"What—is he home then? I forgathered with him, I mind. I was mate on the Spray," said Bryde. "Well, he would be telling you I was lucky. I have word that I can be sailing a King's ship if I will be going back."
At the door of the place that was old McCurdy's hut, Dan McBride was standing. The white was streaking in the redness of his face, and he was shaking. Bryde put the boy in his mother's arms, and it is droll, but Belle went to the side of her man.
"Dan," said she, "I have brought you your son," and she looked from one to the other, her lips quivering. Bryde opened his mouth to speak, looking at his father—a long level look.
"You are a fine man," said he, "my father."
At the words Dan took a great gulp of a breath and his eyes were filling.
"I will have a great son," said he, and cried aloud on his Maker. "My son, oh, my son, can you be forgiving your father?"
"There is no ill in my heart for you," said the son, "only pity and a strange love since the day that Hamish put your gift to me into my hand. I will have been carving my own name with that sword, and it is kindness in you to be lending your name to me."
"My name and all that I have," cried the father, and took his son into the house.
Well, well, it is easy to be writing of that meeting, but the dread of it that was on me I kent afterwards when we were at meat, when we had all laughed together. It would be Betty that brought the laughing on us, for she would be crying to us to ken who was the stranger.
And when Bryde went to her bedside, she scrambled up among her pillows.