In Which, Much to the Delight of Jimmie Grimm and Billy Topsail, Donald North, Having Perilous Business On a Pan of Ice After Night, is Cured of Fear, and Once More Puffs Out His Chest and Struts Like a Rooster
Like many another snug little harbour on the northeast coast of Newfoundland, Ruddy Cove is confronted by the sea and flanked by a vast wilderness; so all the folk take their living from the sea, as their forebears have done for generations. In the gales and high seas of the summer following, and in the blinding snow-storms and bitter cold of the winter, Donald North grew in fine readiness to face peril at the call of duty. All that he had gained was put to the test in the next spring, when the floating ice, which drifts out of the north in the spring break-up, was driven by the wind against the coast.
After that adventure, Jimmie Grimm said:
“You’re all right, Don!”
And Billy Topsail said:
Donald North, himself, stuck his hands in his pockets, threw out his chest, spat like a skipper and strutted like a rooster.
“I ’low I is!” said he.
And he was. And nobody decried his little way of boasting, which lasted only for a day; and everybody was glad that at last he was like other boys.