Part 26 (1/2)

”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 ash.o.r.e,” 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, a.s.suming 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-a.s.sertion, ”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 G.o.d, who made such hearts as beat under the brown, hairy b.r.e.a.s.t.s of our men.