“Leave the Lard alone,” Tom Tot snapped. “Come, now! Is you wantin’ this here letter read?”
“I is.”
Without more ado, Tom Tot opened the letter from Wolf Cove. I have no doubt that sensitive blood flushed the bronzed, wrinkled cheeks of Skipper Tommy Lovejoy, and that, in a burst of grinning modesty, he tweaked his nose with small regard for that sorely tried and patient member. And I am informed that, while my old friend thus waited in ecstasy, Tom Tot puzzled over the letter, for a time, to make sure that his learning would not be discomfited in the presence of Skipper Tommy Lovejoy, before whom he had boasted. Then——
“Skipper Tommy,” he implored, in agony, “how long—oh, how long—is you had this letter?”
Skipper Tommy stared.
“How long, oh, how long?” Tom Tot repeated.
“What’s gone amiss?” Skipper Tommy entreated, touching Tom Tot’s shaking hand. “It come in the fall o’ the year, Tom, lad. But what’s gone amiss along o’ you?”
“She’ve been waitin’—since then? Oh, a wretched father, I!”
“Tom, lad, tell me what ’tis all about.”
“’Tis from she—Mary! ’Tis from my lass,” Tom Tot cried. “’Twas writ by that doctor-woman—an’ sent t’ you, Skipper Tommy—t’ tell me—t’ break it easy—that she’d run off from Wayfarer’s Tickle—because o’ the sin she’d found there. I misdoubt—oh, I misdoubt—that she’ve been afeared I’d—that I’d mistook her, poor wee thing—an’ turn her off. I call the Lard God A’mighty t’ witness,” he cried, passionately, “that I’d take her home, whatever come t’ pass! I calls God t’ witness that I loves my lass! She’ve done no wrong,” he continued. “She’ve but run away from the sin t’ Wayfarer’s Tickle. She’ve taken shelter t’ Wolf Cove—because—she’ve been afeared that—I’d mistook—an’ cast her off!”