high an' low, an' the ice went scrapin' down the
coast, an' the big black-an'-white seas come tumblin' in from
Greenland. There was no lee for the _Word o' the Lord_ in that
weather: she lied off the big cliffs o' Pinch-Me, kickin' her heels,
writhin' about, tossin' her head; an' many's the time, in the drivin'
gales o' that season, I made sure she'd pile up on the rocks, in the
frothy little cove between the Thumb an' the Finger, where the big
waves went t' smash with a boom-bang-swish an' hiss o' drippin'
thunder. By day 'twas haul the traps--pull an oar an' fork the catch
with a back on fire, cracked hands, salt-water sores t' the elbow,
soggy clothes, an' an empty belly; an' by night 'twas split the
fish--slash an' gut an' stow away, in the torchlight, with sticky
eyelids, hands an' feet o' lead, an' a neck as limp as death. I
learned a deal about life--an' about the worth of a dollar in labor.
'Take that!' says Skipper Davy, with the toe of his boot, 'an' I'm
sorry t' have to do it, but you can't fall asleep on a stack o' green
cod at two o'clock in the mornin' an' be a success in life. Try
_that_!' says he, with the flat of his hand, 'though it grieves me
sore t' hurt you.' But whatever an' all, us loaded the _Word o' the
Lord_--an' stowed the gear away, an' fell down t' sleep in our tracks,
an' by an' by lied in wait for a fair wind t' the Newf'un'land
outports. An' there comes a night--a fine, clear, starry night like
this--with good prospects o' haulin' out at break o' day. An' I could
sleep no longer, an' I went on deck alone, t' look up at the sky, an'
t' dream dreams, maybe, accordin' t' my youth an' hope an' the good
years I'd lived at Rickity Tickle.

"A lovely night: still an' starlit--with a flash o' northern lights
abroad, an' the ol' _Word o' the Lord_ lyin' snug asleep in a slow,
black sea.

"Skipper Davy come up. 'Tumm,' says he, 'is you on deck?'

"'Ay, sir.'

"'Where is you, b'y?'

"'Lyin' here, sir,' says I, 'cuddled down on a cod-net.'

"'Now that the labor is over,' says he, 'I'm all tired out an'
downcast.' He sot down beside me. 'You doesn't bear no malice for all
them kicks an' cuffs, does you?' says he. 'You sees, lad, I--I--isn't
used t' bein' fond o' nobody--an' I 'low I don't know how very
well--though I done my best.'

"'Sure,' says I, 'I've no malice?'

"'What you doin' here?' says he.

"'Lookin' up at the stars.'

"'Is you?' says he. 'What for?'

"'They're such wonderfu