FullReads

“‘Well, no, Tumm,’ says Tim Mull, ‘we hasn’t been favored in that particular line. But I’m content. All the children o’ Harbor is mine,’ says he, ‘jus’ as they used t’ be, an’ there’s no sign o’ the supply givin’ out. Sure, I’ve no complaint o’ my fortune in life.’

“Nor did Mary Mull complain. She thrived, as ever: she was soft an’ brown an’ flushed with the color o’ flowers, as when she was a maid; an’ she rippled with smiles, as then, in the best of her moods, like the sea on a sunlit afternoon.

“‘I’ve Tim,’ says she, ‘an’ with Tim I’m content. Your godson, Tumm, had he deigned to sail in, would have been no match for my Tim in goodness.’

“An’ still the children o’ Tinkle Tickle trooped after Tim Mull; an’ still he’d forever a maid on his shoulder or a wee lad by the hand.

“‘Fair winds, Tumm!’ says Tim Mull. ‘Me an’ Mary is wonderful happy t’gether.’

“‘Isn’t a thing we could ask for,’ says she.

“‘Well, well!’ says I. ‘Now, that’s good, Mary!’

“There come that summer t’ Tinkle Tickle she that was once Polly Twitter. An’ trouble clung to her skirts. Little vixen, she was! No tellin’ how deep a wee woman can bite when she’ve the mind t’ put her teeth in. Nobody at Tinkle Tickle but knowed that the maid had loved Tim Mull too well for her peace o’ mind. Mary Mull knowed it well enough. Not Tim, maybe. But none better than Mary. ‘Twas no secret, at all: for Polly Twitter had carried on like the bereft when Tim Mull was wed–had cried an’ drooped an’ gone white an’ thin, boastin’, all the while, t’ draw friendly notice, that her heart was broke for good an’ all. ‘Twas a year an’ more afore she flung up her pretty little head an’ married a good man o’ Skeleton Bight. An’ now here she was, come back again, plump an’ dimpled an’ roguish as ever she’d been in her life. On a bit of a cruise, says she; but ’twas not on a cruise she’d come–’twas t’ flaunt her new baby on the roads o’ Tinkle Tickle.

“A wonderful baby, ecod! You’d think it t’ hear the women cackle o’ the quality o’ that child. An’ none more than Mary Mull. She kissed Polly Twitter, an’ she kissed the baby; an’ she vowed–with the sparkle o’ joyous truth in her wet brown eyes–that the most bewitchin’ baby on the coast, the stoutest baby, the cleverest baby, the sweetest baby, had come straight t’ Polly Twitter, as though it wanted the very prettiest mother in all the world, an’ knowed jus’ what it was about.

“An’ Polly kissed Mary. ‘You is so kind, Mary!’ says she. ”Tis jus’ sweet o’ you! How can you!’

“‘Sweet?’ says Mary, puzzled. ‘Why, no, Polly. I’m–glad.’

“‘Is you, Mary? ‘Tis so odd ! Is you really– glad ?’

“‘Why not?’

“‘I don’t know, Mary,’ says Polly. ‘But I–I–I ‘lowed, somehow–that you wouldn’t be–so very glad. An’ I’m not sure that I’m grateful–enough.’

“An’ the women o’ Tinkle Tickle wondered, too, that Mary Mull could kiss Polly Twitter’s baby. Polly Twitter with a rosy baby,–a lusty young nipper,–an’ a lad, t’ boot! An’ poor Mary Mull with no child, at all, t’ bless Tim Mull’s house with! An’ Tim Mull a lover o’ children, as everybody knowed! The men chuckled a little, an’ cast winks about, when Polly Twitter appeared on the roads with the baby; for ’twas a comical thing t’ see her air an’ her strut an’ the flash o’ pride in her eyes. But the women kep’ their eyes an’ ears open–an’ waited for what might happen. They was all sure, ecod, that there was a gale comin’ down; an’ they was women,–an’ they knowed the hearts o’ women,–an’ they was wise, if not kind, in their expectation.