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“She snuggled close to un, then, an’ smiled. ‘I wants t’ go ‘way from Tinkle Tickle,’ says she.

“‘Away from Tinkle Tickle?’

“‘Don’t say you’ll not!’

“‘Why, Mary, I was born here!’

“‘I got t’ go ‘way.’

“‘Wherefore?’ says he. ”Tis good fishin’ an’ a friendly harbor.’

“‘Oh, oh!’ says she. ‘I can’t stand it no more.’

“‘Mary, dear,’ says he, ‘there’s no value in grievin’ so sore over what can’t be helped. Give it over, dear, an’ be happy again, like you used t’ be, won’t you? Ah, now, Mary, won’t you jus’ try?’

“‘I’m ashamed!’

“‘Ashamed?’ says he. ‘You, Mary? Why, what’s all this? There never was a woman so dear an’ true as you.’

“‘A childless woman! They mock me.’

“”Tis not true,’ says he. ‘They—-‘

“‘Ay, ’tis true. They laugh. They whispers when I pass. I’ve heard un.’

“”Tis not true, at all,’ says he. ‘They loves you here at Tinkle Tickle.’

“‘Oh, no, Tim! No, no! The women scoff. An’ I’m ashamed. Oh, I’m ashamed t’ be seen! I can’t stand it no more. I got t’ go ‘way. Won’t you take me, Tim?’

“Tim Mull looked, then, in her eyes. ‘Ay,’ says he, ‘I’ll take you, dear.’

“‘Not for long,’ says she. ‘Jus’ for a year or two. T’ some place where there’s nobody about. I’ll not want t’ stay–so very long.’

“‘So long as you likes,’ says he. ‘I’m wantin’ only t’ see you well an’ happy again. ‘Tis a small thing t’ leave Tinkle Tickle if we’re t’ bring about that. We’ll move down the Labrador in the spring o’ the year.'”

* * * * *

“In the spring o’ the year I helped Tim Mull load his goods aboard a Labradorman an’ close his cottage by Fo’c’s’le Head.

“‘Spring weather, Tumm,’ says he, ‘is the time for adventure. I’m glad I’m goin’. Why,’ says he, ‘Mary is easin’ off already.’

“Foreign for me, then. Spring weather; time for adventure. Genoa, this cruise, on a Twillingate schooner, with the first shore-fish. A Barbadoes cruise again. Then a v’y’ge out China way. Queer how the flea-bite o’ travel will itch! An’ so long as it itched I kep’ on scratchin’. ‘Twas over two years afore I got a good long breath o’ the fogs o’ these parts again. An’ by this time a miracle had happened on the Labrador. The good Lord had surprised Mary Mull at Come-By-Guess Harbor. Ay, lads! At last Mary Mull had what she wanted. An’ I had a godson. Tobias Tumm Mull had sot out on his cruise o’ the seas o’ this life. News o’ all this cotched me when I landed at St. John’s. ‘Twas in a letter from Mary Mull herself.

“‘Ecod!’ thinks I, as I read; ‘she’ll never be content until she flaunts that child on the roads o’ Tinkle Tickle.’

“An’ ’twas true. ‘Twas said so in the letter. They was movin’ back t’ Tinkle Tickle, says she, in the fall o’ the year, t’ live for good an’ all. An’ as for Tim, says she, a man jus’ wouldn’t believe how tickled he was.

“Me, too, ecod! I was tickled. Deep down in my heart I blessed the fortune that had come t’ Mary Mull. An’ I was fair achin’ t’ knock the breath out o’ Tim with a clap on the back. ‘Queer,’ thinks I, ‘how good luck may be delayed. An’ the longer luck waits,’ thinks I, ‘the better it seems an’ the more ’tis welcome.’

“‘Twas an old letter, this, from Mary; ’twas near a year old. They was already back at Tinkle Tickle. An’ so I laid in a silver spoon an’ a silver mug, marked ‘Toby’ in fine fashion, against the time I might land at the Tickle. But I went clerk on the Call Again out o’ Chain Harbor, that spring; an’ ’twas not until midsummer that I got the chance t’ drop in t’ see how my godson was thrivin’. Lyin’ here at Soap-an’-Water Harbor, one night, in stress o’ weather, as now we lies here, I made up mind, come what might, that I’d run over t’ Tinkle Tickle an’ give the mug an’ the spoon t’ wee Toby when the gale should oblige us. ‘July!’ thinks I. ‘Well, well! An’ here it is the seventeenth o’ the month. I’ll drop in on the nineteenth an’ help celebrate the first birthday o’ that child. ‘Twill be a joyous occasion by Fo’c’s’le Head. An’ I’ll have the schooner decked out in her best, an’ guns poppin’; an’ I’ll have Tim Mull aboard, when ’tis over, for a small nip o’ rum.’