"'Tis awful!"
"'Tis not," says I. "'Tis a popular ballad an' has many good points."
"I don't mean the ballad, Tumm," says he. "Play it an you wants to. Don't sing it, though, I'm too bothered t' tolerate more confusion this night. The more I thinks o' the mess that that poor lad's in the worse I grieves. Man alive, 'tis a terrible business altogether! If they hadn't praised his father so high—if they hadn't teached the lad t' think that he'd write a letter or come home again—if the lad wasn't jus' the loyal little nipper that he is! I tell you, Tumm, that lad's sheer daft with admiration of his pa. He've lifted his pa above God Almighty. When he finds out the truth, he'll fall down and scream in agony, an' he'll die squirmin', too. I can fair hear un now—an' see un writhe in pain."
All this while I was whisperin' in my flute. 'Twas a comfort t' ease my mood in that way.
"I can't bear t' think of it, Tumm," says the skipper. "'Tis the saddest thing ever I heared of. I wish we'd never dropped anchor in Hide-an'-Seek Harbor."
"I don't," says I.
"Then you've a heart harder than rock," says he.
"Come, now," says I; "have done with the matter. 'Tis no affair o' yours, is it?"
"The lad mustn't find out the truth."
"Can you stop the mouth o' the whole wide world?"