Garge Hudson, the Queen's own mail-carrier. There bes a
post-office in Witless Bay," returned the skipper. "He makes the trip
to St. John's once every week in winter-time, bar flurries an' fog, an'
maybe twice every week in the summer-time. If it be'd summer-time now
I'd sail the letter right round to St. John's in me fore-an'-aft
schooner."

"What a terrible place! It seems to be thousands of miles out of the
world," murmured the singer. "Don't any ships ever come to this
harbor--except wrecks?"

The skipper shook his head. "Me own fore-an'-aft, the _Polly_, bes the
only vessel trades wid this harbor," he said. He stowed the letter away
in his pocket, turned and strode from the room and out of the house. He
looked calm enough now, but the battle was still raging within him.

The skipper was out of bed next morning at the first peep of dawn. He
dressed for a long journey, stuffed his pockets with food, and then
wakened his grandmother.

"I bes goin' meself wid this letter," he said. "The men won't be tryin'
any o' their tricks, I bes t'inkin'. Dick Lynch bain't fit for any
divilment yet awhile an' 'tothers be busy gettin' timber for the
church. Send Cormy to tell Bill Brennen an' Nick Leary to keep 'em to
it."

"Why bes ye goin' yerself, Denny?" inquired the old woman.

"Sure, it bes safest for me to carry the letter, Granny," returned the
skipper.

He ate his breakfast, drank three mugs of strong tea, and set out. A
little dry snow had fallen during the night. The air was bitterly cold
and motionless, and the only sound was the sharp crackling of the tide
fingering the ice along the frozen land-wash. The sky was clear. With
the rising of the sun above the rim of the sea a faint breath of icy
wind came out of the west. By this time the skipper was up on the edge
of the barrens, a mile and more away from the little harbor. He was
walking at a good pace, smoking his pipe and thinking hard. A thing was
in his mind that he could not bring himself to face fairly, as yet. It
had been with him several hours of yesterday, and all night, and had
caused him to change his plan of sending Bill Brennen with the
letter--and still it lurked like a shadow in the back of his mind,
unilluminated and unproven. But he knew, deep in his heart, that he
would presently consider and act upon this lurking, sinister
half-thought. Otherwise, he was a fool to be heading for Witless Bay.
Bill Brennen, or any other man in the harbor, could