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With that, then, the lad’s tongue broke loose an’ ran riot in his father’s praise. I never heared such wild boastin’ in all my travels afore–eyes alight with pleasure, as I thought at the time, an’ tow head waggin’ with wonder an’ pride, an’ lips curlin’ in contempt for the fathers of all the wide world in comparison; an’ had not the lad been too tender in years for grave blame, too lonely an’ forlorn for punishment, an’ of a pretty loyalty to his father’s fame and quality, pretty enough to excuse the preposterous tales that he told, I should have spanked un warmly, then an’ there, an’ bade un off ashore to cleanse his wee tongue o’ the false inventions. There was no great deed that his father hadn’t accomplished, no virtue he lacked, no piety he had not practiced; an’ with every reckless, livin’ boast o’ the man’s courage an’ cleverness, his strength an’ vast adventures, no matter how far-fetched, went a tale to enlighten an’ prove it. The sea, the ice, the timber–’twas all the same; the father o’ this lad was bolder an’ wiser an’ more gifted with graces than the fathers of all other lads–had endured more an’ escaped more. So far past belief was the great tales the lad told that ’twas pitiable in the end; an’ I wasn’t quite sure–bein’ a sentimental man–whether t’ guffaw or t’ blink with grief.

“You is spinnin’ a wonderful lot o’ big yarns for a wee lad like you,” says Skipper Harry. “Aw, now, an I was you,” says he, in kindness, “I wouldn’t carry on so careless.”

“I knows other yarns.”

“You s’prise me!”

“I could startle you more.”

“Where’d you learn all them yarns?”

“I been told ’em.”

“Your pa tell you?”

The lad laughed. “Dear man, no!” says he. “I never seed my pa in all my life.”

“Never seed your pa in all your life! Well, now!”

“Why, no, sir! Didn’t you know that?”

“You didn’t tell me.”

“I didn’t think I had t’ tell you. I thought ev’body in the world knowed that much about me.”

“Well, well!” says the skipper. “Never seed your pa in all your life! Who told you all them yarns then?”

“Ev’body.”

“Oh! Ev’body, eh? I sees. Jus’ so. You like t’ hear yarns about your pa?”

“Well,” says the lad, “I ‘low I certainly do! Wouldn’t you–if you had a pa like me?”

‘Twas too swift a question.

“Me?” says Skipper Harry, nonplused.

“Ay–tell me!”

Skipper Harry was a kind man an’ a foolish one. “I bet ye I would!” says he, “I’d fair crave ’em. I’d pester the harbor with questions about my pa.”

“That’s jus’ what I does do!” says the lad. “Doesn’t I, Anthony Lot?”

“You got it right, Sammy,” says Anthony. “You can’t hear too much about your wonderful pa.”

“You hears a lot, Sammy,” says the skipper.

“Oh, ev’body knows my pa,” says the lad, “an’ ev’body spins me yarns about un.”

“Jus’ so,” says the skipper, gone doleful. “I sees.”

“Talkin’ about my pa,” says the lad, turnin’ t’ me, then, “I bet ye he could blow one o’ them little black things better ‘n you.”

“He could play the flute, too!” says I.

“Well, I never been tol’ so,” says the lad; “but ‘twould not s’prise me if he could. Could he, Anthony Lot?–could my pa play the flute?”

“He could.”

“Better ‘n this man?”

“Hoosh! Ay, that he could!”

“There!” says the lad. “I tol’ you so!”

Anthony Lot turned his back on the lad an’ cast a wink at me, an’ grinned an’ winked again, an’ winked once more t’ Skipper Harry; an’ then he told us all as silly an’ bitter cruel a whopper as ever I heared in all my travels. “Once upon a time, Sir Johnnie McLeod, him that was Gov’nor o’ Newf’un’land in them days, sailed this coast in the Gov’ment yacht,” says he; “an’ when he come near by Hide-an’-Seek Harbor, he says: ‘I’ve inspected this coast, an’ I’ve seed the mines at Tilt Cove, an’ the whale fishery at Sop’s Arm, an’ the mission at Battle Harbor, an’ my report o’ the wonders will mightily tickle His Gracious Majesty the King; but what I have most in mind, an’ what lies nearest my heart, an’ what I have looked forward to most of all, is t’ sit down in my cabin, at ease, an’ listen to a certain individual o’ Hide-an’-Seek Harbor, which I heared about in England, play on the flute.’ Well, the Gov’ment yacht dropped anchor in Hide-an’-Seek, Sammy, an’ lied the night jus’ where this here tradin’ schooner lies now; an’ when Sir Johnnie McLeod had heared your father play on the flute, he says: ‘The man can play on the flute better ‘n anybody in the whole world! I’m glad I’ve lived t’ see this day. I’ll see to it that he has a gold medal from His Gracious Majesty the King for this night’s work.'”