doubtfully, "I'm not able t' call t' mind
this minute just how she _did_. But I'm free t' say," regarding the
streaks and thumb-marks with quick disfavour, "that it _looks_ a lot
like her."

My sister smiled upon me with an air of loftiest superiority. "Smell it
again," said she.

"Well," I admitted, after sniffing long and carefully, "I does seem t'
have got wind o'----"

"There's no deceivin' a woman's nose," my sister declared, positively.
"'Tis a letter from the woman t' Wolf Cove."

"Then," said I, with a frown, "we'd best burn it."

She mused a moment. "He never got a letter afore," she said, looking up.

"Not many folk has," I objected.

"He'd be wonderful proud," she continued, "o' just gettin' a letter."

"But she's a wily woman," I protested, in warning, "an' he's a most
obligin' man. I fair shiver t' think o' leadin' un into temptation."

"'Twould do no harm, Davy," said she, "just t' _show_ un the letter."

"'Tis a fearful responsibility t' take."

"'Twould please un so!" she wheedled.

"Ah, well!" I sighed. "You're a wonderful hand at gettin' your own way,
Bessie."

* * * * *

When the punts of our folk came sweeping through the tickles and the
Gate, in the twilight of that day, I went with the letter to the Rat
Hole: knowing that Skipper Tommy would by that time be in from the
Hook-an'-Line grounds; for the wind was blowing fair from that quarter.
I found the twins pitching the catch into the stage, with great
hilarity--a joyous, frolicsome pair: in happy ignorance of what
impended. They gave me jolly greeting: whereupon, feeling woefully
guilty, I sought the skipper in the house, where he had gone (they
said) to get out of his sea-boots.

I was not disposed to dodge the issue. "Skipper Tommy," said I, bluntly,
"I got a letter for you."

He stared.

"'Tis no joke," said I, with a wag, "as you'll find, when you gets t'
know where 'tis from; but 'tis nothin' t' be scared of."

"Was you sayin', Davy," he began, at last, trailing off into the silence
of utter amazement, "that you--been--gettin'--a----"

"I was sayin'," I answered, "that the mail-boat left you a letter."

He came close. "Was you sayin'," he whispered in my ear, with a jerk of
his head to the north, "that 'tis from----"

I nodded.

"_She?_"

"Ay."

He put his tongue in his cheek--and gave me a slow, sly wink. "Ecod!"
said he.

I was then mystified by his strange behaviour: this occ