Old Tom wagged his head.
"No, sir!" Jonathan declared. "Never seed _nothin"_ like it."
"Me neither."
"Not like _this_," said Jonathan, testily.
"Me neither," old Tom agreed. "Not like this. No, sir; me neither, b"y!"
"Twas a grand, companionable exchange of ideas! A gush of talk! A whirlwind of opinion! Both enjoyed it-were relieved by it: rid of the gathered thought of long hours alone on the grounds. Jonathan Stock had expressed himself freely and at length; so, too, old Tom Lull. "Twas heartening-this easy sociability. Tom Lull was glad that he had waited in the lee of the Rock o" Wishes; he had felt the need of conversation, and was now gratified; so, too, Jonathan Stock. But now, quite exhausted of ideas, they proceeded in silence, pulling mechanically through the dripping mist. From time to time old Tom Lull wagged his head and darkly muttered; but the words invariably got lost in his mouth.
Presently both punts came to Jonathan Stock"s stage.
"I _"low_," Jonathan exclaimed, in parting, "I never seed nothin" like it!"
Old Tom lifted his oars. He drew his hand over his wet beard. A moment he reflected-frowning at the mist: deep in philosophical labor. Then he turned quickly to Jonathan Stock: turned in delight, his gray old face clear of bewilderment-turned as if about to deliver himself of some vast original conception, which might leave nothing more to be said.
"Me neither!" he chuckled, as his oars struck the water and his punt moved off into the mist.
Windy weather! Moreover, it was a lean year-the leanest of three lean years. The flakes were idle, unkempt, dripping the fog; the stages were empty, the bins full of salt; the splitting-knives were rusted: this though men and punts and nets were worn out with toil. There was no fish: wherefore, the feeling men of Candlestick Cove kept clear of the merchant of the place, who had outfitted them all in the spring of the year, and was now contemplating the reckoning at St. John"s with much terror and some ill-humor.
It was a lean year-a time of uneasy dread. From Cape Norman to the Funks and beyond, the clergy, acutely aware of the prospect, and perceiving the opportunity to be even more useful, preached from comforting texts.
"The Lord will provide" was the theme of gentle Parson Grey of Doubled Arm; and the discourse culminated in a pa.s.sionate allusion to "Yet have I never seen the seed of the righteous begging bread." Parson Stump of Burnt Harbor-a timid little man with tender gray eyes-treated "Your Heavenly Father feedeth them" with inspiring faith.
By all this the apprehension of the folk was lulled; it was admitted even by the unrighteous that there were times when "twas better to be with than without the clergy. At Little Harbor Shallow, old Skipper Job Sutler, a man lacking in understanding, put out no more to the grounds off Devil-may-Care.
"Skipper Job," the mail-boat captain warned, "you better get out t" the grounds in civil weather."
"Oh," quoth Job, "the Lard"ll take care o" we!"
The captain was doubtful.
"An", anyhow," says Job, "if the Lard don"t, the gov"ment"s got to!"
His youngest child died in the famine months of the winter. But that was his fault....
Skipper Jonathan Stock was alone with the trader in the shop of Candlestick Cove. The squat, whitewashed building gripped a weather-beaten point of harbor sh.o.r.e. It was night-a black night, the wind blowing high, rain pattering fretfully upon the roof. The worried little trader-spare, gimlet-eyed, thin-whiskered, now perched on the counter-slapped his calf with a yardstick; the easterly gale was fast aggravating his temper beyond control. It was bright and warm in the shop; the birch billets spluttered and snored in the stove, and a great lamp suspended from the main rafter showered the shelves and counter and greasy floor with light. Skipper Jonathan"s clothes of moleskin steamed with the rain and spray of the day"s toil.
"No, John," said the trader, sharply; "she can"t have un-it can"t be done."
Jonathan slowly examined his wrist; the bandage had got loose. "No?" he asked, gently, his eyes still fixed on the salt-water sore.
"No, sir."
Jonathan drew a great hand over his narrow brow, where the rain still lay in the furrows. It pa.s.sed over his beard-a gigantic beard, bushy and flaming red. He shook the rain-drops from his hand.
"No, Mister Totley," he repeated, in a patient drawl. "No-oh no."
Totley hummed the opening bars of "Wrecked on the Devil"s Finger." He broke off impatiently-and sighed.
"She _can"t_," Jonathan mused. "No-_she_ can"t."
The trader began to whistle, but there was no heart in the diversion; and there was much poignant distress in the way he drummed on the counter.
"I wouldn"t be carin" so much," Jonathan softly persisted-"no, not so _much_, if "twasn"t their birthday. She told un three year ago they could have un-when they was twelve. An", dear man! they"ll be twelve two weeks come Toosday. Dear man!" he exclaimed again, with a fleeting little smile, "_how_ the young ones grows!"
The trader slapped his lean thigh and turned his eyes from Jonathan"s simple face to the rafters. Jonathan bungled with the bandage on his wrist; but his fingers were stiff and large, and he could not manage the thread. A gust of wind made the roof ring with the rain.
"An" the other little thing?" Jonathan inquired. "Was you "lowin" my woman could have-the other little thing? She"ve her heart sort o" sot on _that_. Sort o" _sot_ on havin"-that there little thing."
"Can"t do it, Jonathan."
"Ay," Jonathan repeated, blankly. "She was sayin" the day "twas sort o"
giddy of her; but she was "lowin" her heart was sort o" _sot_ on havin"-that little thing."
Totley shook his head.
"Her heart," Jonathan sighed.
"Can"t do it, John."
"Mm-m-m! No," Jonathan muttered, scratching his head in helplessness and bewilderment; "he can"t give that little thing t" the woman, neither.
Can"t give she _that_."
Totley shook his head. It was not an agreeable duty thus to deny Jonathan Stock of Candlestick Cove. It pinched the trader"s heart. "But a must is a must!" thought he. The wind was in the east, with no sign of change, and "twas late in the season; and there was no fish-_no fish_, G.o.d help us all! There would be famine at Candlestick Cove-_famine_, G.o.d help us all! The folk of Candlestick Cove-Totley"s folk-must be fed; there must be no starvation. And the creditors at St. John"s-Totley"s creditors-were wanting fish insistently. _Wanting fish_, G.o.d help us!
when there was no fish. There was a great gale of ruin blowing up; there would be an accounting to his creditors for the goods they had given him in faith-there must be no waste of stock, no indulgence of whims. He must stand well. The creditors at St. John"s must be so dealt with that the folk of Candlestick Cove-Totley"s folk-could be fed through the winter. "Twas all-important that the folk should be fed-just fed with bread and mola.s.ses and tea: nothing more than that. Nothing more than that, by the Lord! would go out of the store.
Jonathan pushed back his dripping cloth cap and sighed. ""Tis fallin"
out wonderful," he ventured.
Totley whistled to keep his spirits up.
"Awful!" said Jonathan.
The tune continued.
"She "lows," Jonathan went on, "that if it keeps on at this rate she won"t have none left by spring. That"s what _she_ "lows will happen."
Totley proceeded to the chorus.
"No, sir," Jonathan pleaded; "she"ll have nar a one!"
The trader avoided his eye.
"An" it makes her _feel_ sort o" bad," Jonathan protested. "I tells her that with or without she won"t be no different t" me. Not t" _me_. But she sort o" feels bad just the same. You sees, sir," he stammered, abashed, "she-she-she"s only a woman!"