Harbor Tales Down North / With an Appreciation by Wilfred T. Grenfell, M.D.

I

A OF TIN

k in from the sudsy seas of those parts, that Tumm, the old c

' mere fancy. But I'm a great reader," he protested, with quick warmth, "o' the tales that are lived under the two eyes in my head. I'm forever in my lib'ry, too. Jus' now,"

abroad: a black wind in the rigging, and the swish and patter of rain on the deck. But the forecastle bogey was r

en thumbin' over the queer yarn o' Mary Mull. An' I been enjoyin' it, too. An old tale-lived l

ved page by page under th

how, in eyes or voice, t' win the love o' kids, dogs, an' grandmothers. 'Leave the kids have their way,' says he. 'I likes t' hav

n, some day,' says Tom Blot, 'an' yo

p all the

m, 'He've a wonderful stor

m, 'I'll thank U

n' much give t' broodin' on the things he'd found out in this life. ''Tis rare that He's mean with such gifts,' says he. '

, Tom,' says Tim Mull. 'Can't be too many for

wide mou

man for? I'll stuff their li

hat was called t' mind whenever the name o' Tim Mull come up. 'Can't be too many kids about for Tim Mull!' An' they loved him. They'd wait for un t' come in from the sea at dusk o' fine days; an' on fine Sunday afternoons-sun o

er, re

th o' N

an' put saleratus on the blisters. An' at Christmastide, when the kid

ou, merry

hin' yo

d, that had a big blaze, an' a cake, an' a tale,

ys he. 'Can't be

ondered, too, how Tim Mull would skipper

win women. 'Twas the fashion t' fish for un. An' 'twas a thing that was shameless as fashion. Most o' the maids o' Harbor had cast hooks. Polly Twitter, for one, an' in desperation: a pink an' blue wee p

ays o' pretty little Polly Twitter. A tall maid, this Mary-soft an' brown. She'd brown eyes, with black lashes to hide un, an' brown hair, growin' low an' curly; an' her round cheeks was brown, too, flushed with red. She was a maid with sweet ways an' a tender pride; she was s

is courtin', that night, 'there'll be gu

din'?'

m. I been overcome at

he friend o' m

rs arch over the road by Needle Rock. Jus' when me an' Mary was passin' through, Tumm! You'd never beli

queer!'

here. She's deep. I can't tell you how wonderful s

ari,' says I, 'an' y

e!' s

ays I, 'I'm a b

mean it? Tobias Tumm Mull! 'Twill be a very good name for the fi

o' Tinkle Tickle laughed on the sly at pretty P

dden for Spanish ports. 'Twas a matter o' four years afore I clapped eyes on the hills o' Tinkle Tickle again. An' I mind well that when the schooner hauled dow

'm content. All the children o' Harbor is mine,' says he, 'jus' as they used t' be, an'

flushed with the color o' flowers, as when she was a maid; an' she rippled wit

. Your godson, Tumm, had he deigned to sail in,

ped after Tim Mull; an' still he'd forever a

Tim Mull. 'Me an' Mary is

g we could ask

ays I. 'Now, tha

ll knowed it well enough. Not Tim, maybe. But none better than Mary. 'Twas no secret, at all: for Polly Twitter had carried on like the bereft when Tim Mull was wed-had cried an' drooped an' gone white an' thin, boastin', all the while, t' draw friendly notice, that her heart was broke for good an' all. 'Twas a year an

issed the baby; an' she vowed-with the sparkle o' joyous truth in her wet brown eyes-that the most bewitchin' baby on the coast, the stoutest baby, the cleveres

so kind, Mary!' says she. ''Tis

, puzzled. 'Why, no

'Tis so odd! Is

hy

'lowed, somehow-that you wouldn't be-so very g

Tim Mull a lover o' children, as everybody knowed! The men chuckled a little, an' cast winks about, when Polly Twitter appeared on the roads with the baby; for 'twas a comical thing t' see her air an' her strut an' the flash o' pride in her eyes.

r's baby, whenever she met it, which Polly contrived t' be often; an' I doubt that she know

or that! She was swift t' bite-an' clever t' fix her white little fangs. There was a flock o' women, Mary Mull among un, in gossip by the baskets

says Polly, '

. I'm a butter

!' say

Polly! I

she, 'with a wee baby in your arms, as if 'twas your

n over,'

u looks perfectly natural. Do he not, Mary? It might be his own for all one

r Tim, from his

. 'I 'low you're wishin',

I

, so that her fluffy little head was close t' Tim. She loo

says he.

' says she.

ays Tim. 'I've no

'Tis a shame,' says she, 'that you've no child o' your own! An' you so won

n' this-somehow-moved Mary Mu

an' she looked too much at t' sea-an' she kep' silent too long-an' she cried too much in the night. She'd have nothin' t' do with children no more; nor would she let Tim Mull so much as lay a hand on the head of a youngster. Afore this, she'd never fretted for a child at all; she'd gone her way content in the world. But now-with Polly Twitter's vaunt forever in her ears-an' haunted

u listen t' me? Thinkin' things over, dear, I've c

mind how qu

, an' smiled. 'I wants t' go 'w

om Tinkle

say you'

y, I was b

t t' g

. ''Tis good fishin'

she. 'I can't st

r what can't be helped. Give it over, dear, an' be happy again, l

asha

hy, what's all this? There never w

ss woman! T

true,' says

augh. They whispers whe

' says he. 'They loves y

amed. Oh, I'm ashamed t' be seen! I can't stand it

in her eyes. 'Ay,' says

or two. T' some place where there's nobody

happy again. 'Tis a small thing t' leave Tinkle Tickle if we're t' bri

Mull load his goods aboard a Labradorman

time for adventure. I'm glad I'm goin'. Wh

long as it itched I kep' on scratchin'. 'Twas over two years afore I got a good long breath o' the fogs o' these parts again. An' by this time a miracle had happened on the Labrador. The good Lord had surprised Mary Mull at Come-By-Guess Ha

never be content until she flaunts tha

kle Tickle, says she, in the fall o' the year, t' live for good an' all.

' I was fair achin' t' knock the breath out o' Tim with a clap on the back. 'Queer,' thinks I, 'how good

r that I got the chance t' drop in t' see how my godson was thrivin'. Lyin' here at Soap-an'-Water Harbor, one night, in stress o' weather, as now we lies here, I made up mind, come what might, that I'd run over t' Tinkle Tickle an' give the mug an' the spoon t' wee Toby when the gale should oblige us. 'July!' thinks I. 'We

ith anxious thought. He made me think of a fish-thief, somehow, with a constable comin' down with the wind; an' it seemed, too, that maybe 'twas my fish he'd stole. For he'd lost his ease; he was full o

ghed. 'It gives me a turn, lad, t' see you so

k glad, ye crab!' An' I fe

ays he. 'D

tulate you

as he spoke, an' then down at his boots, like a man in shame. 'Ay,' says he, brows do

h o' the mo

God's tru

I, 't' celebrate the first b

,' says he. 'Tha

goin' t' be no

days. An' I've orders t' fetch you straightway t' the house

gifts,' says I

n my arm. 'What

gone mad,

He looked down at the deck. 'I hopes, Tumm,'

I likes,' says I,

l!' says he. 'B

fetched the spoon an' the mug from below, in a sweat o' wonder an' fear, an' we we

more. Her big brown eyes was clean o' tears. Her voice was soft with content. A sweet woman, she was, ever, an' tender with happiness, now, when she met us at the threshold. I marveled that a gift like Toby M

oby! Ah, Tumm, Tumm,-how wonderfu

she should shed tears upon such an occasion-ay,

you knows, afore we moved down the Labrador. But now, Tumm,-now, lad,-I'm jus' like o

rippled with sweet laughter an' fled t' the kit

she've done well

s he. 'Ay!'-

'she's blithe as

. 'Isn't afeared she'll be laughed at by t

st heart yo

feed. Nothin' more. An' I'm steadily impro

e troub

uffed hard. 'Ay,' says he, after a bit. '

' determined, believe me, t' have Tim Mull aboard my craft, that night, an' fathom his woe. 'Twas a thousa

-t' see my godson. But bein' a bachelor-man I held my tongue for a bit: for, thinks I, they're washin' an' curlin' the child, an' they'll fetch un in when they're ready t' do so, all spick-an'-span an' polished like a door-knob, an' crowin', too, the little rooster! 'Twas a fair sight to see Mary Mull smilin' beyond the tea-pot. 'Twas good t' see what she had provided. Cod's-tongues an' bacon-wi

says I, 'I've

r Tumm!' says she. 'I'm sor

not my

ith her brow wrinkl

see what I've

says she. 'What y

es I, 'fetch

er an' wider. An' Tim Mull was lookin' out o' the window. An' I was much amazed by all this. An' then

,' says he. 'I-I hadn't no

s queer

-I fo

sorr

says Tim. 'That's the truth o

ever a word comi

ke a man beggin' mercy, 'I c

me. 'Tumm,' says she,

ad,

n-jus' one good look at the l

bor-warm lights-gleamed all round about Black hills: still water in the lee o' the rocks. The tinkle of a bell fell down from the slope o' Lookout; an' a maid's laugh-sweet as the bell itself-come ripplin' fr

' says Tim Mull, 'I g

place for a bu

e out with the

ever be rid

keeps on be

o,

shoulder. 'Is you a fri

you must know w

a woma

' a

ookout caught his ear. He listened-until the tender little sound ceased an' sleep fell again on the hill. 'Tu

book he had re