w and tremulous with affectionate feeling and pride.
"Life," says he, so earnestly that I was made meek by the confession,
"held nothin' at all for me but the Christian hope o' heaven until ye
came; an' then, when I got ye, 'twas filled full o' mortal, unselfish,
better aims. I've loved ye well, lad, in my own delight," says he.
"I've loved ye in a wishful way," he repeated, "quite well."

I was humble in this presence....

* * * * *

"Your father," my uncle resumed, "couldn't stand the big seas. I
cotched un by the jacket, an' held un with me, so long as I was able,
though he 'lowed I might as well let un go t' hell, without drawin'
out the fear o' gettin there. 'On'y a minute or two, Nick,' says he.
'Ye might as well let me get there. I'm cold, froze up, an' they's
more ice comin' with this sea,' says he; 'they was a field o' small
ice up along about the Sissors,' says he, 'an' I 'low it haves come
down with the nor'east wind. The sea,' says he, 'will be full of it
afore long. Ye better let me go,' says he. ''Tisn't by any means
pleasant here, an' the on'y thing I wants, now that ye've took the
oath,' says he, 'is t' get warm. Ye better let me go. I got t' go,
anyhow,' says he, 'an' a hour or two don't make no difference.' An'
so, with the babe that was you in mind, an' with my life t' save for
your sake, I let un go t' le'ward, where the seven murdered men had
gone down drowned. 'Twas awful lonesome without un, when the tide got
high an' the seas was mean with chunks o' ice. Afore that," my uncle
intensely declared, "I was admired o' water-side widows, on account o'
looks; but," says he, touching his various disfigurements, "I was
broke open here, an' I was broke open there, by bein' rubbed on the
rocks an' clubbed by the ice at high-tide. When I was picked up by
Tumm, o' the _Quick as Wink_ (bein' bound up in fish), I 'lowed I
might as well leave the cook, which is now dead, have his way with the
butcher-knife an' sail-needle; an' so I come t' St. John's as ye sees
me now, not a wonderful sight for looks, with my leg an' fingers gone,
but ready, God knows! t' stand by the young un I was livin' t' take
an' rear. Ye had been, all through it, Dannie," he added, simply, "the
thing that made me hold on; for when your father was gone t' le'ward,
an' I begun t' think o' ye, a wee babe t' St. John's, I got t' love
ye, lad, as I've loved ye ever since.

"'Tis a lovely evening,"