Mrs. Twig placed the big earthen bowl with the appetizing odour in the
center of the table, together with a plate heaped high with slices of
white bread and a bowl of molasses. Then she poured tea.
"Dinner's ready this minute," boomed Skipper Zeb. "Set in, and we'll
eat."
There was no cover upon the home-made table, but its top had been
scoured clean and white with sand and water. The cabin boasted no
chairs, and chests were drawn up by Skipper Zeb and Toby to the ends of
the table, and a bench on each side, to serve as seats.
Accepting the invitation, Charley took a place beside Toby on one of the
benches, Violet sat on the bench opposite them, while the Skipper and
Mrs. Twig each took an end. When all were seated, Skipper Zeb, in so big
a voice Charley was sure the Lord could not fail to hear, asked a devout
blessing upon the family, the stranger within their home, and upon the
food.
"Turn to, now, and eat hearty," Skipper Zeb invited, indicating the
earthen bowl. "'Tisn't much we has, but 'tis good. Mrs. Twig makes the
finest dumplin' on The Labrador. I knows for I eats un. I shoots the
bear last week, and 'twere as fine and fat a bear as ever I sees. He
were just prime to curl up for his winter sleep."
"It looks good, and I'm hungry," said Charley, transferring, with a big
serving spoon, a portion of the stewed bear's meat and dumpling to his
plate. "I never ate bear's meat, and I've always wished I could."
"Never ate bear's meat!" exclaimed Skipper Zeb. "Well, now! And we gets
a bear most every year. What kind of meat does you eat where you comes
from? 'Tis likely you gets plenty of deer's meat?"
"Beef, and lamb, and veal, and pork, but I don't care much for pork,
except bacon," said Charley.
"Well, now! In all my days I never tastes beef or lamb or veal! We gets
pickled pork at the post, and 'tis wonderful fine meat _I_ thinks. If
beef and lamb and veal be better than pork, I'd like to try un once.
_They_ must be a rare treat." Skipper Zeb smacked his lips. "Yes, sir,
I'd like to try un once! And does you hunt un?"
"No," Charley smiled, "the animals are raised on farms and the meat is
sold at stores."
"Well, now! What wonderful things goes on in the world, and we never
knows about un down here on The Labrador." Skipper Zeb shook his head in
astonishment. "Does you mark that, Sophia? They raises the animals and
then kills un, and sells the meat at the tradin' stores!"
"'Tis a queer way," admitted Mrs. Twig.
"'Tis a fine way!" enthused Skipper Twig. "Twould be fine if we could
raise deer and kill un when we wants un."
"Here's sweetenin' for your tea," and Toby, observing that Charley had
not helped himself, passed the molasses.
"Thank you," Charley accepted, putting a spoonful of the molasses into
his tea, and wondering why it was used instead of sugar, but venturing
no question. Had he asked, Skipper Zeb would have told him that it was
much less expensive than sugar, and that sugar was a luxury they could
not afford.
There were no vegetables, for on the Labrador coast the summers are too
short and too cold to grow them, and not one of the Twig family had ever
so much as tasted a potato or an onion or a tomato, or, indeed, any of
the wholesome vegetables that we, in our kindlier land, have so
plentifully, and accept as a matter of course. But Charley and the
Twigs, old and young, found the stewed bear's meat, with Mrs. Twig's
light, fluffy dumplings and the good bread and molasses, both satisfying
and appetizing; and when Charley declined a third helping, urged upon
him by Skipper Zeb, he declared that he was as full as though he had
eaten a Christmas dinner.
When all were finished, Skipper Zeb bowed his head and gave thanks for
the bountiful meal; and then, with Toby's assistance, drew the benches
and chests back to the wall.
"Set down, now, and when I lights my pipe we'll talk over this fix
you're gettin' in," said Skipper Zeb. Drawing a pipe and a plug of black
tobacco and a jack-knife from his pocket, he shaved some of the plug
into the palm of his left hand, rolled it between his palms, and filled
the pipe. Then, with some deliberation, he selected a long, slender
sliver from the wood box, ignited it at the stove, lighted his pipe and
carefully extinguished the burning sliver.
"This _is_ a fix, now! Well, now, '_tis_ a fix!" Skipper Zeb sat down
upon a bench by Charley's side, and for a minute or two puffed his pipe
in silence, sending up a cloud of smoke. Then, turning to Charley, he
boomed: "But 'tis not such a bad fix we can't get out of un! No, sir!
We'll see about _this_ fix! We'll see!"
"Thank you," said Charley gratefully, and with hope that there might be
a way out of his trouble after all.
"Now, to start in the beginning, and that's where most things have to
start," said Skipper Zeb, "we won't worry about un. Worry is bad for the
insides of a man's head, and what's bad for the insides of a man's head
is bad for all of his insides, and if he worries, and keeps un up, he
gets sick. To-day is to-day and to-morrow is to-morrow. 'Tis but sense
for a man to provide for to-morrow, and do his best to do un, but if he
can't there's no use his worryin' about un. That's how I figgers. You're
feelin' well and hearty to-day?"
"Yes," admitted Charley.
"You just had a good snack of vittles?"
"Yes."
"You're warm and snug?"
"Yes."
"There you be! The worst of un's took care of to start with! Feelin'
well, a belly full of good vittles, warm and snug! Now keep feelin'
contented, and right as if this was your own home. Nothin' to worry
over. No, sir, not a thing! Now we've headed off the worst of un.
"You're in a fix, but 'twon't trouble us any. Not us! Life is full of
fixes, first and last. 'Twouldn't be much fun livin' if we didn't get in
fixes now and again! 'Tis a fine bit of sport figgerin' the way out of
fixes. Fixes gives us a change and somethin' to think about. There's a
way out of most fixes _I_ finds, even the worst of un."
"Do you think the ship will come back for me?" asked Charley anxiously.
"Well, now," Skipper Zeb wrinkled his forehead as though he were
pondering the question deeply, "if she comes back she'll come in through
the tickle and come to in the offing and blow her whistle, and we'll
hear un, and be ready for she. If she don't come back, she'll not blow
her whistle, and we'll not hear un. We'll be stayin' here as snug as a
bear in his den and listen for that whistle."
"But _do_ you think she'll come back?" insisted Charley, with a
suspicion that Skipper Zeb's answer had been evasive.
"That's a question! That's a fair and square question, now," admitted
Skipper Zeb. "You asks un fair and I'll answer un fair. The folk on the
mail boat misses you. They looks up and down and don't find you. You're
not on the boat, and how can they find you? Captain Barcus of the mail
boat says, 'Well, he's gone, that's sure. If he leaves the mail boat at
Pinch-In Tickle, he's with Skipper Zeb Twig by now, and safe enough and
well took care of. If he falls overboard, that's the last of he.' And
sayin' this, and knowin' Captain Barcus the way I knows he, he keeps
right on to St. John's, and don't come back till next June or July
month."
"If the ship don't come," broke in Charley, suddenly startled into his
old fear, "what _can_ I do? What _will_ become of me?"
"Well, now!" and Skipper Zeb broke into a hearty laugh. "'Tis just what
I says in the beginnin' about no worry, and about to-day bein' to-day
and to-morrow bein' to-morrow. You're cast away with shelter _and_ grub.
That's not so bad, considerin'. Not the best of shelter and not the best
of grub, but not so bad either. You does your best to get out of this
fix, and the best way you finds is to bide right where you finds the
shelter and grub. If the mail boat don't come to-day, and I says fair
and square, I'm not expectin' she, you goes to Double Up Cove in the
marnin' with us. Whilst you're on The Labrador our home is your home,
and I hopes you'll like un."
"But Daddy! Poor Daddy! He'll be broken-hearted when he thinks I've been
lost at sea, and so will Mother!" Charley gulped hard to keep back the
tears.
"'Twill be a bit hard for un, but you can't help un," Skipper Zeb
consoled. "What's past is past, and there's no use worryin' about un.
You're busy tryin' to get out of a fix. They'll be so glad to see you
when you gets home, 'twill more than make up to un for the mournin' they
does now. Your feelin' bad and worryin' about un won't help your father
and mother any, and it'll get your insides upset, as I were sayin'.
You're gettin' out of a fix. You stick by the grub and shelter, such as
'tis, and make the best of un, and be happy."
"Oh, thank you!" and tears came into Charley's eyes in spite of his
effort to keep them back. "Daddy will make it right with you. He'll pay
you for being good to me. He'll pay you all you ask."
"I asks nothing," said Skipper Zeb. "'Tis the right thing to do. Here on
The Labrador we stands shoulder to shoulder, and when a man's cast away
we takes him to our home till he can get to his own home. We all be
wonderful glad to have you. Ask Mrs. Twig, now."
"'Twill be wonderful fine to have you bide with us," and Mrs. Twig's
smile left no doubt of her sincerity. "You and Toby will be havin' rare
good times together."
"That we will, now!" broke in Toby quite excited at the prospect.
FOOTNOTE: [1] Seal.