"Liz laughed--an' got close t' the fool from Twist Tickle. An' I seed her touch his coat-tail, like as if she loved it, but didn't dast do no more.

"'What you two goin' t' do?' says the skipper.

"'We 'lowed you'd marry us,' says the cook, ''til we come across a parson.'

"'I will,' says the skipper. 'Stand up here,' says he. 'All hands stand up!' says he. 'Tumm,' says he, 'get me the first Book you comes across.'

"I got un a Book.

"'Now, Liz,' says he, 'can you cook?'

"'Fair t' middlin',' says she. 'I won't lie.'

"'Twill do,' says he. 'An' does you want t' get married t' this here dam' fool?'

"'An it pleathe you,' says she.

"'Shoos,' says the skipper, 'will you let this woman do the cookin'?'

"'Well, skipper,' says the cook, 'I will; for I don't want n.o.body t'

die o' my cookin' on this here v'y'ge, an' I _knows_ that mother wouldn't mind.'

"'An' will you keep out o' the galley?'

"'I 'low I'll _have_ to.'

"'An' look you! cook, is you sure--is you _sure_,' says the skipper, with a shudder, lookin' at the roof, 'that you wants t' marry this here--'

"'Don't you do it, skipper!' says the cook. 'Don't you say that no more! By the Lord!' says he, 'I'll kill you if you does!'

"'Is you sure,' says the skipper, 'that you wants t' marry this here--woman?'

"'I will.'

"'Well,' says the skipper, kissin' the Book, 'I 'low me an' the crew don't care; an' we can't help it, anyhow.'

"'What about mother's ring?' says the cook. 'She might's well have that,' says he, 'if she's careful about the wear an' tear. For joolery,' says he t' Liz, 'don't stand it.'

"'It can't do no harm,' says the skipper.

"'Ith we married, thkipper?' says Liz, when she got the ring on.

"'Well,' says the skipper, 'I 'low that knot'll hold 'til we puts into Twist Tickle, where Parson Stump can mend it, right under my eye.

For,' says he, 'I got a rope's-end an' a belayin'-pin t' _make_ it hold,' says he, ''til we gets 'longside o' _some_ parson that knows more about matrimonial knots 'n me. We'll pick up your goods, Liz,'

says he, 'on the s'uthard v'y'ge. An' I hopes, ol' girl,' says he, 'that you'll be able t' boil the water 'ithout burnin' it.'

"'Ay, Liz,' says the cook, 'I been makin' a awful fist o' b'ilin' the water o' late.'

"She give him one look--an' put her clean pinny to her eyes.

"'What you cryin' about?' says the cook.

"'I don't know,' says she; 'but I 'low 't.i.th becauthe now I knowth you _ith_ a fool!'

"'She's right, Tumm,' says the cook. 'She's got it right! Bein' born on Hollow-eve,' says he, 'I couldn't be nothin' else. But, Liz,' says he, 'I'm glad I got you, fool or no fool.'

"So she wiped her eyes, an' blowed her nose, an' give a little sniff, an' looked up an' smiled.

"'I isn't good enough for you,' says the poor cook. 'But, Liz,' says he, 'if you kissed me,' says he, 'I wouldn't mind a bit. An' they isn't a man in this here fo'c's'le,' says he, lookin' round, 'that'll say I'd mind. Not one,' says he, with the little devil jumpin' in his eyes.

"Then she stopped cryin' for good.

"'Go ahead, Liz!' says he. 'I ain't afeared. Come on!' says he. 'Give us a kiss!'

"'Motheth Thooth,' says she, 'you're the firtht man ever athked me t'

give un a kith!'

"She kissed un. 'Twas like a pistol-shot. An', Lord! her poor face was shinin'...."

In the cabin of the _Quick as Wink_ we listened to the wind as it scampered over the deck; and my uncle and I watched Tumm pick at the knot in the table.

"He don't _need_ no sense," said Tumm, looking up, at last; "for he've _had_ a mother, an' he've _got_ a memory."

'Twas very true, I thought.

XXII

GATHERING WINDS

'Twas by advice of Sir Harry, with meet attention to the philosophy of Lord Chesterfield in respect to the particular accomplishments essential to one who would both please and rise in the world, that my uncle commanded the grand tour to further my education and to cure my twisted foot. "'Tis the last leg o' the beat, lad;" he pleaded; "ye'll be a gentleman, made t' order, accordin' t' specifications, when 'tis over with; an' I'll be wonderful glad," says he, wearily, "when 'tis done, for I'll miss ye sore, lad--ecod! but I'll miss ye sore."

Abroad, then, despite the gray warning, went John Cather and I, tutor and young gentleman, the twain not to be distinguished from a company of high birth. 'Twas a ghastly thing: 'twas a thing so unfit and grotesque that I flush to think of it--a thing, of all my uncle's benefits, I wish undone and cannot to this day condone. But that implacable, most tender old ape, when he bade us G.o.d-speed on the wharf, standing with legs and staff triangularly disposed to steady him, rippled with pride and admiration to observe the genteel performance of our departure, and in the intervals of mopping his red, sweaty, tearful countenance, exhibited, in unwitting caricature, the defiant consciousness of station he had with infinite pains sought to have me master.

"Made t' order, lad," says he, at last, when he took my hand, "accordin' t' the plans an' specifications o' them that knows, an'

quite regardless of expense."

I patted him on the shoulder.

"I wisht," says he, with a regretful wag, "that Tom Callaway could see ye now. You an' your tooter! If on'y Tom Callaway _could_! I bet ye 'twould perk un up a bit in the place he's to! 'Twould go a long way towards distractin' his mind," says he, "from the fire an' fumes they talks so much about in church."

You will be good enough to believe, if you please, that there were sympathetic tears in my uncle's eyes....