Part 7 (2/2)

”Wisht _I_ was 'o ”I say,” he added, ”which way's 'oe?”

”I

”Don't know,” Billy answered ”You better ask Uncle To had been exported for adoption The gutters of London are never exhausted of their product of malformed little bodies and souls; they provide waifs for the re had been exported to Newfoundland--transported fro was scrawny and salloith bandy legs and watery eyes and a fantastic cranium; and he had a snub nose, which turned blue when a cold wind struck it But when he was landed from the mail-boat he found a elcome, just the same, from Ruth Rideout, Ezekiel's wife, by whom he had been taken for adoption

Later in the day, old Uncle Torounds off the Mull, where he had been jigging for stray cod all day long, hadup the path with his sail over his shoulder, his back to the wide, flaring sunset Bagg sat at the turn to Squid Cove, disconsolate The sky was heavy with glowing clouds, and the whole earth was filled with a glory such as he had not known before

”Shall I arst the ol' beggar when 'e gets 'ere?”

Uncle To, when the old man came abreast, ”which way's 'ome from 'ere?”

”Eh, b'y?” said Uncle Tommy

”'Ome, sir Which way is 'o's sickness of heart expressed itself--in the quivering, wistful accent

”Is you 'Zekiel Rideout's lad?” said Uncle To, somewhat resentfully

”I ain't nothink t' nobody”

”I knowed you was that lad,” Uncle Tommy drawled, ”when I seed the size o' you Sure, b'y, you knows so well as me where 'Zekiel's place is to 'Tis t' the head o' Burnt Cove, there, with the white railin', an' the tater patch aft o' the place where they spreads the fish

Sure, you knows the way hoed

”Oh, home!” said Uncle Tommy ”When I was a lad like you, b'y, just here from the West Country, me fawther told me if I steered a course out o' the tickle an' kept et home t' last”

”Which way, mister?”

Uncle Tommy pointed out to sea--to that far place in the east where the dusk was creeping up over the horizon

”There, b'y,” said he ”Home lies there”

Then Uncle Toed on up the hill; and Bagg threw hiround and wept until his sobs convulsed his scrawny little body

”I want to go 'o, London born and bred, wanted to go holitter of the streets to which he had been used