"Go, b'y," said he, "if you can."

There was the difficulty. What sealing captain would take a lad of fifteen when there were grown men to be shipped? Billy was at a loss. But he determined, nevertheless, that he would go to the ice, and selected Long Tom Harbour as a promising port to sail from, for it was near by and well known. From Long Tom Harbour then, he would go seal hunting in the spring of the year if it could be managed by a boy with courage and no little ingenuity.

"Oh, I'll go somehow!" said he.

It was twilight of a blustering February day. Sir Archibald Armstrong, the great St. John's merchant, sat alone in his office, with his chair drawn close to the low, broad window, which overlooked the wharves and the ice-strewn harbour beyond; and while the fire roared and the wind drove the snow against the panes, he lost himself in profound meditation. He stared absently at the swarm of busy men—now almost hidden in the dusk and storm—and at the lights of the sealing fleet, which lay there fitting out for the spring voyage to the drift-ice of the north; but no sound of the activity on deck or dock could disturb the quiet of the little office where the fire blazed and crackled and the snow fell softly against the window panes.

"Beg pardon, sir," a clerk interrupted, putting his head in at the door. "Cap'n Hand, sir."

Captain Hand, of the sealing ship Dictator, was admitted. He was a thick, stubby, hammer-fisted, fiery-faced old man, marked with the mark of the sea. His eyebrows made one broad black band of wiry hair, stretching from temple to temple, where they grew in the fashion of two sharp little horns; and he had a habit of dropping them over his little red eyes, as if in a passion—but nobody was deceived by that; for, save in moments of righteous anger, the light of good humour still shone in the little red eyes, however fiercely they flashed. The rest of his face was beard—a wilderness of gray beard; it sprang from somewhere below his shirt collar, and straggled in a tangled growth over his cheek-bones and neck.

"Report t' you, sir," said he, in a surprisingly gruff voice; and at the same time he pulled the lobe of his right ear, which was his invariable manner of salute.

Sir Archibald and Captain Hand were in close consultation for half an hour; during all of which time the burly captain's eyes were thickly screened by his eyebrows.

"Oh, I sees, sir—I sees," said he, rising, at the end of it. "Oh, ay! Of course, sir—of course!"

"And you'll take good care?" Sir Archibald began, almost tenderly.

"Oh, ay!" heartily. "I ain't no nurse, as I tells you fair; but you needn't worry about him, sir."

"His mother will be anxious. She'll hold you responsible, captain."

Captain Hand violently pulled the lobe of his right ear, and turned to go. At the door he halted. "Tim Tuttle o' Raggles Island has turned up again, sir," he said, "an' wants t' be shipped."

"Tuttle?" muttered Sir Archibald. "He's the man who led the mutiny on the Never Say Die. Well, as you will, captain."

"Oh, I'll ship him!" said the captain, grimly; and with a last pull at his ear he disappeared.

On the heels of the captain's departure came Archie. He was Sir Archibald's son; there was no doubt about that: a fine, hardy lad—robust, as every young Newfoundlander should be; straight, agile, alert, with head carried high; merry, quick-minded, ready-tongued, fearless in wind and high sea. His hair was tawny, his eyes blue and wide and clear, his face broad and good humoured. All this appeared as he pulled off his cap, threw back the flaps of his fur-lined overcoat, picked a stray thread from his knickerbockers, and, at last, eagerly approached his father.

"You little dandy!" laughed his father.

Archie laughed, too—and flushed. He knew that his father liked to poke fun at him because the cut of his coat, the knot in his cravat, the polish on his boots, were matters of such deep concern to the boy.

"Oh, come now, father!" he protested. "Tell me whether I'm to go or not."

For reply, Sir Archibald gravely led his son to the window. It was his purpose to impress the boy with the wealth and power (and, therefore, with the responsibilities) of the firm of Armstrong and Son.

"Come," said he; "let us watch them fitting out the fleet."

The wealth of the firm was vast, the power great. Directly or indirectly, Sir Archibald's business interests touched every port in Newfoundland, every cove of the Labrador, the markets of Spain and Portugal, of the West Indies and South American Republics. His fishing-schooners went south to the Banks and north to the gray, cold seas off Cape Chidley; the whalers gave chase in the waters of the Gulf and of the Straits; the traders ran from port to port of all that rugged coast; the barques carried cod and salmon and oil to all the markets of the world. And when the ice came drifting down in the spring, the sealers scattered themselves over the waters of the North Atlantic.

Archie looked into the dusk without, where lay the ships and wharves and warehouses that told the story.

"They are mine," said Sir Archibald, gravely, looking deep into his son's wide-opened eyes. "Some day——"

Archie was alarmed. What did it all mean? Why was his father so grave? Why had he boasted of his wealth?

"They will be yours," Sir Archibald concluded. After a pause, he continued: "The firm has had an honourable career through three generations of our family. My father gave it to me with a spotless reputation. More than that, with the business he gave me the perfect faith of every man, woman and child of the outports. The firm has dealt with its fishermen and sealers as man with man; it has never wronged, or oppressed, or despised them. You are now fifteen years old. In September, you are going to an English public school, and thence to an English university. You will meet with new ideals. The warehouses and ships, the fish and fat, will not mean so much to you. You will forget. It may be, even—for you are something of a dandy, you know—that you will be ashamed to acknowledge that your father is a dealer in fish and seal-oil; that——"

Archie drew breath to speak.

"But I want you to remember," Sir Archibald went on, lifting his hand. "I want you to know a man when you meet one, whatever the clothes he wears. The men upon whom the fortunes of this firm are founded are true men. They are strong, and brave, and true. Their work is toilsome and perilous, and their lives are not unused to deprivation; but they are cheerful, and independent, and fearless, through it all—stout hearts, every one of them! They deserve respectful and generous treatment at the hands of their employers. For that reason I want you to know them more intimately—to know them as shipmates know one another—that you may be in sympathy with them. I am confident that you will respect them, because I know that you love all manly qualities. And so, for your good, and for their good, and for the good of the firm, I have decided that you may——"

"That I may go?" Archie cried, eagerly.

"With Captain Hand, of the Dictator, which puts out from Long Tom Harbour at midnight of March tenth."