anchor in Rickity Tickle--an' when I was foot-loose from the ol' craft
an' had kissed my mother t' the dear woman's satisfaction--an' Bessie
Tot on the sly as near t' my own as I could manage--an' when I'd
swaggered the roads a bit--an' had cocked my cap, as I'd planned t'
do, an' made mention o' Mugford an' Pinch-Me an' easterly weather--I
spread my sails on the road t' Gull Island Cove t' warn Mary Land o'
the queer news I had. She'd a place in my heart, an' in the hearts of
us all, for her goodness an' wise ways--a large, warm place in mine,
like a sister's nook in a young lad's heart. An' sure she was sister
t' all the lads o' Rickity Tickle--love in her touch, wisdom on her
lips, an' faith in her eyes. A Newf'un'land maid: buxom now, an' still
rosy an' fair an' blue-eyed an' tender. But not merry at all: gone too
far in years, I used t' think, for folly t' flush an' dimple her--she
was goin' on thirty--but as it was, as then I knowed, too much grieved
for waste o' merriment. An' when she'd hugged me, her nurseling, as
she used t' say--an' when she'd noted my stride an' the spread o' my
feet--an' had marked my elderly talk an' praised my growth--I told her
my errand. I plumped it out, without mercy, in the way of a lad; an'
she took it ill, I thought; for breath left her, an' she stared like
death. An' then she begun t' cry--an' then she sobbed that she was
wonderful happy--an' then she dried her poor eyes--an' then she named
Davy Junk an' the good God in one long breath o' love an' thanks--an'
then she smiled. An' after that she put her warm arms around me an'
half hid her sweet motherly face; but yet I could see that she was
flushed an' dimpled, like any young maid o' the place, an' that her
eyes were both merry an' wet. An' I marveled t' learn that youth an'
joy would come back in a flash o' time as soon as love beckoned a
finger.
"'I loves un, Toby!' says she. 'I jus' can't help it.'
"'He've poor timber in his soul,' says I.
"She'd have none o' that! 'Oh no,' says she; 'he jus' needs--me.'
"'A poor stick for looks,' says I.
"'Ah, but,' says she, 'you didn't know un when he was _young_, Toby.'
"'Pst!' says I. 'An' he've kep' you waitin' a long time.'
"'It haven't been hard t' wait,' says she; 'for I jus' _knowed_ he'd
come--when ready.'
"'I'll fetch Skipper Davy this night.'
"'Ay,' says she. 'I'm--wonderful happy.'
"'There'll be guns goin' at a weddin' in Rickity Tickle afore long,'
says I, 'I'll be bound!'
"She laughed like a maid o' sixteen. 'An', ecod!' says she, 'I got a
new muslin all ready t' wear!'
* * * * *
"It rained on Rickity Tickle that night: no lusty downpour--a mean,
sad drizzle o' cold mist. The road t' Gull Island Cove was dark as
death--sodden underfoot an' clammy with wet alder-leaves. Skipper Davy
come with fair courage, laggin' a bit by the way, in the way o'
lovers, thinks I, at such times. An' I'd my hand fair on the knob o'
Mary Land's door--an' was jus' about t' push in--when Skipper Davy all
at once cotched me by the elbow an' pulled me back t' the shadows.
"'Hist!' says he.
"'Ay?'
"'Did you--tell her outright--that I'd _take_ her?'
"'Ay, sure!'
"'No help for it, Tumm?'
"'God's sake!' says I.
"'I--I--I won't!' says he.
"An' he fled--ay, took t' the heels of un, an' went stumblin' over the
road t' Rickity Tickle in the dark. I listened--helpless there at Mary
Land's door--while he floundered off beyond hearin'. An' 'twas hard--a
thing as bitter as perdition--t' tell Mary Land that he'd gone. T'
break her heart again! God's sake! But she said: 'Hush, Toby! Don't
you mind for me. I--I'm not mindin'--much. I'm used--t' waitin'.' An'
then I made off for Davy Junk's spick-an'-span cottage by Blow-Me t'
speak the words in my heart. Slippery rock an' splash o' mud
underfoot--an' clammy alder-leaves by the wayside--an' the world in a
cold drench o' misty rain--an' the night as dark as death--an' rage
an' grief beyond measure in my heart. An' at last I come t' Davy
Junk's cottage by Blow-Me, an' forthwith pushed in t' the kitchen. An'
there sot Davy Junk, snuggled up to his own fire, his face in his
hands, woebegone an' hateful of hisself an' all the world--his soul
lost, not because he'd failed in love for a maid, or worked woe in a
woman's heart, but because in fear o' the world he'd lived all his
years in despite o' love, an' love had left un for good an' all, t'
make the best of his way alone through the world he feared. He'd not
look at me at all, but shifted in his chair, an' rubbed his hands, an'
snuggled closer to his own fire, an' whimpered what I couldn't make
out. Nor would I speak t' he afore he turned t' face me--though I'd
hard labor enough t' keep my words in my throat. Whatever an' all, at
last he turned. An' 'twas the old Davy Junk come t' Rickity Tickle
again--the beast o' fear peerin' out from his soul through his little,
mean eyes. An' I might have loathed un then--had I not pitied un so
greatly.
"'I made a mistake, Tumm,' says he.
"'Ay, Skipper Davy.'
"'This here world's a wolf's world,' says he, with his teeth bared.
'An', damme, I got enough t' do t' fend for myself!'
"'Skipper Davy,' says I, 'you go t' hell!'
"'Twas the first oath ever I uttered with intention. An' I ran
straightway t' Billy Tot's cottage--t' cure the taste o' the thing on
my lips--an' t' ease the grief in my heart--an' t' find some new store
o' faith for my soul. An' I kissed Bessie Tot fair on her rosy check
in the middle o' the kitchen floor without carin' a jot who seed me."
It was the end of the yarn of Davy Junk, of Dirty-Face Bight; but
Skipper Jim, of the _Quick as Wink_, being of a curious turn,
presently inquired:
"What become o' Davy?"
"Lost with the _Word o' the Lord_," Tumm replied, "with all hands
aboard."
"Went down in wreck," the skipper observed, "an' left nothin' but a
tale."
"A tale with a moral," said I.
"Ay, an' t' be sure!" Skipper Jim agreed. "Davy Junk left a tale--with
a moral."
"Damme!" Tumm exploded, "'tis as much as most men leaves!"
And the little stars winked their own knowledge and perfect
understanding of the whole affair.
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