" he repeated.

I levelled my finger at him. "You been wicked!" I said, knowing that my
accusation was true.

"Yes," he answered, "I have been wicked."

"Is you goin' t' be good?"

"I am going to try to be good--now."

"You isn't goin' away, is you?" I wailed.

"I am going to stay here," he said, gravely, "and treat the people, who
need me, and try, in that way, to be good."

"I'd die t' see it!" cried I.

He laughed--and the tension vanished--and we went happily back to
harbour. I had no thought that the resolution to which he had come was
in any way extraordinary.

* * * * *

I ran to the Rat Hole, that night, to give the great news to Skipper
Tommy Lovejoy and the twins. "Ecod!" the old man cried, vastly
astounded. "Is he t' stay, now? Well, well! Then they's no need goin' on
with the book. Ecod! now think o' that! An' 'tis all because your mother
died, says you, when he might have saved her! Ah, Davy, the ways o' God
is strange. He manages somehow t' work a blessin' with death an' wreck.
'I'm awful sorry for they poor children,' says He, 'an' for the owners
o' that there fine ship; but I got t' have My way,' says He, 'or the
world would never come t' much; so down goes the ship,' says He, 'an' up
comes that dear mother t' my bosom. 'Tis no use tellin' them why,' says
He, 'for they wouldn't understand. An', ecod!' says He, 'while I'm about
it I'll just put it in the mind o' that doctor-man t' stay right there
an' do a day's work or two for Me.' I'm sure He meant it--I'm sure He
meant t' do just that--I'm sure 'twas all done o' purpose. We thinks
He's hard an' a bit free an' careless. Ecod! they's times when we
thinks He fair bungles His job. He kills us, an' He cripples us, an' He
starves us, an' He hurts our hearts; an' then, Davy, we says He's a
dunderhead at runnin' a world, which, says we, we could run a sight
better, if we was able t' make one. But the Lard, Davy, does His day's
work in a seamanlike way, usin' no more crooked backs an' empty stomachs
an' children's tears an' broken hearts than He can help. 'Tis little we
knows about what _He's_ up to. An' 'tis wise, I'm thinkin', not t'
bother about tryin' t' find out. 'Tis better t' let Him steer His own
course an' ask no questions. I just _knowed_ He was up t' something
grand. I said so, Davy! 'Tis just like the hymn, lad, about His hidin' a
smilin' face behind a frownin' providence. Ah, Davy, _He'll_ take care
o' _w