my man," she added, hurriedly, in a
low voice. "I'm t' be married to un when he comes up from the Narth.
Does you think----"

She paused--in embarrassment, perhaps: for it may be that it was the
great hope of this maid, as it is of all true women of our coast, to
live to be the mother of sons.

"Go on," the doctor quietly said.

"Oh, does you think, zur," she said, clasping her hands, a sob in her
voice, "that you can cure me--afore the fleet--gets home?"

"Davy," said the doctor, hoarsely, "go to your sister. I must have a
word with this maid--alone." I went away.

* * * * *

We caught sight of the _Word of the Lord_ beating down from the south in
light winds--and guessed her errand--long before that trim little
schooner dropped anchor in the basin. The skipper came ashore for
healing of an angry abscess in the palm of his hand. Could the doctor
cure it? To be sure--the doctor could do _that_! The man had suffered
sleepless agony for five days; he was glad that the doctor could ease
his pain--glad that he was soon again to be at the fishing. Thank God,
he was to be cured!

"I have only to lance and dress it," said the doctor. "You will have
relief at once."

"Not the knife," the skipper groaned. "Praise God, I'll not have the
knife!"

It was the doctor's first conflict with the strange doctrines of our
coast. I still behold--as I lift my eyes from the page--his astonishment
when he was sternly informed that the way of the Lord was not the way of
a surgeon with a knife. Nor was the austere old fellow to be moved. The
lance, said he, was an invention of the devil himself--its use plainly a
defiance of the purposes of the Creator. Thank God! he had been reared
by a Christian father of the old school.

"No, no, doctor!" he declared, his face contorted by pain. "I'm thankin'
you kindly; but I'm not carin' t' interfere with the decrees o'
Providence."

"But, man," cried the doctor, "I _must_----"

"No!" doggedly. "I'll not stand in the Lard's way. If 'tis His will for
me t' get better, I'll get better, I s'pose. If 'tis His blessed will
for me t' die," he added, reverently, "I'll have t' die."

"I give you my word," said the doctor, impatiently, "that if that hand
is not lanced you'll be dead in three days."

The man looked off to his schooner.

"Three days," the doctor repeated.

"I'm wonderful sorry," sighed the skipper, "but I got t' stand by the
Lard."

And he _was_