that wee young one. From heaven or hell, Nick, accordin'
t' which place ye harbored in,' thinks I, 'ye'd want t' watch that
little life grow, an' ye'd like t' say t' yourself, when things went
ill with ye,' thinks I, 'that the little feller ye died for was
thrivin', anyhow, out there on earth.' An' I 'lowed, for your wee
sake, Dannie, an' for the sake o' the seven poor, murdered men, whose
wishes I read in the dead eyes that looked into mine, an' for the sake
o' your poor, fond father, bound soon for hell, that I'd never let the
comfort o' my mean soul stand in the way o' fetchin' good t' your
little life out o' all this woe an' wickedness. I 'lowed, Dannie, then
an' there, on the Devil's Teeth, that could I but manage to endure,
I'd stand by your little body an' soul t' the end, whatever become o'
me."

'Twas but a tale my uncle told: 'twas not an extenuation--not a plea.

"'Tide's risin', Nick,' says your father. 'I can't stand it much
longer with my broken arm an' froze fingers. Nick,' says he, 'will ye
swear?'

"I was afraid, Dannie, t' swear it.

"'Won't ye?' says he. 'He've his mother's eyes--an' he'll be a
wonderful good lad t' you.'

"I couldn't, Dannie.

"'For God's sake, Nick!' says he, 'swear it, an' ease my way t'
hell.'

"'I swear!' says I.

"'Then,' says he, 'you turn the screws on the owner o' that there
ship. The writin' is all you needs. You make a gentleman o' my lad,
God bless un! accordin' t' the wishes of his mother. Give un the best
they is in Newf'un'land. Nothin' too good in all the world for Dannie.
You bear in mind, Nick,' says he, 'that I'm roastin' in hell,' says
he, '_payin_' for his education!'"

My uncle's hand approached the low table, but was in impatience
withdrawn; and the old man looked away--northward: to the place, far
distant, where the sea still washed the Devil's Teeth.

"I've bore it in mind," he muttered.

Ay! and much more than that: the wreck of his own great soul upon my
need had clouded twenty years of life with blackest terror of the
unending pains of perdition.

"'Tis a lovely evening, Dannie," he sighed. "'Tis so still an' kind
an' beautiful. I've often 'lowed, in weather like this, with the sea
at peace an' a red sky givin' promise o' mercy for yet one day," said
he, "that I'd like t' live forever--jus' live t' fish an' be an'
hope."

"I wisht ye might!" I cried.

"An' t' watch ye grow, Dannie," said he, turning suddenly upon me, his
voice fallen lo