tter an' flutter o' curiosity,
flockin' to a new trader, o' course, like young folk to a spectacle;
an' they demanded my prices, an' eyed an' fingered my stock o'
gee-gaws an' staples, an' they whispered an' stared an' tittered, an'
they promised at last t' fetch off a quintal or two o' fish in the
mornin', it might be, an the fog had blowed away by that time. 'Twas
after dark afore they was all ashore again--all except a sorry ol'
codger o' the name o' Anthony Lot, who had anchored hisself in the
cabin with Skipper Harry an' me in expectation of a cup o' tea or the
like o' that. By that time I had my shelves all put t' rights an' was
stretched out on my counter, with my head on a roll o' factory-cotton,
dawdlin' along with my friendly ol' flute. I tooted a ballad or
two--Larboard Watch an' Dublin Bay; an' my fingers bein' limber an'
able, then, I played the weird, sad songs o' little Toby Farr, o'
Ha-ha Harbor, which is more t' my taste, mark you, than any o' the
fashionable music that drifts our way from St. John's. Afore long I
cotched ear of a foot-fall on deck--tip-toein' aft, soft as a cat; an'
I knowed that my music had lured somebody close t' the cabin hatch t'
listen, as often it did when I was meanderin' away t' ease my
melancholy in the evenin'.

"On deck!" says Skipper Harry. "Hello, you!"

Nobody answered the skipper's hail. I 'lowed then that 'twas a bashful
child I had lured with my sad melody.

"Come below," the skipper bawled, "whoever you is! I say--come below!"

"Isn't nobody there," says Anthony Lot.

"I heared a step," says I.

"Me, too," says Skipper Harry.

"Nothin' o' no consequence," says Anthony. "I wouldn't pay no
attention t' that."

"Somebody up there in the rain," says the skipper.

"Oh, I knows who 'tis," says Anthony. "'Tisn't nobody that amounts t'
nothin' very much."

"Ah, well," says I, "we'll have un down here out o' the dark jus' the
same."

"On deck there!" says the skipper again. "You is welcome below, sir!"

Down come a lad in response t' Hard Harry's hail--jus' a pallid,
freckled little bay-noddie, with a tow head an' blue eyes, risin' ten
years, or thereabouts, mostly skin, bones an' curiosity, such as you
may find in shoals in every harbor o' the coast. He was blinded by the
cabin lamp, an' brushed the light out of his eyes; an' he was
abashed--less shy than cautious, however, mark you; an' I mind that
he shuffled and grinned, none too sure of his welcome--halte