s jus' as worthy----"

"No, I isn't!"

"Well, then, have it your own way," says the skipper. "Is you comin'
back for breakfast in the mornin'? That's what I wants t' know."

"No, sir."

Skipper Harry jumped.

"What's that?" says he. "Why not?"

"I've shamed your goodness, sir."

"Bosh!" says the skipper.

The lad's lips was dry. He licked 'em. An' his throat was dry. He
gulped. An' his voice was hoarse.

"I been lyin' t' you," says he.

"You been----"

All at once the lad's voice went shrill as a maid's. 'Twas distressful
t' hear.

"Lyin' t' you, sir!" says he. "I been lyin' t' you jus' like mad! An'
now you'll not forgive me!"

"Tumm," says the skipper, "this is a very queer thing. I can't make it
out."

I could.

"No harm in easin' the conscience freely," says I t' the lad. "What
you been lyin' about?"

"Heed me well, sir!" This t' the skipper.

"Ay, my son?"

"I isn't got no pa! My pa's dead! My pa was hanged by the neck until
he was dead for the murder o' Mean Michael Mitchell o' Topsail Run!"

Well, that was true. Skipper Harry an' me knowed that. Everybody in
Newf'un'land knowed it. Seven years afore--the hangin' was done. Sammy
Scull was a baby o' three at the time. 'Twas a man's crime, whatever,
if a man an' a crime can be linked with satisfaction. Still an' all,
'twas a murder, an' a foul, foul deed for that reason. We've few
murders in Newf'un'land. They shock us. They're never forgotten. An'
there was a deal made o' that one, an' 'twas still the latest
murder--news o' the trial at St. John's spread broadcast over the
three coasts; an' talk o' the black cap an' the black flag, an'
gruesome tales o' the gallows an' the last prayer, an' whispers o' the
quicklime that ended it all. Sammy Scull could go nowhere in
Newf'un'land an' escape the shadow an' shame o' that rope. Let the lad
grow t' manhood? No matter. Let un live it down? He could not. The
tongues o' the gossips would wag in his wake wheresoever he went. Son
of John Scull o' Hide-an'-Seek Harbor! Why, sir, the man's father was
hanged by the neck at St. John's for the murder o' Mean Michael
Mitchell o' Topsail Run!

Skipper Harry put a hand on Sammy Scull's head.

"My son," says he, "is you quite sure about what you've jus' told us?"

"Yes, sir."

"How long is you knowed it?"

"Oh, a long, long time, sir! I learned it of a dirty day in the fall
o' last year. Isn't it--isn't it true, sir?"

Skipper Harry nodded.

"Ay,