le scoff with the men, my son, an' then one o' the
lads will put you ashore. You might come back for breakfast, too, an
you is hungry again by that time."

"I'd as lief stay here," says Sammy.

"Oh, no," says the skipper; "you go for'ard an' have a nice cup o' tea
with a whole lot o' white sugar in it."

"I'd like that."

"Sure, you would!"

"Is I t' have as much sugar as I wants?"

"You is, my son."

"May I tell the cook, sir, that 'tis by your leave an' orders?"

"Ay, my son."

The lad made t' go, with a duck of his head t' the skipper; but then
he stopped an' faced about.

"Goin' t' turn in?" says he.

"No, son."

"By your leave, then," says the lad, "I'll be back t' bid you good
night an' thank you afore I goes ashore."

"That's polite, my son. Pray do."

By this time the lad was skippin' up t' the deck an' Hard Harry was
scowlin' with the trouble o' some anxious thought.

"Son!" says the skipper.

The lad turned.

"Sir?"

"An I was you," says Skipper Harry, "I wouldn't tell the lads up
for'ard what my name was."

"You wouldn't?"

The skipper shook his head.

"Not me," says he.

"That's queer."

"Anyhow, I wouldn't."

"Why not, sir?"

"Oh, well, nothin' much," says the skipper. "You don't have to, do
you? I 'low I jus' wouldn't do it. That's all."

The lad jumped into the cabin an' shook his wee fist in the skipper's
face. "No, I don't have to," says he in a fury; "but I wants to, an'
I will if I wants to! I'm not ashamed o' the name I wear!" An' he
leaped up the ladder; an' when he had reached the deck, he turned an'
thrust his head back, an' he called down t' the skipper, "Forgive my
fault, sir!" An' then we heared his feet patter on the deck as he run
for'ard.

* * * * *

Well, well, well, now, 'tis a sentimental tale, truly! I fears 'twill
displease the majority--this long yarn o' the little mystery o'
Hide-an'-Seek Harbor. 'Tis a remarkable thing, I grant, t' thrust a
wee lad like Sammy Scull so deep into the notice o' folk o' parts an'
prominence; an' it may be, though I doubt it, that little codgers like
he, snarled up in the coil o' their small lives, win no favor with the
wealthy an' learned. I've told the tale more than once, never t' folk
o' consequence, as now, occupied with affairs o' great gravity, with
no time t' waste in the company o' far-away little shavers--I've never
told the tale t' such folk at all, but only to the lowly o