The Cruise of the Shining Light - Norman Duncan (phonics reading books txt) 📗

had to wait to discover the fortune of the fool upon that voyage. We were not three days returned from the city when the _Quick as Wink_ slipped into our harbor. She had been beating up all afternoon; 'twas late of a dark night when she dropped anchor. John Cather was turned in, Judith long ago whisked off to bed by our maid-servant; my uncle and I sat alone together when the rattle of the chain apprised us that the schooner was in the shelter of the Lost Soul.

By-and-by Moses came.

"You've been long on the road," says I.

"Well, Dannie," he explained, looking at his cap, which he was awkwardly twirling, "I sort o' fell in with Parson Stump by the way, an' stopped for a bit of a gossip."

I begged him to sit with us.

"No," says he; "but I'm 'bliged t' you. Fac' is, Dannie," says he, gravely, "I isn't got time."

My uncle was amazed.

"I've quit the ship," Moses went on, "not bein' much of a hand at cookin'. I'll be t' home now," says he, "an' I'd be glad t' have you an' Skipper Nicholas drop in, some day soon, when you're passin' Whisper Cove."

We watched him twirl his cap.

"You'd find a wonderful warm welcome," says he, "from Mrs. Moses Shoos!"

With that he was gone.


XXI

FOOL'S FORTUNE

"Close the door, Dannie," says Tumm, in the little cabin of the _Quick as Wink_, late that night, when the goods were put to rights, and the bottle was on the counter, and the schooner was nodding sleepily in the spent waves from the open sea. "This here yarn o' the weddin' o' Moses Shoos is not good for everybody t' hear." He filled the glasses--chuckling all the time deep in his chest. "We was reachin' up t' Whoopin' Harbor," he began, being a great hand at a story, "t' give the _Quick as Wink_ a night's lodgin', it bein' a wonderful windish night; clear enough, the moon sailin' a cloudy sky, but with a bank o' fog sneakin' round Cape Muggy like a fish-thief. An' we wasn't in no haste, anyhow, t' make Sinners' Tickle, for we was the first trader down this season, an' 'twas pick an' choose for we, with a clean bill t' every harbor from Starvation Cove t' the Settin' Hen. So the skipper he says we'll hang the ol' girl up t' Whoopin' Harbor 'til dawn; an' we'll all have a watch below, says he, with a cup o' tea, says he, if the cook can bile the water 'ithout burnin' it. Now, look you! Saucy Bill North is wonderful fond of his little joke; an' 'twas this here habit o' burnin' the water he'd pitched on t' plague the poor cook with, since we put out o' Twist Tickle on the v'y'ge down.

"'Cook, you dunderhead!' says the skipper, with a wink t' the crew, which I was sorry t' see, 'you been an' scarched the water agin.'

"Shoos he looked like he'd give up for good on the spot--just like he _knowed_ he was a fool, an' _had_ knowed it for a long, long time--sort o' like he was sorry for we an' sick of hisself.

"'Cook,' says the skipper, 'you went an' done it agin. Yes, you did! Don't you go denyin' of it. You'll kill us, cook,' says he, 'if you goes on like this. They isn't nothin' worse for the system,' says he, 'than this here burned water. The almanacs,' says he, shakin' his finger at the poor cook, ''ll tell you _that!_'

"'I 'low I did burn that water, skipper,' says the cook, 'if you says so. But I isn't got all my wits,' says he; 'an' God knows I'm doin' my best!'

"'I always did allow, cook,' says the skipper, 'that God knowed more'n I ever thunk.'

"'An' I never _did_ burn no water,' says the cook, 'afore I shipped along o' you in this here ol' flour-sieve of a _Quick as Wink._'

"'This here _what?_' snaps the skipper.

"'This here ol' basket,' says the cook.

"'Basket!' says the skipper. Then he hummed a bit o' 'Fishin' for the Maid I Loves,' 'ithout thinkin' much about the toon. 'Cook,' says he 'I loves you. You is on'y a half-witted chance-child,' says he, 'but I loves you like a brother.'

"'Does you, skipper?' says the cook, with a nice, soft little smile, like the poor fool he was. 'I isn't by no means hatin' you, skipper,' says he. 'But I can't _help_ burnin' the water,' says he, 'an' I 'low it fair hurts me t' get blame for it. I'm sorry for you an' the crew,' says he, 'an' I wisht I hadn't took the berth. But when I shipped along o' you,' says he, 'I 'lowed I _could_ cook, for mother always told me so, an' I 'lowed she knowed. I'm doin' my best, anyhow, accordin' t' how she'd have me do, an' I 'low if the water gets scarched,' says he, 'the galley fire's bewitched.'

"'Basket!' says the skipper. 'Ay, ay, cook,' says he. 'I just _loves_ you.'

"They wasn't a man o' the crew liked t' hear the skipper say that; for, look you! the skipper doesn't know nothin' about feelin's, an' the cook has more feelin's 'n a fool can make handy use of aboard a tradin' craft. There sits the ol' man, smoothin' his big, red beard, singin' 'I'm Fishin' for the Maid I Loves,' while he looks at poor Moses Shoos, which was washin' up the dishes, for we was through with the mug-up. An' the devil was in his eyes--the devil was fair grinnin' in them little blue eyes. Lord! it made me sad t' see it, for I knowed the cook was in for bad weather, an' he isn't no sort o' craft t' be out o' harbor in a gale o' wind like that.

"'Cook,' says the skipper.

"'Ay, sir?' says the cook.

"'Cook,' says the skipper, 'you ought t' get married.'

"'I on'y wisht I could,' says the cook.

"'You ought t' try, cook,' says the skipper, 'for the sake o' the crew. We'll all die,' says he, 'afore we sights ol' Bully Dick agin,' says he, 'if you keeps on burnin' the water. You _got_ t' get married, cook, t' the first likely maid you sees on the Labrador,' says he, 't' save the crew. She'd do the cookin' for you. It'll be the loss o' all hands,' says he, 'an you don't. This here burned water,' says he, 'will be the end of us, cook, an you keeps it up.'

"'I'd be wonderful glad t' 'blige you, skipper,' says the cook, 'an' I'd like t' 'blige all hands. 'Twon't be by my wish,' says he, 'that anybody'll die o' the grub they gets, for mother wouldn't like it.'

"'Cook,' says the skipper, 'shake! I knows a _man,_' says he, 'when I sees one. Any man,' says he, 'that would put on the irons o' matrimony,' says he, 't' 'blige a shipmate,' says he, 'is a better man 'n me, an' I loves un like a brother.'

"The cook was cheered up considerable.

"'Cook,' says the skipper, 'I 'pologize. Yes, I do, cook,' says he, 'I 'pologize.'

"'I isn't got no feelin' ag'in' matrimony,' says the cook. 'But I isn't able t' get took. I been tryin' every maid t' Twist Tickle,' says he, 'an' they isn't one,' says he, 'will wed a fool.'

"'Not _one_ maid t' wed a fool!' says the skipper.

"'Nar a one,' says the cook.

"'I'm s'prised,' says the skipper.

"'Nar a maid t' Twist Tickle,' says the cook, 'will wed a fool, an' I 'low they isn't one,' says he, 'on the Labrador.'

"'It's been done afore, cook,' says the skipper, 'an' I 'low 'twill be done agin, if the world don't come to an end t' oncet. Cook,' says he, 'I _knows_ the maid t' do it.'

"'I'd be wonderful glad t' find _she_,' says the cook. 'Mother,' says he, 'always 'lowed a man didn't ought t' live alone.'

"'Ay, b'y,' says the skipper, 'I got the girl for _you_. An' she isn't a thousand miles,' says he, 'from where that ol' basket of a _Quick as Wink_ lies at anchor,' says he, 'in Whoopin' Harbor. She isn't what you'd call handsome an' tell no lie,' says he, 'but--'

"'Never you mind about that, skipper,' says the cook.

"'No,' says the skipper, 'she isn't handsome, as handsome goes, even in these parts, but--'

"'Never you mind, skipper,' says the cook: 'for mother always 'lowed that looks come off in the first washin'.'

"'I 'low that Liz Jones would take you, cook,' says the skipper. 'You ain't much on wits, but you got a good-lookin' figure-head; an' I 'low she'd be more'n willin' t' skipper a craft like you. You better go ashore, cook, when you gets cleaned up, an' see what she says. Tumm,' says he, 'is sort o' shipmates with Liz,' says he, 'an' I 'low he'll see you through the worst of it.'

"'Will you, Tumm?' says the cook.

"'Well,' says I, 'I'll see.'

"I knowed Liz Jones from the time I fished Whoopin' Harbor with Skipper Bill Topsail in the _Love the Wind_, bein' cotched by the measles thereabouts, which she nursed me through; an' I 'lowed she _would_ wed the cook if he asked her, so, thinks I, I'll go ashore with the fool t' see that she don't. No; she isn't handsome--not Liz. I'm wonderful fond o' yarnin' o' good-lookin' maids, as you knows, Skipper Nicholas, sir; but I can't say much o' Liz: for Liz is so far t' l'eward o' beauty that many a time, lyin' sick there in the fo'c's'le o' the _Love the Wind_, I wished the poor girl would turn inside out, for, thinks I, the pattern might be a sight better on the other side. I _will_ say she is big and well-muscled; an' muscles, t' my mind, counts enough t' make up for black eyes, but not for cross-eyes, much less for fuzzy whiskers. It ain't in my heart t' make sport o' Liz; but I _will_ say she has a bad foot, for she was born in a gale, I'm told, when the _Preacher_ was hangin' on off a lee shore 'long about Cape Harrigan, an' the sea was raisin' the devil. An', well--I hates t' say it, but--well, they call her 'Walrus Liz.' No; she isn't handsome, she haven't got no good looks; but once you gets a look into whichever one o' them cross-eyes you is able to cotch, you see a deal more'n your own face; an' she _is_ well-muscled, an' I 'low I'm goin' t' tell you so, for I wants t' name her good p'ints so well as her bad. Whatever--

"'Cook,' says I, 'I'll go along o' you.'

"With that Moses Shoos fell to on the dishes, an' 'twasn't long afore he was ready to clean hisself; which done, he was ready for the courtin'. But first he got out his dunny-bag, an' he fished in there 'til he pulled out a blue stockin', tied in a hard knot; an' from the toe o' that there blue stockin' he took a brass ring. 'I 'low,' says he, talkin' to hisself, in the half-witted way he has, 'it won't do no hurt t' give her mother's ring. "Moses," says mother, "you better take the ring off my finger. It isn't no weddin'-ring," says she, "for I never was what you might call wed by a real parson in the fashionable way,