re ready t' do so, all spick-an'-span an' polished like a
door-knob, an' crowin', too, the little rooster! 'Twas a fair sight to
see Mary Mull smilin' beyond the tea-pot. 'Twas good t' see what she
had provided. Cod's-tongues an' bacon--with new greens an'
potatoes--an' capillaire-berry pie an' bake-apple jelly. 'Twas pretty,
too, t' see the way she had arrayed the table. There was flowers from
the hills flung about on the cloth. An' in the midst of all--fair in
the middle o' the blossoms an' leaves an' toothsome plenty--was a
white cake with one wee white taper burnin' as bright an' bold as ever
a candle twice the size could manage.

"'Mary Mull,' says I, 'I've lost patience!'

"She laughed a little. 'Poor Tumm!' says she. 'I'm sorry your hunger
had t' wait.'

"''Tis not my hunger.'

"She looked at me with her brow wrinkled. 'No?' says she.

"'I wants t' see what I've come t' see.'

"'That's queer!' says she. 'What you've come t' see?'

"'Woman,' cries I, 'fetch in that baby!'

"Never a word. Never a sound. Mary Mull drawed back a step--an' stared
at me with her eyes growin' wider an' wider. An' Tim Mull was lookin'
out o' the window. An' I was much amazed by all this. An' then Mary
Mull turned t' Tim. 'Tim,' says she, her voice slow an' low, 'did you
not write Tumm a letter?'

"Tim faced about. 'No, Mary,' says he. 'I--I hadn't no time--t' waste
with writin'.'

"'That's queer, Tim.'

"'I--I--I forgot.'

"'I'm sorry--Tim.'

"'Oh, Mary, I didn't _want_ to!' says Tim. 'That's the truth of it,
dear. I--I _hated_--t' do it.'

"'An' you said never a word comin' up the hill?'

"'God's sake!' cries Tim, like a man beggin' mercy, 'I _couldn't_ say
a word like that!'

"Mary turned then t' me. 'Tumm,' says she, 'little Toby--is dead.'

"'Dead, Mary!'

"'We didn't get much more than--jus' one good look at the little
fellow--afore he left us.'

* * * * *

"When I took Tim Mull aboard the _Call Again_ that night," the tale
ran on, "'twas all clear above. What fog had been hangin' about had
gone off with a little wind from the warm inland places. The lights o'
Harbor--warm lights--gleamed all round about Black hills: still water
in the lee o' the rocks. The tinkle of a bell fell down from the
slope o' Lookout; an' a maid's laugh--sweet as the bell itself--come
ripplin' from the shadows o' the road. Stars out; the little beggars
kep' winkin' an' winkin' away at all the myster