"'Sure,' says I, 'you doesn't _like_ t' think that, does you?'

"'It don't matter what I likes t' think,' says he. 'I've gathered wisdom. I thinks as I must.'

"'I wouldn't believe it, ecod,' says I, 'an I knowed it t' be true!'

"An' I never did."

Tumm chuckled softly in the dark--glancing now at the friendly stars, for such rea.s.surance, perhaps, as he needed, and had had all his genial life.

"A coward or not, as you likes it, an' make up your own minds," Tumm went on; "but 'twas never the sea that scared un. 'They isn't no wind can scare me,' says he, 'for I isn't bad friends with death.' Nor was he! A beat into the gray wind--hangin' on off a lee sh.o.r.e--a hard chance with the Labrador reefs in foggy weather--a drive through the ice after dark: Davy Junk, clever an' harsh at sea, was the skipper for _that_, mild as he might seem ash.o.r.e. 'Latch-string out for Death, any time he chances my way, at sea,' says he; 'but I isn't goin' t'

die o' want ash.o.r.e.' So he'd a bad name for drivin' a craft beyond her strength; an' 'twas none but stout hearts--blithe young devils, the most, with a wish t' try their spirit--would ship on the _Word o' the Lord_. 'Don't you blame _me_ an we're cast away,' says Davy, in fair warnin'. 'An you got hearts in your bellies, you keep out o' _this_.

This here coast,' says he, 'isn't got no mercy on a man that can't get his fish. _An' I isn't that breed o' man!_' An' so from season t'

season he'd growed well-t'-do: a drive in the teeth o' h.e.l.l, in season--if h.e.l.l's made o' wind an' sea, as I'm inclined t' think--an'

the ease of a bachelor man, between whiles, in his cottage at Rickity Tickle, where he lived all alone like a spick-an'-span spinster. 'Twas not o' the sea he was scared. 'Twas o' want in an unkind world; an'

t'was jus' that an' no more that drove un t' hard sailin' an' contempt o' death--sheer fear o' want in the wolf's world that he'd made this world out t' be in his own soul.

"'Twas not the sea: 'twas his own kind he feared an' kep' clear of--men, maids, an' children. Friends? Nar a one--an' 'twas wholly his choosin', too; for the world never fails t' give friends t' the man that seeks un. 'I doesn't _want_ no friends,' says he. 'New friends, new worries; an' the more o' one, the more o' the other. I got troubles enough in this here d.a.m.ned world without takin' aboard the thousand troubles o' friends. An' I 'low they got troubles enough without sharin' the burden o' mine. _Me_ a friend! I'd only fetch sorrow t' the folk that loved me. An' so I don't want t' have nothin'

t' do with n.o.body. I wants t' cotch my fish in season--an' then I wants t' be left alone. Hate or love: 'tis all the same--trouble for the hearts o' folk on both sides. An', anyhow, I isn't got nothin' t'

do with this world. _I'm_ only lookin' on. No favors took,' says he, 'an' none granted.' An', well--t' be sure--in the way the world has--the world o' Rickity Tickle an' the Labrador let un choose his own path. But it done Davy Junk no good that any man could see; for by fits he'd be bitter as salt, an' by starts he'd be full o' whimpers an' sighs as a gale's full o' wind, an' between his fits an' his starts 'twas small rest that he had, I'm thinkin'. He'd no part with joy, for he hated laughter, an' none with rest, for he couldn't abide ease o' mind; an' as for sorrow, 'twas fair more than he could bear t'

look upon an' live, for his conscience was alive an' loud in his heart, an' what with his religion he lived in despite of its teachin'.

"I've considered an' thought sometimes, overcome a bit by the spectacle o' grief, an' no stars showin', that had Davy Junk not been wonderful tender o' heart he'd have nursed no spite against G.o.d's world; an' whatever an' all, had he but had the power an' wisdom, t'

strangle his conscience in its youth he'd have gained peace in his own path, as many a man afore un.

"'Isn't _my_ fault!' says he, one night. 'Can't blame _me_!'

"'What's that, Skipper Davy?'

"'They says Janet Luff's wee baby has come t' the pa.s.s o'

starvation.'

"'Well,' says I, 'what's _your_ tears for?'

"'I isn't got nothin' t' do with this here d.a.m.ned ol' world,' says he.

_'I'm_ only lookin' on. Isn't no good in it, anyhow.'

"'Cheer up!' says I. 'Isn't n.o.body hurtin' _you_.'

"'Not bein' in love with tears an' hunger,' says he, 'I isn't able t'

cheer up.'

"'There's more'n that in the world.'

"'Ay; death an' sin.'

"I was a lad in love. 'Kisses!' says I.

"'A pother o' blood an' trouble,' says he. 'Death in every mouthful a man takes.'

"'Skipper Davy,' says I, 'you've come to a dreadful pa.s.s.'

"'Ay, an' t' be sure!' says he. 'I've gathered wisdom with my years; an' every man o' years an' wisdom has come to a dreadful pa.s.s. Wait 'til you're thirty-two, lad, an' you'll find it out, an' remember Davy Junk in kindness, once you feels the fangs o' the world at your throat. Maybe you thinks, Tumm, that I likes t' live in a wolf's world. But I doesn't like it. I jus' knows 'tis a wolf's world and goes cautious accordin'. I didn't make it, an' don't like it, but I'm here, an' I'm a wolf like the rest. A wolf's world! Ah-ha! You bites or gets bit down here. Teeth for you an you've no teeth o' your own.

Janet Luff's baby, says you? But a dollar a tooth; an'--I _keeps_ my teeth; keeps un sharp an' ready for them that might want t' bite me in my old age. If I was a fish I'd be fond o' angle-worms; bein' born in a wolf's world, with the soul of a wolf, why, damme, I files my teeth!

Still an' all, lad, I'm a genial man, an' I'll not deny that I'm unhappy. You thinks I likes t' hear the lads ash.o.r.e mock me for a pinch-penny an' mean man? No, sir! It grieves me. I wants all the time t' hear the little fellers sing out: "Ahoy, there, Skipper Davy, ol'

c.o.c.k! What fair wind blowed _you_ through the tickle?" An' I'm a man o' compa.s.sion, too. Why, Tumm, you'll never believe it, I knows, but _I_ wants t' lift the fallen, an _I_ wants t' feed the hungry, an' _I_ wants to clothe the naked! It fair breaks my heart t' hear a child cry. I lies awake o' nights t' brood upon the sorrows o' the world.

That's my heart, Tumm, as G.o.d knows it--but 'tis not the wisdom I've gathered. An' age an' wisdom teach a man t' be wary in a wolf's world.

'Tis a shame, by G.o.d!' poor Davy Junk broke out; 'but 'tisn't _my_ fault!'

"I was scared t' my marrow-bones.

"'An' now, Tumm,' says he, 'what'll I do?'

"'Skipper Davy,' says I, 'go wash the windows o' your soul!'

"He jumped. 'How's that?' says he.

"''Twould ease your heart t' do a good deed,' says I. 'Go save that baby.'

"'Me!' says he, in a rage. 'I'll have no hand whatever in savin' that child.'

"'Why not?'

"''Twouldn't be kind t' the child.'

"'G.o.d's sake!'

"'Don't you _see_, Tumm?'

"'Look you, Skipper Davy!' says I, 'Janet's baby isn't goin' t' die o'

starvation in _this_ harbor. There'll be a crew o' good women an'

Labrador hands at Janet's when the news get abroad. But an you're lucky an' makes haste you'll be able t' get there first.'

"'What's _one_ good deed?'

"''Twould be a good deed, Skipper Davy,' says I. 'An' you'd _know_ it.'

"Skipper Davy jumped up. An' he was fair shakin' from head t'

toe--with some queer temptation t' be kind, it seemed to me then.

"'Make haste!' says I.

"'I can't do a good deed!' he whimpered. 'I--I--got the other habit!'

"'Twas of a June night at Rickity Tickle that Davy Junk said these words," Tumm commented, in a kindly way, "with the Labrador vessels fitted out an' waitin' for a fair wind: such a night as this--a slow, soft little wind, a still, black harbor, an' a million stars a-twinkle." He paused--and looked up from the shadowy deck of the _Quick as Wink_. "What more can a man ask t' stay his soul," he demanded, "than all them little stars?" The skipper of the _Quick as Wink_ said, "'Tis a night o' fair promise!" And Tumm, in a sigh, "Davy Junk would never look up at the stars." And the little stars themselves continued to wink away in companionable rea.s.surance just the same.