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“‘Tim,’ says I, ‘she’ve done well since Toby come.’

“‘Mm-m?’ says he. ‘Ay!’–an’ smoked on.

“‘Ecod!’ says I; ‘she’s blithe as a maid o’ sixteen.’

“‘She’s able t’ hold her head up,’ says he. ‘Isn’t afeared she’ll be laughed at by the women no more. That’s why. ‘Tis simple.’

“‘You’ve lost heart yourself, Tim.’

“‘Me? Oh, no!’ says he. ‘I’m a bit off my feed. Nothin’ more. An’ I’m steadily improvin’. Steadily, Tumm,–improvin’ steadily.’

“‘You’ve trouble, Tim?’

“He gripped his pipe with his teeth an’ puffed hard. ‘Ay,’ says he, after a bit. ‘I’ve trouble, Tumm. You got it right, lad.’

“Jus’ then Mary Mull called t’ supper. There was no time t’ learn more o’ this trouble. But I was bound an’ determined, believe me, t’ have Tim Mull aboard my craft, that night, an’ fathom his woe. ‘Twas a thousand pities that trouble should have un downcast when joy had come over the rim of his world like a new day.”

* * * * *

“Places for four, ecod! Tim Mull was right. ‘Twas a celebration. A place for Tim–an’ a place for Mary–an’ a place for me. An’ there, too, was a place for Tobias Tumm Mull, a high chair, drawed close to his mother’s side, with arms waitin’ t’ clutch an’ hold the little nipper so soon as they fetched un in. I wished they’d not delay. ‘Twas a strain on the patience. I’d long wanted–an’ I’d come far–t’ see my godson. But bein’ a bachelor-man I held my tongue for a bit: for, thinks I, they’re washin’ an’ curlin’ the child, an’ they’ll fetch un in when they’re ready t’ do so, all spick-an’-span an’ polished like a door-knob, an’ crowin’, too, the little rooster! ‘Twas a fair sight to see Mary Mull smilin’ beyond the tea-pot. ‘Twas good t’ see what she had provided. Cod’s-tongues an’ bacon–with new greens an’ potatoes–an’ capillaire-berry pie an’ bake-apple jelly. ‘Twas pretty, too, t’ see the way she had arrayed the table. There was flowers from the hills flung about on the cloth. An’ in the midst of all–fair in the middle o’ the blossoms an’ leaves an’ toothsome plenty–was a white cake with one wee white taper burnin’ as bright an’ bold as ever a candle twice the size could manage.

“‘Mary Mull,’ says I, ‘I’ve lost patience!’

“She laughed a little. ‘Poor Tumm!’ says she. ‘I’m sorry your hunger had t’ wait.’

“”Tis not my hunger.’

“She looked at me with her brow wrinkled. ‘No?’ says she.

“‘I wants t’ see what I’ve come t’ see.’

“‘That’s queer!’ says she. ‘What you’ve come t’ see?’

“‘Woman,’ cries I, ‘fetch in that baby!’

“Never a word. Never a sound. Mary Mull drawed back a step–an’ stared at me with her eyes growin’ wider an’ wider. An’ Tim Mull was lookin’ out o’ the window. An’ I was much amazed by all this. An’ then Mary Mull turned t’ Tim. ‘Tim,’ says she, her voice slow an’ low, ‘did you not write Tumm a letter?’

“Tim faced about. ‘No, Mary,’ says he. ‘I–I hadn’t no time–t’ waste with writin’.’

“‘That’s queer, Tim.’

“‘I–I–I forgot.’

“‘I’m sorry–Tim.’

“‘Oh, Mary, I didn’t want to!’ says Tim. ‘That’s the truth of it, dear. I–I hated –t’ do it.’

“‘An’ you said never a word comin’ up the hill?’

“‘God’s sake!’ cries Tim, like a man beggin’ mercy, ‘I couldn’t say a word like that!’

“Mary turned then t’ me. ‘Tumm,’ says she, ‘little Toby–is dead.’

“‘Dead, Mary!’

“‘We didn’t get much more than–jus’ one good look at the little fellow–afore he left us.’

* * * * *

“When I took Tim Mull aboard the Call Again that night,” the tale ran on, “’twas all clear above. What fog had been hangin’ about had gone off with a little wind from the warm inland places. The lights o’ Harbor–warm lights–gleamed all round about Black hills: still water in the lee o’ the rocks. The tinkle of a bell fell down from the slope o’ Lookout; an’ a maid’s laugh–sweet as the bell itself–come ripplin’ from the shadows o’ the road. Stars out; the little beggars kep’ winkin’ an’ winkin’ away at all the mystery here below jus’ as if they knowed all about it an’ was sure we’d be surprised when we come t’ find out.

“‘Tumm, ol’ shipmate,’ says Tim Mull, ‘I got a lie on my soul.’

“”Tis a poor place for a burden like that.’

“‘I’m fair wore out with the weight of it.’

“‘Will you never be rid of it, man?’

“‘Not an I keeps on bein’ a man.’

“‘So, Tim?’

“He put his hand on my shoulder. ‘Is you a friend o’ Mary’s?’ says he.

“”Tis a thing you must know without tellin’.’

“‘She’s a woman, Tumm.’

“‘An’ a wife.’

“‘Woman an’ wife,’ says he, ‘an’ I loves her well, God knows!’ The tinkle o’ the bell on the black slope o’ Lookout caught his ear. He listened–until the tender little sound ceased an’ sleep fell again on the hill. ‘Tumm,’ says he, then, all at once, ‘there never was no baby! She’s deceivin’ Tinkle Tickle t’ save her pride!'”

Tumm closed the book he had read page by page.