Left on the Labrador Part 2

"That's a fix now! _That's_ a fix to be in! I calls that a mean trick for the mail boat to be playin'!" He spoke in a big voice that quite suited his size, but which startled Charley, and did not rea.s.sure him.

"What's to be done about un now? What be _you_ thinkin' to do?"

"I don't know. I don't know what to do," answered Charley timidly.

Toby's Dad put down the gun he was cleaning and wiped his hand on a cloth.

"Leastways we'll make the best of un," he said, taking Charley's hand in a bear-like clasp. "Besides bein' Toby's Dad, I'm Skipper Zebulon Twig of Double Up Cove, and this is Mrs. Twig and this is Vi'let, the smartest little maid on The Labrador."

Skipper Zebulon Twig laughed so heartily that Charley forgot his difficulty for a moment, and laughed too, while he shook hands with Mrs.

Twig, who had, Charley thought, a nice motherly way, and with Violet, who took his hand shyly.

"Now," said Skipper Zeb, "you're in a fix. You're cast away. The worst fix a man can get in, to my thinkin', is to be cast away on a rock, or on the ice, without grub. But you're cast away _with_ grub, and that's not so bad. There's a pot of stewed bear's meat with dumplin' just ready. We'll set in and eat, and then talk about your fix. 'Tis hard to think a way out of fixes with an empty belly, and we'll fill ours. Then we'll get to the bottom of this fix. We'll find a way out of un. You'll see!"

III

SKIPPER ZEB FIXES MATTERS

Mrs. Twig placed the big earthen bowl with the appetizing odour in the center of the table, together with a plate heaped high with slices of white bread and a bowl of mola.s.ses. Then she poured tea.

"Dinner's ready this minute," boomed Skipper Zeb. "Set in, and we'll eat."

There was no cover upon the home-made table, but its top had been scoured clean and white with sand and water. The cabin boasted no chairs, and chests were drawn up by Skipper Zeb and Toby to the ends of the table, and a bench on each side, to serve as seats.

Accepting the invitation, Charley took a place beside Toby on one of the benches, Violet sat on the bench opposite them, while the Skipper and Mrs. Twig each took an end. When all were seated, Skipper Zeb, in so big a voice Charley was sure the Lord could not fail to hear, asked a devout blessing upon the family, the stranger within their home, and upon the food.

"Turn to, now, and eat hearty," Skipper Zeb invited, indicating the earthen bowl. "'Tisn't much we has, but 'tis good. Mrs. Twig makes the finest dumplin' on The Labrador. I knows for I eats un. I shoots the bear last week, and 'twere as fine and fat a bear as ever I sees. He were just prime to curl up for his winter sleep."

"It looks good, and I'm hungry," said Charley, transferring, with a big serving spoon, a portion of the stewed bear's meat and dumpling to his plate. "I never ate bear's meat, and I've always wished I could."

"Never ate bear's meat!" exclaimed Skipper Zeb. "Well, now! And we gets a bear most every year. What kind of meat does you eat where you comes from? 'Tis likely you gets plenty of deer's meat?"

"Beef, and lamb, and veal, and pork, but I don't care much for pork, except bacon," said Charley.

"Well, now! In all my days I never tastes beef or lamb or veal! We gets pickled pork at the post, and 'tis wonderful fine meat _I_ thinks. If beef and lamb and veal be better than pork, I'd like to try un once.

_They_ must be a rare treat." Skipper Zeb smacked his lips. "Yes, sir, I'd like to try un once! And does you hunt un?"

"No," Charley smiled, "the animals are raised on farms and the meat is sold at stores."

"Well, now! What wonderful things goes on in the world, and we never knows about un down here on The Labrador." Skipper Zeb shook his head in astonishment. "Does you mark that, Sophia? They raises the animals and then kills un, and sells the meat at the tradin' stores!"

"'Tis a queer way," admitted Mrs. Twig.

"'Tis a fine way!" enthused Skipper Twig. "Twould be fine if we could raise deer and kill un when we wants un."

"Here's sweetenin' for your tea," and Toby, observing that Charley had not helped himself, pa.s.sed the mola.s.ses.

"Thank you," Charley accepted, putting a spoonful of the mola.s.ses into his tea, and wondering why it was used instead of sugar, but venturing no question. Had he asked, Skipper Zeb would have told him that it was much less expensive than sugar, and that sugar was a luxury they could not afford.

There were no vegetables, for on the Labrador coast the summers are too short and too cold to grow them, and not one of the Twig family had ever so much as tasted a potato or an onion or a tomato, or, indeed, any of the wholesome vegetables that we, in our kindlier land, have so plentifully, and accept as a matter of course. But Charley and the Twigs, old and young, found the stewed bear's meat, with Mrs. Twig's light, fluffy dumplings and the good bread and mola.s.ses, both satisfying and appetizing; and when Charley declined a third helping, urged upon him by Skipper Zeb, he declared that he was as full as though he had eaten a Christmas dinner.

When all were finished, Skipper Zeb bowed his head and gave thanks for the bountiful meal; and then, with Toby's a.s.sistance, drew the benches and chests back to the wall.

"Set down, now, and when I lights my pipe we'll talk over this fix you're gettin' in," said Skipper Zeb. Drawing a pipe and a plug of black tobacco and a jack-knife from his pocket, he shaved some of the plug into the palm of his left hand, rolled it between his palms, and filled the pipe. Then, with some deliberation, he selected a long, slender sliver from the wood box, ignited it at the stove, lighted his pipe and carefully extinguished the burning sliver.

"This _is_ a fix, now! Well, now, '_tis_ a fix!" Skipper Zeb sat down upon a bench by Charley's side, and for a minute or two puffed his pipe in silence, sending up a cloud of smoke. Then, turning to Charley, he boomed: "But 'tis not such a bad fix we can't get out of un! No, sir!

We'll see about _this_ fix! We'll see!"

"Thank you," said Charley gratefully, and with hope that there might be a way out of his trouble after all.

"Now, to start in the beginning, and that's where most things have to start," said Skipper Zeb, "we won't worry about un. Worry is bad for the insides of a man's head, and what's bad for the insides of a man's head is bad for all of his insides, and if he worries, and keeps un up, he gets sick. To-day is to-day and to-morrow is to-morrow. 'Tis but sense for a man to provide for to-morrow, and do his best to do un, but if he can't there's no use his worryin' about un. That's how I figgers. You're feelin' well and hearty to-day?"

"Yes," admitted Charley.

"You just had a good snack of vittles?"

"Yes."

"You're warm and snug?"

"Yes."

"There you be! The worst of un's took care of to start with! Feelin'

well, a belly full of good vittles, warm and snug! Now keep feelin'

contented, and right as if this was your own home. Nothin' to worry over. No, sir, not a thing! Now we've headed off the worst of un.

"You're in a fix, but 'twon't trouble us any. Not us! Life is full of fixes, first and last. 'Twouldn't be much fun livin' if we didn't get in fixes now and again! 'Tis a fine bit of sport figgerin' the way out of fixes. Fixes gives us a change and somethin' to think about. There's a way out of most fixes _I_ finds, even the worst of un."

"Do you think the s.h.i.+p will come back for me?" asked Charley anxiously.

"Well, now," Skipper Zeb wrinkled his forehead as though he were pondering the question deeply, "if she comes back she'll come in through the tickle and come to in the offing and blow her whistle, and we'll hear un, and be ready for she. If she don't come back, she'll not blow her whistle, and we'll not hear un. We'll be stayin' here as snug as a bear in his den and listen for that whistle."

"But _do_ you think she'll come back?" insisted Charley, with a suspicion that Skipper Zeb's answer had been evasive.

"That's a question! That's a fair and square question, now," admitted Skipper Zeb. "You asks un fair and I'll answer un fair. The folk on the mail boat misses you. They looks up and down and don't find you. You're not on the boat, and how can they find you? Captain Barcus of the mail boat says, 'Well, he's gone, that's sure. If he leaves the mail boat at Pinch-In Tickle, he's with Skipper Zeb Twig by now, and safe enough and well took care of. If he falls overboard, that's the last of he.' And sayin' this, and knowin' Captain Barcus the way I knows he, he keeps right on to St. John's, and don't come back till next June or July month."

"If the s.h.i.+p don't come," broke in Charley, suddenly startled into his old fear, "what _can_ I do? What _will_ become of me?"

"Well, now!" and Skipper Zeb broke into a hearty laugh. "'Tis just what I says in the beginnin' about no worry, and about to-day bein' to-day and to-morrow bein' to-morrow. You're cast away with shelter _and_ grub.

That's not so bad, considerin'. Not the best of shelter and not the best of grub, but not so bad either. You does your best to get out of this fix, and the best way you finds is to bide right where you finds the shelter and grub. If the mail boat don't come to-day, and I says fair and square, I'm not expectin' she, you goes to Double Up Cove in the marnin' with us. Whilst you're on The Labrador our home is your home, and I hopes you'll like un."

"But Daddy! Poor Daddy! He'll be broken-hearted when he thinks I've been lost at sea, and so will Mother!" Charley gulped hard to keep back the tears.

"'Twill be a bit hard for un, but you can't help un," Skipper Zeb consoled. "What's past is past, and there's no use worryin' about un.

You're busy tryin' to get out of a fix. They'll be so glad to see you when you gets home, 'twill more than make up to un for the mournin' they does now. Your feelin' bad and worryin' about un won't help your father and mother any, and it'll get your insides upset, as I were sayin'.

You're gettin' out of a fix. You stick by the grub and shelter, such as 'tis, and make the best of un, and be happy."