Doctor Luke of the Labrador | Page 5

but," now sagely, "I'm thinkin' He did. 'Tis like that
this was the first, an' He done better when He got His hand in. Oh, ay,
nar a doubt He done better with the rest! But He done wonderful well
with this one. When you're so old as me, lad, you'll know that though
the Lard made few flowers He put a deal o' time an' labour on the
harbours; an' when you're beatin' up t' the Gate, lad, in a gale o'
wind--an' when you thinks o' the quiet place t'other side o' Frothy
Point--you'll know the Lard done well by all the folk o' this world when

He made safe harbours instead o' wastin' His time on flowers. Ay, lad,
'tis a wonderful well built world; an' you'll know it--then!"
We turned homeward--down the long road over the shoulder of the
Watchman; for the evening was drawing near.
"They's times," said Skipper Tommy, giving his nose a puzzled tweak,
"when I wonders how He done it. 'Tis fair beyond me! I wonders a deal,
now, mum," turning to my mother, his face lighting with interest,
"about they stars. Now, mum," smiling wistfully, "I wonders ... I
wonders ... how He stuck un up there in the sky. Ah," with a long sigh,
"I'd sure like t' know that! An' wouldn't you, mum? Ecod! but I would
like t' know that! 'Twould be worth while, I'm thinkin'. I'm wishin' I
could find out. But, hut!" he cried, with a laugh which yet rang
strangely sad in my ears, "'tis none o' my business. 'Twould be a queer
thing, indeed, if men went pryin' into the Lard's secrets. He'd fix un, I
'low--He'd snarl un all up--He'd let un think theirselves wise an' guess
theirselves mad! That's what He'd do. But, now," falling again into a
wistful, dreaming whisper, "I wonders ... wonders ... how He does stick
them stars up there. I'm thinkin' I'll try t' think that out--some day--so
people could know, an' wouldn't have t' wonder no more. I--wonders--if
I could!"
We walked on in silence--down the last slope, and along the rocky path
to Trader's Cove; and never a word was spoken. When we came to the
turn to our house we bade the skipper good-evening.
"Don't you be forgettin'," he said, tipping up my face with a finger
under my chin, "that you'll soon be thinkin' more o' harbours than o'
flowers."
I laughed.
"But, ecod!" he broke out, violently rubbing his nose, until I was fairly
concerned for it, so red did it turn, "that was a wonderful good idea
about the flour!"
My mother looked at him sharply; then her eyes twinkled, and she hid a

smile behind her hand.
"'Twould be a good thing t' have it grow," the old man continued.
"'Twould be far better than--than--well, now--makin' it the way they
does. Ecod!" he concluded, letting his glance fall in bewilderment on
the ground, "I wonders how they does make flour. I wonders ...
wonders ... where they gets the stuff an'--an'--how they makes it!"
He went off, wondering still; and my mother and I went slowly home,
and sat in the broad window of our house, which overlooked the
harbour and fronted the flaring western sky; and then first she told me
of the kind green world beyond.

III
IN THE HAVEN of HER ARMS
There was a day not far distant--my father had told my mother with a
touch of impatience that it must come for all sons--when Skipper
Tommy took me with one of the twin lads in the punt to the
Hook-an'-Line grounds to jig, for the traps were doing poorly with the
fish, the summer was wasting and there was nothing for it but to take to
hook and line: which my father's dealers heartily did, being anxious to
add what fish they could to the catch, though in this slower way. And it
was my first time beyond the Gate--and the sea seemed very vast and
strange and sullen when we put out at dawn--and when the long day
was near done the wind blew gray and angry from the north and spread
a thickening mist over the far-off Watchman--and before night closed,
all that Skipper Tommy had said of harbours and flowers came true in
my heart.
"We'll be havin' t' beat up t' the Gate," said he, as he hauled in the
grapnel.
"With all the wind she can carry," added little Jacky, bending to lift the
mast into the socket.

In truth, yes--as it seemed to my unknowing mind: she had all the wind
she could carry. The wind fretted the black sea until it broke all
roundabout; and the punt heeled to the gusts and endlessly flung her
bows up to the big