f our coast,
with the forecastle bogie warm of a windy night, an' the schooner
hangin' on in the rain off the cliffs, or with us all settled afore a
kitchen fire in a cottage ashore, of a winter's night, which is the
most favorable hour, I've found out, for the tellin' o' tales like
mine; an' the folk for whose pleasure I've spun this yarn have thought
the fate o' wee Sammy worth their notice an' sighs, an' have thrilled
me with wonder an' praise. I'm well warned that gentlefolk t' the
s'uth'ard must have love in their tales an' be charmed with great
deeds in its satisfaction; but I'm a skillful teller o' tales, as I've
been told in high quarters, an' as I've good reason t' believe,
indeed, with my own common sense and discretion t' clap me on the
back, an' so I'll speed on with my sentimental tale to its endin',
whether happy or not, an' jus' damn the scoffers in private.

"The little nipper," says the skipper. "His fist tapped the tip o' my
nose!"

I laughed outright at that. 'Twas a good rebound from the start I had
had.

"What stirred his wrath?"

"It might be one thing that I knows of," says I, "an' it might be
another that I could guess."

"I'm puzzled, Tumm."

"As for me, I've the eyes of a hawk, sir," says I, "with which t'
search a mystery like this."

"That you has!" says he.

I was fond o' Skipper Harry. He was a perceivin' man. An' I've no mind
t' withhold the opinion I maintain t' that effect.

"You've fathomed the lad's rage?" says he.

"An I was still shrewder," says I, "I'd trust a surmise an' lay a
wager that I was right."

"What do you think?"

"I've two opinions. They balance. I'll hold with neither 'til I'm sure
o' the one."

"Not ashamed of his name!" says the skipper. "Ha! 'Twas a queer boast
t' make. He'll be ashamed of his name soon enough. 'Tis a wonder
they've not told un the truth afore this. What you think, Tumm? How
have they managed t' keep the truth from un until now?"

"They think un comical," says I; "they keeps un ignorant t' rouse
their laughter with."

"Ay," says the skipper; "he've been fattened like a goose in a cage.
They've made a sad fool of un these last few years. What boastin'!
'Tis stupid. He've growed old enough t' know better, Tumm. 'Tis jus'
disgustin' t' hear a big boy like he mouth such a shoal o' foolish
yarns. An' he've not the least notion that they're not as true as
Gospel an' twice as entertainin'."

"So?" says I. "Where's my flute?"

"Ther