coast in
the Gov'ment yacht," says he; "an' when he come near by Hide-an'-Seek
Harbor, he says: 'I've inspected this coast, an' I've seed the mines
at Tilt Cove, an' the whale fishery at Sop's Arm, an' the mission at
Battle Harbor, an' my report o' the wonders will mightily tickle His
Gracious Majesty the King; but what I have most in mind, an' what lies
nearest my heart, an' what I have looked forward to most of all, is t'
sit down in my cabin, at ease, an' listen to a certain individual o'
Hide-an'-Seek Harbor, which I heared about in England, play on the
flute.' Well, the Gov'ment yacht dropped anchor in Hide-an'-Seek,
Sammy, an' lied the night jus' where this here tradin' schooner lies
now; an' when Sir Johnnie McLeod had heared your father play on the
flute, he says: 'The man can play on the flute better 'n anybody in
the whole world! I'm glad I've lived t' see this day. I'll see to it
that he has a gold medal from His Gracious Majesty the King for this
night's work.'"

"Did my pa get the gold medal from His Gracious Majesty?"

"He did, in due course."

"Ah-ha!" crowed the lad t' Skipper Harry. "I tol' you so!"

Skipper Harry's face had gone hard. He looked Anthony Lot in the eye
until Anthony begun t' shift with uneasiness an' shame.

"Anthony," says he, "does that sort o' thing give you any real
pleasure?"

"What sort o' thing?"

"Tellin' a yarn like that to a wee lad like he?"

"'Twasn't nothin' wrong."

"Nothin' wrong!--t' bait un so?"

"Jus' a bit o' sport."

"Sorry sport!"

"Ah, well, he've growed used to it."

T' this the lad was listenin' like a caribou o' the barrens scentin'
peril.

"'Twas a naughty thing t' do, ye ol' crab!" says the skipper t'
Anthony Lot.

The lad struck in.

"Isn't it true?" says he.

Skipper Harry cotched the quiver o' doubt an' fear in his voice an'
was warned jus' in time. There was jus' one thing t' say.

"True?" says the skipper. "Sure, 'tis true! Who doubts it?"

"Not me," says Anthony.

"Ye hadn't better!" says the skipper.

"You bet ye 'tis true!" says I. "I've heared that selfsame tale many a
time afore."

"Sammy, my son," says the skipper, "who is your father anyhow?"

The lad fair glowed with pride, as it seemed t' me then. Up went his
head--out went his wee chest; an' his eyes went wide an' shinin', an'
he smiled, an' the blood o' pride flushed his cheeks red.

"I'm John Scull's son!" says he.

Anthony Lot throwed back his head an' shot