," I said. "Sure, 'tis quite past
+me t' do it, for I'm so wonderful sleepy."
+
+"Come closer," she said. "Tired lad!" she went on, when she had my hand
+in hers. "Sleepy head! Lie down beside me, dear, and go to sleep. I'm
+not afraid--not afraid, at all--to be left alone. Oh, you're so tired,
+little lad! Lie down and sleep. For your mother is very brave--to-night.
+And tell your father, Davy--when he comes and wakes you--and tell your
+sister, too--that your mother was happy, oh, very happy and brave,
+when...."
+
+"When you fell asleep?" I asked.
+
+"Yes," she answered, in a voice so low I could but hear it. "That I was
+happy when--I fell asleep."
+
+I pulled off my jacket.
+
+"I'm wanting to hear you say your prayers, Davy," she said, "before you
+go to sleep. I'm wanting once again--just once again--to hear you say
+your prayers."
+
+I knelt beside the bed.
+
+"My little son!" my mother said. "My--little--son!"
+
+"My mother!" I responded, looking up.
+
+She lifted my right hand. "Dear Jesus, lover of children," she prayed,
+"take, oh, take this little hand!"
+
+And I began to say my prayers, while my mother's fingers wandered
+tenderly through my curls, but I was a tired child, and fell asleep as I
+prayed. And when I awoke, my mother's hand lay still and strangely heavy
+on my head.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Then the child that was I knew that his mother was dead. He leaped from
+his knees with a broken cry, and stood expectant, but yet in awe,
+searching the dim, breathless room for a beatified figure, white-robed,
+winged, radiant, like the angel of the picture by his bed, for he
+believed that souls thus took their flight; but he saw only shadows.
+
+"Mama," he whispered, "where is you?"
+
+There was no answer to the child's question. The risen wind blew wildly
+in the black night without. But it was still dim and breathless in the
+room.
+
+"Mama," said the child, "is your soul hidin' from me?"
+
+Still the child was left unanswered. He waited, listening--but was not
+answered.
+
+"Don't hide," he pleaded. "Oh, don't hide, for I'm not wantin' to play!
+Oh, mother, I'm wantin' you sore!"
+
+And, now, he knew that she would come, for, "I'm wantin' you, mother!"
+he had been used to crying in the night, and she had never failed to
+answer, but had come swiftly and with comfort. He waited for a voice and
+for a vision, surely expecting them in answer to his cry; but he saw
+only shadows, heard only the scream of the wind, and a sudden, angry
+patter of rain on the roof. Then the child that was I fancied that his
+mother's soul had fled while yet he slept, and, being persuaded that its
+course was heavenward, ran out, seeking it. And he forgets what then he
+did, save that he climbed the broken cliff behind the house, crying,
+"Wait, oh, wait!" and that he came, at last, to the summit of the
+Watchman, where there was a tumult of wind and rain.
+
+"Mama!" he screamed, lifting his hands in appeal to the wide, black
+sky. "You forgot t' kiss me good-bye! Oh, come back!"
+
+He flung himself prone on the naked rock, for the soul of his mother did
+not come, though patiently he had watched for the glory of its returning
+flight.
+
+"She've forgot me!" he moaned. "Oh, she've forgot me!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+When, trembling and bedraggled, I came again to the room where my
+mother's body lay, my sister was kneeling by the bed, and my father was
+in converse with a stranger, who was not like the men of our coast. "Not
+necessarily mortal," this man was saying. "An operation--just a simple
+operation--easily performed with what you have at hand--would have saved
+the woman."
+
+"Saved her, Doctor?" said my father passionately. "Is you sayin'
+_that_?"
+
+"I have said so. It would have saved her. Had we been wrecked five days
+ago she would have been alive."
+
+A torrent of rain beat on the house.
+
+"Alive?" my father muttered, staring at the floor. "She would have been
+alive!"
+
+The stranger looked upon my father in pity. "I'm sorry for you, my man,"
+he said.
+
+"'Tis strange," my father muttered, still staring at the floor. "'Tis
+strange--how things--comes about. Five days--just five...."
+
+He muttered on.
+
+"Yes," the stranger broke in, stirring nervously. "Had I come but five
+days ago."
+
+A sudden rising of the gale--the breaking of its fury--filled the room
+with a dreadful confusion.
+
+"Indeed--I'm--sorry--very sorry," the stranger stammered; his lips were
+drawn; in his eyes was the flare of some tragedy of feeling.
+
+My father did not move--but continued vacantly to stare at the floor.
+
+"Really--you know--I am!"
+
+"Is you?" then my father asked, looking up. "Is you sorry for me an'
+Davy an' the lass?" The stranger dared not meet my father's eyes. "An'
+you could have saved her," my father went on. "_You_ could have saved
+her! She didn't have t' go. She died--for want o' you! God Almighty," he
+cried, raising his clenched hand, "this man come too late God
+Almighty--does you hear me, God Almighty?--the man you sent come too
+late! An' you," he flashed, turning on the stranger, "could have saved
+her? Oh, my dear lass! An' she would have been here the night? Here like
+she used t' be? Here in her dear body? Here?" he cried, striking his
+breast. "She would have lain here the night had you come afore? Oh, why
+didn't you come?" he moaned. "You hold life an' death in your hands,
+zur, t' give or withhold. Why didn't you come--t' give the gift o' life
+t' she?"
+
+The stranger shrank away. "Stop!" he cried, in agony. "How was I to
+know?"
+
+"Hush, father!" my sister pleaded.
+
+In a flash of passion my father advanced upon the man. "How was you t'
+know?" he burst out. "Where you been? What you been doin'? Does you hear
+me?" he demanded, his voice rising with the noise of wind and rain.
+"What you been doin'?"
+
+"Stop it, man! You touch me to the quick! You don't know--you don't
+know--"
+
+"What you been doin'? We're dyin' here for want o' such as you. What you
+been doin'?"
+
+There was no answer. The stranger had covered his face with his hands.
+
+"O God," my father cried, again appealing to Heaven, "judge this man!"
+
+"Stop!"
+
+It was a bitter cry--the agony sounding clear and poignant above the
+manifold voices of the storm--but it won no heed.
+
+"O God, judge this man!"
+
+"Will no one stop him?" the stranger moaned. "For God's sake--stop
+him--some one!"
+
+"O God, judge this man!"
+
+The stranger fled....
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"Oh, my dear wife!" my father sobbed, at last, sinking into the great
+armchair, wherein the mail-boat doctor had not sat. "Oh, my dear wife!"
+
+"Father!" my dear sister whispered, flinging her soft arms about his
+neck and pressing her cheek against his brow. "Dear father!"
+
+And while the great gale raged, she sought to comfort my father and me,
+but could not.
+
+
+
+
+XI
+
+The WOMEN at The GATE
+
+
+By and by my sister put me in dry clothes, and bidding me be a good lad,
+sat me in the best room below, where the maids had laid a fire. And
+Skipper Tommy Lovejoy, finding me there disconsolate, took me to the
+seaward hills to watch the break of day: for the rain had ceased, the
+wind fallen away; and the gray light of dawn was in the eastern sky.
+
+"I'm wantin' t' tell you, Davy," he said, in a confidential way, as we
+trudged along, "about the gate o' heaven."
+
+I took his hand.
+
+"An' I _been_ wantin' t' tell you," he added, giving his nose a little
+tweak, "for a long, long time."
+
+"Is you?"
+
+"Ay, lad; an' about the women at the gate."
+
+"Women, Skipper Tommy?" said I, puzzled. "An', pray, who is they?"
+
+"Mothers," he answered. "Just mothers."
+
+"What they doin' at the gate? No, no! They're not _there_. Sure, they're
+playin' harps at the foot o' the throne."
+
+"No," said he, positively; "they're at the gate."
+
+"What they doin' there?"
+
+"Waitin'."
+
+We were now come to the crest of a hill; and the sea was spread before
+us--breaking angrily under the low, black sky.
+
+"What's they waitin' for?" I asked.
+
+"Davy, lad," he answered, impressively, "they're waitin' for them they
+bore. _That's_ what they're waitin' for."
+
+"For their sons?"
+
+"Ay; an' for their daughters, too."
+
+While I watched the big seas break on the rocks below--and the clouds
+drift up from the edge of the world--I pondered upon this strange
+teaching. My mother had never told me of the women waiting at the gate.
+
+"Ah, but," I said, at last, "I'm thinkin' God would never allow it t' go
+on. He'd want un all t' sing His praises. Sure, they'd just be wastin'
+His time--waitin' there at the gate."
+
+Skipper Tommy shook his head--and smiled, and softly patted my shoulder.
+
+"An' He'd gather un there, at the foot o' the throne," I went on, "an'
+tell un t' waste no more, but strike up their golden harps."
+
+"No, no!"
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"They wouldn't go."
+
+"But He'd _make_ un go."
+
+"He couldn't."
+
+"Not _make_ un!" I cried, amazed.
+
+"Look you, lad," he explained, in a sage whisper, "they're all mothers,
+an' they'd be _wantin_' t' stay where they was, an', ecod! they'd find a
+way."
+
+"Ah, well," I sighed, "'tis wearisome work--this waitin'."
+
+"I'm thinkin' not," he answered, soberly, speaking rather to himself
+than to me. "'Tis not wearisome for such as know the good Lard's plan."
+
+"'Tis wonderful hard," said I, "on the mothers o' wicked sons."
+
+The old man smiled. "Who knows," he asked, "that 'tis wonderful hard on
+they?"
+
+"But then," I mused, "the Lord would find a way t' comfort the mother o'
+such."
+
+"Oh, ay!"
+
+"I'm thinkin', maybe," I went on, "that He'd send an angel t' tell her
+they wasn't worth the waitin' for. 'Mind un not,' He'd say. 'They're
+nothin' but bad, wicked boys. Leave un go t' hell an' burn.'"
+
+"An', now, what, lad," he inquired with deep interest, "is you thinkin'
+the mother would do?"
+
+"She'd take the angel's hand," I sighed.
+
+"Ay?"
+
+"An' go up t' the throne--forgettin' them she'd left."
+
+"An' then?"
+
+"She'd praise the Lard," I sobbed.
+
+"Never!" the skipper cried.
+
+I looked hopefully in his face.
+
+"Never!" he repeated. "'Lard,' she'd say, 'I loves un all the more for
+their sins. Leave me wait--oh, leave me wait--here at the gate.
+Maybe--sometime--they'll come!'"
+
+"But some," said I, in awe, "would wait forever--an' ever--an' ever----"
+
+"Not one!"
+
+"Not one?"
+
+"Not one! 'Twould break the dear Lard's heart t' see un waitin' there."
+
+I looked away to the furthest clouds, fast changing, now, from gray to
+silver; and for a long time I watched them thin and brighten.
+
+"Skipper Tommy," I asked, at last, "is _my_ mother at the gate?"
+
+"Ay," said he confidently.
+
+"Waitin'?"
+
+"Ay."
+
+"An' for me?"
+
+He gave me an odd look--searching my very soul with his mild old eyes.
+"Doesn't you think she is?" he asked.
+
+"I knows it!" I cried.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Far off, at the horizon, the sky broke--and the rift broadened--and the
+clouds lifted--and the east flamed with colour--and all at once the
+rosy, hopeful light of dawn flushed the frowning sea.
+
+"Look!" the skipper whispered.
+
+"Ay," said I, "the day is broke."
+
+"A new day!" said he.
+
+
+
+
+XII
+
+DOCTOR AND I
+
+
+How the _St. Lawrence_ came to stray from her course down the Strait I
+do not remember. As concerns such trivial things, the days that followed
+my mother's death are all misty in my mind; but I do recall (for when
+Skipper Tommy had made my mother's coffin he took me to the heads of
+Good Promise to see the sight) that the big seas of that day pounded the
+vessel to a shapeless wreck on the jagged rocks of the Reef of the
+Thirty Black Devils: where she lay desolate for many a day thereafter.
+But the sea was not quick enough to balk our folk of their salvage: all
+day long--even while the ship was going to pieces--they swarmed upon
+her; and they loaded their punts again and again, fearlessly boarding,
+and with infinite patience and courage managed to get their heavensent
+plunder ashore. 'Twas diverting to watch them; and when the twins, who
+had been among the most active at the wreck, came at last to their
+father, I laughed to know that, as Timmie said, they had food enough
+ashore to keep the wrinkles out of their stomachs all winter.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Our harbour was for many days crowded with wrecked folk--strange of
+speech, of dress, of manners--who went about in flocks, prying into our
+innermost concerns, so that we were soon wearied of their perverse and
+insatiable curiosity, though we did not let them know it. They were
+sorry for my father and sister and me, I know, for, one and all, when
+they came to see my mother lying dead, they _said_ they were. And they
+stood soberly by her shallow grave, when we laid her dear body away, and
+they wept when old Tom Tot spoke of the dust and ashes, which we are,
+and the stony earth rattled hopelessly on the coffin. Doubtless they
+were well-intentioned towards us all, and towards me, a motherless lad,
+more than any other, and doubtless they should be forgiven much, for
+they were but ignorant folk, from strange parts of the world; but I took
+it hard that they should laugh on the roads, as though no great thing
+had happened, and when, at last, the women folk took to praising my hair
+and eyes, as my mother used to do, and, moreover, to kissing me in
+public places, which had been my mother's privilege, I was speedily
+scandalized and fled their proximity with great cunning and agility.
+
+My father, however, sought them out, at all times and places, that he
+might tell them the tragic circumstances of my mother's death, and
+seemed not to remember that he had told them all before.
+
+"But five days!" he would whisper, excitedly, when he had buttonholed a
+stranger in the shop. "Eh, man? Have you heared tell o' my poor wife?"
+
+"Five days?"
+
+"Ay; had you folk been wrecked five days afore--just five, mark
+you--she would have been alive, the day."
+
+"How sad!"
+
+"Five days!" my father would suddenly cry, wringing his hands. "My God!
+_Only five days_!"
+
+A new expression of sympathy--and a glance of the sharpest
+suspicion--would escape the stranger.
+
+"Five days!" my father would repeat, as though communicating some fact
+which made him peculiarly important to all the world. "That, now," with
+a knowing glance, "is what I calls wonderful queer."
+
+My father was not the same as he had been. He was like a man become a
+child again--interested in little things, dreaming much, wondering more:
+conceiving himself, like a child, an object of deepest interest to us
+all. No longer, now, did he command us, but, rather, sought to know from
+my sister (to whom he constantly turned) what he should do from hour to
+hour; and I thought it strange that he should do our bidding as though
+he had never been used to bidding us. But so it was; and, moreover
+(which I thought a great pity), he forgot that he was to kill the
+mail-boat doctor when the steamer put into our harbour on the southward
+trip--a purpose from which, a week before, Skipper Tommy Lovejoy could
+not dissuade him, though he tried for hours together. Ay, with his bare
+hands, my father was to have killed that man--to have wrung his neck and
+flung him overboard--but now there was no word of the deed: my father
+but puttered about, mildly muttering that the great ship had been
+wrecked five days too late.
+
+I have said that my father loved my mother; it may be that he loved her
+overmuch--and, perhaps, that accounts for what came upon him when he
+lost her. I have since thought it sad that our hearts may contain a love
+so great that all the world seems empty when chance plucks it out; but
+the thought, no doubt, is not a wise one.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The doctor whom I had found with my father in my mother's room was not
+among the folk who babbled on the roads and came prying into the stages
+with tiresome exclamations of "Really!" and "How in-tres-ting!" He kept
+aloof from them and from us all. All day long he wandered on the heads
+and hills of our harbour--a melancholy figure, conspicuous against the
+blue sky of those days: far off, solitary, bowed. Sometimes he sat for
+hours on the Watchman, staring out to sea, so still that it would have
+been small blame to the gulls had they mistaken him for a new boulder,
+mysteriously come to the hill; sometimes he lay sprawling on the high
+point of Skull Island, staring at the sky, lost to knowledge of the
+world around; sometimes he clambered down the cliffs of Good Promise to
+the water's edge, and stood staring, forever staring, at the breakers
+(which no man should do). Often I was not content with watching him from
+afar, but softly followed close, and peered at him from the shelter of a
+boulder or peeped over the shoulder of a hill; and so sad did he
+seem--so full of sighs and melancholy attitudes--that invariably I went
+home pitying: for at that time my heart was tender, and the sight of
+sorrow hurt it.
+
+Once I crept closer and closer, and, at last, taking courage (though his
+clean-shaven face and soft gray hat abashed me), ran to him and slipped
+my hand in his.
+
+He started; then, perceiving who it was, he withdrew his hand with a
+wrench, and turned away: which hurt me.
+
+"You are the son," said he, "of the woman who died, are you not?"
+
+I was more abashed than ever--and wished I had not been so bold.
+
+"I'm Davy Roth, zur," I whispered, for I was much afraid. "My mother's
+dead an' buried, zur."
+
+"I saw you," said he, "in the room--that night."
+
+There was a long pause. Then, "What's _your_ name, zur?" I asked him.
+
+"Mine?"
+
+"Ay."
+
+"Mine," said he, "is Luke--"
+
+He stopped--and thoughtfully frowned. I waited; but he said no more.
+
+"Doctor Luke?" I ventured.
+
+"Well," he drawled, "that will serve."
+
+Then I thought I must tell him what was in my heart to say. Why not? The
+wish was good, and his soft, melancholy voice irresistibly appealed to
+my raw and childish sympathies.
+
+"I wisht, zur," I whispered, looking down at my boots, through sheer
+embarrassment, "that you----"
+
+My tongue failed me. I was left in a sad lurch. He was not like our
+folk--not like our folk, at all--and I could not freely speak my mind.
+
+"Yes?" he said, to encourage me.
+
+"That you wasn't so sad," I blurted, with a rush, looking swift and deep
+into his gray eyes.
+
+"Why not?" said he, taking my hand.
+
+"I'm not wantin' you t' be."
+
+He put his arm over my shoulder. "Why not?" he asked. "Tell me why not,
+won't you?"
+
+The corners of my mouth fell. It may have been in sympathetic response
+to the tremolo of feeling in his voice. I was in peril of unmanly tears
+(as often chanced in those days)--and only women, as I knew, should see
+lads weep. I hid my face against him.
+
+"Because, zur," I said, "it makes me sad, too!"
+
+He sat down and drew me to his knee. "This is very strange," he said,
+"and very kind. You would not have me sad?" I shook my head. "I do not
+understand," he muttered. "It is very strange." (But it was not strange
+on our coast, where all men are neighbours, and each may without shame
+or offense seek to comfort the other.) Then he had me tell him tales of
+our folk, to which he listened with interest so eager that I quickly
+warmed to the diversion and chattered as fast as my tongue would wag. He
+laughed at me for saying "nar" for not (and the like) and I at him for
+saying "cawm" for calm; and soon we were very merry, and not only merry,
+but as intimate as friends of a lifetime. By and by I took him to see
+the Soldier's Ear, which is an odd rock near the Rat Hole, and, after
+that, to listen to the sea coughing and gurgling at the bottom of
+Satan's Well. And in all this he forgot that he was sad--and I that my
+mother was dead.
+
+"Will you walk with me to-morrow, Davy?" he asked, when I said that I
+must be off home.
+
+"That I will, zur," said I.
+
+"After breakfast."
+
+"Ay, zur; a quarter of five."
+
+"Well, no," he drawled. "Half after nine."
+
+"'Tis a sheer waste o' time," I protested. "But 'twill suit me, zur, an
+it pleases you. My sister will tell _me_ the hour."
+
+"Your sister?" he asked, quickly.
+
+"Bessie," said I.
+
+"Ah," he exclaimed, "she was your sister. I saw her there--that night.
+And she is your sister?"
+
+"You got it right," cried I, proudly. "_That's_ my sister!"
+
+He slapped me on the back (which shocked me, for our folk are not that
+playful); and, laughing heartily as he went, he took the road to Tom
+Tot's, where he had found food and housing for a time. I watched him
+from the turn in the road, as he went lightly down the slope towards
+South Tickle--his trim-clad, straight, graceful figure,
+broad-shouldered, clean-cut, lithe in action, as compared with our
+lumbering gait; inefficient, 'tis true, but potentially strong. As I
+walked home, I straightened my own shoulders, held my head high, lifted
+my feet from the ground, flung bold glances to right and left, as I had
+seen him do: for, even then, I loved him very much. All the while I was
+exultantly conscious that a new duty and a new delight had come to me:
+some great thing, given of God--a work to do, a happiness to cherish.
+And that night he came and went in my dreams--but glorified: his smile
+not mirthless, his grave, gray eyes not overcast, his face not flabby
+and flushed, his voice not slow and sad, but vibrant with fine, live
+purpose. My waking thought was the wish that the man of the hills might
+be the man of my vision; and in my simple morning petition it became a
+prayer.
+
+"Dear mama," I prayed, "there's something wrong along o' the man who
+come the night you died. He've managed somehow t' get wonderful sick.
+I'm not knowin' what ails un, or where he cotched it; but I sees it
+plain in his face: an' 'tis a woeful sickness. Do you make haste t' the
+throne o' God, please, mum, an' tell Un I been askin' you t' have un
+cured. You'd want un well, too, an you was here; an' the Lard 'll surely
+listen t' you, an' take your word for 't. Oh, do you pray the Lard,
+with all your might an' main, dear mama, t' heal that man!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+In our land the works of the Lord are not obscured by what the hands of
+men have made. The twofold vision ranges free and far. Here are no brick
+walls, no unnatural need or circumstance, no confusing inventions, no
+gasping haste, no specious distractions, no clamour of wheel and
+heartless voices, to blind the soul, to pervert its pure desires, to
+deaden its fears, to deafen its ears to the sweeter calls--to shut it
+in, to shrivel it: to sicken it in every part. Rock and waste of sea and
+the high sweep of the sky--winds and rain and sunlight and flying
+clouds--great hills, mysterious distances, flaming sunsets, the still,
+vast darkness of night! These are the mighty works of the Lord, and of
+none other--unspoiled and unobscured. In them He proclaims Himself. They
+who have not known before that the heavens and the earth are the
+handiwork of God, here discover it: and perceive the Presence and the
+Power, and are ashamed and overawed. Thus our land works its marvel in
+the sensitive soul. I have sometimes thought that in the waste is
+sounded the great keynote of life--with which true hearts ever seek to
+vibrate in tune.
+
+
+
+
+XIII
+
+A SMILING FACE
+
+
+"Doctor Luke, zur," I said, as we walked that day, "I dreamed o' you,
+last night."
+
+"Pleasantly, I hope?"
+
+I sighed.
+
+"What," said he, gravely, "did you dream of me?"
+
+'Twas hard to frame a reply. "I been thinkin', since," I faltered,
+floundering in search of a simile, "that you're like a--like a----"
+
+"Like what?" he demanded.
+
+I did not know. My eye sought everywhere, but found no happy suggestion.
+Then, through an opening in the hills, I caught sight of the melancholy
+wreck on the Reef of the Thirty Black Devils.
+
+"I fear t' tell," said I.
+
+He stopped. "But I wish to know," he persisted. "You'll tell me, Davy,
+will you not? It means so much."
+
+"Like a wrecked ship," said I.
+
+"Good God!" he exclaimed, starting from me.
+
+At once he sent me home; nor would he have me walk with him that
+afternoon, because, as he said, my sister would not allow me to bear him
+company, did she know as much as I had in some strange way divined.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Next day, armed with my sister's express permission, I overcame his
+scruples; and off we went to Red Indian Cave. Everywhere, indeed, we
+went together, while the wrecked folk waited the mail-boat to
+come--Doctor Luke and I--hand in hand--happy (for the agony of my loss
+came most in the night, when I lay wakeful and alone in my little bed)
+as the long, blue days. We roamed the hills, climbed the cliffs,
+clambered along shore; and once, to my unbounded astonishment and alarm,
+he stripped to the skin and went head first into the sea from the base
+of the Good Promise cliffs. Then nothing would content him but that I,
+too, should strip and plunge in: which I did (though you may think it
+extraordinary), lest he think me afraid to trust his power to save me.
+Thus the invigourating air, the yellow sunlight, the smiling sea beyond
+the rocks, the blue sky overhead, were separate delights in which our
+friendship ripened: so that at times I wondered what loneliness would
+overtake me when he had gone. I told him I wished he would not go away
+on the mail-boat, but would stay and live with us, that, being a
+doctor, as he had said, he might heal our folk when they fell sick, and
+no one would die, any more. He laughed at that--but not because of
+merriment--and gripped my hand tighter, and I began to hope that,
+perhaps, he would not go away; but he did not tell me whether he would
+or not.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+When the mail-boat was near due, my sister said that I must have the
+doctor to tea; for it would never do, said she, to accept his kindnesses
+and show no hospitality in return. In reply to this Doctor Luke said
+that I must present his compliments to my sister (which I thought a
+curious way of putting it), and say that he accepted the invitation with
+great pleasure; and, as though it were a matter of grave moment, he had
+me repeat the form until I knew it perfectly. That evening my sister
+wore a long skirt, fashioned in haste from one of my mother's gowns, and
+this, with my mother's keys, which she kept hanging from her girdle, as
+my mother used to do, made her very sweetly staid. The doctor came
+speckless, wearing his only shirt, which (as Tom Tot's wife made known
+to all the harbour) he had paid one dollar to have washed and ironed in
+three hours for the occasion, spending the interval (it was averred) in
+his room. While we waited for the maids to lay the table, my sister
+moved in and out, directing them; and the doctor gazed at her in a way
+so marked that I made sure she had forgotten a hook or a button, and
+followed her to the kitchen to discover the omission.
+
+"Sure, Bessie, dear," I began, very gingerly, "I'm fair dreadin' that
+you're--you're----"
+
+She was humming, in happy unconsciousness of her state; and I was
+chagrined by the necessity of disclosing it: but resolutely continued,
+for it must be done.
+
+"Loose," I concluded.
+
+She gave a little jump--a full inch, it may be--from the floor.
+
+"Davy!" she cried, in mixed horror and distress. "Oh, dear!
+Whereabouts?"
+
+"Do you turn around," said I, "an' I'll soon find out."
+
+She whirled like a top. But I could find nothing awry. She was shipshape
+from head to toe.
+
+"'Tis very queer," said I. "Sure, I thought you'd missed a button, for
+the doctor is lookin' at you all the time."
+
+"At _me_!" she cried.
+
+"Ay, at you."
+
+She was then convinced with me that there was something amiss, and
+called the maids to our help, for, as she said, I was only a boy
+(though a dear one), and ill schooled in such matters. But it turned out
+that their eyes were no sharper than mine. They pronounced her hooked
+and buttoned and pinned to the Queen's taste.
+
+"'Tis queer, then," I persisted, when the maids had gone, "that he looks
+at you so hard."
+
+"Is you sure he does?" she asked, much puzzled, "for," she added, with a
+little frown, "I'm not knowin' why he should."
+
+"Nor I," said I.
+
+At table we were very quiet, but none the less happy for that; for it
+seemed to me that my mother's gentle spirit hovered near, content with
+what we did. And after tea my father sat with the doctor on our
+platform, talking of disease and healing, until, in obedience to my
+sister's glance, I took our guest away to the harbour, to see (as I
+said) the greatest glories of the sunset: for, as I knew, my sister
+wished to take my father within, and change the current of his thought.
+Then I rowed the doctor to North Tickle, and let the punt lie in the
+swell of the open sea, where it was very solemn and quiet. The sky was
+heavy with drifting masses of cloud, aflare with red and gold and all
+the sunset colours, from the black line of coast, lying in the west, far
+into the east, where sea and sky were turning gray. Indeed, it was very
+still, very solemn, lying in the long, crimson swell of the great deep,
+while the dusk came creeping over the sea.
+
+"I do not wonder," the doctor muttered, with a shudder, "that the people
+who dwell here fear God."
+
+There was something familiar to me in that feeling; but for the moment I
+could not make it out.
+
+"Zur?" I said.
+
+His eyes ranged timidly over the sombre waste--the vasty, splendid
+heavens, the coast, dark and unfeeling, the infinite, sullen sea, which
+ominously darkened as he looked--and he covered his face with his hands.
+
+"No," he whispered, looking up, "I do not wonder that you believe in
+God--and fear Him!"
+
+Then I knew that roundabout he felt the presence of an offended God.
+
+"And fear Him!" he repeated.
+
+I levelled my finger at him. "You been wicked!" I said, knowing that my
+accusation was true.
+
+"Yes," he answered, "I have been wicked."
+
+"Is you goin' t' be good?"
+
+"I am going to try to be good--now."
+
+"You isn't goin' away, is you?" I wailed.
+
+"I am going to stay here," he said, gravely, "and treat the people, who
+need me, and try, in that way, to be good."
+
+"I'd die t' see it!" cried I.
+
+He laughed--and the tension vanished--and we went happily back to
+harbour. I had no thought that the resolution to which he had come was
+in any way extraordinary.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+I ran to the Rat Hole, that night, to give the great news to Skipper
+Tommy Lovejoy and the twins. "Ecod!" the old man cried, vastly
+astounded. "Is he t' stay, now? Well, well! Then they's no need goin' on
+with the book. Ecod! now think o' that! An' 'tis all because your mother
+died, says you, when he might have saved her! Ah, Davy, the ways o' God
+is strange. He manages somehow t' work a blessin' with death an' wreck.
+'I'm awful sorry for they poor children,' says He, 'an' for the owners
+o' that there fine ship; but I got t' have My way,' says He, 'or the
+world would never come t' much; so down goes the ship,' says He, 'an' up
+comes that dear mother t' my bosom. 'Tis no use tellin' them why,' says
+He, 'for they wouldn't understand. An', ecod!' says He, 'while I'm about
+it I'll just put it in the mind o' that doctor-man t' stay right there
+an' do a day's work or two for Me.' I'm sure He meant it--I'm sure He
+meant t' do just that--I'm sure 'twas all done o' purpose. We thinks
+He's hard an' a bit free an' careless. Ecod! they's times when we
+thinks He fair bungles His job. He kills us, an' He cripples us, an' He
+starves us, an' He hurts our hearts; an' then, Davy, we says He's a
+dunderhead at runnin' a world, which, says we, we could run a sight
+better, if we was able t' make one. But the Lard, Davy, does His day's
+work in a seamanlike way, usin' no more crooked backs an' empty stomachs
+an' children's tears an' broken hearts than He can help. 'Tis little we
+knows about what _He's_ up to. An' 'tis wise, I'm thinkin', not t'
+bother about tryin' t' find out. 'Tis better t' let Him steer His own
+course an' ask no questions. I just _knowed_ He was up t' something
+grand. I said so, Davy! 'Tis just like the hymn, lad, about His hidin' a
+smilin' face behind a frownin' providence. Ah, Davy, _He'll_ take care
+o' _we_!"
+
+All of which, as you know, was quite characteristic of Skipper Tommy
+Lovejoy.
+
+
+
+
+XIV
+
+In The WATCHES of The NIGHT
+
+
+At once we established the doctor in our house, that he might be more
+comfortably disposed; and this was by my sister's wish, who hoped to be
+his helper in the sweet labour of healing. And soon a strange thing
+happened: once in the night--'twas late of a clear, still night--I
+awoke, of no reason; nor could I fall asleep again, but lay high on the
+pillow, watching the stars, which peeped in at my window, companionably
+winking. Then I heard the fall of feet in the house--a restless pacing:
+which brought me out of bed, in a twinkling, and took me tiptoeing to
+the doctor's room, whence the unusual sound. But first I listened at the
+door; and when I had done that, I dared not enter, because of what I
+heard, but, crouching in the darkness, must continue to listen ... and
+listen....
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+By and by I crept away to my sister's room, unable longer to bear the
+awe and sorrow in my heart.
+
+"Bessie!" I called, in a low whisper.
+
+"Ay, Davy?"
+
+"Is you awake?"
+
+"Ay, I'm wakeful."
+
+I closed the door after me--then went swiftly to her bedside, treading
+with great caution.
+
+"Listenin'?" I asked.
+
+"T' the doctor," she answered, "walkin' the floor."
+
+"Is you afraid?" I whispered.
+
+"No."
+
+"I is."
+
+She sat up in bed--and drew me closer. "An' why, dear?" she asked,
+stroking my cheek.
+
+"Along o' what I heared in the dark, Bessie--at his door."
+
+"You've not been eavesdroppin', Davy?" she chided.
+
+"Oh, I wisht I hadn't!"
+
+"'Twas not well done."
+
+The moon was up, broadly shining behind the Watchman: my sister's white
+little room--kept sweet and dainty in the way she had--was full of soft
+gray light; and I saw that her eyes were wide and moist.
+
+"He's wonderful restless, the night," she mused.
+
+"He've a great grief."
+
+"A grief? Oh, Davy!"
+
+"Ay, a great, great grief! He've been talkin' to hisself, Bessie. But
+'tis not words; 'tis mostly only sounds."
+
+"Naught else?"
+
+"Oh, ay! He've said----"
+
+"Hush!" she interrupted. "'Tis not right for me t' know. I would not
+have you tell----"
+
+I would not be stopped. "He've said, Bessie," I continued, catching
+something, it may be, of his agony, "he've said, 'I pay! Oh, God, I
+pay!' he've said. 'Merciful Christ, hear me--oh, I pay!'"
+
+She trembled.
+
+"'Tis some great grief," said I.
+
+"Do you haste to his comfort, Davy," she whispered, quickly. "'Twould be
+a kind thing t' do."
+
+"Is you sure he's wantin' me?"
+
+"Were it me I would."
+
+When I had got to the doctor's door again, I hesitated, as before,
+fearing to go in; and once more I withdrew to my sister's room.
+
+"I'm not able t' go in," I faltered. "'Tis awful, Bessie, t' hear men
+goin' on--like that."
+
+"Like what?"
+
+"Cryin'."
+
+A little while longer I sat silent with my sister--until, indeed, the
+restless footfalls ceased, and the blessed quiet of night fell once
+again.
+
+"An', Bessie," said I, "he said a queer thing."
+
+She glanced a question.
+
+"He said your name!"
+
+She was much interested--but hopelessly puzzled. For a moment she gazed
+intently at the stars. Then she sighed.
+
+"He've a great grief," I repeated, sighing, "an' he've been wicked."
+
+"Oh, no--not wicked!"
+
+"Ay," I persisted, gently, "wicked; for he've told me so with his own
+tongue."
+
+"Not wicked!"
+
+"But he've _said_ so," I insisted, nettled, on the instant, by my
+sister's perversity.
+
+"I'm thinkin' he couldn't be," she said.
+
+"Sure, why not?" I demanded.
+
+She looked away for a moment--through the window, into the far, starlit
+sky, which the light of the moon was fast paling; and I thought my
+question forgot.
+
+"Why not, sister?"
+
+"I--don't know--why not!" she whispered.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+I kissed my sister good-night, while yet she puzzled over this, and
+slipped off to my own room, lifting my night-dress, as I tiptoed along,
+lest I trip and by some clumsy commotion awake my friend to his
+bitterness. Once back in my bed--once again lying alone in the tranquil
+night--I found the stars still peeping in at my window, still twinkling
+companionably, as I had left them. And I thought, as my mother had
+taught me, of these little watchmen, serene, constant, wise in their
+great remoteness--and of him who lay in unquiet sleep near by--and,
+then, understanding nothing of the mystery, nor caring to know, but now
+secure in the unquestioning faith of childhood, I closed my eyes to
+sleep: for the stars still shone on, flashing each its little message of
+serenity to the troubled world.
+
+
+
+
+XV
+
+THE WOLF
+
+
+In course of time, the mail-boat cleared our harbour of wrecked folk;
+and within three weeks of that day my father was cast away on Ill Wind
+Head: being alone on the way to Preaching Cove with the skiff, at the
+moment, for fish to fill out the bulk of our first shipment to the
+market at St. John's, our own catch having disappointed the expectation
+of us every one. My sister and I were then left to manage my father's
+business as best we could: which we must determine to do, come weal or
+woe, for we knew no other way. My sister said, moreover, that, whether
+we grew rich or poor, 'twas wise and kind to do our best, lest our
+father's folk, who had ever been loyal to his trade, come upon evil
+times at the hands of traders less careful of their welfare. Large
+problems of management we did not perceive, but only the simple,
+immediate labour, to which we turned with naively willing heads and
+hands, sure that, because of the love abroad in all the world, no evil
+would befall us.
+
+"'Twill be fortune," my sister said, in her sweet and hopeful way; "for
+the big world is good, Davy," said she, "to such as are bereft."
+
+"I'm not so sure o' that."
+
+"Ay," she repeated, unshaken, "the world is kind."
+
+"You is but a girl, Bessie," said I, "an' not well acquaint with the way
+o' the world. Still an' all," I mused, "Skipper Tommy says 'tis kind,
+an' he've growed wonderful used t' livin'."
+
+"We'll not fear the world."
+
+"No, no! We'll not fear it. I'll be a man, sister, for your sake."
+
+"An' I a true woman," said she, "for yours."
+
+To Tom Tot we gave the handling of the fish and stores, resolving, also,
+to stand upon his judgment in the matter of dealing supplies to the
+thriftless and the unfortunate, whether generously or with a sparing
+hand, for the men of our harbour were known to him, every one, in
+strength and conscience and will for toil. As for the shop, said we, we
+would mind it ourselves, for 'twas but play to do it; and thus, indeed,
+it turned out: so hearty was the sport it provided that my sister and I
+would hilariously race for the big key (which hung on a high nail in the
+dining-room) whenever a customer came. I would not have you think us
+unfeeling. God knows, we were not that! 'Twas this way with us: each hid
+the pain, and thus thought to deceive the other into a happier mood. We
+did well enough in the shop; but we could make neither head nor tail of
+the books in my father's safe; and when our bewilderment and heartache
+came to ears of the doctor he said that he would himself manage the
+letters and keep the books in the intervals of healing the sick: which,
+with a medicine chest they had brought ashore from the wreck, he had
+already begun to practice.
+
+It seemed, then, to my sister and me, that the current of our life once
+more ran smooth.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+And Jagger of Wayfarer's Tickle--the same who sat at cards with the
+mail-boat doctor and beat his dog with the butt of a whip--having got
+news of my father's death, came presently to our harbour, with that in
+mind which jumped ill with our plans. We had dispiriting weather: a raw
+wind bowled in from the northeast, whipping the fog apace; and the sea,
+as though worried out of patience, broke in a short, white-capped lop,
+running at cross purposes with the ground swell. 'Twas evil sailing for
+small craft: so whence came this man's courage for the passage 'tis past
+me even now to fathom; for he had no liking to be at sea, but, rather,
+cursed the need of putting out, without fail, and lay prone below at
+such unhappy times as the sloop chanced to toss in rough waters,
+praying all the time with amazing ferocity. Howbeit, across the bay he
+came, his lee rail smothered; and when he had landed, he shook his
+gigantic fist at the sea and burst into a triumphant bellow of
+blasphemy, most thrilling (as we were told) to hear: whereafter, with a
+large air (as of prospective ownership), he inspected the flakes and
+storehouses, heartily condemned them, wished our gaping crew to
+perdition, and, out of breath at last, moved up the path to our house,
+his great dog hanging like a shadow at his heels--having come and gone
+on the wharves, as Tom Tot said, like a gale o' wind.
+
+My sister and I sat dreaming in the evening light--wherein, of soft
+shadows and western glory, fine futures may by any one be fashioned.
+
+"'Tis rich," said I, "that _I'm_ wantin' t' be."
+
+"Not I," said she.
+
+"Not you?"
+
+"Not rich," she answered, "but helpful t' such as do the work o' the
+world."
+
+"T' me, Bessie?"
+
+"Ay," with a smile and half a sigh, "t' you."
+
+"An' only me? I'd not be selfish with you. Is you wishin' t' be
+helpful--only t' me?"
+
+"No."
+
+"T' him?"
+
+"An it please you," she softly answered.
+
+"An' we t' you, Bessie!" I cried, in a rapture, kissing her plump little
+hand, which lay over my shoulder, convenient to my lips. "Ay, for your
+loving-kindness, my sister!"
+
+"'Tis t' you, first of all, Davy," she protested, quickly, "that I'm
+wishin' t' be helpful; an' then t' him, an' then t'----"
+
+"T' who?" I demanded, frowning.
+
+"All the world," said she.
+
+"Very well," said I, much relieved to find that the interloper was no
+more to be dreaded. "I'll not mind _that_. 'Tis as you like. You'll help
+whomso you please--an' as many. For I'm t' be rich. Rich--look you! I'll
+have seven schooners t' sail the northern Labrador, as the doctor says.
+I'll never be content with less. Seven I'll have, my dear, t' fish from
+the Straits t' Chidley. I'll have the twins t' be masters o' two; but
+I'll sail the big one--the swift one--the hundred-tonner--ay, lass, I'll
+sail she, with me own hands. An', ecod! Bessie, _I'll_ crack it on!"
+
+"You'll not be rash, dear?" said she, anxiously.
+
+"Rash!" laughed I. "I'll cut off the reef points! Rash? There won't be a
+skipper can carry sail with me! I'll get the fish--an' I'll see to it
+that my masters does. Then I'll push our trade north an' south. Ay, I
+will! Oh, I knows what I'll do, Bessie, for I been talkin' with the
+doctor, an' we got it split an' dried. Hard work an' fair dealing, mum;
+that's what's t' do it. Our father's way, mum: honest scales on the
+wharf an' full weight at the counter. 'Twill be that or bust----"
+
+"Why, Davy," she exclaimed, her eyes flashing, "you're talkin' like a
+growed man!"
+
+"Ay, ecod!" I boasted, flattered by the inference, "'twill not be many
+years afore we does more trade in our harbour than they does at the big
+stores o' Wayfarer's Tickle."
+
+A low growl, coming from the shadows in the hall, brought me to a full
+stop; and upon the heels of that a fantastic ejaculation:
+
+"Scuttle me!"
+
+So sudden and savage the outburst, so raucous the voice, so charged with
+angry chagrin--the whole so incongruous with soft dreams and evening
+light--that 'twas in a shiver of terror my sister and I turned to
+discover whose presence had disturbed us.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The intruder stood in the door--a stubby, grossly stout man,
+thin-legged, thick-necked, all body and beard: clad below in tight
+trousers, falling loose, however, over the boots; swathed above in an
+absurdly inadequate pea-jacket, short in the sleeves and buttoned tight
+over a monstrous paunch, which laboured (and that right sturdily) to
+burst the bonds of its confinement, but succeeded only in creating a
+vast confusion of wrinkles. His attitude was that of a man for the
+moment amazed beyond utterance: his head was thrown back, so that of his
+face nothing was to be seen but a short, ragged growth of iron-gray
+beard and a ridge of bushy eyebrow; his hands were plunged deep in his
+trousers pockets, which the fists distended; his legs, the left deformed
+(being bent inward at the knee), were spread wide. In the shadows beyond
+lurked a huge dog--a mighty, sullen beast, which came stepping up, with
+lowered head, to peer at us from between his master's legs.
+
+"I'll be scuttled," said the man, bringing his head forward with a jerk,
+"if the little cock wouldn't cut into the trade o' Wayfarer's Tickle!"
+
+Having thus in a measure mastered his amazement (and not waiting to be
+bidden), he emerged from the obscurity of the doorway, advanced, limping
+heavily, and sat himself in my father's chair, from which, his bandy
+legs comfortably hanging from the table, where he had disposed his feet,
+he regarded me in a way so sinister--with a glance so fixed and
+ill-intentioned--that his great, hairy face, malformed and mottled, is
+clear to me to this day, to its last pimple and wrinkle, its bulbous,
+flaming nose and bloodshot eyes, as though 'twere yesterday I saw it.
+And there he sat, puffing angrily, blowing his nose like a whale,
+scowling, ejaculating, until (as I've no doubt) he conceived us to have
+been reduced to a condition of trepidation wherein he might most easily
+overmaster us.
+
+"Scuttled!" he repeated, fetching his paunch a resounding thwack.
+"Bored!"
+
+Thereupon he drew from the depths of his trousers pocket a disreputable
+clay pipe, filled it, got it alight, noisily puffed it, darting little
+glances at my sister and me the while, in the way of one outraged--now
+of reproach, now of righteous indignation, now betraying uttermost
+disappointment--for all the world as though he had been pained to
+surprise us in the thick of a conspiracy to wrong him, but, being of a
+meek and most forgiving disposition, would overlook the offense, though
+'twas beyond his power, however willing the spirit, to hide the wound
+our guilt had dealt him. Whatever the object of this display, it gave me
+a great itching to retreat behind my sister's skirts, for fear and
+shame. And, as it appeared, he was quick to conjecture my feeling: for
+at once he dropped the fantastic manner and proceeded to a quiet and
+appallingly lucid statement of his business.
+
+"I'm Jagger o' Wayfarer's Tickle," said he, "an' I'm come t' take over
+this trade."
+
+"'Tis not for sale," my sister answered.
+
+"I wants the trade o' this harbour," said he, ignoring her, "on my
+books. An' I got t' have it."
+
+"We're wantin' my father's business," my sister persisted, but faintly
+now, "for Davy, when he's growed."
+
+"I'm able t' buy you out," Jagger pursued, addressing the ceiling, "or
+run you out. 'Tis cheaper an' quicker t' buy you out. Now," dropping his
+eyes suddenly to my sister's, "how much are you askin' for this here
+trade?"
+
+"'Tis not for sale."
+
+"Not for sale?" roared he, jumping up.
+
+"No, zur," she gasped.
+
+"If I can't buy it," he cried, in a rage, driving the threat home with
+an oath peculiarly unfit for the ears of women, "I'll break it!"
+
+Which brought tears to my tender sister's eyes; whereupon, with a good
+round oath to match his own, I flew at him, in a red passion, and, being
+at all times agile and now moved to extraordinary effort, managed to
+inflict some damage on his shins before he was well aware of my
+intention--and that so painful that he yelped like a hurt cur. But he
+caught me by the arms, which he jammed against my ribs, lifted me high,
+cruelly shaking me, and sat me on the edge of the table in a fashion so
+sudden and violent that my teeth came together with a snap: having done
+which, he trapped my legs with his paunch, and thus held me in durance
+impotent and humiliating, so that I felt mean, indeed, to come to such
+a pass after an attack impetuously undertaken and executed with no
+little gallantry and effect. And he brought his face close to mine, his
+eyes flaring and winking with rage, his lips lifted from his yellow,
+broken teeth; and 'twas in his mind, as I perceived, to beat me as I had
+never been beaten before.
+
+"Ye crab!" he began. "Ye little----"
+
+"The dog!" my sister screamed.
+
+'Twas timely warning: for the dog was crouched in the hall, his muscles
+taut for the spring, his king-hairs bristling, his fangs exposed.
+
+"Down!" shrieks Jagger.
+
+The diversion released me. Jagger sprang away; and I saw, in a flash,
+that his concern was not for me, but for himself, upon whom the dog's
+baleful glance was fastened. There was now no ring of mastery in his
+voice, as there had been on the mail-boat, but the shiver of panic; and
+this, it may be, the dog detected, for he settled more alertly, pawing
+the floor with his forefeet, as though seeking firmer foothold from
+which to leap. As once before, I wished the beast well in the issue;
+indeed, I hoped 'twould be the throat and a fair grip! But Jagger caught
+a billet of wood from the box, and, with a hoarse, stifled
+cry--frightful to hear--drew back to throw. Then the doctor's light
+step sounded in the hall, and in he came, brushing past the dog, which
+slunk away into the shadows. For a moment he regarded us curiously, and
+then, his brows falling in a quick frown, he laid his medicine case on
+my sister's sewing-machine, with never a word, and went to the window,
+where he stood idle, gazing out over the darkening prospect of sea and
+rock and upon great clouds flushed with lurid colour.
+
+There was silence in the room--which none of us who waited found the
+will to break.
+
+"Jagger"--said the doctor.
+
+The voice was low--almost a drawl--but mightily authoritative: being
+without trace of feeling, but superior to passion, majestic.
+
+"Ay, sir?"
+
+"Go!"
+
+The doctor still stood with his back to us, still gazed, continuing
+tranquil, through the broad window to the world without. And Jagger,
+overmastered by this confident assumption of authority, went away, as he
+was bidden, casting backward glances, ominous of machinations to come.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+What Jagger uttered on my father's wharf--what on the deck of the sloop
+while he moored his dog to the windlass for a beating--what he flung
+back while she gathered way--strangely moved Tom Tot, who hearkened,
+spellbound, until the last words of it (and the last yelp of the dog)
+were lost in the distance of North Tickle: it impelled the old man (as
+he has said many a time) to go wash his hands. But 'tis of small moment
+beside what the doctor said when informed of the occurrences in our
+house: being this, that he must have a partnership in our firm, because,
+first, it was in his heart to help my sister and me, who had been kind
+to him and were now like sheep fallen in with a wolf-pack, and second,
+because by thus establishing himself on the coast he might avert the
+suspicion of the folk from such good works as he had in contemplation.
+
+"More than that," said he, "we will prove fair dealing possible here as
+elsewhere. It needs but courage and--money."
+
+"I'm thinkin'," my sister said, "that Davy has the courage."
+
+"And I," said he, "have the money."
+
+I was very glad to hear it.
+
+
+
+
+XVI
+
+A MALADY of The HEART
+
+
+In the firelight of that evening--when the maids had cleared the cozy
+room and carried away the lamp and we three sat alone together in my
+father's house--was planned our simple partnership in good works and the
+fish business. 'Tis wonderful what magic is abroad at such times--what
+dreams, what sure hopes, lie in the flickering blaze, the warm, red
+glow, the dancing shadows; what fine aspirations unfold in hearts that
+are brave and hopeful and kind. Presently, we had set a fleet of new
+schooners afloat, put a score of new traps in the water, proved
+fair-dealing and prosperity the selfsame thing, visited the sick of five
+hundred miles, established a hospital--transformed our wretched coast,
+indeed, into a place no longer ignorant of jollity and thrift and
+healing. The doctor projected all with lively confidence--his eyes
+aflash, his lean, white hand eloquent, his tongue amazingly active and
+persuasive--and with an insight so sagacious and well-informed, a
+purpose so pure and wise, that he revealed himself (though we did not
+think of it then) not only as a man of heart but of conspicuous sense.
+It did not enter our minds to distrust him: because our folk are not
+sophisticated in polite overreaching, not given to the vice of
+suspicion, and because--well, he was what he was.
+
+My sister's face was aglow--most divinely radiant--with responsive faith
+and enthusiasm; and as for me----
+
+"Leave me get down," I gasped, at last, to the doctor, "or I'll bust
+with delight, by heaven!"
+
+He laughed, but unclasped his hands and let me slip from his knee; and
+then I began to strut the floor, my chest puffed out to twice its
+natural extent.
+
+"By heaven!" I began. "If that Jagger----"
+
+The clock struck ten. "David Roth," my sister exclaimed, lifting her
+hands in mock horror, "'tis fair scandalous for a lad o' your years t'
+be up 't this hour!"
+
+"Off to bed with you, you rascal!" roared the doctor.
+
+"I'll not go," I protested.
+
+"Off with you!"
+
+"Not I."
+
+"Catch un, doctor!" cried my sister.
+
+"An you can, zur!" I taunted.
+
+If he could? Ecod! He snatched at me, quick as a cat; but I dodged his
+hand, laughed in his face and put the table between us. With an agility
+beyond compare--with a flow of spirits like a gale of wind--he vaulted
+the broad board. The great, grave fellow appeared of a sudden to my
+startled vision in midair--his arms and legs at sixes and sevens--his
+coat-tails flapping like a loose sail--his mouth wide open in a
+demoniacal whoop--and I dropped to the floor but in the bare nick of
+time to elude him. Uproarious pursuit ensued: it made my sister limp and
+pain-stricken and powerless with laughter; it brought our two maids from
+the kitchen and kept them hysterically screaming in the doorway, the
+lamp at a fearsome angle; it tumbled the furniture about with rollicking
+disregard, led the doctor a staggering, scrambling, leaping course in
+the midst of upturned tables and chairs, and, at last, ran the gasping
+quarry to earth under the sofa. I was taken out by the heels,
+shouldered, carried aloft and flung sprawling on my bed--while the whole
+house rang again with peal upon peal of hearty laughter.
+
+"Oh, zur," I groaned, "I never knowed you was so jolly!"
+
+"Not so?"
+
+"On my word, zur!"
+
+He sighed.
+
+"I fancied you was never but sad."
+
+"Ah, well," said he, "the Labrador, Davy, is evidently working a cure."
+
+"God be thanked for that!" said I, devoutly.
+
+He rumpled my hair and went out. And I bade him send my sister with the
+candle; and while I lay waiting in the dark a glow of content came upon
+me--because of this: that whereas I had before felt woefully inadequate
+to my sister's protection, however boastfully I had undertaken it, I was
+now sure that in our new partnership her welfare and peace of heart were
+to be accomplished. Then she came in and sat with me while I got ready
+for bed. She had me say my prayers at her knee, as a matter of course,
+but this night hinted that an additional petition for the doctor's
+well-doing and happiness might not be out of place. She chided me, after
+that, for the temper I had shown against Jagger and for the oath I had
+flung at his head, as I knew she would--but did not chide me heartily,
+because, as she said, she was for the moment too gratefully happy to
+remember my short-comings against me. I thanked her, then, for this
+indulgence, and told her that she might go to bed, for I was safely and
+comfortably bestowed, as she could see, and ready for sleep; but she
+would not go, and there sat, with the candle in her hand, her face
+flushed and her great blue eyes soulfully glowing, while she continued
+to chatter in an incoherent and strangely irrelevant fashion: so that,
+astonished into broad wakefulness by this extraordinary behaviour, I sat
+bolt upright in bed, determined to discover the cause.
+
+"Bessie Roth," said I, severely, "what's come upon you?"
+
+"I'm not knowin', Davy," she answered, softly, looking away.
+
+"'Tis somewhat awful, then," said I, in alarm, "for you're not lookin'
+me in the eye."
+
+She looked then in her lap--and did not raise her eyes, though I waited:
+which was very strange.
+
+"You isn't sick, is you?"
+
+"No-o," she answered, doubtfully.
+
+"Oh, you _mustn't_ get sick," I protested. "'Twould _never_ do. I'd fair
+die--if _you_ got sick!"
+
+"'Tisn't sickness; 'tis--I'm not knowin' what."
+
+"Ah, come," I pleaded; "what is it, dear?"
+
+"Davy, lad," she faltered, "I'm just--dreadful--happy."
+
+"Happy?" cried I, scornfully. "'Tis not happiness! Why, sure, your lip
+is curlin' with grief!"
+
+"But I _was_ happy."
+
+"You isn't happy now, my girl."
+
+"No," she sobbed, "I'm wonderful miserable--now."
+
+I kicked off the covers. "You've the fever, that's what!" I exclaimed,
+jumping out of bed.
+
+"'Tis not that, Davy."
+
+"Then--oh, for pity's sake, Bessie, tell your brother what's gone wrong
+along o' you!"
+
+"I'm thinkin', Davy," she whispered, despairingly, "that I'm nothin' but
+a sinful woman."
+
+"A--what! Why, Bessie----"
+
+"Nothin'," she repeated, positively, "but a sinful, wicked person."
+
+"Who told you that?" said I, dancing about in a rage.
+
+"My own heart."
+
+"Your heart!" cried I, blind angry. "'Tis a liar an it says so."
+
+"What words!" she exclaimed, changed in a twinkling. "An' to your
+sister! Do you get back in bed this instant, David Roth, an' tell her
+that you're sorry."
+
+I was loath to do it, but did, to pacify her; and when she had carried
+away the candle I chuckled, for I had cured her of her indisposition for
+that night, at any rate: as I knew, for when she kissed me 'twas plain
+that she was more concerned for her wayward brother than for herself.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Past midnight I was awakened by the clang of the bell on my father's
+wharf. 'Twas an unpleasant sound. Half a gale--no less--could do it. I
+then knew that the wind had freshened and veered to the southeast; and
+I listened to determine how wild the night. Wild enough! The bell
+clanged frequently, sharply, jangling in the gusts--like an anxious
+warning. My window was black; there was no light in the sky--no star
+shining. Rain pattered on the roof. I heard the rush of wind. 'Twas
+inevitable that I should contrast the quiet of the room, the security of
+my place, the comfort of my couch and blankets, with a rain-swept,
+heaving deck and a tumultuous sea. A gusty night, I thought--thick, wet,
+with the wind rising. The sea would be in a turmoil on the grounds by
+dawn: there would be no fishing; and I was regretting this--between
+sleep and waking--when the bell again clanged dolefully. Roused, in a
+measure, I got ear of men stumbling up the path. I was into my breeches
+before they had trampled half the length of the platform--well on my way
+down the dark stair when they knocked on the door--standing scared in
+the light of their lantern, the door open, before they found time to
+hail.
+
+I was addressed by a gray old man in ragged oilskins. "We heared tell,"
+said he, mildly, wiping his dripping beard, "that you got a doctor
+here."
+
+I said that we had.
+
+"Well," he observed, in a dull, slow voice, "we got a sick man over
+there t' Wreck Cove."
+
+"Ay?" said I.
+
+"An' we was sort o' wonderin', wasn't we, Skipper Tom," another put in,
+"how much this doctor would be askin' t' go over an' cure un?"
+
+"Well, ay," the skipper admitted, taking off his sou'wester to scratch
+his head, "we _did_ kind o' have that idea."
+
+"'Tis a wild night," said I: in my heart doubting--and that with
+shame--that the doctor would venture out upon the open sea in a gale of
+wind.
+
+"'Tis _not_ very civil," said the skipper frankly. "I'm free t' say," in
+a drawl, "that 'tis--well--rather--dirty."
+
+"An' he isn't got used t' sailin' yet. But----"
+
+"No?" in mild wonder. "Isn't he, now? Well, we got a stout little skiff.
+Once she gets past the Thirty Devils, she'll maybe make Wreck Cove, all
+right--if she's handled proper. Oh, she'll maybe make it if----"
+
+"Davy!" my sister called from above. "Do you take the men through t' the
+kitchen. I'll rouse the doctor an' send the maids down t' make tea."
+
+"Well, now, thank you kindly, miss," Skipper Tom called up to the
+landing. "That's wonderful kind."
+
+It was a familiar story--told while the sleepy maids put the kettle on
+the fire and the fury of the gale increased. 'Twas the schooner _Lucky
+Fisherman_, thirty tons, Tom Lisson master, hailing from Burnt Harbour
+of the Newfoundland Green Bay, and fishing the Labrador at Wreck Cove,
+with a tidy catch in the hold and four traps in the water. There had
+been a fine run o' fish o' late; an' Bill Sparks, the splitter--with a
+brood of ten children to grow fat or go hungry on the venture--labouring
+without sleep and by the light of a flaring torch, had stabbed his right
+hand with a fish bone. The old, old story--now so sadly threadbare to
+me--of ignorance and uncleanliness! The hand was swollen to a wonderful
+size and grown wonderful angry--the man gone mad of pain--the crew
+contemplating forcible amputation with an axe. Wonderful sad the
+mail-boat doctor wasn't nowhere near! Wonderful sad if Bill Sparks must
+lose his hand! Bill Sparks was a wonderful clever hand with the
+splittin'-knife--able t' split a wonderful sight o' fish a minute.
+Wonderful sad if Bill Sparks's family was to be throwed on the gov'ment
+all along o' Bill losin' his right hand! Wonderful sad if poor Bill
+Sparks----
+
+The doctor entered at that moment. "Who is asking for me?" he demanded,
+sharply.
+
+"Well," Skipper Tom drawled, rising, "we was thinkin' we'd sort o' like
+t' see the doctor."
+
+"I am he," the doctor snapped. "Yes?" inquiringly.
+
+"We was wonderin', doctor," Skipper Tom answered, abashed, "what you'd
+charge t' go t' Wreck Cove an'--an'--well, use the knife on a man's
+hand."
+
+"Charge? Nonsense!"
+
+"We'd like wonderful well," said the skipper, earnestly, "t' have
+you----"
+
+"But--_to-night_!"
+
+"You see, zur," said the skipper, gently, "he've wonderful pain, an'
+he've broke everything breakable that we got, an' we've got un locked in
+the fo'c's'le, an'----"
+
+"Where's Wreck Cove?"
+
+"'Tis t' the s'uth'ard, zur," one of the men put in. "Some twelve miles
+beyond the Thirty Devils."
+
+The doctor opened the kitchen door and stepped out. There was no doubt
+about the weather. A dirty gale was blowing. Wind and rain drove in from
+the black night; and, under all the near and petty noises, sounded the
+great, deep roar of breakers.
+
+"Hear that?" he asked, excitedly, closing the door against the wind.
+
+"Ay," the skipper admitted; "as I was tellin' the young feller, it
+_isn't_ so _very_ civil."
+
+"Civil!" cried the doctor.
+
+"No; not so civil that it mightn't be a bit civiller; but, now----"
+
+"And twelve miles of open sea!"
+
+"No, zur--no; not accordin' t' my judgment. Eleven an' a half, zur,
+would cover it."
+
+The doctor laughed.
+
+"An', as I was sayin', zur," the skipper concluded, pointedly, "we just
+come through it."
+
+My sister and I exchanged anxious glances: then turned again to the
+doctor--who continued to stare at the floor.
+
+"Just," one of the crew repeated, blankly, for the silence was painful,
+"come through it."
+
+The doctor looked up. "Of course, you know," he began, quietly, with a
+formal smile, "I am not--accustomed to this sort of--professional call.
+It--rather--takes my breath away. When do we start?"
+
+Skipper Tom took a look at the weather. "Blowin' up wonderful," he
+observed, quietly, smoothing his long hair, which the wind had put awry.
+"Gets real dirty long about the Thirty Devils in the dark. Don't it,
+Will?"
+
+Will said that it did--indeed, it did--no doubt about that, _what_ever.
+
+"I s'pose," the skipper drawled, in conclusion, "we'd as lief get
+underway at dawn."
+
+"Very good," said the doctor. "And--you were asking about my fee--were
+you not? You'll have to pay, you know--if you can--for I believe
+in--that sort of thing. Could you manage three dollars?"
+
+"We was 'lowin'," the skipper answered, "t' pay about seven when we sold
+the v'y'ge in the fall. 'Tis a wonderful bad hand Bill Sparks has got."
+
+"Let it be seven," said the doctor, quickly. "The balance may go, you
+know, to help some poor devil who hasn't a penny. Send it to me in the
+fall if----"
+
+The skipper looked up in mild inquiry.
+
+"Well," said the doctor, with a nervous smile, "if we're all here, you
+know."
+
+"Oh," said the skipper, with a large wave of the hand, "_that's God's_
+business."
+
+They put out at dawn--into a sea as wild as ever I knew an open boat to
+brave. The doctor bade us a merry good-bye; and he waved his hand,
+shouting that which the wind swept away, as the boat darted off towards
+South Tickle. My sister and I went to the heads of Good Promise to watch
+the little craft on her way. The clouds were low and black--torn by the
+wind--driving up from the southwest like mad: threatening still heavier
+weather. We followed the skiff with my father's glass--saw her beat
+bravely on, reeling through the seas, smothered in spray--until she was
+but a black speck on the vast, angry waste, and, at last, vanished
+altogether in the spume and thickening fog. Then we went back to my
+father's house, prayerfully wishing the doctor safe voyage to Wreck
+Cove; and all that day, and all the next, while the gale still blew, my
+sister was nervous and downcast, often at the window, often on the
+heads, forever sighing as she went about the work of the house. And when
+I saw her thus distraught and colourless--no warm light in her eyes--no
+bloom on her dimpled cheeks--no merry smile lurking about the corners of
+her sweet mouth--I was fretted beyond description; and I determined
+this: that when the doctor got back from Wreck Cove I should report her
+case to him, whether she liked it or not, with every symptom I had
+observed, and entreat him, by the love and admiration in which I held
+him, to cure her of her malady, whatever the cost.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+On the evening of the third day, when the sea was gone down and the wind
+was blowing fair and mild from the south, I sat with my sister at the
+broad window, where was the outlook upon great hills, and upon sombre
+water, and upon high, glowing sky--she in my mother's rocker, placidly
+sewing, as my mother used to do, and I pitifully lost in my father's
+armchair, covertly gazing at her, in my father's way.
+
+"Is you better, this even, sister, dear?" I asked.
+
+"Oh, ay," she answered, vehemently, as my mother used to do. "Much
+better."
+
+"You're wonderful poorly."
+
+"'Tis true," she said, putting the thread between her white little
+teeth. "But," the strand now broken, "though you'd not believe it, Davy,
+dear, I'm feeling--almost--nay, quite--well."
+
+I doubted it. "'Tis a strange sickness," I observed, with a sigh.
+
+"Yes, Davy," she said, her voice falling, her lips pursed, her brows
+drawn down. "I'm not able t' make it out, at all. I'm feelin'--so
+wonderful--queer."
+
+"Is you, dear?"
+
+"Davy Roth," she averred, with a wag of the head so earnest that strands
+of flaxen hair fell over her eyes, and she had to brush them back again,
+"I never felt so queer in all my life afore!"
+
+"I'm dreadful worried about you, Bessie."
+
+"Hut! as for that," said she, brightly, "I'm not thinkin' I'm goin' t'
+_die_, Davy."
+
+"Sure, you never can tell about sickness," I sagely observed.
+
+"Oh, no!" said she. "I isn't got that--kind o'--sickness."
+
+"Well," I insisted, triumphantly, "you're wonderful shy o' eatin' pork."
+
+She shuddered.
+
+"I wished I knowed what you had," I exclaimed impatiently.
+
+"I wished you did," she agreed, frankly, if somewhat faintly. "For,
+then, Davy, you'd give me a potion t' cure me."
+
+She drew back the curtain--for the hundredth time, I vow--and peered
+towards South Tickle.
+
+"What you lookin' for?" I asked.
+
+"I was thinkin', Davy," she said, still gazing through the window, "that
+Skipper Zach Tupper might be comin' in from the Last Chance grounds with
+a fish for breakfast."
+
+The Last Chance grounds? 'Twas ignorance beyond belief! "Bessie," I
+said, with heat, "is you gone mad? Doesn't you know that no man in his
+seven senses would fish the Last Chance grounds in a light southerly
+wind? Why----"
+
+"Well," she interrupted, with a pretty pout, "you knows so well as me
+that Zach Tupper haven't _got_ his seven senses."
+
+"Bessie!"
+
+She peeked towards South Tickle again; and then--what a wonder-worker
+the divine malady is!--she leaned eagerly forward, her sewing falling
+unheeded to the floor; and her soft breast rose and fell to a rush of
+sweet emotion, and her lips parted in delicious wonderment, and the
+blood came back to her cheeks, and her dimples were no longer pathetic,
+but eloquent of sweetness and innocence, and her eyes turned moist and
+brilliant, glowing with the glory of womanhood first recognized, tender
+and pure. Ah, my sister--lovely in person but lovelier far in heart and
+mind--adorably innocent--troubled and destined to infinitely deeper
+distress before the end--brave and true and hopeful through all the
+chequered course of love! You had not known, dear heart, but then
+discovered, all in a heavenly flash, what sickness you suffered of.
+
+"Davy!" she whispered.
+
+"Ay, dear?"
+
+"I'm knowin'--now--what ails me."
+
+I sat gazing at her in love and great awe. "'Tis not a wickedness,
+Bessie," I declared.
+
+"No, no!"
+
+"'Tis not that. No, no! I knows 'tis not a sin."
+
+"'Tis a holy thing," she said, turning, her eyes wide and solemn.
+
+"A holy thing?"
+
+"Ay--holy!"
+
+I chanced to look out of the window. "Ecod!" I cried. "The Wreck Cove
+skiff is in with Doctor Luke!"
+
+Unfeeling, like all lads--in love with things seen--I ran out.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The doctor came ashore at the wharf in a state of wild elation. He made
+a rush for me, caught me up, called to the crew of the skiff to come to
+the house for tea--then shouldered me, against my laughing protest, and
+started up the path.
+
+"I'm back, safe and sound," cried he. "Davy, I have been to Wreck Cove
+and back."
+
+"An' you're wonderful happy," cried I, from the uncertain situation of
+his shoulder.
+
+"Happy? That's the word, Davy. I'm happy! And why?"
+
+"Tell me."
+
+"I've done a good deed. I've saved a man's right hand. I've done a good
+deed for once," he repeated, between his teeth, "by God!"
+
+There was something contagious in all this; and (I say it by way of
+apology) I was ever the lad to catch at a rousing phrase.
+
+"A good deed!" I exclaimed. "By God, you'll do----"
+
+He thrashed me soundly on the spot.
+
+
+
+
+XVII
+
+HARD PRACTICE
+
+
+I bore him no grudge--the chastisement had been fairly deserved: for
+then, being loosed from parental restraint, I was by half too fond of
+aping the ways and words of full-grown men; and I was not unaware of the
+failing. However, the prediction on the tip of my tongue--that he would
+live to do many another good deed--would have found rich fulfillment had
+it been spoken. It was soon noised the length of the coast that a doctor
+dwelt in our harbour--one of good heart and skill and courage: to whom
+the sick of every station might go for healing. In short space the
+inevitable came upon us: punts put in for the doctor at unseasonable
+hours, desperately reckless of weather; schooners beat up with men lying
+ill or injured in the forecastles; the folk of the neighbouring ports
+brought their afflicted to be miraculously restored, and ingenuously
+quartered their dying upon us. A wretched multitude emerged from the
+hovels--crying, "Heal us!" And to every varied demand the doctor freely
+responded, smiling heartily, God bless him! spite of wind and weather:
+ready, active, merry, untiring--sad but when the only gift he bore was
+that of tender consolation.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+One night there came a maid from Punch Bowl Harbour. My sister sent her
+to the shop, where the doctor was occupied with the accounts of our
+business, myself to keep him company. 'Twas a raw, black night; and she
+entered with a gust of wind, which fluttered the doctor's papers, set
+the lamp flaring, and, at last, escaped by way of the stove to the gale
+from which it had strayed.
+
+"Is you the doctor?" she gasped.
+
+She stood with her back against the door, one hand still on the knob and
+the other shading her eyes--a slender slip of a girl, her head covered
+with a shawl, now dripping. Whisps of wet black hair clung to her
+forehead, and rain-drops lay in the flushed hollows of her cheeks.
+
+"I am," the doctor answered, cheerily, rising from his work.
+
+"Well, zur," said she, "I'm Tim Hodd's maid, zur, an' I'm just come from
+the Punch Bowl in the bait-skiff, zur--for healin'."
+
+"And what, my child," asked the doctor, sympathetically, "may be the
+matter with you?"
+
+Looking back--with the added knowledge that I have--it seems to me that
+he had no need to ask the question. The flush and gasp told the story
+well enough, quite well enough: the maid was dying of consumption.
+
+"Me lights is floatin', zur," she answered.
+
+"Your lights?"
+
+"Ay, zur," laying a hand on her chest. "They're floatin' wonderful high.
+I been tryin' t' kape un down; but, zur, 'tis no use, at all."
+
+With raised eyebrows the doctor turned to me. "What does she mean,
+Davy," he inquired, "by her 'lights'?"
+
+"I'm not well knowin'," said I; "but if 'tis what _we_ calls 'lights,'
+'tis what _you_ calls 'lungs.'"
+
+The doctor turned sadly to the maid.
+
+"I been takin' shot, zur, t' weight un down," she went on; "but, zur,
+'tis no use, at all. An' Jim Butt's my man," she added, hurriedly, in a
+low voice. "I'm t' be married to un when he comes up from the Narth.
+Does you think----"
+
+She paused--in embarrassment, perhaps: for it may be that it was the
+great hope of this maid, as it is of all true women of our coast, to
+live to be the mother of sons.
+
+"Go on," the doctor quietly said.
+
+"Oh, does you think, zur," she said, clasping her hands, a sob in her
+voice, "that you can cure me--afore the fleet--gets home?"
+
+"Davy," said the doctor, hoarsely, "go to your sister. I must have a
+word with this maid--alone." I went away.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+We caught sight of the _Word of the Lord_ beating down from the south in
+light winds--and guessed her errand--long before that trim little
+schooner dropped anchor in the basin. The skipper came ashore for
+healing of an angry abscess in the palm of his hand. Could the doctor
+cure it? To be sure--the doctor could do _that_! The man had suffered
+sleepless agony for five days; he was glad that the doctor could ease
+his pain--glad that he was soon again to be at the fishing. Thank God,
+he was to be cured!
+
+"I have only to lance and dress it," said the doctor. "You will have
+relief at once."
+
+"Not the knife," the skipper groaned. "Praise God, I'll not have the
+knife!"
+
+It was the doctor's first conflict with the strange doctrines of our
+coast. I still behold--as I lift my eyes from the page--his astonishment
+when he was sternly informed that the way of the Lord was not the way of
+a surgeon with a knife. Nor was the austere old fellow to be moved. The
+lance, said he, was an invention of the devil himself--its use plainly a
+defiance of the purposes of the Creator. Thank God! he had been reared
+by a Christian father of the old school.
+
+"No, no, doctor!" he declared, his face contorted by pain. "I'm thankin'
+you kindly; but I'm not carin' t' interfere with the decrees o'
+Providence."
+
+"But, man," cried the doctor, "I _must_----"
+
+"No!" doggedly. "I'll not stand in the Lard's way. If 'tis His will for
+me t' get better, I'll get better, I s'pose. If 'tis His blessed will
+for me t' die," he added, reverently, "I'll have t' die."
+
+"I give you my word," said the doctor, impatiently, "that if that hand
+is not lanced you'll be dead in three days."
+
+The man looked off to his schooner.
+
+"Three days," the doctor repeated.
+
+"I'm wonderful sorry," sighed the skipper, "but I got t' stand by the
+Lard."
+
+And he _was_ dead--within three days, as we afterwards learned: even as
+the doctor had said.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Once, when the doctor was off in haste to Cuddy Cove to save the life of
+a mother of seven--the Cuddy Cove men had without a moment's respite
+pulled twelve miles against a switch of wind from the north and were
+streaming sweat when they landed--once, when the doctor was thus about
+his beneficent business, a woman from Bowsprit Head brought her child
+to be cured, incredulous of the physician's power, but yet desperately
+seeking, as mothers will. She came timidly--her ailing child on her
+bosom, where, as it seemed to me, it had lain complaining since she gave
+it birth.
+
+"I'm thinkin' he'll die," she told my sister.
+
+My sister cried out against this hopelessness. 'Twas not kind to the
+dear Lord, said she, thus to despair.
+
+"They says t' Bowsprit Head," the woman persisted, "that he'll die in a
+fit. I'm--I'm--not wantin' him," she faltered, "t' die--like that."
+
+"No, no! He'll not!"
+
+She hushed the child in a mechanical way--being none the less tender and
+patient the while--as though her arms were long accustomed to the
+burden, her heart used to the pain.
+
+"There haven't ever been no child," said she, looking up, after a
+moment, "like this--afore--t' Bowsprit Head."
+
+My sister was silent.
+
+"No," the woman sighed; "not like this one."
+
+"Come, come, ma'm!" I put in, confidently. "Do you leave un t' the
+doctor. _He'll_ cure un."
+
+She looked at me quickly. "What say?" she said, as though she had not
+understood.
+
+"I says," I repeated, "that the doctor will cure that one."
+
+"Cure un?" she asked, blankly.
+
+"That he will!"
+
+She smiled--and looked up to the sky, smiling still, while she pressed
+the infant to her breast. "They isn't nobody," she whispered, "not
+nobody, ever said that--afore--about my baby!"
+
+Next morning we sat her on the platform to wait for the doctor, who had
+now been gone three days. "He does better in the air," said she.
+"He--he-_needs_ air!" It was melancholy weather--thick fog, with a
+drizzle of rain: the wind in the east, fretful and cold. All morning
+long she rocked the child in her arms: now softly singing to him--now
+vainly seeking to win a smile--now staring vacantly into the mist,
+dreaming dull dreams, while he lay in her lap.
+
+"He isn't come through the tickle, have he?" she asked, when I came up
+from the shop at noon.
+
+"He've not been sighted yet."
+
+"I'm thinkin' he'll be comin' soon."
+
+"Ay; you'll not have t' wait much longer."
+
+"I'm not mindin' _that_," said she, "for I'm used t' waitin'."
+
+The doctor came in from the sea at evening--when the wind had freshened
+to a gale, blowing bitter cold. He had been for three days and nights
+fighting without sleep for the life of that mother of seven--and had
+won! Ay, she had pulled through; she was now resting in the practiced
+care of the Cuddy Cove women, whose knowledge of such things had been
+generously increased. The ragged, sturdy seven still had a mother to
+love and counsel them. The Cuddy Cove men spoke reverently of the deed
+and the man who had done it. Tired? The doctor laughed. Not he! Why, he
+had been asleep under a tarpaulin all the way from Cuddy Cove! And
+Skipper Elisha Timbertight had handled the skiff in the high seas so
+cleverly, so tenderly, so watchfully--what a marvellous hand it
+was!--that the man under the tarpaulin had not been awakened until the
+nose of the boat touched the wharf piles. But the doctor was hollow-eyed
+and hoarse, staggering of weariness, but cheerfully smiling, as he went
+up the path to talk with the woman from Bowsprit Head.
+
+"You are waiting for me?" he asked.
+
+She was frightened--by his accent, his soft voice, his gentle manner, to
+which the women of our coast are not used. But she managed to stammer
+that her baby was sick.
+
+"'Tis his throat," she added.
+
+The child was noisily fighting for breath. He gasped, writhed in her
+lap, struggled desperately for air, and, at last, lay panting. She
+exposed him to the doctor's gaze--a dull-eyed, scrawny, ugly babe: such
+as mothers wish to hide from sight.
+
+"He've always been like that," she said. "He's wonderful sick. I've
+fetched un here t' be cured."
+
+"A pretty child," said the doctor.
+
+'Twas a wondrous kind lie--told with such perfect dissimulation that it
+carried the conviction of truth.
+
+"What say?" she asked, leaning forward.
+
+"A pretty child," the doctor repeated, very distinctly.
+
+"They don't say that t' Bowsprit Head, zur."
+
+"Well--_I_ say it!"
+
+"I'll tell un so!" she exclaimed, joyfully. "I'll tell un you said so,
+zur, when I gets back t' Bowsprit Head. For nobody--nobody, zur--ever
+said that afore--about my baby!"
+
+The child stirred and complained. She lifted him from her lap--rocked
+him--hushed him--drew him close, rocking him all the time.
+
+"Have you another?"
+
+"No, zur; 'tis me first."
+
+"And does he talk?" the doctor asked.
+
+She looked up--in a glow of pride. And she flushed gloriously while she
+turned her eyes once more upon the gasping, ill-featured babe upon her
+breast.
+
+"He said 'mama'--once!" she answered.
+
+In the fog--far, far away, in the distances beyond Skull Island, which
+were hidden--the doctor found at that moment some strange interest.
+
+"Once?" he asked, his face still turned away.
+
+"Ay, zur," she solemnly declared. "I calls my God t' witness! I'm not
+makin' believe, zur," she went on, with rising excitement. "They says t'
+Bowsprit Head that I dreamed it, zur, but I knows I didn't. 'Twas at the
+dawn. He lay here, zur--here, zur--on me breast. I was wide awake,
+zur--waitin' for the day. Oh, he said it, zur," she cried, crushing the
+child to her bosom. "I heared un say it! 'Mama!' says he."
+
+"When I have cured him," said the doctor, gently, "he will say more than
+that."
+
+"What say?" she gasped.
+
+"When I have taken--something--out of his throat--with my knife--he will
+be able to say much more than that. When he has grown a little older, he
+will say, 'Mama, I loves you!'"
+
+The woman began to cry.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+There is virtue for the city-bred, I fancy, in the clean salt air and
+simple living of our coast--and, surely, for every one, everywhere, a
+tonic in the performance of good deeds. Hard practice in fair and foul
+weather worked a vast change in the doctor. Toil and fresh air are
+eminent physicians. The wonder of salty wind and the hand-to-hand
+conflict with a northern sea! They gave him health, a clear-eyed, brown,
+deep-breathed sort of health, and restored a strength, broad-shouldered
+and lithe and playful, that was his natural heritage. With this new
+power came joyous courage, indomitability of purpose, a restless
+activity of body and mind. He no longer carried the suggestion of a
+wrecked ship; however afflicted his soul may still have been, he was
+now, in manly qualities, the man the good God designed--strong and
+bonnie and tender-hearted: betraying no weakness in the duties of the
+day. His plans shot far beyond our narrow prospect, shaming our
+blindness and timidity, when he disclosed them; and his
+interests--searching, insatiable, reflective--comprehended all that
+touched our work and way of life: so that, as Tom Tot was moved to
+exclaim, by way of an explosion of amazement, 'twas not long before he
+had mastered the fish business, gill, fin and liver. And he went about
+with hearty words on the tip of his tongue and a laugh in his gray
+eyes--merry the day long, whatever the fortune of it. The children ran
+out of the cottages to greet him as he passed by, and a multitude of
+surly, ill-conditioned dogs, which yielded the road to no one else,
+accepted him as a distinguished intimate. But still, and often--late in
+the night--my sister and I lay awake listening to the disquieting fall
+of his feet as he paced his bedroom floor. And sometimes I crept to his
+door--and hearkened--and came away, sad that I had gone.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+When--autumn being come with raw winds and darkened days--the doctor
+said that he must go an errand south to St. John's and the Canadian
+cities before winter settled upon our coast, I was beset by melancholy
+fears that he would not return, but, enamoured anew of the glories of
+those storied harbours, would abandon us, though we had come to love
+him, with all our hearts. Skipper Tommy Lovejoy joined with my sister to
+persuade me out of these drear fancies: which (said they) were
+ill-conceived; for the doctor must depart a little while, else our plans
+for the new sloop and little hospital (and our defense against Jagger)
+would go all awry. Perceiving, then, that I would not be convinced, the
+doctor took me walking on the bald old Watchman, and there shamed me for
+mistrusting him: saying, afterwards, that though it might puzzle our
+harbour and utterly confound his greater world, which must now be
+informed, he had in truth cast his lot with us, for good and all,
+counting his fortune a happy one, thus to come at last to a little
+corner of the world where good impulses, elsewhere scrawny and
+disregarded, now flourished lustily in his heart. Then with delight I
+said that I would fly the big flag in welcome when the returning
+mail-boat came puffing through the Gate. And scampering down the
+Watchman went the doctor and I, hand in hand, mistrust fled, to the very
+threshold of my father's house, where my sister waited, smiling to know
+that all went well again.
+
+Past ten o'clock of a dismal night we sat waiting for the
+mail-boat--unstrung by anxious expectation: made wretched by the sadness
+of the parting.
+
+"There she blows, zur!" cried Skipper Tommy, jumping up. "We'd best get
+aboard smartly, zur, for she'll never come through the Gate this dirty
+night."
+
+The doctor rose, and looked, for a strained, silent moment, upon my dear
+sister, but with what emotion, though it sounded the deeps of passion, I
+could not then conjecture. He took her hand in both of his, and held it
+tight, without speaking. She tried, dear heart! to meet his ardent
+eyes--but could not.
+
+"I'm wishin' you a fine voyage, zur," she said, her voice fallen to a
+tremulous whisper.
+
+He kissed the hand he held.
+
+"T' the south," she added, with a swift, wondering look into his eyes,
+"an' back."
+
+"Child," he began with feeling, "I----"
+
+In some strange passion my sister stepped from him. "Call me that no
+more!" she cried, her voice broken, her eyes wide and moist, her little
+hands clinched. "Why, child!" the doctor exclaimed. "I----"
+
+"I'm _not_ a child!"
+
+The doctor turned helplessly to me--and I in bewilderment to my
+sister--to whom, again, the doctor extended his hands, but now with a
+frank smile, as though understanding that which still puzzled me.
+
+"Sister----" said he.
+
+"No, no!"
+
+'Twas my nature, it may be, then to have intervened; but I was mystified
+and afraid--and felt the play of some great force, unknown and dreadful,
+which had inevitably cut my sister off from me, her brother, keeping her
+alone and helpless in the midst of it--and I quailed and kept silent.
+
+"Bessie!"
+
+She took his hand. "Good-bye, zur," she whispered, turning away,
+flushed.
+
+"Good-bye!"
+
+The doctor went out, with a new mark upon him; and I followed, still
+silent, thinking it a poor farewell my sister had given him, but yet
+divining, serenely, that all this was beyond the knowledge of lads. I
+did not know, when I bade the doctor farewell and Godspeed, that his
+heart tasted such bitterness as, God grant! the hearts of men do seldom
+feel, and that, nobility asserting itself, he had determined never again
+to return: fearing to bring my sister the unhappiness of love, rather
+than the joy of it. When I had put him safe aboard, I went back to the
+house, where I found my sister sorely weeping--not for herself, she
+sobbed, but for him, whom she had wounded.
+
+
+
+
+XVIII
+
+SKIPPER TOMMY GETS A LETTER
+
+
+It came from the north, addressed, in pale, sprawling characters, to
+Skipper Tommy Lovejoy of our harbour--a crumpled, greasy, ill-odoured
+missive: little enough like a letter from a lady, bearing (as we
+supposed) a coy appeal to the tender passion. But----
+
+"Ay, Davy," my sister insisted. "'Tis from _she_. Smell it for
+yourself."
+
+I sniffed the letter.
+
+"Eh, Davy?"
+
+"Well, Bessie," I answered, doubtfully, "I'm not able t' call t' mind
+this minute just how she _did_. But I'm free t' say," regarding the
+streaks and thumb-marks with quick disfavour, "that it _looks_ a lot
+like her."
+
+My sister smiled upon me with an air of loftiest superiority. "Smell it
+again," said she.
+
+"Well," I admitted, after sniffing long and carefully, "I does seem t'
+have got wind o'----"
+
+"There's no deceivin' a woman's nose," my sister declared, positively.
+"'Tis a letter from the woman t' Wolf Cove."
+
+"Then," said I, with a frown, "we'd best burn it."
+
+She mused a moment. "He never got a letter afore," she said, looking up.
+
+"Not many folk has," I objected.
+
+"He'd be wonderful proud," she continued, "o' just gettin' a letter."
+
+"But she's a wily woman," I protested, in warning, "an' he's a most
+obligin' man. I fair shiver t' think o' leadin' un into temptation."
+
+"'Twould do no harm, Davy," said she, "just t' _show_ un the letter."
+
+"'Tis a fearful responsibility t' take."
+
+"'Twould please un so!" she wheedled.
+
+"Ah, well!" I sighed. "You're a wonderful hand at gettin' your own way,
+Bessie."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+When the punts of our folk came sweeping through the tickles and the
+Gate, in the twilight of that day, I went with the letter to the Rat
+Hole: knowing that Skipper Tommy would by that time be in from the
+Hook-an'-Line grounds; for the wind was blowing fair from that quarter.
+I found the twins pitching the catch into the stage, with great
+hilarity--a joyous, frolicsome pair: in happy ignorance of what
+impended. They gave me jolly greeting: whereupon, feeling woefully
+guilty, I sought the skipper in the house, where he had gone (they
+said) to get out of his sea-boots.
+
+I was not disposed to dodge the issue. "Skipper Tommy," said I, bluntly,
+"I got a letter for you."
+
+He stared.
+
+"'Tis no joke," said I, with a wag, "as you'll find, when you gets t'
+know where 'tis from; but 'tis nothin' t' be scared of."
+
+"Was you sayin', Davy," he began, at last, trailing off into the silence
+of utter amazement, "that you--been--gettin'--a----"
+
+"I was sayin'," I answered, "that the mail-boat left you a letter."
+
+He came close. "Was you sayin'," he whispered in my ear, with a jerk of
+his head to the north, "that 'tis from----"
+
+I nodded.
+
+"_She?_"
+
+"Ay."
+
+He put his tongue in his cheek--and gave me a slow, sly wink. "Ecod!"
+said he.
+
+I was then mystified by his strange behaviour: this occurring while he
+made ready for the splitting-table. He chuckled, he tweaked his long
+nose until it flared, he scratched his head, he sighed, he scowled, he
+broke into vociferous laughter; and he muttered "Ecod!" an innumerable
+number of times, voicing, thereby, the gamut of human emotions and the
+degrees thereof, from lowest melancholy to a crafty sort of cynicism and
+thence to the height of smug elation. And, presently, when he had peered
+down the path to the stage, where the twins were forking the fish, he
+approached, stepping mysteriously, his gigantic forefinger raised in a
+caution to hush.
+
+"Davy," he whispered, "you isn't got that letter _aboard_ o' you, is
+you?"
+
+My heart misgave me; but--I nodded.
+
+"Well, well!" cried he. "I'm thinkin'," he added, his surprise somewhat
+mitigated by curiosity, "that you'll be havin' it in your jacket
+pocket."
+
+"Ay," was my sharp reply; "but I'll not read it."
+
+"No, no!" said he, severely, lifting a protesting hand, which he had now
+encased in a reeking splitting-mit. "I'd not _have_ you read it. Sure,
+I'd never 'low _that_! Was you thinkin', David Roth," now so
+reproachfully that my doubts seemed treasonable, "that I'd _want_ you
+to? Me--that nibbled once? Not I, lad! But as you _does_ happen t' have
+that letter in your jacket, you wouldn't mind me just takin' a _look_ at
+it, would you?"
+
+I produced the crumpled missive--with a sigh: for the skipper's drift
+was apparent.
+
+"My letter!" said he, gazing raptly. "Davy, lad, I'd kind o'--like
+t'--just t'--_feel_ it. They wouldn't be no hurt in me _holdin'_ it,
+would they?"
+
+I passed it over.
+
+"Now, Davy," he declared, his head on one side, the letter held gingerly
+before him, "I wouldn't read that letter an I could. No, lad--not an I
+could! But I've heared tell she had a deal o' l'arnin'; an' I'd kind
+o'--like t'--take a peek inside. Just," he added, hurriedly, "t' see
+what power she had for writin'."
+
+This pretense to a purely artistic interest in the production was
+wondrously trying to the patience.
+
+"Skipper Davy," he went on, awkwardly, skippering me with a guile that
+was shameless, "it bein' from a woman--bein' from a _woman_, now, says
+I--'twould be no more 'n po-lite t' open it. Come, now, Davy!" he
+challenged. "You wouldn't _say_ 'twould be more 'n po-lite, would you?
+It bein' from a lone woman?"
+
+I made no answer: for, at that moment, I caught sight of the twins,
+listening with open-mouthed interest from the threshold.
+
+"I wonders, Davy," the skipper confided, taking the leap, at last, "what
+she've gone an' writ!"
+
+"Jacky," I burst out, in disgust, turning to the twins, "I just _knowed_
+he'd get t' wonderin'!"
+
+Skipper Tommy started: he grew shamefaced, all in a moment; and he
+seemed now first conscious of guilty wishes.
+
+"Timmie," said Jacky, hoarsely, from the doorway, "she've writ."
+
+"Ay, Jacky," Timmie echoed, "she've certain gone an' done it."
+
+They entered.
+
+"I been--sort o'--gettin' a letter, lads," the skipper stammered: a hint
+of pride in his manner. "It come ashore," he added, with importance,
+"from the mail-boat."
+
+"Dad," Timmie asked, sorrowfully, "is you been askin' Davy t' read that
+letter?"
+
+"Well, no, Timmie," the skipper drawled, tweaking his nose; "'tisn't
+quite so bad. But I been wonderin'----"
+
+"Oh, is you!" Jacky broke in. "Timmie," said he, grinning, "dad's been
+wonderin'!"
+
+"Is he?" Timmie asked, assuming innocence. "Wonderin'?"
+
+"Wasn't you sayin' so, dad?"
+
+"Well," the skipper admitted, "havin' _said_ so, I'll not gainsay it. I
+_was_ wonderin'----"
+
+"An' you _knowin'_," sighed Timmie, "that you're an obligin' man!"
+
+"Dad," Jacky demanded, "didn't the Lard kindly send a switch o' wind
+from the sou'east t' save you oncet?"
+
+The skipper blushed uneasily.
+
+"Does you think," Timmie pursued, "that He'll turn His hand _again_ t'
+save you?"
+
+"Well----"
+
+"Look you, dad," said Jacky, "isn't you got in trouble enough all along
+o' wonderin' too much?"
+
+"Well," the skipper exclaimed, badgered into self-assertion, "I _was_
+wonderin'; but since you two lads come in I been _thinkin'_. Since them
+two twins o' mine come in, Davy," he repeated, turning to me, his eyes
+sparkling with fatherly affection, "I been thinkin' 'twould be a fine
+plan t' tack this letter t' the wall for a warnin' t' the household agin
+the wiles o' women!"
+
+Timmie and Jacky silently embraced--containing their delight as best
+they could, though it pained them.
+
+"Not," the skipper continued, "that I'll have a word said agin' that
+woman: which I won't," said he, "nor no other. The Lard knowed what He
+was about. He made them with His own hands, an' if _He_ was willin' t'
+take the responsibility, us men can do no less than stand by an' weather
+it out. 'Tis my own idea that He was more sot on fine lines than sailin'
+qualities when He whittled His model. 'I'll make a craft,' says He, 'for
+looks, an' I'll pay no heed,' says He, 't' the cranks she may have,
+hopin' for the best.' An' He done it! That He did! They're tidy
+craft--oh, ay, they're wonderful tidy craft--but 'tis Lard help un in a
+gale o' wind! An' the Lard made _she_," he continued, reverting to the
+woman from Wolf Cove, "after her kind, a woman, acquaint with the wiles
+o' women, actin' accordin' t' nature An'," he declared, irrelevantly,
+"_'tis_ gettin' close t' winter, an' _'twould_ be comfortable t' have a
+man t' tend the fires. She _do_ be of a designin' turn o' mind," he
+proceeded, "which is accordin' t' the nature o' women, puttin' no blame
+on her, an' she's not a wonderful lot for looks an' temper; but,"
+impressively lifting his hand, voice and manner awed, "she've l'arnin',
+which is ek'al t' looks, if not t' temper. So," said he, "we'll say
+nothin' agin' her, but just tack this letter t' the wall, an' go split
+the fish. But," when the letter had thus been disposed of, "I wonder
+what----"
+
+"Come on, dad!"
+
+He put an arm around each of the grinning twins, and Timmie put an arm
+around me; and thus we went pell-mell down to the stage, where we had an
+uproarious time splitting the day's catch.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+You must know, now, that all this time we had been busy with the fish,
+dawn to dark; that beyond our little lives, while, intent upon their
+small concerns, we lived them, a great and lovely work was wrought upon
+our barren coast: as every year, unfailingly, to the glory of God, who
+made such hearts as beat under the brown, hairy breasts of our men.
+From the Strait to Chidley, our folk and their kin from Newfoundland
+with hook and net reaped the harvest from the sea--a vast, sullen sea,
+unwilling to yield: sourly striving to withhold the good Lord's bounty
+from the stout and merry fellows who had with lively courage put out to
+gather it. 'Twas catch and split and stow away! In the dawn of stormy
+days and sunny ones--contemptuous of the gray wind and reaching
+seas--the skiffs came and went. From headland to headland--dodging the
+reefs, escaping the shifting peril of ice, outwitting the drifting
+mists--little schooners chased the fish. Wave and rock and wind and
+bergs--separate dangers, allied with night and fog and sleety rain--were
+blithely encountered. Sometimes, to be sure, they wreaked their purpose;
+but, notwithstanding, day by day the schooners sailed and the skiffs put
+out to the open, and fish were cheerily taken from the sea. Spite of
+all, the splitting-knives flashed, and torches flared on the decks and
+in the mud huts ashore. Barren hills--the bleak and uninhabited places
+of the northern coast--for a season reflected the lurid glow and echoed
+the song and shout. Thanks be to God, the fleet was loading!
+
+In the drear autumn weather a cloud of sail went to the
+s'uth'ard--doughty little schooners, decks awash: beating up to the home
+ports.
+
+
+
+
+XIX
+
+The FATE of The MAIL-BOAT DOCTOR
+
+
+My flag flapped a welcome in the sunny wind as the mail-boat came
+creeping through the Gate and with a great rattle and splatter dropped
+anchor in the basin off my father's wharf: for through my father's long
+glass I had from the summit of the Watchman long before spied the doctor
+aboard. He landed in fine fettle--clear-eyed, smiling, quick to extend
+his strong, warm hand: having cheery words for the folk ashore, and
+eager, homesick glances for the bleak hills of our harbour. Ecod! but he
+was splendidly glad to be home. I had as lief fall into the arms of a
+black bear as ever again to be greeted in a way so careless of my breath
+and bones! But, at last, with a joyous little laugh, he left me to gasp
+myself to life again, and went bounding up the path. I managed to catch
+my wind in time to follow; 'twas in my mind to spy upon his meeting with
+my sister; nor would I be thwarted: for I had for many days been
+troubled by what happened when they parted, and now heartily wished the
+unhappy difference forgot. So from a corner of the hillside flake I
+watched lynx-eyed; but I could detect nothing amiss--no hint of
+ill-feeling or reserve: only frank gladness in smile and glance and
+handclasp. And being well content with this, I went back to the wharf to
+lend Tom Tot a hand with the landing of the winter supplies, the medical
+stores, the outfit for the projected sloop: all of which the doctor had
+brought with him from St. John's.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"And not only that," said the doctor, that night, concluding his
+narrative of busy days in the city, "but I have been appointed," with a
+great affectation of pomposity, "the magistrate for this district!"
+
+We were not impressed. "The magistrate?" I mused. "What's that?"
+
+"What's a magistrate!" cried he.
+
+"Ay," said I. "I never seed one."
+
+"The man who enforces the law, to be sure!"
+
+"The law?" said I. "What's that?"
+
+"The law of the land, Davy," he began, near dumbfounded, "is for
+the----"
+
+My sister got suddenly much excited. "I've heard tell about
+magistrates," she interrupted, speaking eagerly, the light dancing
+merrily in her eyes. "Come, tell me! is they able t'----"
+
+She stuttered to a full stop, blushing. "Out with it, my dear," said I.
+
+"Marry folk?" she asked.
+
+"They may," said the doctor.
+
+"Oh, Davy!"
+
+"Whoop!" screamed I, leaping up. "You're never tellin' me that! Quick,
+Bessie! Come, doctor! They been waitin' this twenty year."
+
+I caught his right hand, Bessie his left; and out we dragged him, paying
+no heed to his questions, which, by and by, he abandoned, because he
+laughed so hard. And down the path we sped--along the road--by the turn
+to Cut-Throat Cove--until, at last, we came to the cottage of Aunt
+Amanda and Uncle Joe Bow, whom we threw into a fluster with our news.
+When the doctor was informed of the exigency of the situation, he
+married them on the spot, improvising a ceremony, without a moment's
+hesitation, as though he had been used to it all his life: a family of
+six meanwhile grinning with delight and embarrassment.
+
+"You sees, zur," Uncle Joe explained, when 'twas over, "we never had no
+chance afore. 'Manda an' me was down narth when the last parson come
+this way. An' 'Manda she've been wantin'----"
+
+"T' have it done," Aunt Amanda put in, patting the curly head of the
+smallest Bow, "afore----"
+
+"Ay," said Uncle Joe, "wantin' t' have it done, shipshape, afore
+she----"
+
+"Died," Aunt Amanda concluded.
+
+By this time the amazing news had spread. Far and near the guns were
+popping a salute--which set the dogs a-howling: so that the noise was
+heartrending. Presently the neighbours began to gather: whereupon (for
+the cottage was small) we took our leave, giving the pair good wishes
+for the continuance of a happy married life. And when we got to our
+house we found waiting in the kitchen Mag Trawl, who had that day
+brought her fish from Swampy Arm--a dull girl, slatternly, shiftless:
+the mother of two young sons.
+
+"I heared tell," she drawled, addressing the doctor, but looking
+elsewhere, "that you're just after marryin' Aunt Amanda."
+
+The doctor nodded.
+
+"I 'low," she went on, after an empty pause, "that I wants t' get
+married, too."
+
+"Where's the man?"
+
+"Jim he 'lowed two year ago," she said, staring at the ceiling, "that
+we'd go south an' have it done this season if no parson come."
+
+"Bring the man," said the doctor, briskily.
+
+"Well, zur," said she, "Jim ain't here. You couldn't do it 'ithout Jim
+bein' here, could you?"
+
+"Oh, no!"
+
+"I 'lowed you might be able," she said, with a little sigh, "if you
+tried. But you couldn't, says you?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Jim he 'lowed two year ago it ought t' be done. You couldn't do it
+nohow?"
+
+The doctor shook his head.
+
+"Couldn't make a shift at it?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Anyhow," she sighed, rising to go, "I 'low Jim won't mind now. He's
+dead."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Within three weeks the mail-boat touched our harbor for the last time
+that season: being then southbound into winter quarters at St. John's.
+It chanced in the night--a clear time, starlit, but windy, with a high
+sea running beyond the harbour rocks. She came in by way of North
+Tickle, lay for a time in the quiet water off our wharf, and made the
+open through the Gate. From our platform we watched the shadowy bulk and
+warm lights slip behind Frothy Point and the shoulder of the
+Watchman--hearkened for the last blast of the whistle, which came back
+with the wind when the ship ran into the great swell of the sea.
+Then--at once mustering all our cheerfulness--we turned to our own
+concerns: wherein we soon forgot that there was any world but ours, and
+were content with it.
+
+Tom Tot came in.
+
+"'Tis late for you, Tom," said my sister, in surprise.
+
+"Ay, Miss Bessie," he replied, slowly. "Wonderful late for me. But I
+been home talkin' with my woman," he went on, "an' we was thinkin' it
+over, an' she s'posed I'd best be havin' a little spell with the
+doctor."
+
+He was very grave--and sat twirling his cap: lost in anxious thought.
+
+"You're not sick, Tom?"
+
+"Sick!" he replied, indignantly. "Sure, I'd not trouble the doctor for
+that! I'm troubled," he added, quietly, looking at his cap, "along--o'
+Mary."
+
+It seemed hard for him to say.
+
+"She've been in service, zur," he went on, turning to the doctor, "at
+Wayfarer's Tickle. An' I'm fair troubled--along o' she."
+
+"She've not come?" my sister asked.
+
+For a moment Tom regarded the floor--his gaze fixed upon a protruding
+knot. "She weren't aboard, Miss Bessie," he answered, looking up, "an'
+she haven't sent no word. I been thinkin' I'd as lief take the skiff an'
+go fetch her home."
+
+"Go the morrow, Tom," said I.
+
+"I was thinkin' I would, Davy, by your leave. Not," he added, hastily,
+"that I'm afeared she've come t' harm. She's too scared o' hell for
+that. But--I'm troubled. An' I'm thinkin' she might--want a
+chance--home."
+
+He rose.
+
+"Tom," said I, "do you take Timmie Lovejoy an' Will Watt with you.
+You'll need un both t' sail the skiff."
+
+"I'm thankin' you, Davy, lad," said he. "'Tis kind o' you t' spare
+them."
+
+"An' I'm wishin' you well."
+
+He picked at a thread in his cap. "No," he persisted, doggedly, "she
+were so wonderful scared o' hell she fair _couldn't_ come t' harm. I
+brung her up too well for that. But," with a frown of anxious doubt,
+"the Jagger crew was aboard, bound home t' Newf'un'land. An'--well--I'm
+troubled. They was drunk--an' Jagger was drunk--an' I asked un about my
+maid--an'...."
+
+"Would he tell you nothing?" the doctor asked.
+
+"Well," said Tom, turning away, "he just laughed."
+
+We were at that moment distracted by the footfall of men coming in haste
+up the path from my father's wharf. 'Twas not hard to surmise their
+errand. My sister sighed--I ran to the door--the doctor began at once to
+get into his boots and greatcoat. But, to our surprise, two deck-hands
+from the mail-boat pushed their way into the room. She had returned
+(said they) and was now waiting off the Gate. There was need of a doctor
+aboard. Need of a doctor! What of the mail-boat doctor? Ah, 'twas he who
+was in need. My heart bounded to hear it! And how had he come to that
+pass? He had essayed to turn in--but 'twas rough water outside--and he
+had caroused with Jagger's crew all the way from Wayfarer's Tickle--and
+'twas very rough water--and he had fallen headlong down the
+companion--and they had picked him up and put him in his berth, where he
+lay unconscious.
+
+'Twas sweet news to me. "You'll not go?" I whispered to the doctor.
+
+He gave me a withering glance--and quietly continued to button his
+greatcoat.
+
+"Is you forgot what I told you?" I demanded, my voice rising.
+
+He would not reply.
+
+"Oh, don't go!" I pleaded.
+
+He turned up the collar of his coat--picked up his little black case of
+medicines. Then I feared that he meant indeed to go.
+
+"Leave un die where he lies, zur!" I wailed.
+
+"Come along, men!" said he to the deck-hands.
+
+I sprang ahead of them--flung the door shut--put my back against it:
+crying out against him all the while. My sister caught my wrist--I
+pushed her away. Tom Tot laid his hand on my shoulder--I threw it off
+with an oath. My heart was in a flame of rage and resentment. That this
+castaway should succour our enemy! I saw, again, a great, wet sweep of
+deck, glistening underfoot--heard the rush of wind, the swish of
+breaking seas, the throb and clank of engines, the rain on the
+panes--once again breathed the thick, gray air of a cabin where two men
+sat at cards--heard the curse and blow and outcry--saw my mother lying
+on the pillows, a red geranium in her thin, white hand--heard her sigh
+and whisper: felt anew her tender longing.
+
+"You'll _not_ go!" I screamed. "Leave the dog t' die!"
+
+Very gently, the doctor put his arm around me, and gave me to my sister,
+who drew me to her heart, whispering soft words in my ear: for I had no
+power to resist, having broken into sobs. Then they went out: and upon
+this I broke roughly from my sister, and ran to my own room; and I threw
+myself on my bed, and there lay in the dark, crying bitterly--not
+because the doctor had gone his errand against my will, but because my
+mother was dead, and I should never hear her voice again, nor touch her
+hand, nor feel her lips against my cheek. And there I lay alone, in
+deepest woe, until the doctor came again; and when I heard him on the
+stair--and while he drew a chair to my bed and felt about for my
+hand--I still sobbed: but no longer hated him, for I had all the time
+been thinking of my mother in a better way.
+
+"Davy," he said, gravely, "the man is dead."
+
+"I'm glad!" I cried.
+
+He ignored this. "I find it hard, Davy," said he, after a pause, "not to
+resent your displeasure. Did I not know you so well--were I less fond of
+the real Davy Roth--I should have you ask my pardon. However, I have not
+come up to tell you that; but this: you can, perhaps, with a good heart
+hold enmity against a dying man; but the physician, Davy, may not. Do
+you understand, Davy?"
+
+"I'm sorry I done what I did, zur," I muttered, contritely. "But I'm
+wonderful glad the man's dead."
+
+"For shame!"
+
+"I'm glad!"
+
+He left me in a huff.
+
+"An' I'll _be_ glad," I shouted after him, at the top of my voice, "if I
+got t' go 't hell for it!"
+
+'Twas my nature.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Tom Tot returned downcast from Wayfarer's Tickle: having for three days
+sought his daughter, whom he could not find; nor was word of her
+anywhere to be had. Came, then, the winter--with high winds and snow
+and short gray days: sombre and bitter cold. Our folk fled to the tilts
+at the Lodge; and we were left alone with the maids and Timmie Lovejoy
+in my father's house: but had no idle times, for the doctor would not
+hear of it, but kept us at work or play, without regard for our wishes
+in the matter. 'Twas the doctor's delight by day to don his new skin
+clothes (which my sister had finished in haste after the first fall of
+snow) and with help of Timmie Lovejoy to manage the dogs and komatik,
+flying here and there at top speed, with many a shout and crack of the
+long whip. By night he kept school in the kitchen, which we must all
+diligently attend, even to the maids: a profitable occupation, no doubt,
+but laborious, to say the least of it, though made tolerable by his good
+humour. By and by there came a call from Blister Harbour, which was
+forty miles to the north of us, where a man had shot off his
+hand--another from Red Cove, eighty miles to the south--others from
+Backwater Arm and Molly's Tub. And the doctor responded, afoot or with
+the dogs, as seemed best at the moment: myself to bear him company; for
+I would have it so, and he was nothing loath.
+
+
+
+
+XX
+
+CHRISTMAS EVE at TOPMAST TICKLE
+
+
+Returning afoot from the bedside of Long John Wise at Run-by-Guess--and
+from many a bedside and wretched hearth by the way--the doctor and I
+strapped our packs aback and heartily set out from the Hudson's Bay
+Company's post at Bread-and-Water Bay in the dawn of the day before
+Christmas: being then three weeks gone from our harbour, and, thinking
+to reach it next day. We were to chance hospitality for the night; and
+this must be (they told us) at the cottage of a man of the name of Jonas
+Jutt, which is at Topmast Tickle. There was a lusty old wind scampering
+down the coast, with many a sportive whirl and whoop, flinging the snow
+about in vast delight--a big, rollicking winter's wind, blowing straight
+out of the north, at the pitch of half a gale. With this abeam we made
+brave progress; but yet 'twas late at night when we floundered down the
+gully called Long-an'-Deep, where the drifts were overhead and each must
+rescue the other from sudden misfortune: a warm glimmer of light in
+Jonas Jutt's kitchen window to guide and hearten us.
+
+The doctor beat the door with his fist. "Open, open!" cried he, still
+furiously knocking. "Good Lord! will you never open?"
+
+So gruff was the voice, so big and commanding--and so sudden was the
+outcry--and so late was the night and wild the wind and far away the
+little cottage--that the three little Jutts, who then (as it turned out)
+sat expectant at the kitchen fire, must all at once have huddled close;
+and I fancy that Sammy blinked no longer at the crack in the stove, but
+slipped from his chair and limped to his sister, whose hand he clutched.
+
+"We'll freeze, I tell you!" shouted the doctor. "Open the---- Ha! Thank
+you," in a mollified way, as Skipper Jonas opened the door; and then,
+most engagingly: "May we come in?"
+
+"An' welcome, zur," said the hearty Jonas, "whoever you be! 'Tis gettin'
+t' be a wild night."
+
+"Thank you. Yes--a wild night. Glad to catch sight of your light from
+the top of the hill. We'll leave the racquets here. Straight ahead?
+Thank you. I see the glow of a fire."
+
+We entered.
+
+"Hello!" cried the doctor, stopping short. "What's this? Kids? Good!
+Three of them. Ha! How are you?"
+
+The manner of asking the question was most indignant, not to say
+threatening; and a gasp and heavy frown accompanied it. By this I knew
+that the doctor was about to make sport for Martha and Jimmie and Sammy
+Jutt (as their names turned out to be): which often he did for children
+by pretending to be in a great rage; and invariably they found it
+delicious entertainment, for however fiercely he blustered, his eyes
+twinkled most merrily all the time, so that one was irresistibly moved
+to chuckle with delight at the sight of them, no matter how suddenly or
+how terribly he drew down his brows.
+
+"I like kids," said he, with a smack of the lips. "I eat 'em!"
+
+Gurgles of delight escaped from the little Jutts--and each turned to the
+other: the eyes of all dancing.
+
+"And how are _you_?" the doctor demanded.
+
+His fierce little glance was indubitably directed at little Sammy, as
+though, God save us! the lad had no right to be anything _but_ well, and
+ought to be, and should be, birched on the instant if he had the
+temerity to admit the smallest ache or pain from the crown of his head
+to the soles of his feet. But Sammy looked frankly into the flashing
+eyes, grinned, chuckled audibly, and lisped that he was better.
+
+"Better?" growled the doctor, searching Sammy's white face and skinny
+body as though for evidence to the contrary. "I'll attend to _you_!"
+
+Thereupon Skipper Jonas took us to the shed, where we laid off our packs
+and were brushed clean of snow; and by that time Matilda Jutt, the
+mother of Martha and Jimmie and Sammy, had spread the table with the
+best she had--little enough, God knows! being but bread and tea--and was
+smiling beyond. Presently there was nothing left of the bread and tea;
+and then we drew up to the fire, where the little Jutts still sat,
+regarding us with great interest. And I observed that Martha Jutt held a
+letter in her hand: whereupon I divined precisely what our arrival had
+interrupted, for I was Labrador born, and knew well enough what went on
+in the kitchens of our land of a Christmas Eve.
+
+"And now, my girl," said the doctor, "what's what?"
+
+By this extraordinary question--delivered, as it was, in a manner that
+called imperatively for an answer--Martha Jutt was quite nonplussed: as
+the doctor had intended she should be.
+
+"What's what?" repeated the doctor.
+
+Quite startled, Martha lifted the letter from her lap. "He's not comin',
+zur," she gasped, for lack of something better.
+
+"You're disappointed, I see," said the doctor. "So he's not coming?"
+
+"No, zur--not this year."
+
+"That's too bad. But you mustn't mind it, you know--not for an instant.
+What's the matter with him?"
+
+"He've broke his leg, zur."
+
+"What!" cried the doctor, restored of a sudden to his natural manner.
+"Poor fellow! How did he come to do that?"
+
+"Catchin' one o' they wild deer, zur."
+
+"Catching a deer!" the doctor exclaimed. "A most extraordinary thing. He
+was a fool to try it. How long ago?"
+
+"Sure, it can't be more than half an hour; for he've----"
+
+The doctor jumped up. "Where is he?" he demanded, with professional
+eagerness. "It can't be far. Davy, I must get to him at once. I must
+attend to that leg. Where is he?"
+
+"Narth Pole, zur," whispered Sammy.
+
+"Oh-h-h!" cried the doctor; and he sat down again, and pursed his lips,
+and winked at Sammy in a way most peculiar. "I _see_!"
+
+"Ay, zur," Jimmie rattled, eagerly. "We're fair disappointed that he's
+not----"
+
+"Ha!" the doctor interrupted. "I see. Hum! Well, now!" And having thus
+incoherently exclaimed for a little, the light in his eyes growing
+merrier all the time, he most unaccountably worked himself into a great
+rage: whereby I knew that the little Jutts were in some way to be
+mightily amused. "The lazy rascal!" he shouted, jumping out of his
+chair, and beginning to stamp the room, frowning terribly. "The fat,
+idle, blundering dunderhead! Did they send you that message? Did they,
+now? Tell me, did they? Give me that letter!" He snatched the letter
+from Martha's lap. "Sammy," he demanded, "where did this letter come
+from?"
+
+"Narth Pole, zur!"
+
+Jonas Jutt blushed--and Matilda threw her apron over her head to hide
+her confusion.
+
+"And _how_ did it come?"
+
+"Out o' the stove, zur."
+
+The doctor opened the letter, and paused to slap it angrily, from time
+to time, as he read it.
+
+                                                            _North poll_
+
+  DEER MARTHA
+
+  few lines is to let you know on acounts of havin broke me leg cotchin
+  the deer Im sory im in a stat of helth not bein able so as to be out in
+  hevy wether. hopin you is all wel as it leves me
+                                yrs respectful
+                                                          SANDY CLAWS
+
+  Fish was poor and it would not be much this yere anyways. tel little
+  Sammy
+
+"Ha!" shouted the doctor, as he crushed the letter to a little ball and
+flung it under the table. "Ha! That's the kind of thing that happens
+when one's away from home. There you have it! Discipline gone to the
+dogs. System gone to the dogs. Everything gone to the dogs. Now, what do
+you think of that?"
+
+He scowled, and gritted his teeth, and puffed, and said "Ha!" in a
+fashion so threatening that one must needs have fled the room had there
+not been a curiously reassuring twinkle in his eyes.
+
+"What do you think of that?" he repeated, fiercely, at last. "A
+countermanded order! I'll attend to _him_!" he burst out. "I'll fix that
+fellow! The lazy dunderhead, I'll soon fix him! Give me pen and ink.
+Where's the paper? Never mind. I've some in my pack. One moment, and
+I'll----"
+
+He rushed to the shed, to the great surprise and alarm of the little
+Jutts, and loudly called back for a candle, which Skipper Jonas carried
+to him; and when he had been gone a long time, he returned with a letter
+in his hand, still ejaculating in a great rage.
+
+"See that?" said he to the three little Jutts. "Well, _that's_ for Santa
+Claus's clerk. That'll fix _him_. That'll blister the stupid fellow."
+
+"Please, zur!" whispered Martha Jutt.
+
+"Well?" snapped the doctor, stopping short in a rush to the stove.
+
+"Please, zur," said Martha, taking courage, and laying a timid hand on
+his arm. "Sure, I don't know what 'tis all about. I don't know what
+blunder he've made. But I'm thinkin', zur, you'll be sorry if you acts
+in haste. 'Tis wise t' count a hundred. Don't be too hard on un, zur.
+'Tis like the blunder may be mended. 'Tis like he'll do better next
+time. Don't be hard----"
+
+"_Hard_ on him?" the doctor interrupted. "Hard on _him_! Hard on
+that----"
+
+"Ay, zur," she pleaded, looking fearlessly up. "Won't you count a
+hundred?"
+
+"Count it," said he, grimly.
+
+Martha counted. I observed that the numbers fell slower--and yet more
+slowly--from her lips, until (and she was keenly on the watch) a gentler
+look overspread the doctor's face; and then she rattled them off, as
+though she feared he might change his mind once more.
+
+"----an' a hundred!" she concluded, breathless.
+
+"Well," the doctor drawled, rubbing his nose, "I'll modify it,"
+whereupon Martha smiled, "just to 'blige _you_," whereupon she blushed.
+
+So he scratched a deal of the letter out; then he sealed it, strode to
+the stove, opened the door, flung the letter into the flames, slammed
+the door, and turned with a wondrously sweet smile to the amazed little
+Jutts.
+
+"There!" he sighed. "I think that will do the trick. We'll soon know, at
+any rate."
+
+We waited, all very still, all with eyes wide open, all gazing fixedly
+at the door of the stove. Then, all at once--and in the very deepest of
+the silence--the doctor uttered a startling "Ha!" leaped from his chair
+with such violence that he overturned it, awkwardly upset Jimmie Jutt's
+stool and sent the lad tumbling head over heels (for which he did not
+stop to apologize); and there was great confusion: in the midst of which
+the doctor jerked the stove door open, thrust in his arm, and snatched a
+blazing letter straight from the flames--all before Jimmie and Martha
+and Sammy Jutt had time to recover from the daze into which the sudden
+uproar had thrown them.
+
+"There!" cried the doctor, when he had managed to extinguish the blaze.
+"We'll just see what's in this. Better news, I'll warrant."
+
+You may be sure that the little Jutts were blinking amazement. There
+could be no doubt about the authenticity of _that_ communication. And
+the doctor seemed to know it: for he calmly tore the envelope open,
+glanced the contents over, and turned to Martha, the broadest of grins
+wrinkling his face.
+
+"Martha Jutt," said he, "will you _please_ be good enough to read
+_that_."
+
+And Martha read:
+
+                                     _North Pole_, Dec. 24, 10:18 P.M.
+
+  _To Captain Blizzard,_
+      _Jonas Jutt's Cottage, Topmast Tickle_,
+                                  _Labrador Coast._
+
+  RESPECTED SIR:
+
+  Regret erroneous report. Mistake of a clerk in the Bureau of
+  Information. Santa Claus got away at 9:36. Wind blowing due south,
+  strong and fresh.
+
+                                                    SNOW, Chief Clerk.
+
+Then there was a great outburst of glee. It was the doctor who raised
+the first cheer. Three times three and a tiger! And what a tiger it was!
+What with the treble of Sammy, which was of the thinnest description,
+and the treble of Martha, which was full and sure, and the treble of
+Jimmie, which dangerously bordered on a cracked bass, and what with
+Matilda's cackle and Skipper Jonas's croak and my own hoorays and the
+doctor's gutteral uproar (which might have been mistaken for a very
+double bass)--what with all this, as you may be sure, the shout of the
+wind was nowhere. Then we joined hands--it was the doctor who began it
+by catching Martha and Matilda--and danced the table round, shaking our
+feet and tossing our arms, the glee ever more uproarious--danced until
+we were breathless, every one, save little Sammy, who was not asked to
+join the gambol, but sat still in his chair, and seemed to expect no
+invitation.
+
+"Wind blowing due south, strong and fresh," gasped Jimmie, when, at
+last, we sat down. "He'll be down in a hurry, with they swift deer. My!
+but he'll just _whizz_ in this gale!"
+
+"But 'tis sad 'tis too late t' get word to un," said Martha, the smile
+gone from her face.
+
+"Sad, is it?" cried the doctor. "Sad! What's the word you want to send?"
+
+"'Tis something for Sammy, zur."
+
+Sammy gave Martha a quick dig in the ribs. "'N' mama," he lisped,
+reproachfully.
+
+"Ay, zur; we're wantin' it bad. An' does you think us could get word to
+un? For Sammy, zur?"
+
+"'N' mama," Sammy insisted.
+
+"We can try, at any rate," the doctor answered, doubtfully. "Maybe we
+can catch him on the way down. Where's that pen? Here we are. Now!"
+
+He scribbled rapidly, folded the letter in great haste, and dispatched
+it to Santa Claus's clerk by the simple process of throwing it in the
+fire. As before, he went to his pack in the shed, taking the candle with
+him--the errand appeared to be really most trivial--and stayed so long
+that the little Jutts, who now loved him very much (as I could see),
+wished that the need would not arise again. But, all in good time, he
+returned, and sat to watch for the reply, intent as any of them; and,
+presently, he snatched the stove door open, creating great confusion in
+the act, as before; and before the little Jutts could recover from the
+sudden surprise, he held up a smoking letter. Then he read aloud:
+
+  "Try Hamilton Inlet. Touches there 10:48. Time of arrival at Topmast
+  Tickle uncertain. No use waiting up.                  SNOW, Clerk."
+
+"By Jove!" exclaimed the doctor. "That's jolly! Touches Hamilton Inlet
+at 10:48." He consulted his watch. "It's now 10:43 and a half. We've
+just four and a half minutes. I'll get a message off at once. Where's
+that confounded pen? Ha! Here we are. Now--what is it you want for Sammy
+and mama?"
+
+The three little Jutts were suddenly thrown into a fearful state of
+excitement. They tried to talk all at once; but not one of them could
+frame a coherent sentence. It was most distressful to see.
+
+"The Exterminator!" Martha managed to jerk out, at last.
+
+"Oh, ay!" cried Jimmie Jutt. "Quick, zur! Write un down. Pine's Prompt
+Pain Exterminator. Warranted to cure. Please, zur, make haste."
+
+The doctor stared at Jimmie.
+
+"Oh, zur," groaned Martha, "don't be starin' like that! Write, zur!
+'Twas all in the paper the prospector left last summer. Pine's Prompt
+Pain Exterminator. Cures boils, rheumatism, pains in the back an' chest,
+sore throat, an' all they things, an' warts on the hands by a simple
+application with brown paper. We wants it for the rheumatiz, zur. Oh,
+zur----"
+
+"None genuine without the label," Jimmie put in, in an excited rattle.
+"Money refunded if no cure. Get a bottle with the label."
+
+The doctor laughed--laughed aloud, and laughed again. "By Jove!" he
+roared, "you'll get it. It's odd, but--ha, ha!--by Jove, he has it in
+stock!"
+
+The laughter and repeated assurance seemed vastly to encourage Jimmie
+and Martha--the doctor wrote like mad while he talked--but not little
+Sammy. All that he lisped, all that he shouted, all that he screamed,
+had gone unheeded. As though unable to put up with the neglect any
+longer, he limped over the floor to Martha, and tugged her sleeve, and
+pulled at Jimmie's coat-tail, and jogged the doctor's arm, until, at
+last, he attracted a measure of attention. Notwithstanding his mother's
+protests--notwithstanding her giggles and waving hands--notwithstanding
+that she blushed as red as ink (until, as I perceived, her freckles were
+all lost to sight)--notwithstanding that she threw her apron over her
+head and rushed headlong from the room, to the imminent danger of the
+door-posts--little Sammy insisted that his mother's gift should be named
+in the letter of request.
+
+"Quick!" cried the doctor. "What is it? We've but half a minute left."
+
+Sammy began to stutter.
+
+"Make haste, b'y!" cried Jimmie.
+
+"One--bottle--of--the--Magic--Egyptian--Beautifier," said Sammy, quite
+distinctly for the first time in his life.
+
+The doctor looked blank; but he doggedly nodded his head, nevertheless,
+and wrote it down; and off went the letter at precisely 10:47.45, as the
+doctor said.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Later--when the excitement had all subsided and we sat dreaming in the
+warmth and glow--the doctor took little Sammy in his lap, and told him
+he was a very good boy, and looked deep in his eyes, and stroked his
+hair, and, at last, very tenderly bared his knee. Sammy flinched at
+that; and he said "Ouch!" once, and screwed up his face, when the
+doctor--his gruffness all gone, his eyes gentle and sad, his hand as
+light as a mother's--worked the joint, and felt the knee-cap and socket
+with the tips of his fingers.
+
+"And is this the rheumatiz the Prompt Exterminator is to cure, Sammy?"
+he asked.
+
+"Ith, zur."
+
+"Ah, is _that_ where it hurts you? Right on the point of the bone,
+there?"
+
+"Ith, zur."
+
+"And was there no fall on the rock, at all? Oh, there _was_ a fall? And
+the bruise was just there--where it hurts so much? And it's very hard to
+bear, isn't it?"
+
+Sammy shook his head.
+
+"No? But it hurts a good deal, sometimes, does it not? That's too bad.
+That's very sad, indeed. But, perhaps--perhaps, Sammy--I can cure it for
+you, if you are brave. And are you brave? No? Oh, I think you are. And
+you'll try to be, at any rate, won't you? Of course! That's a good boy."
+
+And so, with his sharp little knives, the doctor cured Sammy Jutt's
+knee, while the lad lay white and still on the kitchen table. And 'twas
+not hard to do; but had not the doctor chanced that way, Sammy Jutt
+would have been a cripple all his life.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"Doctor, zur," said Matilda Jutt, when the children were put to bed,
+with Martha to watch by Sammy, who was still very sick, "is you really
+got a bottle o' Pine's Prompt?"
+
+The doctor laughed. "An empty bottle," said he. "I picked it up at
+Poverty Cove. Thought it might come useful. I'll put Sammy's medicine in
+that. They'll not know the difference. And you'll treat the knee with it
+as I've told you. That's all. We must turn in at once; for we must be
+gone before the children wake in the morning."
+
+"Oh, ay, zur; an'----" she began: but hesitated, much embarrassed.
+
+"Well?" the doctor asked, with a smile.
+
+"Would you mind puttin' some queer lookin' stuff in one o' they bottles
+o' yours?"
+
+"Not in the least," in surprise.
+
+"An' writin' something on a bit o' paper," she went on, pulling at her
+apron, and looking down, "an' gluin' it t' the bottle?"
+
+"Not at all. But what shall I write?"
+
+She flushed. "'Magic Egyptian Beautifier,' zur," she answered; "for I'm
+thinkin' 'twould please little Sammy t' think that Sandy Claws left
+something--for me--too."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+If you think that the three little Jutts found nothing but bottles of
+medicine in their stockings, when they got down-stairs on Christmas
+morning, you are very much mistaken. Indeed, there was much more than
+that--a great deal more than that. I will not tell you what it was; for
+you might sniff, and say, "Huh! That's little enough!" But there _was_
+more than medicine. No man--rich man, poor man, beggarman nor thief,
+doctor, lawyer nor merchant chief--ever yet left a Hudson's Bay
+Company's post, stared in the face by the chance of having to seek
+hospitality of a Christmas Eve--no right-feeling man, I say, ever yet
+left a Hudson's Bay Company's post, under such circumstances, without
+putting something more than medicine in his pack. I chance to know, at
+any rate, that upon this occasion Doctor Luke did not. And I know,
+too--you may be interested to learn it--that as we floundered through
+the deep snow, homeward bound, soon after dawn, the next day, he was
+glad enough that he hadn't. No merry shouts came over the white miles
+from the cottage of Jonas Jutt, though I am sure that they rang there
+most heartily; but the doctor did not care: he shouted merrily enough
+for himself, for he was very happy. And that's the way _you'd_ feel,
+too, if you spent _your_ days hunting good deeds to do.
+
+
+
+
+XXI
+
+DOWN NORTH
+
+
+When, in my father's house, that night, the Christmas revel was
+over--when, last of all, in noisy glee, we had cleared the broad kitchen
+floor for Sir Roger De Coverly, which we danced with the help of the
+maids' two swains and Skipper Tommy Lovejoy and Jacky, who had come out
+from the Lodge for the occasion (all being done to the tune of "Money
+Musk," mercilessly wrung from an ancient accordion by Timmie
+Lovejoy)--when, after that, we had all gathered before the great blaze
+in the best room, we told no tales, such as we had planned to tell, but
+soon fell to staring at the fire, each dreaming his own dreams.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+It may be that my thoughts changed with the dying blaze--passing from
+merry fancies to gray visions, trooping out of the recent weeks, of cold
+and hunger and squalid death in the places from which we had returned.
+
+"Davy!" said my sister.
+
+I started.
+
+"What in the world," she asked, "is you thinkin' so dolefully of?"
+
+"I been thinkin'," I answered, sighing, "o' the folk down narth."
+
+"Of the man at Runner's Woe?" the doctor asked.
+
+"No, zur. He on'y done murder. 'Twas not o' he. 'Twas o' something
+sadder than that."
+
+"Then 'tis too sad to tell," he said.
+
+"No," I insisted. "'Twould do well-fed folk good t' hear it."
+
+"What was it?" my sister asked.
+
+"I was thinkin'----"
+
+Ah, but '_twas_ too sad!
+
+"O' what?"
+
+"O' the child at Comfort Harbour, Bessie, that starved in his mother's
+arms."
+
+Timmie Lovejoy threw more billets on the fire. They flamed and
+spluttered and filled the room with cheerful light.
+
+"Davy," said the doctor, "we can never cure the wretchedness of this
+coast."
+
+"No, zur?"
+
+"But we can try to mitigate it."
+
+"We'll try," said I. "You an' me."
+
+"You and I."
+
+"And I," my sister said.
+
+Lying between the sturdy little twins, that night--where by right of
+caste I lay, for it was the warmest place in the bed--I abandoned, once
+and for all, my old hope of sailing a schooner, with the decks awash.
+
+"Timmie!" I whispered.
+
+He was sound asleep. I gave him an impatient nudge in the ribs.
+
+"Ay, Davy?" he asked.
+
+"You may have my hundred-tonner," said I.
+
+"What hundred-tonner?"
+
+"The big fore-an'-after, Timmie, I'm t' have when I'm growed. You may
+skipper she. You'll not wreck her, Timmie, will you?"
+
+He was asleep.
+
+"Hut!" I thought, angrily. "I'll have Jacky skipper that craft, if
+Timmie don't look out."
+
+At any rate, she was not to be for me.
+
+
+
+
+XXII
+
+The WAY From HEART'S DELIGHT
+
+
+It chanced in the spring of that year that my sister and the doctor and
+I came unfortuitously into a situation of grave peril: wherein (as you
+shall know) the doctor was precipitate in declaring a sentiment, which,
+it may be, he should still have kept close within his heart, withholding
+it until a happier day. But for this there is some excuse: for not one
+of us hoped ever again to behold the rocks and placid water of our
+harbour, to continue the day's work to the timely close of the day, to
+sit in quiet places, to dream a fruitful future, to aspire untroubled in
+security and ease: and surely a man, whatever his disposition and
+strength of mind, being all at once thus confronted, may without blame
+do that which, as a reward for noble endeavour, he had hoped in all
+honour to do in some far-off time.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Being bound across the bay from Heart's Delight of an ominously dull
+afternoon--this on a straight-away course over the ice which still clung
+to the coast rocks--we were caught in a change of wind and swept to sea
+with the floe: a rising wind, blowing with unseasonable snow from the
+northwest, which was presently black as night. Far off shore, the pack
+was broken in pieces by the sea, scattered broadcast by the gale; so
+that by the time of deep night--while the snow still whipped past in
+clouds that stung and stifled us--our pan rode breaking water: which
+hissed and flashed on every hand, the while ravenously eating at our
+narrow raft of ice. Death waited at our feet.... We stood with our backs
+to the wind, my sister and I cowering, numb and silent, in the lee of
+the doctor.... Through the long night 'twas he that sheltered us.... By
+and by he drew my sister close. She sank against his breast, and
+trembled, and snuggled closer, and lay very still in his arms.... I
+heard his voice: but was careless of the words, which the wind swept
+overhead--far into the writhing night beyond.
+
+"No, zur," my sister answered. "I'm not afraid--with you."
+
+A long time after that, when the first light of dawn was abroad--sullen
+and cheerless--he spoke again.
+
+"Zur?" my sister asked, trembling.
+
+He whispered in her ear.
+
+"Ay, zur," she answered.
+
+Then he kissed her lips....
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Late in the day the snow-clouds passed. Ice and black water mercilessly
+encompassed us to the round horizon of gray sky. There was no hope
+anywhere to be descried.... In the dead of night a change of wind herded
+the scattered fragments of the pack. The ice closed in upon us--great
+pans, crashing together: threatening to crush our frailer one.... We
+were driven in a new direction.... Far off to leeward--somewhere deep in
+the black night ahead--the floe struck the coast. We heard the evil
+commotion of raftering ice. It swept towards us. Our pan stopped dead
+with a jolt. The pack behind came rushing upon us. We were tilted out of
+the water--lifted clear of it all--dropped headlong with the wreck of
+the pan....
+
+I crawled out of a shallow pool of water. "Bessie!" I screamed. "Oh,
+Bessie, where is you?"
+
+The noise of the pack passed into distance--dwindling to deepest
+silence.
+
+"Davy," my sister called, "is you hurt?"
+
+"Where is you, Bessie?"
+
+"Here, dear," she answered, softly. "The doctor has me safe."
+
+Guided by her sweet voice, I crept to them; and then we sat close
+together, silent all in the silent night, waiting for the dawn....
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+We traversed a mile or more of rugged, blinding ice--the sky blue in
+every part, the sun shining warm, the wind blowing light and balmy from
+the south. What with the heat, the glare, the uneven, treacherous
+path--with many a pitfall to engulf us--'twas a toilsome way we
+travelled. The coast lay white and forsaken beyond--desolate,
+inhospitable, unfamiliar: an unkindly refuge for such castaways as we.
+But we came gratefully to the rocks, at last, and fell exhausted in the
+snow, there to die, as we thought, of hunger and sheer weariness. And
+presently the doctor rose, and, bidding us lie where we were, set out to
+discover our whereabouts, that he might by chance yet succour us: which
+seemed to me a hopeless venture, for the man was then near snow-blind,
+as I knew....
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Meantime, at our harbour, where the world went very well, the eye of
+Skipper Tommy Lovejoy chanced in aimless roving to alight upon the
+letter from Wolf Cove, still securely fastened to the wall, ever visible
+warning to that happy household against the wiles o' women. I fancy that
+(the twins being gone to Trader's Cove to enquire for us) the mild blue
+eye wickedly twinkled--that it found the tender missive for the moment
+irresistible in fascination--that the old man approached, stepping in
+awe, and gazed with gnawing curiosity at the pale, sprawling
+superscription, his very name--that he touched the envelope with his
+thick forefinger, just to make sure that 'twas tight in its place,
+beyond all peradventure of catastrophe--that, merely to provide against
+its defilement by dust, he removed and fondled it--that then he wondered
+concerning its contents, until, despite his crying qualms of conscience
+(the twins being gone to Trader's Cove and Davy Roth off to Heart's
+Delight to help the doctor heal the young son of Agatha Rundle), this
+fateful dreaming altogether got the better of him. At any rate, off he
+hied through the wind and snow to Tom Tot's cottage: where, as fortune
+had it, Tom Tot was mending a caplin seine.
+
+"Tom Tot," said he, quite shamelessly, "I'm fair achin' t' know what's
+in this letter."
+
+The harbour was cognizant of Skipper Tommy's state and standing
+temptation: much concerned, as well, as to the outcome.
+
+"Skipper Tommy," Tom Tot asked, and that most properly, "is you got
+leave o' the boss's son?"
+
+"Davy?"
+
+"Ay, Davy."
+
+"I is not," the skipper admitted, with becoming candour.
+
+"Is you spoke t' the twins?"
+
+"I is not."
+
+"Then," Tom Tot concluded, "shame on you!"
+
+Skipper Tommy tweaked his nose. "Tom Tot," said he, "you got a wonderful
+power for readin'. Don't you go tellin' _me_ you hasn't! I _knows_ you
+has."
+
+"Well," Tom Tot admitted, "as you're makin' a p'int of it, I'm fair on
+print, but poor on writin'."
+
+"Tom Tot," Skipper Tommy went on, with a wave (I fancy) of uttermost
+admiration, "I'll stand by it that you is as good at writin' as print.
+That I will," he added, recklessly, "agin the world."
+
+Tom Tot yielded somewhat to this blandishment. He took the proffered
+letter. "I isn't denyin', Skipper Tommy," he said, "that I'm able t'
+make out your name on this here letter."
+
+"Ecod!" cried Skipper Tommy, throwing up his hands. "I knowed it!"
+
+"I isn't denyin'," Tom Tot repeated, gravely, "that I'm _fair_ on
+writin'. Fair, mark you! No more."
+
+"Ay," said the skipper, "but I'm wantin' you t' know that this here
+letter was writ by a woman with a wonderful sight o' l'arnin'. I'll
+warrant you can read _it_. O' course," in a large, conclusive way, "an
+you _can't_----"
+
+"Skipper Tommy," Tom interrupted, quickly, "I isn't _sayin'_ I can't."
+
+"Isn't you?" innocently. "Why, Tom Tot, I was thinkin'----"
+
+"No, zur!" Tom answered with heat. "I isn't!"
+
+"Well, you wouldn't----"
+
+"I will!"
+
+"So be," said the skipper, with a sigh of infinite satisfaction. "I'm
+thinkin', somehow," he added, his sweet faith now beautifully radiant (I
+am sure), as was his way, "that the Lard is mixed up in this letter.
+He's mixed up in 'most all that goes on, an' I'd not be s'prised if He
+had a finger in this. 'Now,' says the Lard, 'Skipper Tommy,' says He,
+'the mail-boat went t' the trouble o' leavin' you a letter,' says He,
+'an'----'"
+
+"Leave the Lard out o' this," Tom Tot broke in.
+
+"Sure, an' why?" Skipper Tom mildly asked.
+
+"You've no call t' drag Un in here," was the sour reply. "You leave Un
+alone. You're gettin' too wonderful free an' easy with the Lard God
+A'mighty, Thomas Lovejoy. He'll be strikin' you dead in your tracks an
+you don't look out."
+
+"Tom Tot," the skipper began, "the Lard an' me is wonderful----"
+
+"Leave the Lard alone," Tom Tot snapped. "Come, now! Is you wantin' this
+here letter read?"
+
+"I is."
+
+Without more ado, Tom Tot opened the letter from Wolf Cove. I have no
+doubt that sensitive blood flushed the bronzed, wrinkled cheeks of
+Skipper Tommy Lovejoy, and that, in a burst of grinning modesty, he
+tweaked his nose with small regard for that sorely tried and patient
+member. And I am informed that, while my old friend thus waited in
+ecstasy, Tom Tot puzzled over the letter, for a time, to make sure that
+his learning would not be discomfited in the presence of Skipper Tommy
+Lovejoy, before whom he had boasted. Then----
+
+"Skipper Tommy," he implored, in agony, "how long--oh, how long--is you
+had this letter?"
+
+Skipper Tommy stared.
+
+"How long, oh, how long?" Tom Tot repeated.
+
+"What's gone amiss?" Skipper Tommy entreated, touching Tom Tot's shaking
+hand. "It come in the fall o' the year, Tom, lad. But what's gone amiss
+along o' you?"
+
+"She've been waitin'--since then? Oh, a wretched father, I!"
+
+"Tom, lad, tell me what 'tis all about."
+
+"'Tis from she--Mary! 'Tis from my lass," Tom Tot cried. "'Twas writ
+by that doctor-woman--an' sent t' you, Skipper Tommy--t' tell me--t'
+break it easy--that she'd run off from Wayfarer's Tickle--because o'
+the sin she'd found there. I misdoubt--oh, I misdoubt--that she've
+been afeared I'd--that I'd mistook her, poor wee thing--an' turn her
+off. I call the Lard God A'mighty t' witness," he cried, passionately,
+"that I'd take her home, whatever come t' pass! I calls God t' witness
+that I loves my lass! She've done no wrong," he continued. "She've but
+run away from the sin t' Wayfarer's Tickle. She've taken shelter t' Wolf
+Cove--because--she've been afeared that--I'd mistook--an' cast her off!"
+
+"An' she's waitin' there for you?"
+
+"Ay--for me--t' bring her home."
+
+"For her father t' come?"
+
+"Her father."
+
+There was a moment of silence. "Tom Tot," Skipper Tommy declared,
+fetching his thigh a resounding slap, "that letter's been tacked t' my
+wall the winter long. Is you hearin' me, Tom Tot? It's been lyin' idle
+agin my wall. While she've been waitin', Tom! While she've been
+waitin'!"
+
+"Oh, ay!"
+
+"I'm fair glad you're hearin' me," said the skipper. "For I calls you t'
+witness this: that when I cotches them twins o' mine I'll thwack un
+till they're red, Tom Tot--till they're red and blistered below decks.
+An' when I cotches that young Davy Roth--when I cotches un alone,
+'ithout the doctor--I'll give un double watches."
+
+"We'll get underway for Wolf Cove, Skipper Tommy," said Tom Tot, "when
+the weather lightens. An' we'll fetch that lass o' mine," he added,
+softly, "home."
+
+"That we will, Tom Tot," said Skipper Tommy Lovejoy.
+
+And 'twas thus it came about that we were rescued: for, being old and
+wise, they chose to foot it to Wolf Cove--over the 'longshore
+hills--fearing to chance the punt at sea, because of the shifting ice.
+Midway between our harbour and Wolf Cove, they found the doctor sitting
+blind in the snow, but still lustily entreating the surrounding
+desolation for help--raising a shout at intervals, in the manner of a
+faithful fog-horn. Searching in haste and great distress, they soon came
+upon my sister and me, exhausted, to be sure, and that most pitiably,
+but not beyond the point of being heartily glad of their arrival. Then
+they made a tiny fire with birch rind and billets from Tom Tot's
+pack--and the fire crackled and blazed in a fashion the most
+heartening--and the smutty tin kettle bubbled as busily as in the most
+immaculate of kitchens: and presently the tea and hard-bread were doing
+such service as rarely, indeed, save in our land, it is their good
+fortune to achieve. And having been refreshed and roundly scolded, we
+were led to the cove beyond, where we lay the night at the cottage of
+Tiltworthy Cutch: whence, in the morning, being by that time
+sufficiently restored, we set out for our harbour, under the guidance of
+Skipper Tommy Lovejoy, whose continued separation from the woman at Wolf
+Cove I made sure of by commanding his presence with us.
+
+"You may beat me, Skipper Tommy," said I, "when you gets me home, an' I
+wish you joy of it. But home you goes!"
+
+"But, Davy, lad," he protested, "there's that poor Tom Tot goin' on
+alone----"
+
+"Home you goes!"
+
+"An' there's that kind-hearted doctor-woman. Sure, now, Davy," he began,
+sweetly, "I'd like t' tell she----"
+
+"That's just," said I, "what I'm afeared of."
+
+Home the skipper came; and when the twins and I subsequently presented
+ourselves for chastisement, with solemn ceremony, gravely removing
+whatever was deemed in our harbour superfluous under the circumstances,
+he was so affected by the spectacle that (though I wish I might write
+it differently) he declared himself of opinion, fixed and unprejudiced,
+that of all the works of the Lord, which were many and infinitely
+blessed, none so favoured the gracious world as the three contrite
+urchins there present: and in this ecstasy of tenderness (to our shame)
+quite forgot the object of our appearance.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+When Tom Tot brought Mary home from Wolf Cove, my sister and the doctor
+and I went that night by my sister's wish to distinguish the welcome, so
+that, in all our harbour, there might be no quibble or continuing
+suspicion; and we found the maid cutting her father's hair in the
+kitchen (for she was a clever hand with the scissors and comb), as
+though nothing had occurred--Skipper Tommy Lovejoy meanwhile with spirit
+engaging the old man in a discussion of the unfailing topic; this being
+the attitude of the Lord God Almighty towards the wretched sons of men,
+whether feeling or not.
+
+In the confusion of our entrance Mary whispered in my ear. "Davy lad,"
+she said, with an air of mystery, "I got home."
+
+"I'm glad, Mary," I answered, "that you got home."
+
+"An', hist!" said she, "I got something t' tell you," said she, her eyes
+flashing, "along about hell."
+
+"Is you?" I asked, in fear, wishing she had not.
+
+She nodded.
+
+"Is you _got_ t' tell me, Mary?"
+
+"Davy," she whispered, pursing her lips, in the pause regarding me with
+a glance so significant of darkest mystery that against my very will I
+itched to share the fearful secret, "I got t'."
+
+"Oh, why?" I still protested.
+
+"I been there!" said she.
+
+'Twas quite enough to entice me beyond my power: after that, I kept
+watch, all in a shiver of dread, for some signal; and when she had swept
+her father's shorn hair from the floor, and when my sister had gone with
+Tom Tot's wife to put the swarm of little Tots to bed, and when Tom Tot
+had entered upon a minute description of the sin at Wayfarer's Tickle,
+from which his daughter, fearing sudden death and damnation, had fled,
+Mary beckoned me to follow: which I did. Without, in the breathless,
+moonlit night, I found her waiting in a shadow; and she caught me by the
+wrist, clutching it cruelly, and led me to the deeper shadow and
+seclusion of a great rock, rising from the path to the flake. 'Twas very
+still and awesome, there in the dark of that black rock, with the light
+of the moon lying ghostly white on all the barren world, and the long,
+low howl of some forsaken dog from time to time disturbing the solemn
+silence.
+
+I was afraid.
+
+"Davy, lad," she whispered, bending close, so that she could look into
+my eyes, which wavered, "is you listenin'?"
+
+"Ay," I answered, breathless.
+
+Her voice was then triumphant. "I been t' hell," said she, "an' back!"
+
+"What's it like, Mary?"
+
+She shuddered.
+
+"What's it like," I pleaded, lusting for the unholy knowledge, "in
+hell?"
+
+For a moment she stared at the moonlit hills. Her grasp on my wrist
+relaxed. I saw that her lips were working.
+
+"What's it like," I urged, "in hell?" for I devoutly wished to have the
+disclosure over with.
+
+"'Tis hell," she answered, low, "at Wayfarer's Tickle. The gate t' hell!
+Rum an' love, Davy, dear," she added, laying a fond hand upon my head,
+"leads t' hell."
+
+"Not love!" I cried, in sudden fear: for I had thought of the driving
+snow, of my dear sister lying in the doctor's arms, of his kiss upon her
+lips. "Oh, love leads t' heaven!"
+
+"T' hell," said she.
+
+"No, no!"
+
+"T' hell."
+
+I suffered much in the silence--while, together, Mary and I stared at
+the silent world, lying asleep in the pale light.
+
+"'Twas rum," she resumed, "that sent the crew o' the _Right an' Tight_
+t' hell. An' 'twas a merry time they had at the gate. Ay, a merry time,
+with Jagger fillin' the cups an' chalkin' it down agin the fish! But
+they went t' hell. _They went t' hell_! She was lost with all hands in
+the gale o' that week--lost on the Devil's Fingers--an' all hands drunk!
+An' Jack Ruddy o' Helpful Harbour," she muttered, "went down along o'
+she. He was a bonnie lad," she added, tenderly, "an' he kissed me by
+stealth in the kitchen." Very sorrowfully she dreamed of that boisterous
+kiss. "But," she concluded, "'twas love that put Eliza Hare in th'
+etarnal fires."
+
+"Not love!" I complained.
+
+"Davy," she said, not deigning to answer me, "Davy," she repeated, her
+voice again rising splendidly triumphant, "I isn't goin' t' hell! For
+I've looked in an' got away. The Lard'll never send me, now. Never!"
+
+"I'm glad, Mary."
+
+"I'm not a goat," she boasted. "'Twas all a mistake. I'm a sheep. That's
+what I is!"
+
+"I'm wonderful glad."
+
+"But you, Davy," she warned, putting an arm about my waist, in sincere
+affection, "you better look out."
+
+"I isn't afeared."
+
+"You better look out!"
+
+"Oh, Mary," I faltered, "I--I--isn't _much_ afeared."
+
+"You better look out!"
+
+"Leave us go home!" I begged.
+
+"The Lard'll ship you there an you don't look out. He've no mercy on
+little lads."
+
+"Oh, leave us go home!"
+
+"He'll be cotchin' you!"
+
+I could bear it no longer: nor wished to know any more about hell. I
+took her hand, and dragged her from the black shadow of the rock: crying
+out that we must now go home. Then we went back to Tom Tot's cheerful
+kitchen; and there I no longer feared hell, but could not forget, try as
+I would, what Mary Tot had told me about love.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Skipper Tommy Lovejoy was preaching what the doctor called in his genial
+way "The Gospel According to Tommy."
+
+"Sure, now, Tom Tot," said he, "the Lard is a Skipper o' wonderful civil
+disposition. 'Skipper Tommy,' says He t' me, 'an you only does the
+best----'"
+
+"You're too free with the name o' the Lard."
+
+Skipper Tommy looked up in unfeigned surprise. "Oh, no, Tom," said he,
+mildly, "I isn't. The Lard an' me is----"
+
+"You're too free," Tom Tot persisted. "Leave Un be or you'll rue it."
+
+"Oh, no, Tom," said the skipper. "The Lard an' me gets along wonderful
+well together. We're _wonderful_ good friends. I isn't scared o' _He_!"
+
+As we walked home, that night, the doctor told my sister and me that,
+whatever the greater world might think of the sin at Wayfarer's Tickle,
+whether innocuous or virulent, Jagger was beyond cavil flagrantly
+corrupting our poor folk, who were simple-hearted and easy to persuade:
+that he was, indeed, a nuisance which must be abated, come what would.
+
+
+
+
+XXIII
+
+The COURSE of TRUE LOVE
+
+
+Symptoms of my dear sister's previous disorder now again alarmingly
+developed--sighs and downcast glances, quick flushes, infinite
+tenderness to us all, flashes of high spirits, wet lashes, tumultuously
+beating heart; and there were long dreams in the twilight, wherein, when
+she thought herself alone, her sweet face was at times transfigured into
+some holy semblance. And perceiving these unhappy evidences, I was once
+more disquieted; and I said that I must seek the doctor's aid, that she
+might be cured of the perplexing malady: though, to be sure, as then and
+there I impatiently observed, the doctor seemed himself in some strange
+way to have contracted it, and was doubtless quite incapable of
+prescribing.
+
+My sister would not brook this interference. "I'm not sayin'," she
+added, "that the doctor couldn't cure me, an he had a mind to; for,
+Davy, dear," with an earnest wag of her little head, "'twould not be the
+truth. I'm only sayin' that I'll not have un try it."
+
+"Sure, why, Bessie?"
+
+Her glance fell. "I'll not tell you why," said she.
+
+"But I'm wantin' t' know."
+
+She pursed her lips.
+
+"Is you forgettin'," I demanded, "that I'm your brother?"
+
+"No," she faltered.
+
+"Then," said I, roughly, "I'll have the doctor cure you whether you will
+or not!"
+
+She took my hand, and for a moment softly stroked it, looking away.
+"You're much changed, dear," she said, "since our mother died."
+
+"Oh, Bessie!"
+
+"Ay," she sighed.
+
+I hung my head. 'Twas a familiar bitterness. I was, indeed, not the same
+as I had been. And it seems to me, now--even at this distant day--that
+this great loss works sad changes in us every one. Whether we be child
+or man, we are none of us the same, afterwards.
+
+"Davy," my sister pleaded, "were your poor sister now t' ask you t' say
+no word----"
+
+"I would not say one word!" I broke in. "Oh, I would not!"
+
+That was the end of it.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Next day the doctor bade me walk with him on the Watchman, so that, as
+he said, he might without interruption speak a word with me: which I
+was loath to do; for he had pulled a long face of late, and had sighed
+and stared more than was good for our spirits, nor smiled at all, save
+in a way of the wryest, and was now so grave--nay, sunk deep in
+blear-eyed melancholy--that 'twas plain no happiness lay in prospect.
+'Twas sad weather, too--cold fog in the air, the light drear, the land
+all wet and black, the sea swishing petulantly in the mist. I had no
+mind to climb the Watchman, but did, cheerily as I could, because he
+wished it, as was my habit.
+
+When we got to Beacon Rock, there was no flush of red in the doctor's
+cheeks, as ever there had been, no life in his voice, which not long
+since had been buoyant; and his hand, while for a moment it rested
+affectionately on my shoulder, shook in a way that frightened me.
+
+"Leave us go back!" I begged. "I'm not wantin' t' talk."
+
+I wished I had not come: for there was in all this some foreboding of
+wretchedness. I was very much afraid.
+
+"I have brought you here, Davy," he began, with grim deliberation, "to
+tell you something about myself. I do not find it," with a shrug and a
+wry mouth, "a pleasant----"
+
+"Come, zur," I broke in, this not at all to my liking, "leave us go t'
+the Soldier's Ear!"
+
+"Not an agreeable duty," he pursued, fixing me with dull eyes, "for me
+to speak; nor will it be, I fancy, for you to hear. But----"
+
+This exceeded even my utmost fears. "I dare you, zur," said I, desperate
+for a way of escape, "t' dive from Nestin' Ledge this cold day!"
+
+He smiled--but 'twas half a sad frown; for at once he puckered his
+forehead.
+
+"You're scared!" I taunted.
+
+He shook his head.
+
+"Oh, do come, zur!"
+
+"No, Davy," said he.
+
+I sighed.
+
+"For," he added, sighing, too, "I have something to tell you, which must
+now be told."
+
+Whatever it was--however much he wished it said and over with--he was in
+no haste to begin. While, for a long time, I kicked at the rock, in
+anxious expectation, he sat with his hands clasped over his knee,
+staring deep into the drear mist at sea--beyond the breakers, past the
+stretch of black and restless water, far, far into the gray spaces,
+which held God knows what changing visions for him! I stole glances at
+him--not many, for then I dared not, lest I cry; and I fancied that his
+disconsolate musings must be of London, a great city, which, as he had
+told me many times, lay infinitely far away in that direction.
+
+"Well, Davy, old man," he said, at last, with a quick little laugh, "hit
+or miss, here goes!"
+
+"You been thinkin' o' London," I ventured, hoping, if might be, for a
+moment longer to distract him.
+
+"But not with longing," he answered, quickly. "I left no one to wish me
+back. Not one heart to want me--not one to wait for me! And I do not
+wish myself back. I was a dissipated fellow there, and when I turned my
+back on that old life, when I set out to find a place where I might
+atone for those old sins, 'twas without regret, and 'twas for good and
+all. This," he said, rising, "is my land. This," he repeated, glancing
+north and south over the dripping coast, the while stretching wide his
+arms, "is now my land! I love it for the opportunity it gave me. I love
+it for the new man it has made me. I have forgotten the city. I love
+_this_ life! And I love you, Davy," he cried, clapping his arm around
+me, "and I love----"
+
+He stopped.
+
+"I knows, zur," said I, in an awed whisper, "whom you love."
+
+"Bessie," said he.
+
+"Ay, Bessie."
+
+There was now no turning away. My recent fears had been realized. I must
+tell him what was in my heart.
+
+"Mary Tot says, zur," I gasped, "that love leads t' hell."
+
+He started from me.
+
+"I would not have my sister," I continued, "go t' hell. For, zur," said
+I, "she'd be wonderful lonesome there."
+
+"To hell?" he asked, hoarsely.
+
+"Oh, ay!" I groaned. "T' the flames o' hell!"
+
+"'Tis not true!" he burst out, with a radiant smile. "I know it!
+Love--my love for her--has led me nearer heaven than ever I hoped to
+be!"
+
+I troubled no more. Here was a holy passion. Child that I was--ignorant
+of love and knowing little enough of evil--I still perceived that this
+love was surely of the good God Himself. I feared no more for my dear
+sister. She would be safe with him.
+
+"You may love my sister," said I, "an you want to. You may have her."
+
+He frowned in a troubled way.
+
+"Ay," I repeated, convinced, "you may have my dear sister. I'm not
+afraid."
+
+"Davy," he said, now so grave that my heart jumped, "you give her to the
+man I am."
+
+"I'm not carin'," I replied, "what you was."
+
+"You do not know."
+
+Apprehension grappled with me. "I'm not wantin' t' know," I protested.
+"Come, zur," I pleaded, "leave us go home."
+
+"Once, Davy," he said, "I told you that I had been wicked."
+
+"You're not wicked now."
+
+"I was."
+
+"I'm not carin' what you was. Oh, zur," I cried, tugging at his hand,
+"leave us go home!"
+
+"And," said he, "a moment ago I told you that I had been a dissipated
+fellow. Do you know what that means?"
+
+"I'm not _wantin_' t' know!"
+
+"You must know."
+
+I saw the peril of it all. "Oh, tell me not!" I begged. "Leave us go
+home!"
+
+"But I _must_ tell you, Davy," said he, beginning, now in an agony of
+distress, to pace the hilltop. "It is not a matter of to-day. You are
+only a lad, now; but you will grow up--and learn--and know. Oh, God," he
+whispered, looking up to the frowning sky, laying, the while, his hand
+upon my head, "if only we could continue like this child! If only we
+_need_ not know! I want you, Davy," he continued, once more addressing
+me, "when you grow up, to know, to recall, whatever happens, that I was
+fair, fair to you and fair to her, whom you love. You are not like other
+lads. It is your _place_, I think, in this little community, that makes
+you different. _You_ can understand. I _must_ tell you."
+
+"I'm scared t' know," I gasped. "Take my sister, zur, an' say no more."
+
+"Scared to know? And I to tell. But for your sister's sake--for the sake
+of her happiness--I'll tell you, Davy--let me put my arm around you--ay,
+I'll tell you, lad, God help me! what it means to be a dissipated
+fellow. O Christ," he sighed, "I pay for all I did! Merciful God, at
+this moment I pay the utmost price! Davy, lad," drawing me closer, "you
+will not judge me harshly?"
+
+"I'll hearken," I answered, hardening.
+
+Then, frankly, he told me as much, I fancy, as a man may tell a lad of
+such things....
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+In horror--in shame--ay, in shame so deep I flushed and dared not look
+at him--I flung off his arms. And I sprang away--desperately fingering
+my collar: for it seemed I must choke, so was my throat filled with
+indignation. "You wicked man!" I cried. "You kissed my sister.
+You--_you_--kissed my sister!"
+
+"Davy!"
+
+"You wicked, wicked man!"
+
+"Don't, Davy!"
+
+"Go 'way!" I screamed.
+
+Rather, he came towards me, opening his arms, beseeching me. But I was
+hot-headed and willful, being only a lad, without knowledge of sin
+gained by sinning, and, therefore, having no compassion; and, still, I
+fell away from him, but he followed, continuing to beseech me, until, at
+last, I struck him on the breast: whereupon, he winced, and turned away.
+Then, in a flash--in the still, illuminating instant that follows a blow
+struck in blind rage--I was appalled by what I had done; and I stood
+stiff, my hands yet clinched, a storm of sobs on the point of breaking:
+hating him and myself and all the world, because of the wrong he had
+done us, and the wrong I had done him, and the wrong that life had
+worked us all.
+
+I took to my heels.
+
+"Davy!" he called.
+
+The more he cried after me, the more beseechingly his voice rang in my
+ears, the more my heart urged me to return--the harder I ran.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+I wish I had not struck him ... I wish, I say, I had not struck him ...
+I wish that when he came towards me, with his arms wide open, his
+grave, gray eyes pleading--wretched soul that he was--I wish that then I
+had let him enfold me. What poor cleverness, what a poor sacrifice, it
+would have been! 'Twas I--strange it may have been--but still 'twas I,
+Davy Roth, a child, Labrador born and bred, to whom he stretched out his
+hand. I should have blessed God that to this remote place a needful man
+had come. 'Twas my great moment of opportunity. I might--I might--have
+helped him. How rare the chance! And to a child! I might have taken his
+hand. I might have led him immediately into placid waters. But I was
+I--unfeeling, like all lads: blind, too, reprehensible, deserving of
+blame. In all my life--and, as it happens (of no merit of my own, but of
+his), it has thus far been spent seeking to give help and comfort to
+such as need it--never, never, in the diligent course of it, has an
+opportunity so momentous occurred. I wish--oh, I wish--he might once
+again need me! To lads--and to men--and to frivolous maids--and to
+beggars and babies and cripples and evil persons--and to all sorts and
+conditions of human kind! Who knows to whom the stricken soul--downcast
+whether of sin or sorrow--may appeal? Herein is justification--the very
+key to heaven, with which one may unlock the door and enter, claiming
+bliss by right, defiant of God Himself, if need were: "I have sinned, in
+common with all men, O God, but I have sought to help such as were in
+sorrow, whether of sin or the misfortunes incident to life in the pit
+below, which is the world. You dare not cast me out!" Oh, men and women,
+lads and maids, I speak because of the wretchedness of my dear folk, out
+of their sorrow, which is common to us all, but here, in this barren
+place, is unrelieved, not hidden. Take the hand stretched out! And
+watch: lest in the great confusion this hand appear--and disappear. If
+there be sin, here it is: that the hand wavered, beseeching, within
+reach of such as were on solid ground, and was not grasped.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Ah, well! to my sister I ran; and I found her placidly sewing in the
+broad window of our house, which now looked out upon a melancholy
+prospect of fog and black water and vague gray hills. Perceiving my
+distress, she took me in her lap, big boy though I was, and rocked me,
+hushing me, the while, until I should command my grief and disclose the
+cause of it.
+
+"He's a sinful man," I sobbed, at last. "Oh, dear Bessie, care no more
+for him!"
+
+She stopped rocking--and pressed me closer to her soft, sweet bosom--so
+close that she hurt me, as my loving mother used to do. And when I
+looked up--when, taking courage, I looked into her face--I found it
+fearsomely white and hopeless; and when, overcome by this, I took her
+hand, I found it very cold.
+
+"Not sinful," she whispered, drawing my cheek close to hers. "Oh, not
+that!"
+
+"A sinful, wicked person," I repeated, "not fit t' speak t' such as
+you."
+
+"What have he done, Davy?"
+
+"I'd shame t' tell you."
+
+"Oh, what?"
+
+"I may not tell. Hug me closer, Bessie, dear. I'm in woeful want o'
+love."
+
+She rocked me, then--smoothing my cheek--kissing me--hoping thus to
+still my grief. A long, long time she coddled me, as my mother might
+have done.
+
+"Not sinful," she said.
+
+"Ay, a wicked fellow. We must turn un out o' here, Bessie. He've no
+place here, no more. He've sinned."
+
+She kissed me on the lips. Her arms tightened about me. And there we
+sat--I in my sister's arms--hopeless in the drear light of that day.
+
+"I love him," she said.
+
+"Love him no more! Bessie, dear, he've sinned past all forgiving."
+
+Again--and now abruptly--she stopped rocking. She sat me back in her
+lap. I could not evade her glance--sweet-souled, confident, content,
+reflecting the bright light of heaven itself.
+
+"There's no sin, Davy," she solemnly said, "that a woman can't forgive."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+I passed that afternoon alone on the hills--the fog thickening, the wind
+blowing wet and cold, the whole world cast down--myself seeking, all the
+while, some reasonable way of return to the doctor's dear friendship. I
+did not know--but now I know--that reason, sour and implacable, is sadly
+inadequate to our need when the case is sore, and, indeed, a wretched
+staff, at best: but that fine impulse, the sure, inner feeling, which is
+faith, is ever the more trustworthy, if good is to be achieved, for it
+is forever sanguine, nor, in all the course of life, relentless. But,
+happily, Skipper Tommy Lovejoy, who, in my childhood, came often
+opportunely to guide me with his wiser, strangely accurate philosophy,
+now sought me on the hill, being informed, as it appeared, of my
+distress--and because, God be thanked! he loved me.
+
+"Go 'way!" I complained.
+
+"Go 'way?" cried he, indignantly. "I'll not go 'way. For shame! To send
+me from you!"
+
+"I'm wantin' t' be alone."
+
+"Ay; but 'tis unhealthy for you."
+
+"I'm thrivin' well enough."
+
+"Hut!" said he. "What's this atween the doctor an' you? You'd cast un
+off because he've sinned? Ecod! I've seldom heard the like. Who is you?
+Even the Lard God A'mighty wouldn't do that. Sure, _He_ loves only such
+as have sinned. Lad," he went on, now, with a smile, with a touch of his
+rough old hand, compelling my confidence and affection, "what's past is
+done with. Isn't you l'arned that yet? Old sins are as if they never had
+been. Else what hope is there for us poor sons of men? The weight o' sin
+would sink us. 'Tis not the dear Lard's way t' deal so with men. To-day
+is not yesterday. What was, has been; it is not. A man is not what he
+was--he is what he is. But yet, lad--an' 'tis wonderful queer--to-day
+_is_ yesterday. 'Tis _made_ by yesterday. The mistake--the sin--o'
+yesterday is the straight course--the righteous deed--o' to-day. 'Tis
+only out o' sin that sweetness is born. That's just what sin is for! The
+righteous, Davy, dear," he said, in all sincerity, "are not lovable, not
+trustworthy. The devil nets un by the hundred quintal, for _'tis_ such
+easy fishin'; but sinners--such as sin agin their will--the Lard loves
+an' gathers in. They who sin must suffer, Davy, an' only such as suffer
+can _know_ the dear Lard's love. God be thanked for sin," he said,
+looking up, inspired. "Let the righteous be damned--they deserve it.
+Give _me_ the company o' sinners!"
+
+"Is you sure?" I asked, confounded by this strange doctrine.
+
+"I thank God," he answered, composedly, "that _I_ have sinned--and
+suffered."
+
+"Sure," said I, "_you_ ought t' know, for you've lived so awful long."
+
+"They's nothin' like sin," said he, with a sure smack of the lips, "t'
+make good men. I knows it."
+
+"An' Bessie?"
+
+"Oh, Davy, lad, _she'll_ be safe with him!"
+
+Then I, too, knew it--knew that sin had been beneficently decreed by
+God, whose wisdom seems so all-wise, once our perverse hearts are opened
+to perceive--knew that my dear sister would, indeed, be safe with this
+sinner, who sorrowed, also. And I was ashamed that I had ever doubted
+it.
+
+"Look!" Skipper Tommy whispered.
+
+Far off--across the harbour--near lost in the mist--I saw my sister and
+the doctor walking together.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+My sister was waiting for me. "Davy," she asked, anxiously, "where have
+you been?"
+
+"On the hills," I answered.
+
+For a moment she was silent, fingering her apron; and then, looking
+fearlessly into my eyes--"I love him," she said.
+
+"I'm glad."
+
+"I cannot help it," she continued, clasping her hands, her breast
+heaving. "I love him--so _hard_--I cannot tell it."
+
+"I'm glad."
+
+"An' he loves me. He loves me! I'm not doubtin' that. He _loves_ me,"
+she whispered, that holy light once more breaking about her, in which
+she seemed transfigured. "Oh," she sighed, beyond expression, "he loves
+me!"
+
+"I'm glad."
+
+"An' I'm content t' know it--just t' know that he loves me--just t' know
+that I love him. His hands and eyes and arms! I ask no more--but just t'
+know it. Just once to have--to have had him--kiss me. Just once to have
+lain in his arms, where, forever, I would lie. Oh, I'm glad," she cried,
+joyously, "that the good Lord made me! I'm glad--just for that. Just
+because he kissed me--just because I love him, who loves me. I'm glad I
+was made for him to love. 'Tis quite enough for me. I want--only this I
+want--that he may have me--that, body and soul, I may satisfy his
+love--so much I love him. Davy," she faltered, putting her hands to her
+eyes, "I love--I _love_--I love him!"
+
+Ecod! 'Twas too much for me. Half scandalized, I ran away, leaving her
+weeping in my dear mother's rocking-chair.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+My sister and I were alone at table that evening. The doctor was gone in
+the punt to Jolly Harbour, the maids said; but why, they did not know,
+for he had not told them--nor could we guess: for 'twas a vexatious
+distance, wind and tide what they were, nor would a wise man undertake
+it, save in case of dire need, which did not then exist, the folk of
+Jolly Harbour, as everybody knows, being incorruptibly healthy. But I
+would not go to sleep that night until my peace was made; and though, to
+deceive my sister, I went to bed, I kept my eyes wide open, waiting for
+the doctor's step on the walk and on the stair: a slow, hopeless
+footfall, when, late in the night, I heard it.
+
+I followed him to his room--with much contrite pleading on the tip of my
+tongue. And I knocked timidly on the door.
+
+"Come in, Davy," said he.
+
+My heart was swelling so--my tongue so sadly unmanageable--that I could
+do nothing but whimper. But----
+
+"I'm wonderful sad, zur," I began, after a time, "t' think that I----"
+
+"Hush!" said he.
+
+'Twas all I said--not for lack of will or words, but for lack of breath
+and opportunity; because all at once (and 'twas amazingly sudden) I
+found myself caught off my feet, and so closely, so carelessly,
+embraced, that I thought I should then and there be smothered: a death
+which, as I had been led to believe, my dear sister might have envied
+me, but was not at all to my liking. And when I got my breath 'twas but
+to waste it in bawling. But never had I bawled to such good purpose: for
+every muffled howl and gasp brought me nearer to that state of serenity
+from which I had that day cast myself by harsh and willful conduct.
+
+Then--and 'twas not hard to do--I offered my supreme propitiation: which
+was now no more a sacrifice, but, rather, a high delight.
+
+"You may have my sister, zur," I sobbed.
+
+He laughed a little--laughed an odd little laugh, the like of which I
+had never heard.
+
+"You may have her," I repeated, somewhat impatiently. "Isn't you hearin'
+me? I _give_ her to you."
+
+"This is very kind," he said. "But----"
+
+"You're _wantin'_ her, isn't you?" I demanded, fearing for the moment
+that he had meantime changed his mind.
+
+"Yes," he drawled; "but----"
+
+"But what?"
+
+"She'll not have me."
+
+"Not have you!" I cried.
+
+"No," said he.
+
+At that moment I learned much wisdom concerning the mysterious ways of
+women.
+
+
+
+
+XXIV
+
+The BEGINNING of The END
+
+
+From this sad tangle we were next morning extricated by news from the
+south ports of our coast--news so ill that sentimental tears and wishes
+were of a sudden forgot; being this: that the smallpox had come to Poor
+Luck Harbour and was there virulently raging. By noon of that day the
+doctor's sloop was underway with a fair wind, bound south in desperate
+haste: a man's heart beating glad aboard, that there might come a tragic
+solution of his life's entanglement. My sister and I, sitting together
+on the heads of Good Promise, high in the sunlight, with the sea spread
+blue and rippling below--we two, alone, with hands clasped--watched the
+little patch of sail flutter on its way--silently watched until it
+vanished in the mist.
+
+"I'm not knowin'," my sister sighed, still staring out to sea, "what's
+beyond the mist."
+
+"Nor I."
+
+'Twas like a curtain, veiling some dread mystery, as an ancient
+tragedy--but new to us, who sat waiting: and far past our guessing.
+
+"I wonder what we'll see, dear," she whispered, "when the mist lifts."
+
+"'Tis some woeful thing."
+
+She leaned forward, staring, breathing deep, seeking with the strange
+gift of women to foresee the event; but she sighed, at last, and gave it
+up.
+
+"I'm not knowin'," she said.
+
+We turned homeward; and thereafter--through the months of that
+summer--we were diligent in business: but with small success, for Jagger
+of Wayfarer's Tickle, seizing the poor advantage with great glee, now
+foully slandered and oppressed us.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Near midsummer our coast was mightily outraged by the sailings of the
+_Sink or Swim_, Jim Tall, master--Jagger's new schooner, trading our
+ports and the harbours of the Newfoundland French Shore, with a case of
+smallpox in the forecastle. We were all agog over it, bitterly angered,
+every one of us; and by day we kept watch from the heads to warn her
+off, and by night we saw to our guns, that we might instantly deal with
+her, should she so much as poke her prow into the waters of our harbour.
+Once, being on the Watchman with my father's glass, I fancied I sighted
+her, far off shore, beating up to Wayfarer's Tickle in the dusk: but
+could not make sure, for there was a haze abroad, and her cut was not
+yet well known to us. Then we heard no more of her, until, by and by,
+the skipper of the _Huskie Dog_, bound north, left news that she was
+still at large to the south, and sang us a rousing song, which, he said,
+had been made by young Dannie Crew of Ragged Harbour, and was then
+vastly popular with the folk of the places below.
+
+  "Oh, _have_ you seed the skipper o' the schooner _Sink or Swim_?
+  We'll use a rope what's long an' strong, when we cotches him.
+    He've a case o' smallpox for'ard,
+    An' we'll hang un, by the Lord!
+  For he've traded every fishin' port from Conch t' Harbour Rim.
+
+    "T' save the folk that dreads it,
+    We'll hang the man that spreads it,
+  They's lakes o' fire in hell t' sail for such as Skipper Jim!"
+
+My sister, sweet maid! being then in failing health and spirits, I
+secretly took ship with the skipper of the _Bonnie Betsy Buttercup_,
+bound south with the first load of that season: this that I might surely
+fetch the doctor to my sister's help, who sorely needed cheer and
+healing, lest she die like a thirsty flower, as my heart told me. And I
+found the doctor busy with the plague at Bay Saint Billy, himself
+quartered aboard the _Greased Lightning_, a fore-and-after which he had
+chartered for the season: to whom I lied diligently and without shame
+concerning my sister's condition, and with such happy effect that we put
+to sea in the brewing of the great gale of that year, with our topsail
+and tommy-dancer spread to a sousing breeze. But so evil a turn did the
+weather take--so thick and wild--that we were thrice near driven on a
+lee shore, and, in the end, were glad enough to take chance shelter
+behind Saul's Island, which lies close to the mainland near the
+Harbourless Shore. There we lay three days, with all anchors over the
+side, waiting in comfortable security for the gale to blow out; and
+'twas at dusk of the third day that we were hailed from the coast rocks
+by that ill-starred young castaway of the name of Docks whose tale
+precipitated the final catastrophe in the life of Jagger of Wayfarer's
+Tickle.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+He was only a lad, but, doubtless, rated a man; and he was now sadly
+woebegone--starved, shivering, bruised by the rocks and breaking water
+from which he had escaped. We got him into the cozy forecastle, clapped
+him on the back, put him in dry duds; and, then, "Come, now, lads!"
+cried Billy Lisson, the hearty skipper of the _Greased Lightning_,
+"don't you go sayin' a word 'til I brew you a cup o' tea. On the
+Harbourless Shore, says you? An' all hands lost? Don't you say a word.
+Not one!"
+
+The castaway turned a ghastly face towards the skipper. "No," he
+whispered, in a gasp, "not one."
+
+"Not you!" Skipper Billy rattled. "You keep mum. Don't you so much as
+_mutter_ 'til I melts that iceberg in your belly."
+
+"No, sir."
+
+Perchance to forestall some perverse attempt at loquacity, Skipper Billy
+lifted his voice in song--a large, rasping voice, little enough
+acquainted with melody, but expressing the worst of the rage of those
+days: being thus quite sufficient to the occasion.
+
+  "Oh, _have_ you seed the skipper o' the schooner _Sink or Swim_?
+  We'll use a rope what's long an' strong, when we cotches him.
+    He've a case o' smallpox for'ard,
+    An' we'll hang un, by the Lord!
+  For he've traded every fishin' port from Conch t' Harbour Rim.
+
+    "T' save the folk that dreads it,
+    We'll _hang_ the man that spreads it,
+  They's lakes o' fire in hell t' sail for such as Skipper Jim!"
+
+"Skipper Billy, sir," said Docks, hoarsely, leaning into the light of
+the forecastle lamp, "does you say _hang_? Was they goin' t' hang
+Skipper Jim if they cotched him?"
+
+"_Was_ we?" asked Skipper Billy. "By God," he roared, "we _is_!"
+
+"My God!" Docks whispered, staring deep into the skipper's eyes, "they
+was goin' t' hang the skipper!"
+
+There was not so much as the drawing of a breath then to be heard in the
+forecastle of the _Greased Lightning_. Only the wind, blowing in the
+night--and the water lapping at the prow--broke the silence.
+
+"Skipper Billy, sir," said Docks, his voice breaking to a whimper, "was
+they goin' t' hang the crew? They wasn't, was they? Not goin' t' _hang_
+un?"
+
+"Skipper t' cook, lad," Skipper Billy answered, the words prompt and
+sure. "Hang un by the neck 'til they was dead."
+
+"My God!" Docks whined. "They was goin' t' hang the crew!"
+
+"But we isn't cotched un yet."
+
+"No," said the boy, vacantly. "Nor you never will."
+
+The skipper hitched close to the table. "Lookee, lad," said he, leaning
+over until his face was close to the face of Docks, "was _you_ ever
+aboard the _Sink or Swim_?"
+
+"Ay, sir," Docks replied, at last, brushing his hair from his brow. "I
+was clerk aboard the _Sink or Swim_ two days ago."
+
+For a time Skipper Billy quietly regarded the lad--the while scratching
+his beard with a shaking hand.
+
+"Clerk," Docks sighed, "two days ago."
+
+"Oh, _was_ you?" the skipper asked. "Well, well!" His lower jaw
+dropped. "An' would mind tellin' us," he continued, his voice now
+touched with passion, "what's _come_ o' that damned craft?"
+
+"She was lost on the Harbourless Shore, sir, with all hands--but me."
+
+"Thank God for that!"
+
+"Ay, thank God!"
+
+Whereupon the doctor vaccinated Docks.
+
+
+
+
+XXV
+
+A CAPITAL CRIME
+
+
+"You never set eyes on old Skipper Jim, did you, Skipper Billy?" Docks
+began, later, that night. "No? Well, he was a wonderful hard man. They
+says the devil was abroad the night of his bornin'; but I'm thinkin'
+that Jagger o' Wayfarer's Tickle had more t' do with the life he lived
+than ever the devil could manage. 'Twas Jagger that owned the _Sink or
+Swim_; 'twas he that laid the courses--ay, that laid this last one, too.
+Believe me, sir," now turning to Doctor Luke, who had uttered a sharp
+exclamation, "for I _knowed_ Jagger, an' I _sailed_ along o' Skipper
+Jim. 'Skipper Jim,' says I, when the trick we played was scurvy, 'this
+here ain't right.' 'Right?' says he. 'Jagger's gone an' laid _that_ word
+by an' forgot where he put it.' 'But you, Skipper Jim,' says I, '_you_;
+what _you_ doin' this here for?' 'Well, Docks,' says he, 'Jagger,' says
+he, 'says 'tis a clever thing t' do, an' I'm thinkin',' says he, 'that
+Jagger's near right. Anyhow,' says he, 'Jagger's my owner.'"
+
+Doctor Luke put his elbows on the forecastle table, his chin on his
+hands--and thus gazed, immovable, at young Docks.
+
+"Skipper Jim," the lad went on, "was a lank old man, with a beard that
+used t' put me in mind of a dead shrub on a cliff. Old, an' tall, an'
+skinny he was; an' the flesh of his face was sort o' wet an' whitish, as
+if it had no feelin'. They wasn't a thing in the way o' wind or sea that
+Skipper Jim was afeard of. I like a brave man so well as anybody does,
+but I haven't no love for a fool; an' I've seed _him_ beat out o' safe
+harbour, with all canvas set, when other schooners was reefed down an'
+runnin' for shelter. Many a time I've took my trick at the wheel when
+the most I hoped for was three minutes t' say my prayers.
+
+"'Skipper, sir,' we used t' say, when 'twas lookin' black an' nasty t'
+win'ard an' we was wantin' t' run for the handiest harbour, ''tis like
+you'll be holdin' on for Rocky Cove. Sure, you've no call t' run for
+harbour from _this here_ blow!'
+
+"'Stand by that mainsheet there!' he'd yell. 'Let her off out o' the
+wind. We'll be makin' for Harbour Round for shelter. Holdin' on, did you
+say? My dear man, they's a whirlwind brewin'!'
+
+"But if 'twas blowin' hard--a nor'east snorter, with the gale raisin' a
+wind-lop on the swell, an' the night comin' down--if 'twas blowin'
+barb'rous hard, sometimes we'd get scared.
+
+"'Skipper,' we couldn't help sayin', ''tis time t' get out o' this. Leave
+us run for shelter, man, for our lives!'
+
+"'Steady, there, at the wheel!' he'd sing out. 'Keep her on her course.
+'Tis no more than a clever sailin' breeze.'
+
+"Believe _me_, sir," Docks sighed, "they wasn't a port Skipper Jim
+wouldn't make, whatever the weather, if he could trade a dress or a
+Bible or a what-not for a quintal o' fish. 'Docks,' says he, 'Jagger,'
+says he, 'wants fish, an' _I_ got t' get un.' So it wasn't pleasant
+sailin' along o' him in the fall o' the year, when the wind was all in
+the nor'east, an' the shore was a lee shore every night o' the week. No,
+sir! 'twasn't pleasant sailin' along o' Skipper Jim in the _Sink or
+Swim_. On no account, 'twasn't pleasant! Believe _me_, sir, when I lets
+my heart feel again the fears o' last fall, I haven't no love left for
+Jim. No, sir! doin' what he done this summer, I haven't no love left for
+Jim.
+
+"'It's fish me an' Jagger wants, b'y,' says he t' me, 'an' they's no
+one'll keep un from us.'
+
+"'Dear man!' says I, pointin' t' the scales, 'haven't you got no
+conscience?'
+
+"'Conscience!' says he. 'What's that? Sure,' says he, 'Jagger never
+_heared_ that word!'
+
+"Well, sir, as you knows, there's been a wonderful cotch o' fish on the
+Labrador side o' the Straits this summer. An' when Skipper Jim hears a
+Frenchman has brought the smallpox t' Poor Luck Harbour, we was tradin'
+the French shore o' Newfoundland. Then he up an' cusses the smallpox,
+an' says he'll make a v'y'ge of it, no matter what. I'm thinkin' 'twas
+all the fault o' the cook, the skipper bein' the contrary man he was;
+for the cook he says he've signed t' cook the grub, an' he'll cook 'til
+he drops in his tracks, but he _haven't_ signed t' take the smallpox,
+an' he'll be jiggered for a squid afore he'll sail t' the Labrador.
+'Smallpox!' says the skipper. 'Who says 'tis the smallpox? Me an' Jagger
+says 'tis the chicken-pox.' So the cook--the skipper havin' the eyes he
+had--says he'll sail t' the Labrador all right, but he'll see himself
+hanged for a mutineer afore he'll enter Poor Luck Harbour. 'Poor Luck
+Harbour, is it?' says the skipper. 'An' is that where they've
+the--the--smallpox?' says he. 'We'll lay a course for Poor Luck Harbour
+the morrow. I'll prove 'tis the chicken-pox or eat the man that has it.'
+So the cook--the skipper havin' the eyes he had--says _he_ ain't afraid
+o' no smallpox, but he knows what'll come of it if the crew gets
+ashore.
+
+"'Ho, ho! cook,' says the skipper. '_You'll_ go ashore along o' _me_, me
+boy.'
+
+"The next day we laid a course for Poor Luck Harbour, with a fair wind;
+an' we dropped anchor in the cove that night. In the mornin', sure
+enough, the skipper took the cook an' the first hand ashore t' show un a
+man with the chicken-pox; but I was kep' aboard takin' in fish, for such
+was the evil name the place had along o' the smallpox that we was the
+only trader in the harbour, an' had all the fish we could handle.
+
+"'Skipper,' says I, when they come aboard, '_is_ it the smallpox?'
+
+"'Docks, b'y,' says he, lookin' me square in the eye, 'you never yet
+heard me take back my words. I _said_ I'd eat the man that had it. But I
+tells you what, b'y, I ain't hankerin' after a bite o' what I seed!'
+
+"'We'll be liftin' anchor an' gettin' t' sea, then,' says I; for it made
+me shiver t' hear the skipper talk that way.
+
+"'Docks, b'y,' says he, 'we'll be liftin' anchor when we gets all the
+fish they is. Jagger,' says he, 'wants fish, an' I'm the boy t' get un.
+When the last one's weighed an' stowed, we'll lift anchor an' out; but
+not afore.'
+
+"We was three days out from Poor Luck Harbour, tradin' Kiddle Tickle,
+when Tommy Mib, the first hand, took a suddent chill. 'Tommy, b'y,' says
+the cook, 'you cotched cold stowin' the jib in the squall day afore
+yesterday. I'll be givin' _you_ a dose o' pain-killer an' pepper.' So
+the cook give Tommy a wonderful dose o' pain-killer an' pepper an' put
+un t' bed. But 'twas not long afore Tommy had a pain in the back an' a
+burnin' headache. 'Tommy, b'y,' says the cook, 'you'll be gettin' the
+inflammation, I'm thinkin'. I'll have t' put a plaster o' mustard an'
+red pepper on _your_ chest.' So the cook put a wonderful large plaster
+o' mustard an' red pepper on poor Tommy's chest, an' told un t' lie
+quiet. Then Tommy got wonderful sick--believe _me_, sir, wonderful sick!
+An' the cook could do no more, good cook though he was.
+
+"'Tommy,' says he, 'you got something I don't know nothin' about.'
+
+"'Twas about that time that we up with the anchor an' run t' Hollow
+Cove, where we heard they was a grand cotch o' fish, all dry an' waitin'
+for the first trader t' pick it up. They'd the smallpox there, sir,
+accordin' t' rumour; but we wasn't afeard o' cotchin' it--thinkin' we'd
+not cotched it at Poor Luck Harbour--an' sailed right in t' do the
+tradin'. We had the last quintal aboard at noon o' the next day; an' we
+shook out the canvas an' laid a course t' the nor'ard, with a fair,
+light wind. We was well out from shore when the skipper an' me went down
+t' the forecastle t' have a cup o' tea with the cook; an' we was hard at
+it when Tommy Mib hung his head out of his bunk.
+
+"'Skipper,' says he, in a sick sort o' whisper, 'I'm took.'
+
+"'What's took you?' says the skipper.
+
+"'Skipper,' says he, 'I--I'm--took.'
+
+"'What's took you, you fool?' says the skipper.
+
+"Poor Tommy fell back in his bunk. 'Skipper,' he whines, 'I've cotched
+it!'
+
+"''Tis the smallpox, sir,' says I. 'I seed the spots.'
+
+"'No such nonsense!' says the skipper. ''Tis the measles. That's what
+_he've_ got. Jagger an' me says so.'
+
+"'But Jagger ain't here,' says I.
+
+"'Never you mind about that,' says he. 'I knows what Jagger thinks.'
+
+"When we put into Harbour Grand we knowed it wasn't no measles. When we
+dropped anchor there, sir, _we knowed what 'twas_. Believe _me_, sir, we
+_knowed_ what 'twas. The cook he up an' says he ain't afraid o' no
+smallpox, but he'll be sunk for a coward afore he'll go down the
+forecastle ladder agin. An' the second hand he says he likes a bunk in
+the forecastle when he can have one comfortable, but he've no objection
+t' the hold _at times_. 'Then, lads,' says the skipper, 'you'll not be
+meanin' t' look that way agin,' says he, with a snaky little glitter in
+his eye. 'An' if you do, you'll find a fist about the heft o' _that_,'
+says he, shakin' his hand, 't' kiss you at the foot o' the ladder.'
+After that the cook an' the second hand slep' in the hold, an' them an'
+me had a snack o' grub at odd times in the cabin, where I had a hammock
+slung, though the place was wonderful crowded with goods. 'Twas the
+skipper that looked after Tommy Mib. 'Twas the skipper that sailed the
+ship, too,--drove her like he'd always done: all the time eatin' an'
+sleepin' in the forecastle, where poor Tommy Mib lay sick o' the
+smallpox. But we o' the crew kep' our distance when the ol' man was on
+deck; an' they was no rush for'ard t' tend the jib an' stays'l when it
+was 'Hard a-lee!' in a beat t' win'ard--no rush at all. Believe _me_,
+sir, they was no rush for'ard--with Tommy Mib below.
+
+"'Skipper Jim,' says I, one day, 'what _is_ you goin' t' do?'
+
+"'Well, Docks,' says he, 'I'm thinkin' I'll go see Jagger.'
+
+"So we beat up t' Wayfarer's Tickle--makin' port in the dusk. Skipper
+Jim went ashore, but took nar a one of us with un. He was there a
+wonderful long time; an' when he come aboard, he orders the anchor up
+an' all sail made.
+
+"'Where you goin'?' says I.
+
+"'Tradin',' says he.
+
+"'Is you?' says I.
+
+"'Ay,' says he. 'Jagger says 'tis a wonderful season for fish.'"
+
+Docks paused. "Skipper Billy," he said, breaking off the narrative and
+fixing the impassive skipper of the _Greased Lightning_ with an anxious
+eye, "did they have the smallpox at Tops'l Cove? Come now; did they?"
+
+"Ay, sir," Skipper Billy replied; "they had the smallpox at Tops'l
+Cove."
+
+"Dear man!" Docks repeated, "they had the smallpox at Tops'l Cove! We
+was three days at Tops'l Cove, with folk aboard every day, tradin' fish.
+An' Tommy Mib below! We touched Smith's Arm next, sir. Come now, speak
+fair; did they have it there?"
+
+"They're not rid of it yet," said Doctor Luke.
+
+"Smith's Arm too!" Docks groaned.
+
+"An' Harbour Rim," the skipper added.
+
+"Noon t' noon at Harbour Rim," said Docks.
+
+"And Highwater Cove," the doctor put in.
+
+"Twenty quintal come aboard at Highwater Cove. I mind it well."
+
+"They been dyin' like flies at Seldom Cove."
+
+"Like flies?" Docks repeated, in a hoarse whisper. "Skipper Billy, sir,
+who--who died--like that?"
+
+Skipper Billy drew his hand over his mouth. "One was a kid," he said,
+tugging at his moustache.
+
+"My God!" Docks muttered. "One was a kid!"
+
+In the pause--in the silence into which the far-off, wailing chorus of
+wind and sea crept unnoticed--Skipper Billy and Docks stared into each
+other's eyes.
+
+"An' a kid died, too," said the skipper.
+
+Again the low, wailing chorus of wind and sea, creeping into the
+silence. I saw the light in Skipper Billy's eyes sink from a flare to a
+glow; and I was glad of that.
+
+"'Twas a cold, wet day, with the wind blowin' in from the sea, when we
+dropped anchor at Little Harbour Deep," Docks continued. "We always kep'
+the forecastle closed tight an' set a watch when we was in port; an' the
+forecastle was tight enough that day, but the second hand, whose watch
+it was, had t' help with the fish, for 'tis a poor harbour there, an' we
+was in haste t' get out. The folk was loafin' about the deck, fore an'
+aft, waitin' turns t' weigh fish or be served in the cabin. An' does you
+know what happened?" Docks asked, tensely. "Can't you see how 'twas?
+Believe _me_, sir, 'twas a cold, wet day, a bitter day; an' 'tis no
+wonder that one o' they folk went below t' warm hisself at the
+forecastle stove--went below, where poor Tommy Mib was lyin' sick.
+Skipper, sir," said Docks, with wide eyes, leaning over the table and
+letting his voice drop, "I seed that man come up--come tumblin' up like
+mad, sir, his face so white as paint. He'd seed Tommy Mib! An' he
+yelled, sir; an' Skipper Jim whirled about when he heard that word, an'
+I seed his lips draw away from his teeth.
+
+"'Over the side, every man o' you!' sings he.
+
+"But 'twas not the skipper's order--'twas that man's horrid cry that
+sent un over the side. They tumbled into the punts and pushed off. It
+made me shiver, sir, t' see the fright they was in.
+
+"'Stand by t' get out o' this!' says the skipper.
+
+"'Twas haul on this an' haul on that, an' 'twas heave away with the
+anchor, 'til we was well under weigh with all canvas spread. We beat
+out, takin' wonderful chances in the tickle, an' stood off t' the
+sou'east. That night, when we was well off, the cook says t' me that he
+_thinks_ he've nerve enough t' be boiled in his own pot in a good cause,
+but he've no mind t' make a Fox's martyr of hisself for the likes o'
+Skipper Jim.
+
+"'Cook,' says I, 'we'll leave this here ship at the next port.'
+
+"'Docks,' says he, ''tis a clever thought.'
+
+"'Twas Skipper Jim's trick at the wheel, an' I loafed aft t' have a word
+with un--keepin' well t' win'ward all the time; for he'd just come up
+from the forecastle.
+
+"'Skipper Jim,' says I, 'we're found out.'
+
+"'What's found out?' says he.
+
+"'The case o' smallpox for'ard,' says I. 'What you goin' t' do about
+it?'
+
+"'Do!' says he. 'What'll I do? Is it you, Docks, that's askin' me that?
+Well,' says he, 'Jagger an' me fixed _that_ all up when I seed him there
+t' Wayfarer's Tickle. They's three ports above Harbour Deep, an' I'm
+goin' t' trade un all. 'Twill be a v'y'ge by that time. Then I'm goin'
+t' run the _Sink or Swim_ back o' the islands in Seal Run. Which done,
+I'll wait for Tommy Mib t' make up his mind, one way or t' other. If he
+casts loose, I'll wait, decent as you like, 'til he's well under weigh,
+when I'll ballast un well an' heave un over. If he's goin' t' bide a
+spell longer in this world, I'll wait 'til he's steady on his pins. But,
+whatever, go or stay, I'll fit the schooner with a foretopmast, bark her
+canvas, paint her black, call her the _Prodigal Son_, an' lay a course
+for St. Johns. They's not a man on the docks will take the _Prodigal
+Son_, black hull, with topmast fore an' aft an' barked sails, inbound
+from the West Coast with a cargo o' fish--not a man, sir, will take the
+_Prodigal Son_ for the white, single-topmast schooner _Sink or Swim_, up
+from the Labrador, reported with a case o' smallpox for'ard. For, look
+you, b'y,' says he, 'nobody knows _me_ t' St. Johns.'
+
+"'Skipper Jim,' says I, 'sure you isn't goin' t' put this fish on the
+market!'
+
+"'Hut!' says he. 'Jagger an' me is worryin' about the price o' fish
+already.'
+
+"We beat about offshore for three days, with the skipper laid up in the
+forecastle. Now what do you make o' that? The skipper laid up in the
+forecastle along o' Tommy Mib--an' Tommy took the way he was! Come, now,
+what do you make o' that?" We shook our heads, one and all; it was plain
+that the skipper, too, had been stricken. "Well, sir," Docks went on,
+"when Skipper Jim come up t' give the word for Rocky Harbour, he looked
+like a man risin' from the dead. 'Take her there,' says he, 'an' sing
+out t' me when you're runnin' in.' Then down he went agin; but,
+whatever, me an' the cook an' the second hand was willin' enough t' sail
+her t' Rocky Harbour without un, for 'twas in our minds t' cut an' run
+in the punt when the anchor was down. 'A scurvy trick,' says you, 't'
+leave old Skipper Jim an' Tommy Mib in the forecastle, all alone--an'
+Tommy took that way?' A scurvy trick!" cried Docks, his voice aquiver.
+"Ay, maybe! But you ain't been aboard no smallpox-ship. You ain't never
+knowed what 'tis t' lie in your bunk in the dark o' long nights
+shiverin' for fear you'll be took afore mornin'. An' maybe you hasn't
+seed a man took the way Tommy Mib was took--not took _quite_ that way."
+
+"Yes, I has, b'y," said Skipper Billy, quietly. "'Twas a kid that I
+seed."
+
+"Was it, now?" Docks whispered, vacantly.
+
+"A kid o' ten years," Skipper Billy replied.
+
+"Ah, well," said Docks, "kids dies young. Whatever," he went on,
+hurriedly, "the old man come on deck when he was slippin' up the narrows
+t' the basin at Rocky Harbour.
+
+"''Tis the last port I'll trade,' says he, 'for I'm sick, an' wantin' t'
+get home.'
+
+"We was well up, with the canvas half off her, sailin' easy, on the
+lookout for a berth, when a punt put out from a stage up alongshore, an'
+come down with the water curlin' from her bows.
+
+"'What's the meanin' o' that, Docks?' sings the skipper, pointin' t' the
+punt. 'They're goin' out o' the course t' keep t' win'ard.'
+
+"'Skipper Jim,' says I, 'they knows us.'
+
+"'Sink us,' says he, 'they does! They knows what we is an' what we got
+for'ard. Bring her to!' he sings out t' the man at the wheel.
+
+"When we had the schooner up in the wind, the punt was bobbin' in the
+lop off the quarter.
+
+"'What ship's that?' says the man in the bow.
+
+"'_Sink or Swim_,' says the skipper.
+
+"'You get out o' here, curse you!' says the man. 'We don't want you
+here. They's news o' you in every port o' the coast.'
+
+"'I'll bide here 'til I'm ready t' go, sink you!' says the skipper.
+
+"'Oh, no, you won't!' says the man. 'I've a gun or two that says you'll
+be t' sea agin in half an hour if the wind holds.'
+
+"So when we was well out t' sea agin, the cook he says t' me that he've
+a wonderful fondness for a run ashore in a friendly port, but he've no
+mind t' be shot for a mad dog. 'An' we better bide aboard,' says the
+second hand; 'for 'tis like we'll be took for mad dogs wherever we tries
+t' land.' Down went the skipper, staggerin' sick; an' they wasn't a man
+among us would put a head in the forecastle t' ask for orders. So we
+beat about for a day or two in a foolish way; for, look you! havin' in
+mind them Rocky Harbour rifles, we didn't well know what t' do. Three
+days ago it blew up black an' frothy--a nor'east switcher, with a
+rippin' wind an' a sea o' mountains. 'Twas no place for a short-handed
+schooner. Believe _me_, sir, 'twas no place at all! 'Twas time t' run
+for harbour, come what might; so we asked the cook t' take charge. The
+cook says t' me that he'd rather be a cook than a skipper, an' a skipper
+than a ship's undertaker, but he've no objection t' turn his hand t'
+anything t' 'blige a party o' friends: which he'll do, says he, by
+takin' the schooner t' Broad Cove o' the Harbourless Shore, which is a
+bad shelter in a nor'east gale, says he, but the best he can manage.
+
+"So we up an' laid a course for Broad Cove; an' they was three schooners
+harboured there when we run in. We anchored well outside o' them; an',
+sure, we thought the schooner was safe, for we knowed she'd ride out
+what was blowin', if it took so much as a week t' blow out. But it
+blowed harder--harder yet: a thick wind, squally, too, blowin' dead on
+shore, where the breakers was leapin' half-way up the cliff. By midnight
+the seas was smotherin' her, fore an' aft, an' she was tuggin' at her
+bow anchor chain like a fish at the line. Lord! many a time I thought
+she'd rip her nose off when a hill o' suddy water come atop of her with
+a thud an' a hiss.
+
+"'She'll go ashore on them boilin' rocks,' says the cook.
+
+"We was sittin' in the cabin--the cook an' the second hand an' me.
+
+"''Tis wonderful cold,' says the second hand.
+
+"'I'm chillin', meself,' says the cook.
+
+"'Chillin'!' thinks I, havin' in mind the way poor Tommy Mib was took.
+'Has you a pain in your back?' says I.
+
+"They was shiverin' a wonderful lot, an' the cook was holdin' his head
+in his hands, just like Tommy Mib used t' do.
+
+"'Ay, b'y,' says he.
+
+"'Ay, b'y,' says the second hand.
+
+"'Been drilled too hard o' late,' says the cook. 'We're all wore out
+along o' work an' worry.'
+
+"I didn't wait for no more. 'H-m-m!' says I, 'I thinks I'll take a look
+outside.'
+
+"It was dawn then. Lord! what a sulky dawn it was! All gray, an' drivin'
+like mad. The seas was rollin' in, with a frothy wind-lop atop o' them.
+They'd lift us, smother us, drop us, toss the schooners ridin' in our
+lee, an' go t' smash on the big, black rocks ashore. Lord! how they
+pulled at the old _Sink or Swim_! 'Twas like as if they wanted her bad
+for what she done. Seems t' me the Lord God A'mighty must 'a' knowed
+what He was about. Seems to me the Lord God A'mighty said t' Hisself:
+'Skipper Jim,' says He, 'I'm through usin' _you_. I've done all the
+damage I want done along o' you. I've sent some o' the wicked t' beds
+they chose t' lie on; an' the good folk--all the good folk an' little
+kids I couldn't wait no longer for, I loved un so--I've took up here.
+Ay, Jim,' says the Lord God A'mighty, 'I'm through usin' you; an' I got
+t' get rid o' the old _Sink or Swim_. I'm sorry for the cook an' the
+second hand an' poor Tommy Mib,' says He, 'wonderful sorry; but I can't
+run My world no other way. An' when you comes t' think it over,' says
+He, 'you'll find 'tis the best thing that could happen t' they, for
+they're took most wonderful bad.' Oh ay," said Docks, with a gentle
+smile, "the Lord God A'mighty knowed what He was about.
+
+"I went for'ard t' have a look at the chain. Skipper Jim hisself was
+there, watchin' it close.
+
+"'She's draggin',' says he. But I wouldn't 'a' knowed that voice for
+Skipper Jim's--'twas so hollow and breathless. 'She's draggin',' says
+he. 'Let her drag. They's a better anchorage in there a bit. She'll take
+the bottom agin afore she strikes them craft.'
+
+"We was draggin' fast--bearin' straight down on the craft inside. They
+was a trader an' two Labrador fishin'-craft. The handiest was a fishin'
+boat, bound home with the summer's cotch, an' crowded with men, women,
+an' kids. We took the bottom an' held fast within thirty fathom of her
+bow. I could see the folk on deck--see un plain as I sees you--hands an'
+lips an' eyes. They was swarmin' fore an' aft like a lot o' scared
+seal--wavin' their arms, shakin' their fists, jabberin', leapin' about
+in the wash o' the seas that broke over the bows.
+
+"'Docks,' says the skipper, 'what's the matter with they folk, anyhow?
+We isn't draggin', is we?' says he, half cryin'. 'We isn't hurtin'
+_they_, is we?'
+
+"An old man--'tis like he was skipper o' the craft--come runnin'
+for'ard, with half a dozen young fellows in his wake. 'Sheer off!' sings
+the old one. He jabbered a bit more, all the while wavin' us off, but a
+squall o' wind carried it all away. 'We'll shoot you like dogs an you
+don't!' says one o' the young ones; an' at that I felt wonderful mean
+an' wicked an' sorry. Back aft they went. There they talked an' talked;
+an' as they talked they pointed--pointed t' the breakers that was
+boilin' over the black rocks; pointed t' the spumey sea an' t' the low,
+ragged clouds drivin' across it; pointed t' the _Sink or Swim_. Then the
+skipper took the wheel, an' the crew run for'ard t' the windlass an' jib
+sheets.
+
+"'Skipper, sir,' says I, 'they're goin' t' slip anchor an' run!'
+
+"'Ay,' says Skipper Jim, 'they knows us, b'y! They knows the _Sink or
+Swim_. We lies t' win'ard, an' they're feared o' the smallpox. They'll
+risk that craft--women an' kids an' all--t' get away. They isn't a craft
+afloat can beat t' sea in this here gale. They'll founder, lad, or
+they'll drive on the rocks an' loss themselves, all hands. 'Tis an evil
+day for this poor old schooner, Docks,' says he, with a sob, 'that
+men'll risk the lives o' kids an' women t' get away from her; an' 'tis
+an evil day for my crew.' With that he climbed on the rail, cotched the
+foremast shrouds with one hand, put the other to his mouth, an' sung
+out: 'Ahoy, you! Bide where you is! Bide where you is!' Then he jumped
+down; an' he says t' me, 'tween gasps, for the leap an' shout had taken
+all the breath out of un, 'Docks,' says he, 'they's only one thing for a
+man t' do in a case like this. Get the jib up, b'y. I'm goin' aft t' the
+wheel. Let the anchor chain run out when you sees me wave my hand. See,
+lad,' says he, pointin' t' leeward, 'they're waitin', aboard that
+fishin' craft, t' see what we'll do. We'll show un that we're men!
+Jagger be damned,' says he; 'we'll show un that we're men! Call the
+hands,' says he; 'but leave Tommy Mib lie quiet in his bunk,' says he,
+'for he's dead.'
+
+"'Skipper Jim,' says I, lookin' in his blood-red eyes, an' then t' the
+breakers, 'what you goin' t' do?'
+
+"'Beach her,' says he.
+
+"'Is you gone an' forgot,' says I, 'about Jagger?'
+
+"'Never you mind about Jagger, Docks,' says he. 'I'll see _him_,' says
+he, 'later. Call the hands,' says he, 'an' we'll wreck her like men!'"
+
+Docks covered his face with his hands. Place was once more given to the
+noises of the gale. He looked up--broken, listless; possessed again by
+the mood of that time.
+
+"An' what did _you_ say, lad?" Skipper Billy whispered.
+
+"I hadn't no objection," sighed the lad.
+
+The answer was sufficient.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"So I called the hands," Docks went on. "An' when the second hand
+cotched sight o' the rocks we was bound for, he went mad, an' tumbled
+over the taffrail; an' the cook was so weak a lurch o' the ship flung
+him after the second hand afore we reached the breakers. I never seed
+Skipper Jim no more; nor the cook, nor the second hand, nor poor Tommy
+Mib. But I'm glad the Lord God A'mighty give Jim the chance t' die
+right, though he'd lived wrong. Oh, ay! I'm fair glad the good Lord done
+that. The Labradormen give us a cheer when the chain went rattlin' over
+an' the _Sink or Swim_ gathered way--a cheer, sir, that beat its way
+agin the wind--God bless them!--an' made me feel that in the end I was
+a man agin. She went t' pieces when she struck," he added, as if in
+afterthought; "but I'm something of a hand at swimmin', an' I got ashore
+on a bit o' spar. An' then I come down the coast 'til I found you lyin'
+here in the lee o' Saul's Island." After a pause, he said hoarsely, to
+Skipper Billy: "They had the smallpox at Tops'l Cove, says you? They got
+it yet at Smith's Arm? At Harbour Rim an' Highwater Cove they been
+dyin'? How did they die at Seldom Cove? Like flies, says you? An' one
+was a kid?"
+
+"_My_ kid," said Skipper Billy, quietly still.
+
+"My God!" cried Docks. "_His_ kid! How does that there song go? What
+about they lakes o' fire? Wasn't it,
+
+  "'They's lakes o' fire in hell t' sail for such as Skipper Jim!'
+
+you sung? Lord! sir, I'm thinkin' I'll have t' ship along o' Skipper Jim
+once more!"
+
+"No, no, lad!" cried Skipper Billy, speaking from the heart. "For you
+was willin' t' die right. But God help Jagger on the mornin' o' the
+Judgment Day! I'll be waitin' at the foot o' the throne o' God t' charge
+un with the death o' my wee kid!"
+
+Doctor Luke sat there frowning.
+
+
+
+
+XXVI
+
+DECOYED
+
+
+Despite Skipper Billy's anxious, laughing protest that 'twas not yet fit
+weather to be at sea, the doctor next day ordered the sail set: for, as
+he said, he was all of a maddening itch to be about certain business, of
+a professional and official turn, at our harbour and Wayfarer's Tickle,
+and could no longer wait the pleasure of a damned obstinate nor'east
+gale--a shocking way to put it, indeed, but vastly amusing when uttered
+with a fleeting twinkle of the eye: vastly convincing, too, followed by
+a snap of the teeth and the gleam of some high, heroic purpose. So we
+managed to get the able little _Greased Lightning_ into the thick of
+it--merrily into the howl and gray frown of that ill-minded sea--and,
+though wind and sea, taking themselves seriously, conspired to smother
+her, we made jolly reaches to the nor'ard, albeit under double reefs,
+and came that night to Poor Luck Harbour, where the doctor's sloop was
+waiting. There we bade good-bye to the mood-stricken Docks, and a short
+farewell to Skipper Billy, who must return into the service of the
+Government doctors from St. Johns, now, at last, active in the smallpox
+ports. And next morning, the wind having somewhat abated in the night,
+the doctor and I set sail for our harbour, where, two days later, with
+the gale promising to renew itself, we dropped anchor: my dear sister,
+who had kept watch from her window, now waiting on my father's wharf.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+It seemed to me then--and with utmost conviction I uttered the feeling
+abroad, the while perceiving no public amusement--that the powers of
+doctors were fair witchlike: for no sooner had my sweet sister swallowed
+the first draught our doctor mixed--nay, no sooner had it been offered
+her in the silver spoon, and by the doctor, himself--than her soft cheek
+turned the red of health, and her dimples, which of late had been
+expressionless, invited kisses in a fashion the most compelling, so that
+a man of mere human parts would swiftly take them, though he were next
+moment hanged for it. I marvel, indeed, that Doctor Luke could resist
+them; but resist he did: as I know, for, what with lurking and peeping
+(my heart being anxiously enlisted), I took pains to discover the fact,
+and was in no slight degree distressed by it. For dimples were made for
+kissing--else for what?--and should never go unsatisfied; they are so
+frank in pleading that 'twould be sheer outrage for the lips of men to
+feel no mad desire: which, thank God! seldom happens. But, then, what
+concern have I, in these days, with the identical follies of dimples and
+kissing?
+
+"'Tis a wonderful clever doctor," said I to my sister, my glance fixed
+in amazement on her glowing cheeks, "that we got in Doctor Luke."
+
+"Ah, yes!" she sighed: but so demure that 'twas not painful to hear it.
+
+"An', ecod!" I declared, "'tis a wonderful clever medicine that he've
+been givin' you."
+
+"Ecod! Davy Roth," she mocked, a sad little laugh in her eyes, "an'
+how," said she, "did you manage to find it out?"
+
+"Bessie!" cried I, in horror. "Do you stop that swearin'! For an you
+don't," I threatened, "I'll give you----"
+
+"Hut!" she flouted. "'Tis your own word."
+
+"Then," I retorted, "I'll never say it again. Ecod! but I won't."
+
+She pinched my cheek.
+
+"An' I'm wonderin'," I sighed, reverting to the original train of
+thought, which was ever a bothersome puzzle, "how he can keep from
+kissin' you when he puts the spoon in your mouth. Sure," said I, "he've
+such a wonderful good chance t' do it!"
+
+It may have been what I said; it may have been a familiar footfall in
+the hall: at any rate, my sister fled in great confusion. And, pursuing
+heartily, I caught her in her room before she closed the door, but
+retreated in haste, for she was already crying on the bed. Whereupon, I
+gave up the puzzle of love, once and for all; and, as I sought the windy
+day, I was established in the determination by a glimpse of the doctor,
+sitting vacant as an imbecile in the room where my sister and I had
+been: whom I left to his own tragedy, myself being wearied out of
+patience by it.
+
+"The maid that turns _me_ mad," was my benighted reflection, as I
+climbed the Watchman to take a look at the weather, "will be a wonderful
+clever hand."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Unhappily, there had been no indictable offense in Jagger's connection
+with the horrid crimes of the _Sink or Swim_ (as the doctor said with a
+wry face): for Docks would be but a poor witness in a court of law at
+St. Johns' knowing nothing of his own knowledge, but only by hearsay;
+and the bones of Skipper Jim already lay stripped and white in the
+waters of the Harbourless Shore. But, meantime, the doctor kept watch
+for opportunity to send frank warning to the man of Wayfarer's Tickle;
+and, soon, chance offered by way of the schooner _Bound Down_, Skipper
+Immerly Swat, whom the doctor charged, with a grim little grin, to
+inform the evil fellow that he was to be put in jail, out of hand, when
+first he failed to walk warily: a message to which Jagger returned (by
+the skipper of the _Never Say Die_) an answer of the sauciest--so saucy,
+indeed, that the doctor did not repeat it, but flushed and kept silent.
+And now the coast knew of the open war; and great tales came to us of
+Jagger's laughter and loose-mouthed boasting--of his hate and ridicule
+and defiant cursing: so that the doctor wisely conceived him to be upon
+the verge of some cowardly panic. But the doctor went about his usual
+work, healing the sick, quietly keeping the helm of our business, as
+though nothing had occurred: and grimly waited for the inevitable hour.
+
+Jonas Jutt, of Topmast Tickle, with whom we had passed a Christmas
+Eve--the father of Martha and Jimmie and Sammy Jutt--came by stealth to
+our harbour to speak a word with the doctor. "Doctor Luke," said he,
+between his teeth, "I'm this year in service t' Jagger o' Wayfarer's
+Tickle; an' I've heared tell o' the quarrel atween you; an'...."
+
+"Yes?" the doctor inquired.
+
+"I've took sides."
+
+"I rather think," the doctor observed, "that you can tell me something
+I very much want to know."
+
+"I've no wish, God knows!" Jonas continued, with deep feeling, "t'
+betray my master. But you--_you_, zur--cured my child, an' I'm wantin'
+t' do you a service."
+
+"I think you can."
+
+"I knows I can! I know--I _knows_--that which will put Jagger t' makin'
+brooms in the jail t' St. Johns."
+
+"Ah!" the doctor drawled. "I wish," said he, "that I knew that."
+
+"I knows," Jonas pursued, doggedly, though it went against the grain,
+"that last week he wrecked the _Jessie Dodd_ on the Ragged Edge at
+Wayfarer's Tickle. I knows that she was insured for her value and
+fifteen hundred quintal o' Labrador fish. I knows that they wasn't a
+fish aboard. I knows that every fish is safe stowed in Jagger's stores.
+I knows that the schooner lies near afloat at high tide. I knows that
+she'll go t' pieces in the winter gales. I knows----"
+
+The doctor lifted his hand. He was broadly smiling. "You have told me,"
+said he, "quite enough. Go back to Wayfarer's Tickle. Leave me," he
+added, "to see that Jagger learns the worthy trade of broom-making. You
+have done me--great service."
+
+"Ah, but," cried Jonas, gripping the doctor's hand, "_you_ cured my
+little Sammy!"
+
+The doctor mused. "It may be difficult," he said, by and by, "to fix
+this wreck upon Jagger."
+
+"Hist!" Jonas replied, stepping near. "The skipper o' the _Jessie
+Dodd_," he whispered, pointedly, solemnly closing one eye, "is wonderful
+weak in the knees."
+
+Doctor and I went then in the sloop to Wayfarer's Tickle (the wind
+favouring us); and there we found the handsome _Jessie Dodd_ lying
+bedraggled and disconsolate on the Ragged Edge, within the harbour:
+slightly listed, but afloat aft, and swinging with the gentle lift and
+fall of the water. We boarded her, sad at heart that a craft so lovely
+should come to a pass like this; and 'twas at once plain to us
+sailor-men that 'twas a case of ugly abandonment, if not of
+barratry--plain, indeed, to such as knew the man, that in conspiracy
+with the skipper Jagger had caused the wreck of the schooner, counting
+upon the isolation of the place, the lateness of the season, the
+simplicity of the folk, the awe in which they held him--upon all this to
+conceal the crime: as often happens on our far-off coast. So we took the
+skipper into custody (and this with a high hand) unknown to Jagger--got
+him, soon, safe into the sloop: so cowed and undone by the doctor's
+manner that he miserably whined for chance to turn Queen's evidence in
+our behalf. 'Twas very sad--nauseating, too: so that one wished to stop
+the white, writhing lips with a hearty buffet; for rascals should be
+strong, lest their pitiful complaints distress the hearts of honest men,
+who have not deserved the cruel punishment.
+
+Jagger came waddling down to the landing, his great dog at his heels.
+"What you doin'," he demanded, scowling like a thunder-storm, "with that
+man?"
+
+"I next call your attention," the doctor answered, with a smile of the
+most engaging sort, like a showman once I saw in the South, "to the most
+be-_witch_ing exhibit in this vast concourse of wonders. We have
+here--don't crowd, _if_ you please--we have here the skipper of the
+schooner _Jessie Dodd_, cast away on the Ragged Edge at Wayfarer's
+Tickle. He is--and I direct your particular attention to the astounding
+fact--under arrest; being taken by a magistrate duly appointed by the
+authorities at St Johns. Observe, if you will, his--ah--rather abject
+condition. Mark his penitent air. Conceive, if you can, the--ah--ardour
+with which he will betray----"
+
+Jagger turned on his heel--and went wearily away. And I have never
+forgiven the doctor his light manner upon this wretched occasion: for
+it seems to me (but I am not sure of it) that rascals, also, are
+entitled to the usual courtesy. At any rate, in uttermost despair we
+paid for the lack of it.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+I copy, now, from the deposition of Allworthy Grubb, master of the
+schooner _Jessie Dodd_, Falmouth, England, as taken that night at our
+harbour: "The 'Jessie Dodd' was chartered by Thomas Jagger, doing
+business at Wayfarer's Tickle, to load fish for across.... I do hereby
+make a voluntary statement, with my own free will, and without any
+inducement whatever.... Thomas Jagger offered me, if I would put the
+'Jessie Dodd' ashore, he would give me half the profits realized on ship
+and cargo. This he promised me on a Sunday morning in his fish stage
+opposite to where the ship was put ashore. After the ship was put ashore
+he no longer discussed about the money I was to receive.... Two days
+before the 'Jessie Dodd' was put ashore I broke the wheel chain and tied
+the links with spunyarn. I showed the broken links to Mr. Jagger. The
+day we were starting there was rum served out to the crew. Mr. Jagger
+supplied it. When the vessel started, nearly all the crew were drunk. I
+had the wheel. About five minutes after she started I cut the spunyarn.
+The vessel began to go on the rocks. One of the crew shouted,
+'Hard-a-starboard!' I shouted that the port wheel chain was broken.
+Then the vessel went ashore.... Mr. Jagger sent a kettle of rum
+aboard, which I had served to the crew. No attempt was made to get the
+vessel off.... When I saw Mr. Jagger he told me I was a seven kinds of
+a fool for putting her ashore where I did. He said it would be all
+right, anyhow. He said they were all afraid of him. He said no one would
+give it away.... I am guilty of putting the 'Jessie Dodd' ashore, for
+which I am extremely sorry of being prompted to do so by Thomas Jagger,
+and to be so sadly led away into such depravity. Had it not been for
+such an irreproachable character, which I have held previous to this
+dreadful act, ten minutes after the occurrence I would have given myself
+up. Not one hour since but what I have repented bitterly...." I present
+this that the doctor may not appear unfairly to have initiated a
+prosecution against his enemy: though that were a blessing to our coast.
+
+"Davy," said the doctor, briskily, when the writing was done, "I must
+leave Captain Grubb to your hospitality for a time. It will be necessary
+for me to go south to the cable station at Chateau. The support of
+Lloyds--since Jagger has influence at St. Johns--will be invaluable in
+this case."
+
+He set sail in the sloop next day.
+
+It was now late in the fall of the year. Young slob ice was forming by
+night in the quiet places of the harbour. The shiver of winter was
+everywhere abroad.... For a week the weather continued ominous--with
+never a glint of sunshine to gladden us. Drear weather,
+treacherous--promising grief and pain. Off shore, the schooners of the
+great fleet crept by day to the s'uth'ard, harbouring by night: taking
+quick advantage of the variable winds, as chance offered. 'Twas thus
+that the doctor returned to our harbour; and there he was held, from day
+to day, by vicious winds, which the little sloop could not carry, by
+great, black seas, which she could not ride.... One day, being ill at
+ease, we went to the Watchman, that we might descry the first favourable
+sign. In the open, the wind was still to the north of east--but wildly
+capricious: blowing hither and thither; falling, too, to a sigh, rising,
+all at once, to a roaring gust, which tore at the whisps of grass and
+fairly sucked the breath from one's body. Overhead, the sky was low and
+tumultuous; great banks of black cloud, flecked with gray and
+white--ragged masses--went flying inland, as in a panic. There was no
+quiet light in the east, no clean air between; 'twas everywhere
+thick--everywhere sullen.... We left the Watchman downcast--each, too,
+preoccupied. In my heart was the heavy feeling that some sad thing was
+about to befall us....
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+I must tell, now, that, before the smallpox came to Poor Luck Harbour,
+the doctor had chartered the thirty-ton _Trap and Seine_ for our
+business: with which Skipper Tommy Lovejoy and the twins, with four men
+of our harbour, had subsequently gone north to Kidalik, where the
+fishing was reported good beyond dreams. 'Twas time for the schooner to
+be home. She was long overdue; and in great anxiety we awaited her
+return or news of her misfortune: the like of which often happens on our
+coast, where news proceeds only by word of mouth. 'Twas in part in hope
+of catching sight of her barked topsail that we had gone to the
+Watchman. But at that moment the _Trap and Seine_ lay snug at anchor in
+Wayfarer's Tickle: there delayed for more civil weather in which to
+attempt the passage of the Bay, for she was low in the water with her
+weight of fish, and Skipper Tommy had a mind to preserve his good
+fortune against misadventure. And, next day, the wind being still
+unfavourable, he had Timmie row him ashore, that he might pass an hour
+in talk with the men on Jagger's wharf: for there was nothing better to
+do, and the wreck of the _Jessie Dodd_ was food of the choicest for
+water-side gossip. To him, by and by, came Jagger's clerk: begging that
+the _Trap and Seine_ might be got under weigh for our harbour within the
+hour, for Jagger lay near death (having been taken in the night) and
+sorely needed the doctor, lest he die.
+
+"Die!" cried Skipper Tommy, much distressed. "That's fair awful. Poor
+man! So sick as that?"
+
+"Ay," the clerk replied, with a sharp little look into Skipper Tommy's
+mild eyes, "he'll die."
+
+"Ecod!" the skipper declared. "'Twill make the doctor sad t' know it!"
+
+Skipper Tommy remembers that the clerk turned away, as if, for some
+strange reason, to get command of himself.
+
+"That he will," said the clerk.
+
+"'Tis awful!" the skipper repeated. "I'll get the schooner t' sea this
+minute. She's wonderful low in the water," he mused, pulling at his
+nose; "but I'm thinkin' the doctor would rather save a life than get a
+cargo o' green fish t' harbour."
+
+"Dying, tell him," the clerk urged, smoothing his mouth with a lean
+hand. "Dying--and in terror of hell."
+
+"Afeared o' hell?"
+
+"Gone mad with fear of damnation."
+
+Skipper Tommy raised his hands. "That's awful!" he muttered, with a sad
+shake of the head. "Tell that poor man the doctor will come. Tell un,
+oh, tell un," he added, wringing his hands, "_not_ t' be afeared o'
+hell!"
+
+"Yes, yes!" the clerk exclaimed, impatiently. "Don't forget the message.
+Jagger lies sick, and dying, and begging for help."
+
+Skipper Tommy made haste to the small boat, the while raising a cry for
+Timmie, who had gone about his own pleasure, the Lord knew where! And
+Timmie ran down the path, as fast as his sea-boots would go: but was
+intercepted by Jonas Jutt, who drew him into the lower fish-stage, as
+though in fear of observation, and there whispered the circumstances of
+the departure of the _Trap and Seine_.
+
+"But do you tell your father," he went on, "that Jagger's not sick."
+
+"Not sick?" cried Timmie, under his breath.
+
+"Tell your father that I heared Jagger say he'd prove the doctor a
+coward or drown him."
+
+Timmie laughed.
+
+"Tell un," Jonas whispered, speaking in haste and great excitement,
+"that Jagger's as hearty drunk as ever he was--loaded t' the gunwale
+with rum an' hate--in dread o' the trade o' broom-makin'--desperate t'
+get clear o' the business o' the _Jessie Dodd_. Tell un he wants t'
+drown the doctor atween your harbour an' Wayfarer's Tickle. Tell un t'
+give no heed t' the message. Tell un t'----"
+
+"Oh, Lard!" Timmie gurgled, in a spasm of delight.
+
+"Tell un t' have the doctor stay at home 'til the weather lifts. Tell
+un----"
+
+In response to an urgent call from the skipper, who was waiting at the
+small-boat, Timmie ran out. As he stumbled down the path, emitting
+guffaws and delicious chuckles, he conceived--most unhappily for us
+all--an infinitely humorous plan, which would still give him the delight
+of a rough passage to our harbour: for Timmie loved a wet deck and a
+reeling beat to windward, under a low, driving sky, with the night
+coming down, as few lads do. Inform the skipper? Not Timmie! Nor would
+he tell even Jacky. He would disclose the plot at a more dramatic
+moment. When the beat was over--when the schooner had made harbour--when
+the anchor was down--when the message was delivered--in the thick of the
+outcry of protest against the doctor's high determination to venture
+upon the errand of mercy--_then_ Timmie Lovejoy, the dramatic
+opportunity having come, would, with proper regard for his own
+importance, make the astounding revelation. It would be quite thrilling
+(he thought); moreover, it would be a masterly joke on his father, who
+took vast delight in such things.
+
+"The wind's veerin' t' the s'uth'ard," said the skipper, anxiously,
+while they put a double reef in the mainsail. "'Twill be a rough time
+across."
+
+"Hut! dad," Timmie answered. "Sure, _you_ can make harbour."
+
+"Ecod!" Jacky added, with a grin. "You're the man t' do it,
+dad--_you're_ the man t' drive her!"
+
+"Well, lads," the flattered skipper admitted, resting from the wrestle
+with the obstinate sail, and giving his nose a pleased sort of tweak, "I
+isn't sayin' I'm not."
+
+So, low as she was--sunk with the load in her hold and the gear and
+casks and what-not on her deck--they took the _Trap and Seine_ into the
+gale. And she made brave weather of it--holding her own stoutly,
+cheerily shaking the frothy water from her bows: though 'twas an unfair
+task to put her to. Skipper Tommy put the first hand at the mainsail
+halliards, the second hand at the foresail, with orders to cut away at
+the lift of his hand, lest the vessel get on her beam's ends and
+capsize. 'Twas thus that they drove her into the wind--stout hearts and
+stout timber: no wavering or weak complaint, whatever the wind and sea.
+But night caught them off our harbour--deep night: with the headlands
+near lost in the black sky; no more than the looming, changing shadow
+of the hills and the intermittent flash of breakers to guide the way.
+They were now beating along shore, close to Long Cove of the mainland,
+which must then have lain placid in the lee of Naked Point. At the cry
+of "Hard-a-lee!"--sung out in terror when the breakers were fair under
+the bow--the ship came about and fell off towards the open sea. Then
+came three great waves; they broke over the bow--swept the schooner,
+stem to stern, the deck litter going off in a rush of white water. The
+first wrenched Jacky from his handhold; but Skipper Tommy, standing
+astern, caught him by the collar as the lad went over the taffrail.
+Came, then, with the second wave, Timmie, whom, also, the skipper
+caught. But 'twas beyond the old man's power to lift both to the deck:
+nor could he cry for help, nor choose whom to drop, loving them alike;
+but desperately clung to both until the rush of the third wave tore one
+away.
+
+It was Timmie.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Skipper Tommy Lovejoy, making into our harbour, by way of the Gate, in
+the depths of that wild night--poor old Skipper Tommy, blind and broken
+by grief--ran his loaded schooner into the Trap and wrecked her on the
+Seven Murderers, where she went to pieces on the unfeeling rocks. But
+we managed to get the crew ashore, and no man lost his life at that
+time. And Skipper Tommy, sitting bowed in my father's house, told us in
+a dull, slow way--made tragic, from time to time, by the sweet light in
+his eye, by the flitting shadow of a smile--told us, thus, that Jagger
+of Wayfarer's Tickle lay at the point of death, in fear of hell, crying
+for the help of his enemy: and then put his arm about Jacky, and went
+with him to the Rat Hole, there to bury his sorrow, that it might not
+distress us the more, who sorrowed, also.
+
+
+
+
+XXVII
+
+The DAY of The DOG
+
+
+I was awakened at dawn. 'Twas by a gentle touch of the doctor's hand.
+"Is it you, zur?" I asked, starting from sad dreams.
+
+"Hush!" he whispered. "'Tis I, Davy."
+
+I listened to the roar of the gale--my sleepy senses immediately aroused
+by the noise of wind and sleet. The gathered rage was loosed, at last.
+
+"'Tis a bitter night," I said.
+
+"The day is breaking."
+
+He sat down beside me, gravely silent; and he put his arm around me.
+
+"You isn't goin'?" I pleaded.
+
+"Yes."
+
+I had grown to know his duty. 'Twas all plain to me. I would not have
+held him from it, lest I come to love him less.
+
+"Ay," I moaned, gripping his hand, "you're goin'!"
+
+"Yes," he said.
+
+We sat for a moment without speaking. The gale went whipping
+past--driving madly through the breaking day: a great rush of black,
+angry weather. 'Twas dim in the room. I could not see his face--but felt
+his arm warm about me: and wished it might continue there, and that I
+might fall asleep, serene in all that clamour, sure that I might find it
+there on waking, or seek it once again, when sore need came. And I
+thought, even then, that the Lord had been kind to us: in that this man
+had come sweetly into our poor lives, if but for a time.
+
+"You isn't goin' alone, is you?"
+
+"No. Skipper Tommy is coming to sail the sloop."
+
+Again--and fearsomely--the gale intruded upon us. There was a swish of
+wind, rising to a long, mad shriek--the roar of rain on the roof--the
+rattle of windows--the creaking of the timbers of our house. I trembled
+to hear it.
+
+"Oh, doctor!" I moaned.
+
+"Hush!" he said.
+
+The squall subsided. Rain fell in a monotonous patter. Light crept into
+the room.
+
+"Davy!"
+
+"Ay, zur?"
+
+"I'm going, now."
+
+"Is you?"
+
+He drew me very close. "I've come to say good-bye," he said. My head
+sank in great misgiving against him. I could not say one word. "And you
+know, lad," he continued, "that I love your sister. Tell her, when I am
+gone, that I love her. Tell her----"
+
+He paused. "An' what, zur," I asked, "shall I tell my sister for you?"
+
+"Tell her--that I love her. No!" he cried. "'Tis not that. Tell her----"
+
+"Ay?"
+
+"That I loved her!"
+
+"Hist!" I whispered, not myself disquieted by this significant change of
+form. "She's stirrin' in her room."
+
+It may be that the doctor loved my sister through me--that I found some
+strange place in his great love for her, to which I had no title, but
+was most glad to have. For, then, in the sheltering half-light, he
+lifted me from my bed--crushed me against his breast--held me there,
+whispering messages I could not hear--and gently laid me down again, and
+went in haste away. And I dressed in haste: but fumbled at all the
+buttons, nor could quickly lay hands on my clothes, which were scattered
+everywhere, by my sad habit; so that, at last, when I was clad for the
+weather, and had come to my father's wharf, the sloop was cast off.
+Skipper Tommy sat in the stern, his face grimly set towards North
+Tickle and the hungry sea beyond: nor did he turn to look at me. But the
+doctor waved his hand--and laughed a new farewell.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+I did not go to the hills--because I had no heart for that (and had no
+wish to tell my sister what might be seen from there): but sat grieving
+on a big box, in the lee of the shop, drumming a melancholy refrain with
+my heels. And there I sat while the sad light of day spread over the
+rocky world; and, by and by, the men came out of the cottages--and
+_they_ went to the hills of God's Warning, as I knew they would--and
+came back to the wharf to gossip: but in my presence were silent
+concerning what they had seen at sea, so that, when I went up to our
+house, I did not know what the sloop was making of the gale. And when I
+crossed the threshold, 'twas to a vast surprise: for my breakfast was
+set on a narrow corner of the kitchen table (and had turned cold); and
+the whole house was in an amazing state of dust and litter and
+unseasonable confusion--the rugs lifted, the tables and chairs awry, the
+maids wielding brooms with utmost vigour: a comfortless prospect,
+indeed, but not foreign to my sister's way at troublous times, as I
+knew. So I ate my breakfast, and that heartily (being a boy); and then
+sought my sister, whom I found tenderly dusting in my mother's room.
+
+"'Tis queer weather, Bessie," said I, in gentle reproof, "for cleanin'
+house."
+
+She puckered her brow--a sad little frown: but sweet, as well, for,
+downcast or gay, my sister could be naught else, did she try it.
+
+"Is you thinkin' so, Davy?" she asked, pulling idly at her dust-rag.
+"Ah, well!" she sighed.
+
+"Why," I exclaimed, "'tis the queerest I ever knowed!"
+
+"I been thinkin'," she mused, "that I'd get the house tidied up--while
+the doctor's away."
+
+"Oh, _was_ you?"
+
+"Ay," she said, looking up; "for he've such a wonderful distaste for
+dust an' confusion. An' I'll have the house all in order," she added,
+with a wan smile, "when he gets back."
+
+'Tis the way of women to hope; but that my clever sister should thus
+count sure that which lay in grave doubt--admitting no uncertainty--was
+beyond my understanding.
+
+"Does you think," she asked, looking away, "that he will be back"--she
+hesitated--"the morrow?"
+
+I did not deign to reply.
+
+"May be," she muttered, "the day after."
+
+'Twas hard to believe it of her. "Bessie," I began, ignoring her folly,
+"afore the doctor went, he left a message for you."
+
+Her hands went swiftly to her bosom. "For me?" she whispered. "Ah, tell
+me, Davy!"
+
+"I'm just about t' tell," said I, testily. "But, sure, 'tis nothin' t'
+put you in a state. When he come t' my room," I proceeded, "at dawn, t'
+say good-bye, he left a message. 'Tell her,' said he, 'that I love
+her.'"
+
+It seemed to me, then, that she suffered--that she felt some glorious
+agony: of which, as I thought, lads could know nothing. And I wondered
+why.
+
+"That he loves me!" she murmured.
+
+"No," said I. "'Tell her not that,' said he," I went on. "'Tell her that
+I loved her.'"
+
+"Not that!" she cried. "'Twas that he loves me--_not_ that he loved me!"
+
+"'Twas that he loved you."
+
+"Oh, no!"
+
+"I got it right."
+
+"Ah, then," she cried, in despair, "he've no hope o' comin' back! Oh,"
+she moaned, clasping her hands, "if only I had----"
+
+But she sighed--and turned again to her womanly task; and I left her
+tenderly caring for my mother's old room. And when, at midday, I came up
+from the wharf, I found the house restored to order and quiet: my
+sister sitting composed in my mother's place, smiling a welcome across
+the table, as my mother used to do. And I kissed her--for I loved her!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+It blew up bitter cold--the wind rising: the sea turned white with
+froth. 'Twas a solemn day--like a sad Sunday, when a man lies dead in
+the harbour. No work was done--no voice was lifted boisterously--no
+child was out of doors: but all clung peevishly to their mothers'
+skirts. The men on the wharf--speculating in low, anxious voices--with
+darkened eyes watched the tattered sky: the rushing, sombre clouds,
+still in a panic fleeing to the wilderness. They said the sloop would
+not outlive the gale. They said 'twas a glorious death that the doctor
+and Skipper Thomas Lovejoy had died; thus to depart in the high
+endeavour to succour an enemy--but shed no tears: for 'tis not the way
+of our folk to do it.... Rain turned to sleet--sleet to black fog. The
+smell of winter was in the air. There was a feeling of snow abroad....
+Then came the snow--warning flakes, driving strangely through the mist,
+where no snow should have been. Our folk cowered--not knowing what they
+feared: but by instinct perceiving a sudden change of season, for which
+they were not ready; and were disquieted....
+
+What a rush of feeling and things done--what rage and impulsive
+deeds--came then! The days are not remembered--but lie hid in a mist, as
+I write.... Timmie Lovejoy crawled into our harbour in the dusk of that
+day: having gone ashore at Long Cove with the deck-litter of the _Trap
+and Seine_; which surprised us not at all, for we are used to such
+things. And when he gave us the message (having now, God knows! a tragic
+opportunity, but forgetting that)--when he sobbed that Jagger, being in
+sound health, would prove the doctor a coward or drown him--we
+determined to go forthwith by the coast rocks to Wayfarer's Tickle to
+punish Jagger in some way for the thing he had done. And when I went up
+the path to tell my poor sister of the villany practiced upon the
+doctor, designed to compass his very death--ah! 'tis dreadful to recall
+it--when I went up the path, my mother's last prayer pleading in my
+soul, the whitening world was all turned red; and my wish was that, some
+day, I might take my enemy by the throat, whereat I would tear with my
+naked fingers, until my hands were warm with blood.... But it came on to
+snow; and for two days and nights snow fell, the wind blowing mightily:
+so that no man could well move from his own house. And when the wind
+went down, and the day dawned clear again, we put the dogs to my
+father's komatik and set out for Wayfarer's Tickle: whence Jagger had
+that morning fled, as Jonas Jutt told us.
+
+"Gone!" cried Tom Tot.
+
+"T' the s'uth'ard with the dogs. He's bound t' the Straits Shore t' get
+the last coastal boat t' Bay o' Islands."
+
+"Gone!" we repeated, blankly.
+
+"Ay--but ten hours gone. In mad haste--alone--ill provisioned--fleein'
+in terror.... He sat on the hills--sat there like an old crag--in the
+rain an' wind--waitin' for the doctor's sloop. 'There she is, Jutt!'
+says he. 'No,' says I. 'Thank God, Jagger, that's a schooner, reefed
+down an' runnin' for harbour!' ... 'There she is!' says he. 'No,' says
+I. 'Thank God, that's the same schooner, makin' heavy weather o' the
+gale!' ... 'There she is, Jutt!' says he. 'Ay,' says I, 'God help her,
+that's the doctor's sloop! They've wrecked the _Trap an' Seine_'.... An'
+there he sat, watchin', with his chin on his hand, 'til the doctor's
+sloop went over, an' the fog drifted over the sea where she had been....
+An' then he went home; an' no man seed un agin 'til he called for the
+dogs. An' he went away--in haste--alone--like a man gone mad...."
+
+The lean-handed clerk broke in. He was blue about the lips--his eyes
+sunk in shadowy pits--and he was shivering.
+
+"'Timmons,' says he to me," he chattered, "'I'm going home. I done
+wrong,' says he. 'They'll kill me for this.'"
+
+"An' when he got the dogs in the traces," Jonas proceeded, "I seed he
+wasn't ready for no long journey. 'Good Lord, Jagger,' says I, 'you
+isn't got no grub for the dogs!' 'Dogs!' says he. 'I'll feed the dogs
+with me whip.' 'Jagger,' says I, 'don't you try it. They won't _eat_ a
+whip. They can't _live_ on it.' 'Never you fear,' says he. 'I'll feed
+them ugly brutes when they gets me t' Cape Charles Harbour.' 'Jagger,'
+says I, 'you better look out they don't feed theirselves afore they gets
+you there. You got a ugly leader,' says I, 'in that red-eyed brute.'
+'Him?' says he. 'Oh, I got _him_ broke!' But he _didn't_ have----"
+
+"And with that," said the clerk, "off he put."
+
+"Men," cried Tom Tot, looking about upon our group, "we'll cotch un
+yet!"
+
+So we set out in pursuit of Jagger of Wayfarer's Tickle, who had fled
+over the hills--I laugh to think of it--with an ugly, red-eyed leader,
+to be fed with a whip: which dog I knew.... No snow fell. The days were
+clear--the nights moonlit. Bitter cold continued. We followed a plain
+track--sleeping by night where the quarry had slept.... Day after day
+we pushed on: with no mercy on the complaining dogs--plunging through
+the drifts, whipping the team up the steeper hills, speeding when the
+going lay smooth before us.... By and by we drew near. Here and there
+the snow was significantly trampled. There were signs of confusion and
+cross purposes. The man was desperately fighting his dogs.... One night,
+the dogs were strangely restless--sniffing the air, sleepless, howling;
+nor could we beat them to their beds in the snow: they were like wolves.
+And next day--being then two hours after dawn--we saw before us a bloody
+patch of snow: whereupon Tom Tot cried out in horror.
+
+"Oh, dear God!" he muttered, turning with a gray face. "They've eat him
+up!"
+
+Then--forgetting the old vow--he laughed.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+... And this was true. They had eaten him up. The snow was all trampled
+and gory. They had eaten him up. Among the tatters of his garments, I
+found a hand; and I knew that hand for the hand of Jagger of Wayfarer's
+Tickle.... They had turned wolves--they had eaten him up. From far
+off--the crest of a desolate hill--there came a long howl. I looked
+towards that place. A great dog appeared--and fled. I wondered if the
+dog I knew had had his day. I wondered if the first grip had been upon
+the throat....
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+When we came again to our harbour--came close again to the grief we had
+in rage and swift action forgot--when, from the inland hills, we caught
+sight of the basin of black water, and the cottages, snuggled by the
+white water-side--we were amazed to discover a schooner lying at anchor
+off my father's wharf: the wreck of a craft, her topmast hanging, her
+cabin stove in, her jib-boom broke off short. But this amazement--this
+vast astonishment--was poor surprise as compared with the shock I got
+when I entered my father's house. For, there--new groomed and
+placid--sat the doctor; and my dear sister was close to him--oh, so
+joyfully close to him--her hand in his, her sweet face upturned to him
+and smiling, glowing with such faith and love as men cannot deserve: a
+radiant, holy thing, come straight from the Heart of the dear God, who
+is the source of Love.
+
+"Oh!" I ejaculated, stopping dead on the threshold.
+
+"Hello, Davy!" the doctor cried.
+
+I fell into the handiest chair. "You got home," I observed, in a gasp.
+"Didn't you?"
+
+He laughed.
+
+"Sure," I began, vacantly, "an', ecod!" I exclaimed, with heat, "what
+craft picked _you_ up?"
+
+"The _Happy Sally_."
+
+"Oh!" said I. 'Twas a queer situation. There seemed so little to say.
+"Was you drove far?" I asked, politely seeking to fill an awkward gap.
+
+"South o' Belle Isle."
+
+"Ah!"
+
+The doctor was much amused--my sister hardly less so. They watched me
+with laughing eyes. And they heartlessly abandoned me to my own
+conversational devices: which turned me desperate.
+
+"Is you goin' t' get married?" I demanded.
+
+My sister blushed--and gave me an arch glance from behind her long, dark
+lashes. But--
+
+"We are not without hope," the doctor answered, calmly, "that the Bishop
+will be on our coast next summer."
+
+"I'm glad," I observed, "that you've both come t' your senses."
+
+"Oh!" cried my sister.
+
+"Ecod!" the doctor mocked.
+
+"Ay," said I, with a wag. "I is _that_!"
+
+The doctor spoke. "'Twas your sister," said he, "found the way. She
+discovered a word," he continued, turning tenderly to her, his voice
+charged with new and solemn feeling, "that I'd forgot."
+
+"A word!" said I, amazed.
+
+"Just," he answered, "one word."
+
+'Twas mystifying. "An' what word," I asked, "might that word be?"
+
+"'Expiation,'" he replied.
+
+I did not know the meaning of that word--nor did I care. But I was glad
+that my dear sister--whose cleverness (and spirit of sacrifice) might
+ever be depended upon--had found it: since it had led to a consummation
+so happy.
+
+"Skipper Tommy saved?" I enquired
+
+"He's with the twins at the Rat Hole."
+
+"Then," said I, rising, "as you're both busy," said I, in a saucy flash,
+"I'll be goin'----"
+
+"You'll not!" roared the doctor. And he leaped from his seat--bore down
+upon me, indeed, like a mad hurricane: my sister laughing and clapping
+her little hands. So I knew I must escape or have my bones near crack
+under the pressure of his affection; and I was agile--and eluded him.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+I found Skipper Tommy and the twins at the Rat Hole--the skipper
+established in comfort by the stove, a cup of tea at his hand, his
+stockinged feet put up to warm: the twins sitting close, both grinning
+broadly, each finely alert to anticipate the old man's wants, who now
+had acquired a pampered air, which sat curiously upon him. "Seems t' me,
+Davy," he said, in a solemn whisper, at the end of the tale, new told
+for me, "that the dear Lard took pity. 'You done pretty well, Tommy,'
+says He, 't' put out t' the help o' Jagger in that there gale. I'm
+thinkin' I'll have t' change my mind about you,' says He. 'The twins,
+Tommy,' says He, 'is well growed, an' able lads, both, as I knowed when
+I started out t' do this thing; but I'm thinkin',' says He, 'that I'll
+please you, Tommy,' says He, 'by lettin' you live a little longer with
+them dear lads.' Oh," the skipper concluded, finding goodness in all the
+acts of the Lord, the while stretching out his rough old hand to touch
+the boys, his face aglow, "'twas wonderful kind o' Him t' let me see my
+lads again!"
+
+The twins heartily grinned.
+
+
+
+
+XXVIII
+
+IN HARBOUR
+
+
+When the doctor was told of the tragic end of Jagger of Wayfarer's
+Tickle, he shuddered, and sighed, and said that Jagger had planned a
+noble death for him: but said no more; nor has he since spoken the name
+of that bad man. And we sent the master of the _Jessie Dodd_ to St.
+Johns by the last mail-boat of that season--and did not seek to punish
+him: because he had lost all that he had, and was most penitent; and
+because Jagger was dead, and had died the death that he did.... The last
+of the doctor's small patrimony repaired the damage done our business by
+the wreck of the _Trap and Seine_: and brought true my old dream of an
+established trade, done with honour and profit to ourselves and the folk
+of our coast, and of seven schooners, of which, at last, the twins were
+made masters of two.... And that winter my sister was very happy--ay, as
+happy (though 'tis near sin to say it) as her dear self deserved. Sweet
+sister--star of my life!... The doctor, too, was happy; and not once
+(and many a cold night I shivered in my meagre nightgown at his door
+to discover it)--not once did he suffer the old agony I had known him to
+bear. And when, frankly, I asked him why this was----
+
+"Love, Davy," he answered.
+
+"Love?" said I.
+
+"And labour."
+
+"An' labour?"
+
+"And the Gospel according to Tommy."
+
+"Sure," I asked, puzzled, "what's that?"
+
+"Faith," he answered.
+
+"'Tis queer!" I mused.
+
+"Just faith," he repeated. "Just faith in the loving-kindness of the
+dear God. Just faith--with small regard for creeds and forms."
+
+This he said with a holy twinkle.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+But that was long ago. Since then I have been to the colleges and
+hospitals of the South, and have come back, here, in great joy, to live
+my life, serving the brave, kind folk, who are mine own people, heartily
+loved by me: glad that I am Labrador born and bred--proud of the brave
+blood in my great body, of the stout purpose in my heart: of which
+(because of pity for all inlanders and the folk of the South) I may not
+with propriety boast. Doctor Davy, they call me, now. But I have not
+gone lacking. I am not without realization of my largest hope. The
+decks are often wet--wet and white. They heave underfoot--and are wet
+and white--while the winds come rushing from the gray horizon. Ah, I
+love the sea--the sweet, wild sea: loveliest in her adorable rage, like
+a woman!... And my father's house is now enlarged, and is an hospital;
+and the doctor's sloop is now grown to a schooner, in which he goes
+about, as always, doing good.... And my sister waits for me to come in
+from the sea, in pretty fear that I may not come back; and I am glad
+that she waits, sitting in my mother's place, as my mother used to do.
+
+And Skipper Tommy Lovejoy this day lies dying....
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+I sit, a man grown, in my mother's room, which now is mine. It is
+springtime. To-day I found a flower on the Watchman. Beyond the broad
+window of her room, the hills of Skull Island and God's Warning stand
+yellow in the sunshine, rivulets dripping from the ragged patches of
+snow which yet linger in the hollows; and the harbour water ripples
+under balmy, fragrant winds from the wilderness; and workaday voices,
+strangely unchanged by the years that are passed, come drifting up the
+hill from my father's wharves; and, ay, indeed, all the world of sea
+and land is warm and wakeful and light of heart, just as it used to be,
+when I was a lad, and my mother lay here dying. But there is no shadow
+in the house--no mystery. The separate sorrows have long since fled. My
+mother's gentle spirit here abides--just as it used to do: touching my
+poor life with holy feeling, with fine dreams, with tender joy. There is
+no shadow--no mystery. There is a glory--but neither shadow nor mystery.
+And my hand is still in her dear hand--and she leads me: just as she
+used to do. And all my days are glorified--by her who said good-bye to
+me, but has not left me desolate.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Skipper Tommy died to-day. 'Twas at the break of dawn. The sea lay
+quiet; the sky was flushed with young, rosy colour--all the hues of
+hope. We lifted him on the pillows: that from the window he might
+watch--far off at sea--the light chase the shadows from the world.
+
+"A new day!" he whispered.
+
+'Twas ever a mystery to him. That there should come new days--that the
+deeds of yesterday should be forgot in the shadows of yesterday--that as
+the dawn new hope should come unfailing, clean, benignant.
+
+"A new day!" he repeated, turning his mild old face from the placid
+sea, a wondering, untroubled question in his eyes.
+
+"Ay, zur--a new day."
+
+He watched the light grow--the hopeful tints spread rejoicing towards
+the higher heavens.
+
+"The Lard," he said, "give me work. Blessed be the name o' the Lard!"
+
+All the world was waking.
+
+"The Lard give me pain. Blessed be the name o' the Lard!"
+
+And a breeze came with the dawn--a rising breeze, rippling the purple
+sea.
+
+"The Lard give me love," he continued, turning tenderly to the stalwart
+twins. "Blessed be the name o' the Lard!"
+
+The wind swept calling by--blue winds, fair winds to the north: calling
+at the window, all the while.
+
+"The Lard showed Himself t' me. Oh, ay, that He did," he added, with a
+return to his old manner. "'Skipper Tommy,' says the Lard," he
+whispered, "'Skipper Tommy,' says He, 'leave you an' Me,' says He, 'be
+friends. You'll never regret it, b'y,' says He, 'an you make friends
+with Me.' Blessed," he said, his last, low voice tremulous with deep
+gratitude, "oh, blessed be the name o' the Lard!"
+
+The wind called again--blithely called: crying at the window. In all
+the harbours of our coast, 'twas time to put to sea.
+
+"I wisht," the skipper sighed, "that I'd been--a bit--wickeder. The
+wicked," he took pains to explain, "knows the dear Lard's love. An',
+somehow, I isn't _feelin'_ it as I should. An' I wisht--I'd sinned--a
+wee bit--more."
+
+Still the wind called to him.
+
+"Ecod!" he cried, impatiently, his hand moving feebly to tweak his nose,
+but failing by the way. "There I been an' gone an' made another mistake!
+Sure, 'tis awful! Will you tell me, Davy Roth, an you can," he demanded,
+now possessed of the last flicker of strength, "how I could be wicked
+without hurtin' some poor man? Ecod! I'm woeful blind."
+
+He dropped my hand--suddenly: forgetting me utterly. His hands sought
+the twins--waving helplessly: and were caught. Whereupon the father
+sighed and smiled.
+
+"Dear lads!" he whispered.
+
+The sun rose--a burst of glory--and struck into the room--and blinded
+the old eyes.
+
+"I wonder----" the old man gasped, looking once more to the glowing sky.
+"I wonder...."
+
+Then he knew.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+How unmomentous is the death we die! This passing--this gentle change
+from place to place! What was it he said? "'Tis but like wakin' from a
+troubled dream. 'Tis like wakin' t' the sunlight of a new, clear day. He
+takes our hand. 'The day is broke,' says He. 'Dream no more, but rise,
+child o' Mine, an' come into the sunshine with Me.' 'Tis only that
+that's comin' t' you--only His gentle touch--an' the waking. Hush! Don't
+you go gettin' scared. 'Tis a lovely thing--that's comin' t' you!" ...
+And I fancy that the dead pity the living--that they look upon us, in
+the shadows of the world, and pity us ... And I know that my mother
+waits for me at the gate--that her arms will be the first to enfold me,
+her lips the first to touch my cheek. "Davy, dear, my little son," she
+will whisper in my ear, "aren't you glad that you, too, are dead?" And I
+shall be glad.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Ha! but here's a cheery little gale of wind blowing up the path. 'Tis my
+nephew--coming from my father's wharf. Davy, they call him. The sturdy,
+curly-pated, blue-eyed lad--Labradorman, every luscious inch of him:
+without a drop of weakling blood in his stout little body! There's jolly
+purpose in his stride--in his glance at my window. 'Tis a walk on the
+Watchman, I'll be bound! The wind's in the west, the sun unclouded, the
+sea in a ripple. The day invites us. Why not? The day does not know
+that an old man lies dead.... He's at the door. He calls my name. "Uncle
+Davy! Hi, b'y! Where is you?" Ecod! but the Heavenly choir will never
+thrill me so.... He's on the stair. I must make haste. In a moment his
+arms will be round my neck. And----
+
+Here's a large period to my story! The little rascal has upset my bottle
+of ink!
+
+THE END
+
+-----------------------------------------------------------------------
+
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+BEVERLY OF GRAUSTARK. By George Barr McCutcheon. With Color Frontispiece
+and other illustrations by Harrison Fisher. Beautiful inlay picture in
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+
+  "The most fascinating, engrossing and picturesque of the season's
+  novels,"--_Boston Herald_. "'Beverly' is altogether charming--almost
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+  '."--_Mail and Express_. "A sequel quite as impossible as 'Graustark'
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+
+HALF A ROGUE. By Harold MacGrath. With illustrations and inlay cover
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+
+  "Here are dexterity of plot, glancing play at witty talk, characters
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+
+THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE. By Charles Clark Munn. With illustrations by
+Frank T. Merrill.
+
+  "Figuring in the pages of this story there are several strong
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+
+THE LION AND THE MOUSE. A story of American Life. By Charles Klein, and
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+
+  The novel duplicated the success of the play; in fact the book is
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+  years.
+
+GROSSET & DUNLAP,--NEW YORK
+
+-----------------------------------------------------------------------
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+
+Re-issues of the great literary successes of the time. Library size.
+Printed on excellent paper--most of them with illustrations of marked
+beauty--and handsomely bound in cloth. Price, 75 cents a volume,
+postpaid.
+
+BARBARA WINSLOW, REBEL. By Elizabeth Ellis. With illustrations by John
+Rae, and colored inlay cover.
+
+  The following, taken from story, will best describe the heroine: A
+  TOAST: "To the bravest comrade in misfortune, the sweetest companion in
+  peace and at all times the most courageous of women."--_Barbara
+  Winslow_. "A romantic story, buoyant, eventful, and in matters of love
+  exactly what the heart could desire."--_New York Sun_.
+
+SUSAN. By Ernest Oldmeadow. With a color frontispiece by Frank Haviland.
+Medalion in color on front cover.
+
+  Lord Ruddington falls helplessly in love with Miss Langley, whom he
+  sees in one of her walks accompanied by her maid, Susan. Through a
+  misapprehension of personalities his lordship addresses a love
+  missive to the maid. Susan accepts in perfect good faith, and an
+  epistolary love-making goes on till they are disillusioned. It
+  naturally makes a droll and delightful little comedy; and is a story
+  that is particularly
+  clever in the telling.
+
+WHEN PATTY WENT TO COLLEGE. By Jean Webster. With illustrations by C. D.
+Williams.
+
+  "The book is a treasure."--_Chicago Daily News_. "Bright, whimsical,
+  and thoroughly entertaining."_--Buffalo Express_. "One of the best
+  stories of life in a girl's college that has ever been written."
+  --_N. Y. Press_. "To any woman who has enjoyed the pleasures of a
+  college life this book cannot fail to bring back many sweet
+  recollections; and to those who have not been to college the wit,
+  lightness, and charm of Patty are sure to be no less delightful."
+  --_Public Opinion_.
+
+THE MASQUERADER. By Katherine Cecil Thurston. With illustrations by
+Clarence F. Underwood.
+
+  "You can't drop it till you have turned the last page."--_Cleveland
+  Leader_. "Its very audacity of motive, of execution, of solution,
+  almost takes one's breath away. The boldness of its denouement is
+  sublime."--_Boston Transcript_. "The literary hit of a generation.
+  The best of it is the story deserves all its success. A masterly
+  story."--_St. Louis Dispatch_. "The story is ingeniously told, and
+  cleverly constructed."--_The Dial_.
+
+THE GAMBLER. By Katherine Cecil Thurston. With illustrations by John
+Campbell.
+
+  "Tells of a high strung young Irish woman who has a passion for
+  gambling, inherited from a long line of sporting ancestors. She has
+  a high sense of honor, too, and that causes complications. She is a
+  very human, lovable character, and love saves her."--_N. Y. Times_.
+
+GROSSET & DUNLAP,--NEW YORK
+
+-----------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+FAMOUS COPYRIGHT BOOKS IN POPULAR PRICED EDITIONS
+
+Re-issues of the great literary successes of the time. Library size.
+Printed on excellent paper--most of them with illustrations of marked
+beauty--and handsomely bound in cloth. Price, 75 cents a volume,
+postpaid.
+
+THE AFFAIR AT THE INN. By Kate Douglas Wiggin. With illustrations by
+Martin Justice.
+
+  "As superlatively clever in the writing as it is entertaining in the
+  reading. It is actual comedy of the most artistic sort, and it is
+  handled with a freshness and originality that is unquestionably
+  novel."_--Boston Transcript_. "A feast of humor and good cheer, yet
+  subtly pervaded by special shades of feeling, fancy, tenderness, or
+  whimsicality. A merry thing in prose."_--St. Louis Democrat_.
+
+ROSE O' THE RIVER. By Kate Douglas Wiggin. With illustrations by George
+Wright.
+
+  "'Rose o' the River,' a charming bit of sentiment, gracefully written
+  and deftly touched with a gentle humor. It is a dainty book--daintily
+  illustrated."--_New York Tribune_. "A wholesome, bright, refreshing
+  story, an ideal book to give a young girl."--_Chicago Record-Herald_.
+  "An idyllic story, replete with pathos and inimitable humor. As
+  story-telling it is perfection, and as portrait-painting it is true to
+  the life."--_London Mail_.
+
+TILLIE: A Mennonite Maid. By Helen R. Martin. With illustrations by
+Florence Scovel Shinn.
+
+  The little "Mennonite Maid" who wanders through these pages is
+  something quite new in fiction. Tillie is hungry for books and beauty
+  and love; and she comes into her inheritance at the end. "Tillie is
+  faulty, sensitive, big-hearted, eminently human, and first, last and
+  always lovable. Her charm glows warmly, the story is well handled, the
+  characters skilfully developed."--_The Book Buyer_.
+
+LADY ROSE'S DAUGHTER. By Mrs. Humphry Ward. With illustrations by Howard
+Chandler Christy.
+
+  "The most marvellous work of its wonderful author."--_New York World_.
+  "We touch regions and attain altitudes which it is not given to the
+  ordinary novelist even to approach."--_London Times_. "In no other
+  story has Mrs. Ward approached the brilliancy and vivacity of Lady
+  Rose's Daughter."--_North American Review_.
+
+THE BANKER AND THE BEAR. By Henry K. Webster.
+
+  "An exciting and absorbing story."--_New York Times_. "Intensely
+  thrilling in parts, but an unusually good story all through. There is
+  a love affair of real charm and most novel surroundings, there is a
+  run on the bank which is almost worth a year's growth, and there is
+  all manner of exhilarating men and deeds which should bring the book
+  into high and permanent favor."--_Chicago Evening Post_.
+
+GROSSET & DUNLAP,--NEW YORK
+
+-----------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+NATURE BOOKS
+
+With Colored Plates, and Photographs from Life.
+
+BIRD NEIGHBORS. An Introductory Acquaintance with 150 Birds Commonly
+Found in the Woods, Fields and Gardens About Our Homes. By Neltje
+Blanchan. With an Introduction by John Burroughs, and many plates of
+birds in natural colors. Large Quarto, size 7-3/4 x 10-3/8, Cloth.
+Formerly published at $2.00. Our special price, $1.00.
+
+  As an aid to the elementary study of bird life nothing has ever
+  been published more satisfactory than this most successful of
+  Nature Books. This book makes the identification of our birds
+  simple and positive, even to the uninitiated, through certain
+  unique features. I. All the birds are grouped according to color,
+  in the belief that a bird's coloring is the first and often the
+  only characteristic noticed. II. By another classification, the
+  birds are grouped according to their season. III. All the popular
+  names by which a bird is known are given both in the descriptions
+  and the index. The colored plates are the most beautiful and
+  accurate ever given in a moderate-priced and popular book.
+  The most successful and widely sold Nature Book yet published.
+
+BIRDS THAT HUNT AND ARE HUNTED. Life Histories of 170 Birds of Prey,
+Game Birds and Water-Fowls. By Neltje Blanchan. With Introduction by G.
+O. Shields (Coquina). 24 photographic illustrations in color. Large
+Quarto, size 7-3/4 x 10-3/8. Formerly published at $2.00. Our special
+price, $1.00.
+
+  No work of its class has ever been issued that contains so much
+  valuable information, presented with such felicity and charm. The
+  colored plates are true to nature. By their aid alone any bird
+  illustrated may be readily identified. Sportsmen will especially
+  relish the twenty-four color plates which show the more important
+  birds in characteristic poses. They are probably the most valuable
+  and artistic pictures of the kind available to-day.
+
+GROSSET & DUNLAP,--NEW YORK
+
+-----------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+NORMAN DUNCAN
+
+DR. GRENFELL'S PARISH
+
+16 Illustrations, Cloth, $1.00 net.
+
+_Outlook:_ "It is a series of sketches of Grenfell's work in Labrador. A
+very rare picture the author has given of a very rare man: a true story
+of adventure which we should like to see in the hands of every boy and
+of every man of whatever age who still retains anything of a boyish
+heroism in his soul."
+
+_N. Y. Globe_: "Mr. Duncan has given a very moving picture of the
+dreadfully hard life of the northern fishermen. He has included dozens
+of the little cameos of stories, true stories, as he vouches, full of
+human nature as it is exhibited in primitive conditions."
+
+_Congregationalist_: "Norman Duncan draws vivid pictures of the Labrador
+and the service which Dr. Grenfell has rendered to its people. It is a
+fascinating tale and told with real enthusiasm and charm. The unusual
+stage of action and the chivalrous quality of the hero, once known, lay
+hold upon the imagination and will not let go."
+
+_Fifth Edition_
+
+By DR. WILFRED T. GRENFELL
+
+THE HARVEST OF THE SEA
+
+16 Illustrations, Cloth, $1.00 net.
+
+_New York Sun_: "Relates the life of the North Sea fisherman on the now
+famous Dogger Bank: the cruel apprenticeship, the bitter life, the
+gallant deeds of courage and of seamanship, the evils of drink, the work
+of the deep sea mission. These are real sea tales that will appeal to
+every one who cares for salt water, and are told admirably."
+
+_N. Y. Tribune_: "Dr. Grenfell tells, in fiction form, but with strict
+adherence to fact, how the mission to deep sea fishermen came to be
+founded among the fishing fleets that frequent the Dogger Bank that has
+figured prominently in the recent international complication. It is a
+story rich in adventure and eloquent of accomplishments for the
+betterment of the men."
+
+_Chicago Tribune_: "It is a plain unvarnished tale of the real life of
+the deep sea fishermen and of the efforts which Grenfell's mission makes
+to keep before their minds the words of Him who stilled the waters and
+who chose His bosom disciples from men such as they."
+
+_Brooklyn Eagle_: "A robust, inspiring book, making us better acquainted
+with a man of the right sort, doing a man's work."
+
+_Fifth Edition_
+
+-----------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+NORMAN DUNCAN
+
+THE ADVENTURES OF
+
+BILLY TOPSAIL
+
+Illustrated. Cloth, $1.50
+
+A ripping story of adventure by sea is regarded by every true-hearted
+boy as the very best story of all. The yarn--that's the thing! If the
+sea is a northern sea, full of ice and swept by big gales, if the
+adventures are real, if the hero is _not_ a prig, if the tale concerns
+itself with heroic deeds and moves like a full-rigged ship with all sail
+spread to a rousing breeze, the boy will say "Bully!" and read the story
+again. "The Adventures of Billy Topsail" is a book to be chummy with. It
+is crowded with adventure, every page of it, from the time young Billy
+is nearly drowned by his dog, until in a big blizzard, lost on an
+ice-floe, he rescues Sir Archibald's son, and the old _Dictator_
+weathers the gale.
+
+There is "something doing" every minute--something exciting and real and
+inspiring. The book is big enough and broad enough to make Billy Topsail
+a tried friend of every reader--just the sort of friend Archie found him
+to be. And Billy is good company. He is _not_ a prig; he is a real boy,
+full of spirit and fun and courage and the wish to distinguish himself.
+In a word, as the lads say, he's "all right, all right!" He sails,
+fishes, travels the ice, goes whaling, is swept to sea with the ice,
+captures a devil-fish, hunts a pirates' cave, gets lost on a cliff, is
+wrecked, runs away to join a sealer, and makes himself interesting in a
+hundred ways. He's a good chum, in calm or gale, on water, ice or
+shore--that's what Billy Topsail o' Ruddy Cove is.
+
+-----------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+By NORMAN DUNCAN
+
+_Doctor Luke of The Labrador_
+
+12mo, Cloth, $1.50.
+
+_N. Y. Evening Post_: "Mr. Duncan is deserving of much praise for this,
+his first novel.... In his descriptive passages Mr. Duncan is sincere to
+the smallest detail. His characters are painted in with bold, wide
+strokes.... Unlike most first novels, 'Dr. Luke' waxes stronger as it
+progresses."
+
+_Henry van Dyke_: "It is a real book, founded on truth and lighted with
+imagination, well worth reading and remembering."
+
+_Review of Reviews_: "Mr. Duncan has added a new province to the realm
+of literature. This strong, beautiful love story moves with a
+distinctive rhythm that is as fresh as it is new. One of the season's
+two or three best books."
+
+_Hamilton W. Mabie, in the Ladies' Home Journal_: "Full of incidents,
+dramatically told, of the heroism and romance of humble life: strong,
+tender, pathetic; one of the most wholesome stories of the season."
+
+_Current Literature_: "Beyond a peradventure, ranks as one of the most
+remarkable novels issued in 1904. Stands out so prominently in the
+year's fiction that there is little likelihood of its being
+overshadowed."
+
+_London Punch_: "Since Thackeray wrote the last word of 'Colonel
+Newcome,' nothing finer has been written than the parting scene where
+Skipper Tommy Lovejoy, the rugged old fisherman, answers the last call."
+
+_Saturday Evening Post_: "There is enough power in this little volume to
+magnetize a dozen of the popular novels of the winter."
+
+_Sir Robert Bond, Premier of Newfoundland_: "I shall prize the book. It
+is charmingly written, and faithfully portrays the simple lives of the
+noble-hearted fisher folk."
+
+_Brooklyn Eagle_: "Norman Duncan has fulfilled all that was expected of
+him in this story; it establishes him beyond question as one of the
+strong masters of present-day fiction."
+
+_26th 1000_
+
+-----------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+THE HUBBARD EXPLORING EXPEDITION
+
+By DILLON WALLACE
+
+_The Lure of the Labrador Wild_
+
+ILLUSTRATED 8vo CLOTH $1.50 NET.
+
+_New York Sun_: "A remarkable story, and we are much mistaken if it does
+not become a classic among tales of exploration."
+
+_Chicago Evening Post_: "Two continents became interested in the stories
+that came out of the wild about the hardships of the Hubbard expedition.
+Wallace's story and record--they are inseparable--possesses in its naked
+truth more of human interest than scores of volumes of imaginative
+adventure and romance of the wild."
+
+_Review of Reviews_: "The chronicle of high, noble purpose and
+achievement and it appeals to the finest, best, and most virile in man."
+
+_Chicago Record-Herald_: "One of the most fascinating books of travel
+and adventure in the annals of recent American exploration. Every man or
+boy who has ever heard the 'red gods' of the wilderness calling will
+revel in these graphic pages, in which the wild odor of the pines, the
+roar of rapids, the thrill of the chase and of thickening dangers come
+vividly to the senses."
+
+_New York Evening Post_: "The story is told simply and well. It may be
+added that for tragic adventure it has scarcely a parallel except in
+Arctic exploration."
+
+_New York Evening Mail_: "A chronicle of the expedition from first to
+last, and a fine tribute to the memory of Hubbard, whose spirit
+struggled with such pitiable courage against the ravages of a purely
+physical breakdown. The story itself is well told."
+
+_Chicago Inter-Ocean_: "In the records of the explorations of recent
+years there is no more tragic story than that of Hubbard's attempt to
+cross the great unexplored and mysterious region of the northeastern
+portion of the North American continent. Wallace himself narrowly
+escaped death in the Labrador wild, but, having been rescued, he has
+brought out of that unknown land a remarkable story."
+
+_Brooklyn Eagle_: "One of the very best stories of a canoe trip into the
+wilds ever written."
+
+_FOURTH EDITION_
+
+-----------------------------------------------------------------------
+
+Transcriber's Notes:
+
+1. Punctuation has been normalized to contemporary standards.
+2. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
+3. Unusual formatting of chapter titles in text has been retained.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's Doctor Luke of the Labrador, by Norman Duncan
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DOCTOR LUKE OF THE LABRADOR ***
+
+***** This file should be named 19981.txt or 19981.zip *****
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