'm thinkin' He did. 'Tis like that this
was the first, an' He done better when He got His hand in. Oh, ay, nar a
doubt He done better with the rest! But He done wonderful well with this
one. When you're so old as me, lad, you'll know that though the Lard
made few flowers He put a deal o' time an' labour on the harbours; an'
when you're beatin' up t' the Gate, lad, in a gale o' wind--an' when you
thinks o' the quiet place t'other side o' Frothy Point--you'll know the
Lard done well by all the folk o' this world when He made safe harbours
instead o' wastin' His time on flowers. Ay, lad, 'tis a wonderful well
built world; an' you'll know it--then!"

We turned homeward--down the long road over the shoulder of the
Watchman; for the evening was drawing near.

"They's times," said Skipper Tommy, giving his nose a puzzled tweak,
"when I wonders how He done it. 'Tis fair beyond me! I wonders a deal,
now, mum," turning to my mother, his face lighting with interest, "about
they stars. Now, mum," smiling wistfully, "I wonders ... I wonders ...
how He stuck un up there in the sky. Ah," with a long sigh, "I'd sure
like t' know that! An' wouldn't you, mum? Ecod! but I _would_ like t'
know that! 'Twould be worth while, I'm thinkin'. I'm wishin' I could
find out. But, hut!" he cried, with a laugh which yet rang strangely sad
in my ears, "'tis none o' my business. 'Twould be a queer thing, indeed,
if men went pryin' into the Lard's secrets. He'd fix un, I 'low--He'd
snarl un all up--He'd let un think theirselves wise an' guess
theirselves mad! That's what He'd do. But, now," falling again into a
wistful, dreaming whisper, "I wonders ... wonders ... how He _does_
stick them stars up there. I'm thinkin' I'll try t' think that out--some
day--so people could know, an' wouldn't have t' wonder no more.
I--wonders--if I could!"

We walked on in silence--down the last slope, and along the rocky path
to Trader's Cove; and never a word was spoken. When we came to the turn
to our house we bade the skipper good-evening.

"Don't you be forgettin'," he said, tipping up my face with a finger
under my chin, "that you'll soon be thinkin' more o' harbours than o'
flowers."

I laughed.

"But, ecod!" he broke out, violently rubbing his nose, until I was
fairly concerned for it, so red did it turn, "that was a wonderful good
idea about the flour!"

My mother looked at him sharply; then her eyes twinkled, and she hid a
smile behind her hand.

"_'Tw