ars--an' haunted by Tim Mull's wish for a child of his own--an'
with the laughter o' the old women t' blister her pride--she was like
t' lose her reason. An' the more it went on, the worse it got: for the
folk o' the Tickle knowed very well that she'd give way t' envy an'
anger, grievin' for what she couldn't have; an' she knowed that they
knowed an' that they gossiped--an' this was like oil on a fire.

"'Tim,' says she, one night, that winter, 'will you listen t' me?
Thinkin' things over, dear, I've chanced on a clever thing t' do. 'Tis
queer, though.'

"'I'll not mind how queer, Mary.'

"She snuggled close to un, then, an' smiled. 'I wants t' go 'way from
Tinkle Tickle,' says she.

"'Away from Tinkle Tickle?'

"'Don't say you'll not!'

"'Why, Mary, I was _born_ here!'

"'I got t' go 'way.'

"'Wherefore?' says he. ''Tis good fishin' an' a friendly harbor.'

"'Oh, oh!' says she. 'I can't _stand_ it no more.'

"'Mary, dear,' says he, 'there's no value in grievin' so sore over
what can't be helped. Give it over, dear, an' be happy again, like you
used t' be, won't you? Ah, now, Mary, won't you jus' try?'

"'I'm ashamed!'

"'Ashamed?' says he. 'You, Mary? Why, what's all this? There never was
a woman so dear an' true as you.'

"'A childless woman! They mock me.'

"''Tis not true,' says he. 'They----'

"'Ay, 'tis true. They laugh. They whispers when I pass. I've heard
un.'

"''Tis not true, at all,' says he. 'They loves you here at Tinkle
Tickle.'

"'Oh, no, Tim! No, no! The women scoff. An' I'm ashamed. Oh, I'm
ashamed t' be seen! I can't stand it no more. I got t' go 'way. Won't
you take me, Tim?'

"Tim Mull looked, then, in her eyes. 'Ay,' says he, 'I'll take you,
dear.'

"'Not for long,' says she. 'Jus' for a year or two. T' some place
where there's nobody about. I'll not want t' stay--so very long.'

"'So long as you likes,' says he. 'I'm wantin' only t' see you well
an' happy again. 'Tis a small thing t' leave Tinkle Tickle if we're t'
bring about that. We'll move down the Labrador in the spring o' the
year.'"

* * * * *

"In the spring o' the year I helped Tim Mull load his goods aboard a
Labradorman an' close his cottage by Fo'c's'le Head.

"'Spring weather, Tumm,' says he, 'is the time for adventure. I'm glad
I'm goin'. Why,' says he, 'Mary is easin' off already.'

"Foreign for me, then. Spring weather; time for adventure. Genoa, this
cruise, on a Twi