Part 9 (1/2)

”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' pa.s.s 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.”