sudden appeared to him.

"But I isn't able t' write," he muttered, at last. "I--I--_wisht I
could_!"

"'Twould be a wonderful fine work for a man t' do," said my father.

"'Tis a wonder, now," said Skipper Tommy, looking up with a bright face,
"that no one ever thought o' doin' that afore. T' my mind," he added,
much puzzled, "'tis very queer, indeed, that they's nar a man in all the
world t' think o' that--but _me_!"

My mother smiled.

"I'm thinkin' I'll just _have_ t' try," Skipper Tommy went on, frowning
anxiously. "But, ecod!" he cried, "maybe the Lard wouldn't like it. Now,
maybe, He wants us men t' mind our business. Maybe, He'd say, 'You keep
your finger out o' My pie. Don't you go makin' no books about cures.'
But, oh, no!" with the overflow of fine feeling which so often came
upon him. "Why, _He_ wouldn't mind a little thing like that. Sure, I
wouldn't mind it, meself! 'You go right ahead, lad,' He'd say, 'an' try
t' work your cures. Don't you be afeared o' Me. _I'll_ not mind. But,
lad,' He'd say, 'when I wants my way I just got t' _have_ it. Don't you
forget that. Don't you go thinkin' you can have _your_ way afore I has
_Mine_. You just trust Me t' do what's right. I know My business. I'm
_used_ t' running worlds. I'm wonderful sorry,' He'd say, 't' have t'
make you feel bad; but they's times, b'y,' He'd say, 'when I really
_got_ t' have My way.' Oh, no," Skipper Tommy concluded, "the Lard
wouldn't mind a poor man's tryin' t' make a book like that! An' I thinks
I'll just _have_ t' try."

"Sure, Skipper Tommy," said I, "I'll help you."

Skipper Tommy stared at me in great amaze.

"Ay," said my mother, "Davy has learned to write."

"That I have," I boasted; "an' I'll help you make that book."

"'Tis the same," cried Skipper Tommy, slapping his thigh "as if 'twas
writ already!"

* * * * *

After a long time, my mother spoke. "You're always wanting to do some
good thing, Skipper Tommy, are you not?" said she.

"Well," he admitted, his face falling, "I thinks and wonders a deal,
'tis true, but somehow I don't seem t'----"

"Ay?" my father asked.

"Get--nowhere--much!"

Very true: but, even then, there was a man on the way to help him.

V

MARY

In the dead of winter, great storms of wind and snow raged for days
together, so that it was unsafe to venture ten fathoms from the door,
and the glass fell to fifty degrees (and more) below zero, where the