ms o' the land," says she, "an' I
got it from the Jew t' make believe I was wed in the way they does it
in these days; for it didn't do nobody no hurt, an' it sort o' pleased
me. You better take it, Moses, b'y," says she, "for the dirt o' the
grave would only spile it," says she, "an' I'm not wantin' it no more.
Don't wear it at the fishin', dear," says she, "for the fishin' is
wonderful hard," says she, "an' joolery don't stand much wear an'
tear." 'Oh, mother!' says the cook, 'I done what you wanted!' Then the
poor fool sighed an' looked up at the skipper. 'I 'low, skipper,' says
he, ''twouldn't do no hurt t' give the ring to a man's wife, would it?
For mother wouldn't mind, would she?'

"The skipper didn't answer that.

"'Come, cook,' says I, 'leave us get under way,' for I couldn't stand
it no longer.

"So the cook an' me put out in the punt t' land at Whoopin' Harbor,
with the crew wishin' the poor cook well with their lips, but
thinkin', God knows what! in their hearts. An' he was in a wonderful
state o' fright. I never _seed_ a man so took by scare afore. For,
look you! poor Moses thinks she might have un. 'I never had half a
chance afore,' says he. 'They've all declined in a wonderful regular
way. But now,' says he, 'I 'low I'll be took. I jus' _feels_ that way;
an', Tumm, I--I--I'm scared!' I cheered un up so well as I could; an'
by-an'-by we was on the path t' Liz Jones's house, up on Gray Hill,
where she lived alone, her mother bein' dead an' her father shipped on
a bark from St. John's t' the West Indies. An' we found Liz sittin' on
a rock at the turn o' the road, lookin' down from the hill at the
_Quick as Wink_; all alone--sittin' there in the moonlight, all
alone--thinkin' o' God knows what!

"'Hello, Liz!' says I.

"'Hello, Tumm!' says she. 'What vethel'th that?'

"'That's the _Quick as Wink_, Liz,' says I. 'An' here's the cook o'
that there craft,' says I, 'come up the hill t' speak t' you.'

"'That's right,' says the cook. 'Tumm, you're right.'

"'T' thpeak t' _me_!' says she.

"I wisht she hadn't spoke quite that way. Lord! it wasn't nice. It
makes a man feel bad t' see a woman put her hand on her heart for a
little thing like that.

"'Ay, Liz,' says I, 't' speak t' you. An' I'm thinkin', Liz,' says I,
'he'll say things no man ever said afore--t' you.'

"'That's right, Tumm,' says the cook. 'I wants t' speak as man t'
man,' says he, 't' stand by what I says,' says he, 'accordin' as
moth