vor.'

"'Done!' says he.

"'Well, Tim,' says I, 'I'm a born godfather.'

"'Ecod!' says he. An' he slapped his knee an' chuckled. 'Does you mean
it? Tobias Tumm Mull! 'Twill be a very good name for the first o' my
little crew. Haw, haw! The thing's as good as managed.'

"So they was wed, hard an' fast; an' the women o' Tinkle Tickle
laughed on the sly at pretty Polly Twitter an' condemned her shameless
ways."

* * * * *

"In the fall o' that year I went down Barbadoes way in a fish-craft
from St. John's. An' from Barbadoes, with youth upon me t' urge
adventure, I shipped of a sudden for Spanish ports. 'Twas a matter o'
four years afore I clapped eyes on the hills o' Tinkle Tickle again.
An' I mind well that when the schooner hauled down ol' Fo'c's'le Head,
that day, I was in a fret t' see the godson that Tim Mull had promised
me. But there wasn't no godson t' see. There wasn't no child at all.

"'Well, no, Tumm,' says Tim Mull, 'we hasn't been favored in that
particular line. But _I'm_ content. All the children o' Harbor is
mine,' says he, 'jus' as they used t' be, an' there's no sign o' the
supply givin' out. Sure, _I've_ no complaint o' my fortune in life.'

"Nor did Mary Mull complain. She thrived, as ever: she was soft an'
brown an' flushed with the color o' flowers, as when she was a maid;
an' she rippled with smiles, as then, in the best of her moods, like
the sea on a sunlit afternoon.

"'I've Tim,' says she, 'an' with Tim I'm content. Your godson, Tumm,
had he deigned to sail in, would have been no match for my Tim in
goodness.'

"An' still the children o' Tinkle Tickle trooped after Tim Mull; an'
still he'd forever a maid on his shoulder or a wee lad by the hand.

"'Fair winds, Tumm!' says Tim Mull. 'Me an' Mary is wonderful happy
t'gether.'

"'Isn't a thing we could ask for,' says she.

"'Well, well!' says I. 'Now, that's _good_, Mary!'

"There come that summer t' Tinkle Tickle she that was once Polly
Twitter. An' trouble clung to her skirts. Little vixen, she was! No
tellin' how deep a wee woman can bite when she've the mind t' put her
teeth in. Nobody at Tinkle Tickle but knowed that the maid had loved
Tim Mull too well for her peace o' mind. Mary Mull knowed it well
enough. Not Tim, maybe. But none better than Mary. 'Twas no secret, at
all: for Polly Twitter had carried on like the bereft when Tim Mull
was wed--had cried an' drooped an' gone white an' thin, bo