Harbor Tales Down North Part 34

I laughed outright at that. 'Twas a good rebound from the start I had had.

"What stirred his wrath?"

"It might be one thing that I knows of," says I, "an' it might be another that I could guess."

"I'm puzzled, Tumm."

"As for me, I've the eyes of a hawk, sir," says I, "with which t'

search a mystery like this."

"That you has!" says he.

I was fond o' Skipper Harry. He was a perceivin' man. An' I've no mind t' withhold the opinion I maintain t' that effect.

"You've fathomed the lad's rage?" says he.

"An I was still shrewder," says I, "I'd trust a surmise an' lay a wager that I was right."

"What do you think?"

"I've two opinions. They balance. I'll hold with neither 'til I'm sure o' the one."

"Not ashamed of his name!" says the skipper. "Ha! 'Twas a queer boast t' make. He'll be ashamed of his name soon enough. 'Tis a wonder they've not told un the truth afore this. What you think, Tumm? How have they managed t' keep the truth from un until now?"

"They think un comical," says I; "they keeps un ignorant t' rouse their laughter with."

"Ay," says the skipper; "he've been fattened like a goose in a cage.

They've made a sad fool of un these last few years. What boastin'!

'Tis stupid. He've growed old enough t' know better, Tumm. 'Tis jus'

disgustin' t' hear a big boy like he mouth such a shoal o' foolish yarns. An' he've not the least notion that they're not as true as Gospel an' twice as entertainin'."

"So?" says I. "Where's my flute?"

"There'll come a time afore long when he'll find out all of a sudden about his pa. Whew!"

I found my flute an' stretched myself out on the counter t' draw comfort from tootin' it.

"Somebody'll blunder," says the skipper. "Some poor d.a.m.n' fool."

"Is I ever played you Nellie was a Lady?"

"'Tis awful!"

"'Tis not," says I. "'Tis a popular ballad an' has many good points."

"I don't mean the ballad, Tumm," says he. "Play it an you wants to.

Don't sing it, though, I'm too bothered t' tolerate more confusion this night. The more I thinks o' the mess that that poor lad's in the worse I grieves. Man alive, 'tis a terrible business altogether! If they hadn't praised his father so high--if they hadn't teached the lad t' think that he'd write a letter or come home again--if the lad wasn't jus' the loyal little nipper that he is! I tell you, Tumm, that lad's sheer daft with admiration of his pa. He've lifted his pa above G.o.d Almighty. When he finds out the truth, he'll fall down and scream in agony, an' he'll die squirmin', too. I can fair hear un now--an'

see un writhe in pain."

All this while I was whisperin' in my flute. 'Twas a comfort t' ease my mood in that way.

"I can't bear t' think of it, Tumm," says the skipper. "'Tis the saddest thing ever I heared of. I wish we'd never dropped anchor in Hide-an'-Seek Harbor."

"I don't," says I.

"Then you've a heart harder than rock," says he.

"Come, now," says I; "have done with the matter. 'Tis no affair o'

yours, is it?"

"The lad mustn't find out the truth."

"Can you stop the mouth o' the whole wide world?"

"You knows very well that I can't."

"I'm not so sure that 'twould be wise t' withhold the truth," says I.

"'Tis a mystery t' me--wisdom an' folly in a case like this. Anyhow,"

says I, givin' free course, in the melancholy that possessed me, to an impulse o' piety, "G.o.d Almighty knows how t' manage His world. An' as I looks at your face, an' as I listens t' your complaint," says I, "I'm willin' t' wager that He've got His plan worked near t' the point o' perfection at this very minute."

"Tell me how, Tumm."

"I'll leave you to brood on it," says I, "whilst I plays my flute."

Skipper Harry brooded whilst I tooted Toby Farr's woeful song called The Last Man o' the _Fore-an'-After_:

When the schooner struck the rock, She was splintered by the shock; An' the breakers didn't ask for leave or token.

No! They hove un, man an' kid, Slap ag'in the cliff, they did, An' kep' heavin' 'til the bones of all was broken!

"Skipper Harry," says I, then, puttin' aside my ol' flute, "doesn't you know what you can do t' help that lad out o' trouble for good an 'all?"

"I wish I did, Tumm."

"Is you as stupid as all that?"

"I isn't stupid as a usual thing," says he. "My wits is all scattered with rage an' sadness. That's the only trouble."

"Well," says I, "all you got t' do----"

Skipper Harry warned me.

"Hist!"

The lad was half way down the companion. I mind, as a man will recall, sometimes, harkin' back t' the crest an' close of a livin' tale like this poor yarn o' the little mystery o' Hide-an'-Seek Harbor, that there was wind in the riggin' an' black rain on the roof o 'the cabin.

An' when I thinks of it all, as think of it I does, meanderin' along with my friendly ol' flute, of an evenin' in the fall o' the year, when trade's done an' the shelves is all put t' rights, I hears that undertone o' patter an' splash an' sigh. There was that in the lad's face t' stir an ache in the heart of a sentimental ol' codger like me; an' when I seed the grim lines an' gray color of it, an' when I caught the sorrow an' pride it uttered, as the lad halted, in doubt, peerin'

at Skipper Harry in the hope of a welcome below, I knowed that my surmise was true. 'Twas a vision I had, I fancy--a flash o'

revelation, such as may come, as some part o' the fortune they inherit, to habitual tellers o' tales o' the old an' young like me. A wee lad, true--Hide-an'-Seek born, an' fated the worst; yet I apprehended, all at once, the confusion he dwelt alone in, an' felt the weight o' the burden he carried alone; an' I must honor the courage an' good pride of his quality. Ay, I knows he was young! I knows that well enough! Nay, my sirs an' gentlefolk--I'm not makin'

too much of it!