Harbor Tales Down North Part 26

"So they was wed, hard an' fast; an' the women o' Tinkle Tickle laughed on the sly at pretty Polly Twitter an' condemned her shameless ways."

"In the fall o' that year I went down Barbadoes way in a fish-craft from St. John's. An' from Barbadoes, with youth upon me t' urge adventure, I s.h.i.+pped of a sudden for Spanish ports. 'Twas a matter o'

four years afore I clapped eyes on the hills o' Tinkle Tickle again.

An' I mind well that when the schooner hauled down ol' Fo'c's'le Head, that day, I was in a fret t' see the G.o.dson that Tim Mull had promised me. But there wasn't no G.o.dson t' see. There wasn't no child at all.

"'Well, no, Tumm,' says Tim Mull, 'we hasn't been favored in that particular line. But _I'm_ content. All the children o' Harbor is mine,' says he, 'jus' as they used t' be, an' there's no sign o' the supply givin' out. Sure, _I've_ no complaint o' my fortune in life.'

"Nor did Mary Mull complain. She thrived, as ever: she was soft an'

brown an' flushed with the color o' flowers, as when she was a maid; an' she rippled with smiles, as then, in the best of her moods, like the sea on a sunlit afternoon.

"'I've Tim,' says she, 'an' with Tim I'm content. Your G.o.dson, Tumm, had he deigned to sail in, would have been no match for my Tim in goodness.'

"An' still the children o' Tinkle Tickle trooped after Tim Mull; an'

still he'd forever a maid on his shoulder or a wee lad by the hand.

"'Fair winds, Tumm!' says Tim Mull. 'Me an' Mary is wonderful happy t'gether.'

"'Isn't a thing we could ask for,' says she.

"'Well, well!' says I. 'Now, that's _good_, Mary!'

"There come that summer t' Tinkle Tickle she that was once Polly Twitter. An' trouble clung to her skirts. Little vixen, she was! No tellin' how deep a wee woman can bite when she've the mind t' put her teeth in. n.o.body at Tinkle Tickle but knowed that the maid had loved Tim Mull too well for her peace o' mind. Mary Mull knowed it well enough. Not Tim, maybe. But none better than Mary. 'Twas no secret, at all: for Polly Twitter had carried on like the bereft when Tim Mull was wed--had cried an' drooped an' gone white an' thin, boastin', all the while, t' draw friendly notice, that her heart was broke for good an' all. 'Twas a year an' more afore she flung up her pretty little head an' married a good man o' Skeleton Bight. An' now here she was, come back again, plump an' dimpled an' roguish as ever she'd been in her life. On a bit of a cruise, says she; but 'twas not on a cruise she'd come--'twas t' flaunt her new baby on the roads o' Tinkle Tickle.

"A wonderful baby, ecod! You'd think it t' hear the women cackle o'

the quality o' that child. An' none more than Mary Mull. She kissed Polly Twitter, an' she kissed the baby; an' she vowed--with the sparkle o' joyous truth in her wet brown eyes--that the most bewitchin' baby on the coast, the stoutest baby, the cleverest baby, the sweetest baby, had come straight t' Polly Twitter, as though it wanted the very prettiest mother in all the world, an' knowed jus'

what it was about.

"An' Polly kissed Mary. 'You is so _kind_, Mary!' says she. ''Tis jus'

_sweet_ o' you! How _can_ you!'

"'Sweet?' says Mary, puzzled. 'Why, no, Polly. I'm--glad.'

"'Is you, Mary? 'Tis so _odd_! Is you really--_glad_?'

"'Why not?'

"'I don't know, Mary,' says Polly. 'But I--I--I 'lowed, somehow--that you wouldn't be--so _very_ glad. An' I'm not sure that I'm grateful--enough.'

"An' the women o' Tinkle Tickle wondered, too, that Mary Mull could kiss Polly Twitter's baby. Polly Twitter with a rosy baby,--a l.u.s.ty young nipper,--an' a lad, t' boot! An' poor Mary Mull with no child, at all, t' bless Tim Mull's house with! An' Tim Mull a lover o'

children, as everybody knowed! The men chuckled a little, an' cast winks about, when Polly Twitter appeared on the roads with the baby; for 'twas a comical thing t' see her air an' her strut an' the flash o' pride in her eyes. But the women kep' their eyes an' ears open--an'

waited for what might happen. They was all sure, ecod, that there was a gale comin' down; an' they was women,--an' they knowed the hearts o'

women,--an' they was wise, if not kind, in their expectation.

"As for Mary Mull, she give never a sign o' trouble, but kep' right on kissin' Polly Twitter's baby, whenever she met it, which Polly contrived t' be often; an' I doubt that she knowed--until she couldn't help knowin'--that there was pity abroad at Tinkle Tickle for Tim Mull.

"'Twas at the Methodist treat on Bide-a-Bit Point that Polly Twitter managed her mischief. 'Twas a time well-chosen, too. Trust the little minx for that! She was swift t' bite--an' clever t' fix her white little fangs. There was a flock o' women, Mary Mull among un, in gossip by the baskets. An' Polly Twitter was there, too,--an' the baby. Sun under a black sea; then the cold breath o' dusk, with fog in the wind, comin' over the hills.

"'Tim Mull,' says Polly, 'hold the baby.'

"'Me?' says he. I'm a b.u.t.terfingers, Polly.'

"'Come!' says she.

"'No, no, Polly! I'm timid.'

"She laughed at that. 'I'd like t' see you _once_,' says she, 'with a wee baby in your arms, as if 'twas your _own_. You'd look well. I'm thinkin'. Come, take un, Tim!'

"'Pa.s.s un over,' says he.

"She gave un the child. 'Well!' says she, throwin' up her little hands. 'You looks _perfectly_ natural. Do he not, Mary? It might be his _own_ for all one could tell. Why, Tim, you was _made_ for the like o' that. Do it feel nice?'

"'Ay,' says poor Tim, from his heart. 'It do.'

"'Well, well!' says Polly. 'I 'low you're wis.h.i.+n', Tim, for one o'

your own.'

"'I is.'

"Polly kissed the baby, then, an' rubbed it cheek t' cheek, so that her fluffy little head was close t' Tim. She looked up in his eyes.

''Tis a pity!' says she. An' she sighed.

"'Pity?' says he. 'Why, no!'

"'Poor lad!' says she. 'Poor lad!'

"'What's this!' says Tim. 'I've no cause for grief.'

"There was tears in little Polly's blue eyes as she took back the child. ''Tis a shame,' says she, 'that you've no child o' your own!

An' you so wonderful fond o' children! I grieves for you, lad. It fair breaks my heart.'

"Some of the women laughed. An' this--somehow--moved Mary Mull t'

vanish from that place.

"Well, now, Polly Twitter had worked her mischief. Mary Mull was never the same after that. She took t' the house. No church no more--no walkin' the roads. She was never seed abroad. An' she took t' tears an' broodin'. No ripple o' smiles no more--no song in the kitchen. She went downcast about the work o' the house, an' she sot overmuch alone in the twilight--an' she sighed too often--an' she looked too much at t' sea--an' she kep' silent too long--an' she cried too much in the night. She'd have nothin' t' do with children no more; nor would she let Tim Mull so much as lay a hand on the head of a youngster. Afore this, she'd never fretted for a child at all; she'd gone her way content in the world. But now--with Polly Twitter's vaunt forever in her ears--an' haunted by Tim Mull's wish for a child of his own--an'

with the laughter o' the old women t' blister her pride--she was like t' lose her reason. An' the more it went on, the worse it got: for the folk o' the Tickle knowed very well that she'd give way t' envy an'

anger, grievin' for what she couldn't have; an' she knowed that they knowed an' that they gossiped--an' this was like oil on a fire.

"'Tim,' says she, one night, that winter, 'will you listen t' me?

Thinkin' things over, dear, I've chanced on a clever thing t' do. 'Tis queer, though.'

"'I'll not mind how queer, Mary.'

"She snuggled close to un, then, an' smiled. 'I wants t' go 'way from Tinkle Tickle,' says she.