Doctor Luke of the Labrador

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In the drear autumn weather a cloud of sail went to the
s'uth'ard--doughty little schooners, decks awash: beating up to the home
ports.

XIX

The FATE of The MAIL-BOAT DOCTOR

My flag flapped a welcome in the sunny wind as the mail-boat came
creeping through the Gate and with a great rattle and splatter dropped
anchor in the basin off my father's wharf: for through my father's long
glass I had from the summit of the Watchman long before spied the doctor
aboard. He landed in fine fettle--clear-eyed, smiling, quick to extend
his strong, warm hand: having cheery words for the folk ashore, and
eager, homesick glances for the bleak hills of our harbour. Ecod! but he
was splendidly glad to be home. I had as lief fall into the arms of a
black bear as ever again to be greeted in a way so careless of my breath
and bones! But, at last, with a joyous little laugh, he left me to gasp
myself to life again, and went bounding up the path. I managed to catch
my wind in time to follow; 'twas in my mind to spy upon his meeting with
my sister; nor would I be thwarted: for I had for many days been
troubled by what happened when they parted, and now heartily wished the
unhappy difference forgot. So from a corner of the hillside flake I
watched lynx-eyed; but I could detect nothing amiss--no hint of
ill-feeling or reserve: only frank gladness in smile and glance and
handclasp. And being well content with this, I went back to the wharf to
lend Tom Tot a hand with the landing of the winter supplies, the medical
stores, the outfit for the projected sloop: all of which the doctor had
brought with him from St. John's.

* * * * *

"And not only that," said the doctor, that night, concluding his
narrative of busy days in the city, "but I have been appointed," with a
great affectation of pomposity, "the magistrate for this district!"

We were not impressed. "The magistrate?" I mused. "What's that?"

"What's a magistrate!" cried he.

"Ay," said I. "I never seed one."

"The man who enforces the law, to be sure!"

"The law?" said I. "What's that?"

"The law of the land, Davy," he began, near dumbfounded, "is for
the----"

My sister got suddenly much excited. "I've heard tell about
magistrates," she interrupted, speaking eagerly, the light dancing
merrily in her eyes. "Come, tell me! is they able t'----"

She stuttered to a full stop, blushing. "Out with it, my dear," said I.

"Marry folk?" she asked.

"They may," said the doctor.

"Oh, Davy!"

"Whoop!" screamed I, leaping up. "You're never tellin' me that! Quick,
Bessie! Come, doctor! They been waitin' this twenty year."

I caught his right hand, Bessie his left; and out we dragged him, paying
no heed to his questions, which, by and by, he abandoned, because he
laughed so hard. And down the path we sped--along the road--by the turn
to Cut-Throat Cove--until, at last, we came to the cottage of Aunt
Amanda and Uncle Joe Bow, whom we threw into a fluster with our news.
When the doctor was informed of the exigency of the situation, he
married them on the spot, improvising a ceremony, without a moment's
hesitation, as though he had been used to it all his life: a family of
six meanwhile grinning with delight and embarrassment.

"You sees, zur," Uncle Joe explained, when 'twas over, "we never had no
chance afore. 'Manda an' me was down narth when the last parson come
this way. An' 'Manda she've been wantin'----"

"T' have it done," Aunt Amanda put in, patting the curly head of the
smallest Bow, "afore----"

"Ay," said Uncle Joe, "wantin' t' have it done, shipshape, afore
she----"

"Died," Aunt Amanda concluded.

By this time the amazing news had spread. Far and near the guns were
popping a salute--which set the dogs a-howling: so that the noise was
heartrending. Presently the neighbours began to gather: whereupon (for
the cottage was small) we took our leave, giving the pair good wishes
for the continuance of a happy married life. And when we got to our
house we found waiting in the kitchen Mag Trawl, who had that day
brought her fish from Swampy Arm--a dull girl, slatternly, shiftless:
the mother of two young sons.

"I heared tell," she drawled, addressing the doctor, but looking
elsewhere, "that you're just after marryin' Aunt Amanda."

The doctor nodded.

"I 'low," she went on, after an empty pause, "that I wants t' get
married, too."

"Where's the man?"

"Jim he 'lowed two year ago," she said, staring at the ceiling, "that
we'd go south an' have it done this season if no parson come."

"Bring the man," said the doctor, briskily.

"Well, zur," said she, "Jim ain't here. You couldn't do it 'ithout Jim
bein' here, could you?"

"Oh, no!"

"I 'lowed you might be able," she said, with a little sigh, "if you
tried. But you couldn't, says you?"

"No."

"Jim he 'lowed two year ago it ought t' be done. You couldn't do it
nohow?"

The doctor shook his head.

"Couldn't make a shift at it?"

"No."

"Anyhow," she sighed, rising to go, "I 'low Jim won't mind now. He's
dead."

* * * * *

Within three weeks the mail-boat touched our harbor for the last time
that season: being then southbound into winter quarters at St. John's.
It chanced in the night--a clear time, starlit, but windy, with a high
sea running beyond the harbour rocks. She came in by way of North
Tickle, lay for a time in the quiet water off our wharf, and made the
open through the Gate. From our platform we watched the shadowy bulk and
warm lights slip behind Frothy Point and the shoulder of the
Watchman--hearkened for the last blast of the whistle, which came back
with the wind when the ship ran into the great swell of the sea.
Then--at once mustering all our cheerfulness--we turned to our own
concerns: wherein we soon forgot that there was any world but ours, and
were content with it.

Tom Tot came in.

"'Tis late for you, Tom," said my sister, in surprise.

"Ay, Miss Bessie," he replied, slowly. "Wonderful late for me. But I
been home talkin' with my woman," he went on, "an' we was thinkin' it
over, an' she s'posed I'd best be havin' a little spell with the
doctor."

He was very grave--and sat twirling his cap: lost in anxious thought.

"You're not sick, Tom?"

"Sick!" he replied, indignantly. "Sure, I'd not trouble the doctor for
that! I'm troubled," he added, quietly, looking at his cap, "along--o'
Mary."

It seemed hard for him to say.

"She've been in service, zur," he went on, turning to the doctor, "at
Wayfarer's Tickle. An' I'm fair troubled--along o' she."

"She've not come?" my sister asked.

For a moment Tom regarded the floor--his gaze fixed upon a protruding
knot. "She weren't aboard, Miss Bessie," he answered, looking up, "an'
she haven't sent no word. I been thinkin' I'd as lief take the skiff an'
go fetch her home."

"Go the morrow, Tom," said I.

"I was thinkin' I would, Davy, by your leave. Not," he added, hastily,
"that I'm afeared she've come t' harm. She's too scared o' hell for
that. But--I'm troubled. An' I'm thinkin' she might--want a
chance--home."

He rose.

"Tom," said I, "do you take Timmie Lovejoy an' Will Watt with you.
You'll need un both t' sail the skiff."

"I'm thankin' you, Davy, lad," said he. "'Tis kind o' you t' spare
them."

"An' I'm wishin' you well."

He picked at a thread in his cap. "No," he persisted, doggedly, "she
were so wonderful scared o' hell she fair _couldn't_ come t' harm. I
brung her up too well for that. But," with a frown of anxious doubt,
"the Jagger crew was aboard, bound home t' Newf'un'land. An'--well--I'm
troubled. They was drunk--an' Jagger was drunk--an' I asked un about my
maid--an'...."

"Would he tell you nothing?" the doctor asked.

"Well," said Tom, turning away, "he just laughed."

We were at that moment distracted by the footfall of men coming in haste
up the path from my father's wharf. 'Twas not hard to surmise their
errand. My sister sighed--I ran to the door--the doctor began at once to
get into his boots and greatcoat. But, to our surprise, two deck-hands
from the mail-boat pushed their way into the room. She had returned
(said they) and was now waiting off the Gate. There was need of a doctor
aboard. Need of a doctor! What of the mail-boat doctor? Ah, 'twas he who
was in need. My heart bounded to hear it! And how had he come to that
pass? He had essayed to turn in--but 'twas rough water outside--and he
had caroused with Jagger's crew all the way from Wayfarer's Tickle--and
'twas very rough water--and he had fallen headlong down the
companion--and they had picked him up and put him in his berth, where he
lay unconscious.

'Twas sweet news to me. "You'll not go?" I whispered to the doctor.

He gave me a withering glance--and quietly continued to button his
greatcoat.

"Is you forgot what I told you?" I demanded, my voice rising.

He would not reply.

"Oh, don't go!" I pleaded.

He turned up the collar of his coat--picked up his little black case of
medicines. Then I feared that he meant indeed to go.

"Leave un die where he lies, zur!" I wailed.

"Come along, men!" said he to the deck-hands.

I sprang ahead of them--flung the door shut--put my back against it:
crying out against him all the while. My sister caught my wrist--I
pushed her away. Tom Tot laid his hand on my shoulder--I threw it off
with an oath. My heart was in a flame of rage and resentment. That this
castaway should succour our enemy! I saw, again, a great, wet sweep of
deck, glistening underfoot--heard the rush of wind, the swish of
breaking seas, the throb and clank of engines, the rain on the
panes--once again breathed the thick, gray air of a cabin where two men
sat at cards--heard the curse and blow and outcry--saw my mother lying
on the pillows, a red geranium in her thin, white hand--heard her sigh
and whisper: felt anew her tender longing.

"You'll _not_ go!" I screamed. "Leave the dog t' die!"

Very gently, the doctor put his arm around me, and gave me to my sister,
who drew me to her heart, whispering soft words in my ear: for I had no
power to resist, having broken into sobs. Then they went out: and upon
this I broke roughly from my sister, and ran to my own room; and I threw
myself on my bed, and there lay in the dark, crying bitterly--not
because the doctor had gone his errand against my will, but because my
mother was dead, and I should never hear her voice again, nor touch her
hand, nor feel her lips against my cheek. And there I lay alone, in
deepest woe, until the doctor came again; and when I heard him on the
stair--and while he drew a chair to my bed and felt about for my
hand--I still sobbed: but no longer hated him, for I had all the time
been thinking of my mother in a better way.

"Davy," he said, gravely, "the man is dead."

"I'm glad!" I cried.

He ignored this. "I find it hard, Davy," said he, after a pause, "not to
resent your displeasure. Did I not know you so well--were I less fond of
the real Davy Roth--I should have you ask my pardon. However, I have not
come up to tell you that; but this: you can, perhaps, with a good heart
hold enmity against a dying man; but the physician, Davy, may not. Do
you understand, Davy?"

"I'm sorry I done what I did, zur," I muttered, contritely. "But I'm
wonderful glad the man's dead."

"For shame!"

"I'm glad!"

He left me in a huff.

"An' I'll _be_ glad," I shouted after him, at the top of my voice, "if I
got t' go 't hell for it!"

'Twas my nature.

* * * * *

Tom Tot returned downcast from Wayfarer's Tickle: having for three days
sought his daughter, whom he could not find; nor was word of her
anywhere to be had. Came, then, the winter--with high winds and snow
and short gray days: sombre and bitter cold. Our folk fled to the tilts
at the Lodge; and we were left alone with the maids and Timmie Lovejoy
in my father's house: but had no idle times, for the doctor would not
hear of it, but kept us at work or play, without regard for our wishes
in the matter. 'Twas the doctor's delight by day to don his new skin
clothes (which my sister had finished in haste after the first fall of
snow) and with help of Timmie Lovejoy to manage the dogs and komatik,
flying here and there at top speed, with many a shout and crack of the
long whip. By night he kept school in the kitchen, which we must all
diligently attend, even to the maids: a profitable occupation, no doubt,
but laborious, to say the least of it, though made tolerable by his good
humour. By and by there came a call from Blister Harbour, which was
forty miles to the north of us, where a man had shot off his
hand--another from Red Cove, eighty miles to the south--others from
Backwater Arm and Molly's Tub. And the doctor responded, afoot or with
the dogs, as seemed best at the moment: myself to bear him company; for
I would have it so, and he was nothing loath.

XX

CHRISTMAS EVE at TOPMAST TICKLE

Returning afoot from the bedside of Long John Wise at Run-by-Guess--and
from many a bedside and wretched hearth by the way--the doctor and I
strapped our packs aback and heartily set out from the Hudson's Bay
Company's post at Bread-and-Water Bay in the dawn of the day before
Christmas: being then three weeks gone from our harbour, and, thinking
to reach it next day. We were to chance hospitality for the night; and
this must be (they told us) at the cottage of a man of the name of Jonas
Jutt, which is at Topmast Tickle. There was a lusty old wind scampering
down the coast, with many a sportive whirl and whoop, flinging the snow
about in vast delight--a big, rollicking winter's wind, blowing straight
out of the north, at the pitch of half a gale. With this abeam we made
brave progress; but yet 'twas late at night when we floundered down the
gully called Long-an'-Deep, where the drifts were overhead and each must
rescue the other from sudden misfortune: a warm glimmer of light in
Jonas Jutt's kitchen window to guide and hearten us.

The doctor beat the door with his fist. "Open, open!" cried he, still
furiously knocking. "Good Lord! will you never open?"

So gruff was the voice, so big and commanding--and so sudden was the
outcry--and so late was the night and wild the wind and far away the
little cottage--that the three little Jutts, who then (as it turned out)
sat expectant at the kitchen fire, must all at once have huddled close;
and I fancy that Sammy blinked no longer at the crack in the stove, but
slipped from his chair and limped to his sister, whose hand he clutched.

"We'll freeze, I tell you!" shouted the doctor. "Open the---- Ha! Thank
you," in a mollified way, as Skipper Jonas opened the door; and then,
most engagingly: "May we come in?"

"An' welcome, zur," said the hearty Jonas, "whoever you be! 'Tis gettin'
t' be a wild night."

"Thank you. Yes--a wild night. Glad to catch sight of your light from
the top of the hill. We'll leave the racquets here. Straight ahead?
Thank you. I see the glow of a fire."

We entered.

"Hello!" cried the doctor, stopping short. "What's this? Kids? Good!
Three of them. Ha! How are you?"

The manner of asking the question was most indignant, not to say
threatening; and a gasp and heavy frown accompanied it. By this I knew
that the doctor was about to make sport for Martha and Jimmie and Sammy
Jutt (as their names turned out to be): which often he did for children
by pretending to be in a great rage; and invariably they found it
delicious entertainment, for however fiercely he blustered, his eyes
twinkled most merrily all the time, so that one was irresistibly moved
to chuckle with delight at the sight of them, no matter how suddenly or
how terribly he drew down his brows.

"I like kids," said he, with a smack of the lips. "I eat 'em!"

Gurgles of delight escaped from the little Jutts--and each turned to the
other: the eyes of all dancing.

"And how are _you_?" the doctor demanded.

His fierce little glance was indubitably directed at little Sammy, as
though, God save us! the lad had no right to be anything _but_ well, and
ought to be, and should be, birched on the instant if he had the
temerity to admit the smallest ache or pain from the crown of his head
to the soles of his feet. But Sammy looked frankly into the flashing
eyes, grinned, chuckled audibly, and lisped that he was better.

"Better?" growled the doctor, searching Sammy's white face and skinny
body as though for evidence to the contrary. "I'll attend to _you_!"

Thereupon Skipper Jonas took us to the shed, where we laid off our packs
and were brushed clean of snow; and by that time Matilda Jutt, the
mother of Martha and Jimmie and Sammy, had spread the table with the
best she had--little enough, God knows! being but bread and tea--and was
smiling beyond. Presently there was nothing left of the bread and tea;
and then we drew up to the fire, where the little Jutts still sat,
regarding us with great interest. And I observed that Martha Jutt held a
letter in her hand: whereupon I divined precisely what our arrival had
interrupted, for I was Labrador born, and knew well enough what went on
in the kitchens of our land of a Christmas Eve.

"And now, my girl," said the doctor, "what's what?"

By this extraordinary question--delivered, as it was, in a manner that
called imperatively for an answer--Martha Jutt was quite nonplussed: as
the doctor had intended she should be.

"What's what?" repeated the doctor.

Quite startled, Martha lifted the letter from her lap. "He's not comin',
zur," she gasped, for lack of something better.

"You're disappointed, I see," said the doctor. "So he's not coming?"

"No, zur--not this year."

"That's too bad. But you mustn't mind it, you know--not for an instant.
What's the matter with him?"

"He've broke his leg, zur."

"What!" cried the doctor, restored of a sudden to his natural manner.
"Poor fellow! How did he come to do that?"

"Catchin' one o' they wild deer, zur."

"Catching a deer!" the doctor exclaimed. "A most extraordinary thing. He
was a fool to try it. How long ago?"

"Sure, it can't be more than half an hour; for he've----"

The doctor jumped up. "Where is he?" he demanded, with professional
eagerness. "It can't be far. Davy, I must get to him at once. I must
attend to that leg. Where is he?"

"Narth Pole, zur," whispered Sammy.

"Oh-h-h!" cried the doctor; and he sat down again, and pursed his lips,
and winked at Sammy in a way most peculiar. "I _see_!"

"Ay, zur," Jimmie rattled, eagerly. "We're fair disappointed that he's
not----"

"Ha!" the doctor interrupted. "I see. Hum! Well, now!" And having thus
incoherently exclaimed for a little, the light in his eyes growing
merrier all the time, he most unaccountably worked himself into a great
rage: whereby I knew that the little Jutts were in some way to be
mightily amused. "The lazy rascal!" he shouted, jumping out of his
chair, and beginning to stamp the room, frowning terribly. "The fat,
idle, blundering dunderhead! Did they send you that message? Did they,
now? Tell me, did they? Give me that letter!" He snatched the letter
from Martha's lap. "Sammy," he demanded, "where did this letter come
from?"

"Narth Pole, zur!"

Jonas Jutt blushed--and Matilda threw her apron over her head to hide
her confusion.

"And _how_ did it come?"

"Out o' the stove, zur."

The doctor opened the letter, and paused to slap it angrily, from time
to time, as he read it.

_North poll_

DEER MARTHA

few lines is to let you know on acounts of havin broke me leg cotchin
the deer Im sory im in a stat of helth not bein able so as to be out in
hevy wether. hopin you is all wel as it leves me
yrs respectful
SANDY CLAWS

Fish was poor and it would not be much this yere anyways. tel little
Sammy

"Ha!" shouted the doctor, as he crushed the letter to a little ball and
flung it under the table. "Ha! That's the kind of thing that happens
when one's away from home. There you have it! Discipline gone to the
dogs. System gone to the dogs. Everything gone to the dogs. Now, what do
you think of that?"

He scowled, and gritted his teeth, and puffed, and said "Ha!" in a
fashion so threatening that one must needs have fled the room had there
not been a curiously reassuring twinkle in his eyes.

"What do you think of that?" he repeated, fiercely, at last. "A
countermanded order! I'll attend to _him_!" he burst out. "I'll fix that
fellow! The lazy dunderhead, I'll soon fix him! Give me pen and ink.
Where's the paper? Never mind. I've some in my pack. One moment, and
I'll----"

He rushed to the shed, to the great surprise and alarm of the little
Jutts, and loudly called back for a candle, which Skipper Jonas carried
to him; and when he had been gone a long time, he returned with a letter
in his hand, still ejaculating in a great rage.

"See that?" said he to the three little Jutts. "Well, _that's_ for Santa
Claus's clerk. That'll fix _him_. That'll blister the stupid fellow."

"Please, zur!" whispered Martha Jutt.

"Well?" snapped the doctor, stopping short in a rush to the stove.

"Please, zur," said Martha, taking courage, and laying a timid hand on
his arm. "Sure, I don't know what 'tis all about. I don't know what
blunder he've made. But I'm thinkin', zur, you'll be sorry if you acts
in haste. 'Tis wise t' count a hundred. Don't be too hard on un, zur.
'Tis like the blunder may be mended. 'Tis like he'll do better next
time. Don't be hard----"

"_Hard_ on him?" the doctor interrupted. "Hard on _him_! Hard on
that----"

"Ay, zur," she pleaded, looking fearlessly up. "Won't you count a
hundred?"

"Count it," said he, grimly.

Martha counted. I observed that the numbers fell slower--and yet more
slowly--from her lips, until (and she was keenly on the watch) a gentler
look overspread the doctor's face; and then she rattled them off, as
though she feared he might change his mind once more.

"----an' a hundred!" she concluded, breathless.

"Well," the doctor drawled, rubbing his nose, "I'll modify it,"
whereupon Martha smiled, "just to 'blige _you_," whereupon she blushed.

So he scratched a deal of the letter out; then he sealed it, strode to
the stove, opened the door, flung the letter into the flames, slammed
the door, and turned with a wondrously sweet smile to the amazed little
Jutts.

"There!" he sighed. "I think that will do the trick. We'll soon know, at
any rate."

We waited, all very still, all with eyes wide open, all gazing fixedly
at the door of the stove. Then, all at once--and in the very deepest of
the silence--the doctor uttered a startling "Ha!" leaped from his chair
with such violence that he overturned it, awkwardly upset Jimmie Jutt's
stool and sent the lad tumbling head over heels (for which he did not
stop to apologize); and there was great confusion: in the midst of which
the doctor jerked the stove door open, thrust in his arm, and snatched a
blazing letter straight from the flames--all before Jimmie and Martha
and Sammy Jutt had time to recover from the daze into which the sudden
uproar had thrown them.

"There!" cried the doctor, when he had managed to extinguish the blaze.
"We'll just see what's in this. Better news, I'll warrant."

You may be sure that the little Jutts were blinking amazement. There
could be no doubt about the authenticity of _that_ communication. And
the doctor seemed to know it: for he calmly tore the envelope open,
glanced the contents over, and turned to Martha, the broadest of grins
wrinkling his face.

"Martha Jutt," said he, "will you _please_ be good enough to read
_that_."

And Martha read:

_North Pole_, Dec. 24, 10:18 P.M.

_To Captain Blizzard,_
_Jonas Jutt's Cottage, Topmast Tickle_,
_Labrador Coast._

RESPECTED SIR:

Regret erroneous report. Mistake of a clerk in the Bureau of
Information. Santa Claus got away at 9:36. Wind blowing due south,
strong and fresh.

SNOW, Chief Clerk.

Then there was a great outburst of glee. It was the doctor who raised
the first cheer. Three times three and a tiger! And what a tiger it was!
What with the treble of Sammy, which was of the thinnest description,
and the treble of Martha, which was full and sure, and the treble of
Jimmie, which dangerously bordered on a cracked bass, and what with
Matilda's cackle and Skipper Jonas's croak and my own hoorays and the
doctor's gutteral uproar (which might have been mistaken for a very
double bass)--what with all this, as you may be sure, the shout of the
wind was nowhere. Then we joined hands--it was the doctor who began it
by catching Martha and Matilda--and danced the table round, shaking our
feet and tossing our arms, the glee ever more uproarious--danced until
we were breathless, every one, save little Sammy, who was not asked to
join the gambol, but sat still in his chair, and seemed to expect no
invitation.

"Wind blowing due south, strong and fresh," gasped Jimmie, when, at
last, we sat down. "He'll be down in a hurry, with they swift deer. My!
but he'll just _whizz_ in this gale!"

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