“Naow, boys,” Nickerson was saying, “we’ll take the little packet steamer to-night an’ go home to my people’s place daown the shore at Eastville Harbor. It’s a little fishing an’ boat-building taown, but it’s a pleasant place an’ pleasant folks live there. I called the old mother up on the telephone a while back an’ told her I was blowing home with a couple o’ ship-mates and they’ll sure give us a welcome!”

“How about getting some decent clothes,” ventured Donald, looking ruefully at his rough sea-duds.

“Clothes be hanged!” ejaculated the skipper. “Get a hair-cut and a bath—that’s more to the point. We’re not sticklers for clothes daown aour way. Buy clothes when you’ve money to blow—not when you’ve a measly twenty dollars in your jeans between you and destitution.”

Donald had been paid at the rate of twenty-five dollars a month for the trip around, and Nickerson had also squared up his indebtedness to Donald’s father. Of the hundred and fifty dollars which he had received, Donald remitted one hundred and twenty-five to his mother—telling her to keep it for passage-money when he had prepared a home in Canada for her to join him. Joak, as cook, drew one hundred and sixty dollars out of the venture, while Nickerson had a roll of bills in his pocket as thick around as a cable hawser.

Giving their sea-bags to an expressman to deliver at the boat, the trio loafed around Halifax until evening, when they boarded a little wooden steamer with a high superstructure aft and a fore-deck piled with barrels and boxes of assorted merchandise. A middle-aged man in shirt sleeves, with a rotund form and round, red, good-humored face leaned out of the wheel-house window smoking and watching the deck-hands chocking and lashing the cargo. To this worthy, Captain Nickerson shouted facetiously.

“Waal, naow, Cap’en Eben, haow’s tricks? I see you’re still splashin’ araound in ten fathom and in smell of the land!” The other took his pipe from his mouth and stared curiously at Nickerson. “Ye’ve got me guessin’, matey,” he drawled. “I ain’t seen you afore, hev I? An’ yet that face o’ your’n seems mighty familiar—”

Nickerson laughed. “Eben Westhaver!” he said, “d’ye recollect th’ time we shipped on that coal drogher an’ took sixty days to run from Sydney to Saint John an’ you lost your only pair of pants by gettin’ them—” The listeners had no opportunity of learning how Captain Westhaver lost his only pair of pants, as he jumped out of the wheel-house with hand outstretched, shouting, “Young Juddy Nickerson, by the Great Hook Block! An’ where’n Tophet hev you sprung from? H’ard ye was lime-juicin’ ... ain’t seen ye raound for nigh four or five year. Well, well, an’ haow be ye, Juddy-boy?” And the two men started a “gamm” in which Nickerson narrated and Eben listened and interjected strange “Down-east” ejaculations—“I reckon you did!” “Th’ devil ye say!” “Waal, I swan!” and “D’ye tell me so!”

The boys were lolling over the steamer’s rail gazing on the wharf, when Nickerson called them over and introduced them to Captain Westhaver. “Come into the wheel-house, my sons,” he invited. “Set ye daown, fill up yer pipes, and make yourselves to home. I reckon ye ain’t had much layin’ back of late ... a long v’y’age ye made in that little hooker ... a long v’y’age!” Then, addressing Nickerson, he continued. “Not much change in Eastville Harbor sence you left, Juddy. Fishin’s good. Sev’ral noo vessels in the salt Bank fleet, and they’re buildin’ a few every year. Your father is kept full o’ work at his yard. The old man’s pretty hearty, Jud—don’t age any, an’ your mother’s spry—purty spry for a woman what had all the sickness she’s had. Guess they’ll be glad to see you home an’ to know you’re home for good. Goin’ to take a shot at the fishin’, are ye? Ain’t forgot haow to rig trawls, bait up, an’ haul gear in the bow of a dory, hev ye, Jud? When a man’s bin a brass-bound mate in lime-juicers, he’s li’ble to git kinder soft—”

Nickerson snorted indignantly. “By the Lord Harry, Eben Westhaver,” he said grimly, “I’d give a lot to see you a ‘brass-bound mate in a lime-juicer’ as you call it! You’d sweat some, by Godfrey! Ef you was mate of the four-posted scow that Donald here and I were in and shovin’ her araound from Glasgow to Vancouver—seven weeks’ beatin’ about off Cape Stiff—you wouldn’t be so glib with yer talk abaout gittin’ soft. It ’ud trim some of the bilge off that ol’ belly o’ yours, I’d swear! You prate of hard times coastin’? Wait ’til you’ve been southabout in a starvation Scotch wind-jammer big enough to carry this coaster on her davits and with hardly enough men in two watches to swing her yards raound. I was mate and skipper of a twenty-five hundred ton four-mast barque, Eben, an’ Scotch, an’ tight Scotch at that. Ef you know ships, you’ll know what that means—gear, stores and crowd—cheap and scanty. Six ruddy months and two blushin’ weeks on the passage ... a reg’lar blinder too! Second mate—a no-nothing Squarehead! Old Man—a cowardly old rum-hound! Kicked the greaser forrad and locked the skipper in his room when off the Horn, and took the ship to port myself ... would never ha’ got there else. An’ you, you fat old coaster, lyin’ back and takin’ it easy, to talk about me gittin’ soft. I like yer blushin’ gall!” And he grunted in mock resentment at the imputation.

The other laughed and lit up his pipe. “Well, Juddy, you were always the boy to tackle hard traverses!” he remarked calmly. “Why didn’t you stay to home? There was no call for you to go barging araound. Your folks are snug ... ye’ve bin a dam’ fool!”

A far-away expression came into the other’s keen grey eyes and the stern lines of his sea-tanned face softened. Pulling at his mustache, he sighed. “You’re right, Eben,” he said at last, “I have been a dam’ fool! I don’t see what should ever take our Nova Scotians away from our own country. But I’ve seen a lot and I’ve l’arned a lot. I’ve got an English Board of Trade certificate as master and I’ve handled big ships. I haven’t chucked my money araound either. But after all I’ve seen and experienced, I’ve found nawthin’ to beat Nova Scotia, and I believe I’ll make more money and be better off all raound if I stick by home and take a vessel to the fishin’. And money ain’t everything. To be home is worth more than any money. These are my honest convictions and I’m agoin’ to try them aout. Yes, sir, me and my two young buckos here.”

They left Halifax about midnight and steamed out of the harbor and to the west’ard. Chebucto flashed them a “Good morning!” when the little packet rounded the Head to negotiate the ledge-strewn channels behind Sambro Island, and picking up the lights, she poked into coves and inlets and delivered her parcels on silent wharves. Sometimes a sleepy wharfinger would awake at the steamer’s whistle and emerge from a nearby shed. “Two bar’ls fish for daown th’ shore, Cap!” he would growl drowsily, and after the two “bar’ls” were hustled aboard, he would pocket his receipt and depart for bed again with a “Fine mornin’, Cap. Hope ye strike no fog this time!”

Donald and Joak were awakened early by Captain Nickerson. “Gittin’ in naow, boys,” he said. “We’re jest coming up by Eastville Cape and it’s a fine morning.” The boys rolled out of the berths in which they had been sleeping “all standing,” and after a wash, they went on deck. It was indeed a fine morning—a glorious March morning of clear blue sky and brilliant spring sunshine, and the cool off-shore breeze seemed to carry the odors of balsam and spruce from the wooded shores which they were approaching. Eastville Cape, a high, rocky promontory, crowned by a white painted light-house and a warm-looking forest of evergreen spruce, flanked the entrance to a spacious cove or bay surrounded by gentle slopes of tilled fields and green spruce bush. The entrance was somewhat devious by reason of numerous underwater ledges on the western side, but the channel was evidently wide enough to be negotiated by a schooner, even with the wind ahead, as one could be seen tacking up the passage abreast of the packet steamer. The Cape faced a twin brother west of the ledges, and the two headlands stood like grey stone sentinels watching the Atlantic and guarding the bay behind.

On either side of the passage, green slopes, flecked with the remains of the winter’s snow in the sun-shaded hollows, rose abruptly from the sand and shingle beaches, and nestling among the spruce clumps, white wooden cottages with cedar shingle roofs, peered cosily from out of the wind-break of greenery. A strip of tilled ground invariably flanked the gentler slopes of those cottage estates, and on the beach, dories and boats betokened that the owners farmed both land and sea. “Those are all fishermen’s houses,” explained Captain Nickerson. “They farm a little, cut spruce logs, and fish alongshore for lobsters, cod, haddock, mackerel and so on in season. Some o’ them go vessel fishing on the Banks in summer. It’s a pretty place.”

It was indeed a pretty place. Donald thought it was magnificent. The clean stone beaches, with here and there a strip of white sand, the rocks, bold and rugged and with verdure growing in the fissures, the grassy slopes at odd intervals and the clumps of evergreen, the all surrounding hills clothed with thick forests of coniferous trees, and the clear pellucid waters of the Bay, made a picture which an artist would itch to portray on canvas.

Threading the passage, the steamer headed across the widening inlet for a wharf environed by a number of neatly-painted wooden houses—the homes and marts of Eastville Harbor’s citizens. The gaunt trunks of maples and elms rose from among the habitations—not yet clothed in their leafy garments—and a tall church spire stood out behind the town—stark white against the brown and green of the hillside. Numerous anchored schooners of beautiful model, but with booms bare of furled canvas, betokened fishermen laid up until the spring fishery called them into service, and when the packet steamer glided between them, she roared a greeting to the town, and the hills echoed to the blast of her whistle.

Captain Nickerson pointed to a spot on the shore below the wharf where the white ribs of a vessel showed up against the dull red of a shed. “There’s my father’s yard,” he said. “That’s a schooner he’s building. That white-painted house up on the hill an’ half hidden by a spruce bush is our family shack an’ where I first saw the light o’ day.” They were coming into the wharf now, and a number of men and women stood upon it awaiting the arrival of freight or friends, or actuated by curiosity to see “who was on th’ boat.” A half-a-dozen wagons and one or two slenderly-built buggies were hitched to the back-rails of the wharf—their horses placidly unconcerned at the bustle when mooring lines were made fast and the gang-plank shoved ashore.

When Captain Nickerson stepped on the dock, a tall, clean-shaven man about sixty-five years of age, with wisps of white hair showing from under his soft black hat, detached himself from the knot of spectators. He had a ruddy complexion and keen grey eyes, and his spare figure, slightly stooped at the shoulders, was dressed in blue jean overalls, to which flecks of shavings and sawdust adhered. He wore a white shirt—a Sunday relic—and his low, turn-down collar and black string bow tie gave him an air of distinction which his workman’s garb failed to disguise. He greeted Captain Nickerson in a deep, booming bass. “Judson! Here you are!” The other swung around. “Hullo, father. How are ye?” They shook hands heartily but with no ostentatious show of affection, and the older man laughed. “Not much change in you, Judson,” he said, “a mite stouter I cal’late—not much—an’ you’re looking well. Mother got your telephone message—”

“And how is mother! I hope she’s well?”

“She’s bin pretty good, Judson, pretty good,” answered the father. “She’s bin up early this morning gittin’ a rousin’ breakfast ready for you. Er—where’s your friends?”

The captain turned around. “By Jupiter, I nearly forgot them,” he cried. “I was so pleased to see you, father, an’ to git home.” He beckoned Donald and Joak to him. “Come up, boys. Father, this is Donald McKenzie an’ John McGlashan—two Scotch lads that came around from Vancouver in a schooner with me. Donald was a ’prentice in the barque I left Glasgow in an’ we’ve got quite chummy. I asked them to come home with me ontil they got a chance to look around.”

Nickerson, Senior, extended a welcome hand, and boomed forth that he was glad to meet them and glad to have them stay a while. Donald liked the genial face of the old ship-builder and wondered if he, like his son, had dormant characteristics of truculent aggressiveness. Maybe, he had, when he was younger, thought Donald, but age had calmed his spirit. That booming voice, and the tattoo marks on the old gentleman’s hands, betokened a sailor, and when he glanced at his face, so much like Judson’s, with its aquiline nose, strong jaw and set mouth, he could readily imagine him singing out biting commands from the quarter-deck of a ship years agone. Age, however, had softened the stern lines of his countenance; the grey eyes beamed kindliness and there was a merry twitch about the corners of the mouth, while the silvery hair gave the old gentleman a patriarchal appearance. They were a dominant race—these Nova Scotians—strong-minded, aggressive descendants of those puritanical British pioneers who left the Mother Country for a savage colony because it would not give them the freedom of life and religion which they craved.

As they walked up from the wharf to the tree-lined Main Street, Captain Nickerson was the recipient of many greetings. “How’re ye, Jud? Home again an’ agoin’ to stay, eh? Glad to see ye!” was the general tenor of these hearty, loud-voiced welcomes, and Donald was impressed with their evident sincerity. People who spoke loud betokened characters of bluff straight-forwardness—straight, simple living folks who believed in themselves; confident, clear-headed and hearty, and Donald was enamoured of this colonial quality. He liked these people already.

Walking along a plank side-walk—interrupted at intervals by the giant trunks of ancient elms—and flanked by neat wooden houses painted in whites, greys and yellows with trimmings of contrasting shades, they swung off at a big red building with the sign “ENOS NICKERSON & SON, VESSEL BUILDERS & SPAR MAKERS,” and approached a large square house painted the universal white with green trimmings. It was set up on a bank or small hill over-looking the yard and harbor, and a number of fine elms and spruce encircled the place and gave it a comfortable appearance. A wide verandah was constructed in the front of the house, and upon it Donald could see two female figures—one of whom was gesticulating wildly, while the other was shading her eyes with her hands against the eastern sun.

“There’s mother an’ Ruth on th’ gallery,” remarked the old gentleman. “Ruth has done nawthin’ but talk about ye comin’ sence you ’phoned yestiddy, Judson, an’ I cal’late she’s made a big mess o’ that choc’late fudge which you useter be so fond of.” Donald smiled to himself at the thought of the hard-case Bluenose mate having a penchant for chocolate “fudge.” It seemed rather ludicrous.

When the quartette toiled up the steep beach-gravel path to the steps of the house, Captain Nickerson jumped lightly on to the verandah and clasped his mother in his strong arms. She was a silver-haired, rosy cheeked little woman of about the same age as her husband, but she showed none of his phlegmatic greeting when she hugged and kissed her roving, sea-bronzed son. While the mother claimed his arm and cheek on one side, Ruth, a dark-haired, pretty girl of sixteen or seventeen, hung around his neck on the other and Judson was literally “boarded” with welcoming salutations “port and starboard.” “Oh, Juddy, my boy, I’m glad you’re home,” cried the mother with joy in her eyes. “How fine and well you look——”

“And I’m glad too, Juddy!” exclaimed Ruth retaining her clasp around her brother’s neck and punctuating her welcome with kisses. “I’ve been up since four this morning getting your room in order and fixing up your clothes, and I’ve made you a big plate-full of fudge, Juddy—”

Donald stood at a respectful distance watching the reunion with odd thoughts. Judson seemed to show up in still another light. The hard-fisted, swaggering and domineering mate of the Kelvinhaugh ... hugged and kissed by a dear little mother and a sweet little sister and caressing them affectionately in return! One would have thought that a man like Nickerson would scorn these things. And Ruth Nickerson! Donald was much interested in her. He was going to be made acquainted with her. He had not spoken to a girl for almost a year, and he had not fraternized with the sex since disaster overtook the McKenzie family and his social circle was swept away with it. He had yearned, many times, to have a girl to whom he could write and tell of the things he was seeing and experiencing. He hungered for a girl’s company. He idealized them in a clean, manly way, and the rough immoral talk of his shipmates on the subject of girls always jarred on his sensitive nature. Before he even met her, Donald was hoping that Ruth Nickerson would prove “chummy.” Her face, figure and manner had already charmed him wherein he showed himself a genuine sailor by falling half in love with the first girl he met.

“Come up, boys. I want you to meet my mother and sister.” Captain Nickerson swung around with an arm encircling his mother’s and sister’s waists. “Mother—this is Donald McKenzie and John McGlashan.” Donald clasped her hand and bowed; Joak made a respectful salute by touching his forelock. “And this is my sister Ruth—John McGlashan and Donald McKenzie!” In this case, Joak shook the girl’s hand murmuring, “Pleased tae meet, ye, Miss!” while McKenzie, overcome by shyness and almost reverential awe, bowed and stammered an acknowledgement of the introduction. Ruth gave both lads a casual glance from her sparkling blue eyes and led her prodigal brother into the house. “Nice wee lassie——” whispered Joak, but Donald scowled. He wished he had some respectable clothes and a collar on.

“Step right in, my sons,” boomed old Mr. Nickerson. “Make yerselves to home an’ don’t stand on ceremony—” And his wife looked back and chimed in. “That’s right, Enos. Show the boys their room. We’ll have breakfast right away.”

Up in the large airy bed-room with its huge wooden bed and old fashioned furniture and numerous picked-rag carpets, Donald washed and surveyed his rough clothing. “I wish the Skipper had given me a chance to get some new gear,” he remarked regretfully. “I feel like a tramp in these rags.”

Joak laughed and gave his friend a malicious glance. “Och, I wadna worry aboot yer claes. Miss Nickerson’ll fa’ in love wi’ ye withoot yer bein’ a dude. That’s what’s makin’ ye sae parteecular ... th’ wee lassie!” Noting the scowl on his chum’s face, he changed the subject. “It’s a bonny place this, an’ this hoose wad cost a big rent in Glesca. Wha’ wad have thought Cap’en Nickerson had a hame like this? I thought he was gaun tae take up tae yin o’ them fishermen’s shacks in the woods yonder!” And he stared around the spacious bed-chamber with appreciative eyes.

They went down to the dining-room—a lofty apartment and furnished with heavy walnut and maple furniture of antique make. The woodwork and doors were painted a dull white, and Donald’s artistic eye was entranced with the simple Colonial design of architraves and panelling of doors and china cabinets. A large square table was already laid with the breakfast, and Donald found himself seated opposite Ruth Nickerson and with the old shipbuilder and his wife at the ends of the board.

It was a merry feasting—a meal which McKenzie enjoyed silently in being once more in the environment of a home with white linen, silver and china and womenfolks. It was like picking up the thread of a life one has missed for many months. Nickerson must be feeling that way also, thought Donald, for in his Skipper he now saw a man he had never known before. The saturnine Judson; he of the Olympian air, scathing vocabulary and truculent disposition of Kelvinhaugh days had vanished, and there now appeared a laughing, teasing, joking young sailor with nice table manners and language, which, while idiomatic, was faultlessly correct. The stern lines had completely disappeared from his bronzed face, and he looked as young as his age.

During the breakfast, Donald was silent but observant, and the most of his observations were of the pretty young girl opposite him. There was a feeling in his breast he had never felt before when he glanced at her; a feeling that caused him to admire her fresh young beauty in face and form and to hunger for possession. The age-old instinct of adolescent youth was awakening within this clean-hearted, red-blooded sea boy, and he was forming new impressions and a new appreciation of the opposite sex. Seventeen is the impressionable age.

McKenzie’s shy glances brought no response from Ruth’s sparkling blue eyes. Her attention was wholly taken up with her brother and Joak, whose peculiar speech and mannerisms gave her much secret delight. Captain Nickerson readily sensed this and he skilfully drew the unconscious McGlashan out for the amusement of his roguish sister. “D’ye mind the day, Joak, when you told me to get the mains’l off her because you couldn’t get your bread dough to rise?”

“Aye, captain, I do that!” replied Joak, stuffing his mouth full of crisp bacon. “Yon was an awfu’ windy day an’ she was jumpin aboot like a lone spud in a wash b’iler! You ken, Miss”—addressing Ruth—“it’s no easy gettin’ a batch o’ dough tae rise if th’ whole place is jumpin’ an’ jigglin’ an’ jooglin’ aboot!” Miss Nickerson nodded sympathetically.

“And your pea soup, Joak,” continued the skipper. “The peas would be as hard as bullets when you started to boil them, but you’d stick a lump of washing soda in the pot and soften them up!”

Joak shook his head vigorously. “Naw, captain,” he retorted vehemently. “I never did that! Sody is awful’ hard on the guts——er, excuse me! I mean, stummick, and it ’ud soon tak’ th’ linin’ aff yer insides. Naw, I saffened them up wi’ a guid soakin’ in warm water. That’s a’!”

Ruth’s face was crimson, but she did not laugh. Joak was taking everything very seriously.

“I’ve heard Judson talk of a number of strange sea dishes with queer names,” she observed. “Cracker-hash, dandy-funk, three-decker-pie, and what was that goose story you used to tell, Judson? That was a new way of cooking.” Donald could have sworn that she winked a roguish eye at her brother.

“Oh, ah, yes ... the goose story,” said Judson taking up the cue. “I don’t think Joak knows how to do that—though he might.... It happened aboard a ship I was on one time. The skipper had invited some friends off to have dinner aboard and had told the cook to get a goose ready for cooking. A while later the old man got a message saying his friends could not come, so he called the cook and said. ‘These people are not coming for dinner to-day so we’ll postpone the goose!’ The cook goes out scratching his head and when he gets forrad he says to the crowd. ‘I knows how to b’ile ’em. I knows how to bake ’em, and I knows how to fry ’em, but I’ll be hanged if I know how to postpone ’em!’” He finished the yarn without a smile. For a moment Joak stared at him in serious perplexity, and then blurted, “I wouldna know how tae postpone it masel’!”

Everybody laughed, while Donald felt like kicking his schoolboy chum for his simple density. Ruth, after enjoying the joke, eased Joak’s discomfiture by explaining the meaning of “postpone.” “Oh, aye, that’s it, is it?” cried McGlashan laughing boisterously. “That’s a good yin—a gey good yin! I don’t remember ever gettin’ that worrd at school. Did we get that yin, Donald?”

Thus appealed to, McKenzie answered with some annoyance, “Of course you did! You must have forgotton.”

“Then you two were at school in Scotland together?” Ruth gave Donald the first direct glance of the meal.

“Aye, Miss,” cut in Joak. “We were chums an’ went tae school thegither since we were wee fella’s. Donal’ an’ me’s had some rare tares when we were kids.”

The tolerantly humorous look in Ruth’s eyes annoyed Donald. He felt that she classed him on a par with Joak and it vexed his conceit. There was a hint of patronage in the direct manner in which she addressed and looked at the both of them—a manner which left Joak unaffected, but which made McKenzie squirm. He felt instinctively that Judson’s sister regarded the two of them as odd creatures her brother had brought home from sea—brought home much as he might bring home a parrot, a cardinal bird, or a monkey, and because he was anxious to create a good impression on Ruth, he resented it.

Later in the day his resentment was intensified when he overheard Ruth talking to her brother Asa’s wife on the gallery. “Yes, Juddy came home this morning,” she was saying, “and you know what Juddy is for bringing home strange characters. This time he arrives with two queer Scotch boys. One talks the strangest gibberish and positively can’t see a joke, while the other doesn’t talk at all but gives you the queerest looks. I’m not sure but what both of them are a little off——” Donald blushed furiously and moved away, seething inwardly. His pride was hurt. To Miss Nickerson, he would, in future, be ordinarily civil and courteous, but nothing more.

The skipper did not believe in loafing around home. That same afternoon he took the boys down to the harbor to look at a schooner in which he proposed buying an interest. “Father already owns a half share in her and he’s willing to fit her out for salt Bank fishing if I’ll take her and get a gang together. I can place you in her as cook, Joak, and I’ll take you along, Donald, and make a fisherman out of you. There she lies! The West Wind is her name and she’s about the same build and tonnage as the Helen Starbuck.”

They tumbled into a dory and pulled out to a schooner lying to an anchor among the fleet. Into cabin, hold and forecastle they went, and after a careful examination, Captain Nickerson expressed himself as satisfied. “This is a fine little vessel, boys,” he remarked. “Give her a bit of an overhaul and she’ll be a better vessel than the Helen Starbuck. I’ll take her over, and we’ll get to work right away, boys, and fix her up for the spring voyage. What d’ye say? Are ye both game to try your hand at the fishin’ with me?”

Donald and Joak answered together, “We are, sir!”