T

OF GINGER

de Pinch-a-Penny rich. That's queer two ways: you wouldn't expect a north-coast trader to have a conscience; and you wouldn't expect a north-coast trader with a conscience to be rich. But conscience is much like the wind: it blows every which way; and if a man does but trim his sails to suit, he can bowl along in any direction wit

t he'd sure have to even scores with Pinch-a-Penny Peter a

-Penny. "That's a saucy noti

ife," says Tom, "an'

Tom," says Peter, "you'll have t'

n a man stands in sore need o'

needs," says Peter, "

for sale,

alks," s

m, "maybe it don't

ng out of Pinch-a-Penny's shop-Pinch-a-Penny's conscience made un grumble and groan like the damned. I never seed a man so tortured by conscience afore nor since. And to ease his conscience Pinch-a-Penny would go over his ledgers by night; and he'd jot down a gallon of molasses here, and a pound of

hook and crook or suffer the tortures of an evil conscience. Just like any other man, Pinch-a-penny must ease that conscience or lose sleep o' nights. And so in seasons of plenty up went the price of tea at Pinch-a-Penny's shop. And up went the price of pork. And up went the price of flour. All sky-hi

poor traders. No tellin' who'll weather this here pa

Run-by-Guess; they were born and buried at Gingerbread Cove. So what the fathers thought at Gingerbread Cove the sons thought; and what the sons knowed had been knowed by the old men for a good many years. Nobody was used to changes. They was shy of changes. New ways was fearsome. And so the price of flour was a mystery.

St. John's markets. He was the only trader at Gingerbread Cove; his storehouses and shop was fair jammed with the things the folk of Gingerbread Cove couldn't do without and wasn't able to get nowhere else. So, all in all, Pinch-a-Penny Peter could make trouble for the folk that made trouble for he. And the f

r times we're havin' in the outports these days, with every harbor on the coast wantin' a doctor within hail. You're well enough done by at Gingerbread Cove. None better nowhere. An' why? Does you ever think o' that? Why? Because I got my trade here. An' think o' me! Damme, if ar a one o' you had my brain-labor t' do, you'd soon find out what hars

ch. Oh, ay! I've knowed Pinch-a-Penny to drop the price of stick-can

poor. All Tom Lane's conscience ever aggravated him to do was just to live along in a religious sort of fashion and rear his family and be decently stowed away in the graveyard when his time was up if the sea didn't cotch un first. But 'twas a busy conscience for all that-and as sharp as a fish-prong. No rest for

ay afternoon that we stowed un away. I mind the time: spring weather and a fair d

h young Tom on the road home from

ys he, "the old

he's dead

ays Pinch-a-Pen

ying. "He were a kind father t'

in your father's l

ow he'

lder. "No, nor none o' the little crew over t' your house. Take up the fishin' where your father left it off, lad," says

d," says Tom. "T

sorrow," says Pinch-a-Penny.

, s

ee

much,

never you care. You'll be able t' square it in course o' time. You'r

s kind

-will sq

't kno

e not knowin', eh? That's saucy t

low,

ed your share,

s,

mother had

s,

or not! Ecod! What is you? A scoundrel? A

, s

kes o' you that

no,

rns you there? I'm thinkin' the parson doesn't e

Pinch-a-Penny's office and allowed he'd pay his father's debt. Pinch-a-Penny give un a clap on the back, and says: "You is an honest lad, Tom Lane! I knowed you was. I'm proud t' have your name on my books!"-and that heartened Tom to continue. And after that Tom kept hacking away on his father's debt. In good years Pinch-a-Penny would say: "Sh

figures, which Tom had no learning to dispute, was more than it ever had been; and his own was as much as

ut. Tom wouldn't tell, nor could the gossips gain a word from his wife. And, after that, Tom was a changed man; he mooned a deal, and he would talk no more of the future, but dwelt upon the shortness of a man's days and the quantity of his sin, and labored like mad, and read the Scriptures by candlelight, and sot more store

; "you've firewood for

need it,"

"but will you lie

aughed. "Oh, next winter," says h

' away

Tom, "I is

ve went mad for slaughter. 'Twas a fair time for off-shore sealing, too-a blue, still day, with the look and feel of settled weather. The ice had come in from the current with a northeasterly gale, a wonderful mixture of Arctic bergs and Labrador pans, all blinding white in the

Pinch-a-Penny. "I 'low I'll go

m Lane, "you're too old

I wants t' bludgeon ano

u creak

I'll show the lads I'm ab

such as you on

e, Tom,"

Tom, "if that ice starts t' sea

take my chances. If the wind come

old legs would take un when pushed, and nobody worried about he any more. He was in such mad haste that the lads laughed behind un as he passed. Most of the Gingerbread crew followed, dragging their swiles; and them that started early come safe to harbor with the fat. But there's nothing will maste

very man for himself. And that

under the weight of a man. Rough going, ecod! There was no telling when open water would cut a man off where he stood. And the wind was whipping off-shore, and the snow was like dust in a man's eyes and mouth, and the landmarks of Gingerbread Cove was nothing but shadows in a mist of snow to windward.

ey that the seven last men of Gingerbread Cove was jumping. With her afloat-and the pack loosening in-shore under the wind-they could make harbor well enough afore the gale worked up the water in the lee of the Gingerbread hills. But she was a mean, small boat. There was room for six, with sa

t. 'Twas Eleazer's ill-luck. And Eleazer was up

for me?

begun to taste of frost. And 'twas jumping up. 'T

urself, lad

Eleazer. "Th

o sorrier th

it!" says he. "I wisht there wa

the lads. "'Tis even chan

r, "I doesn't want

says Tom. "An

eather," says Eleaz

in the gale! And the rodney was deep and ticklish; had the ice not kept the water flat in the lanes and pools, either Eleazer would have had to get out, as he promised, or she would have swamped li

ne, his bag o' bones wrapped up in his coonskin coat, his pan near flush

Pinch-a-Penny, bound out to sea

oom for me

ercy o' God!" says Tom; "

got room for no more. She'd

me back,"

e for a Gingerbread punt. Afore you could get t' shore an' back night will be

not,"

ys Peter. "N

Peter," says T

uattin' out here all alone on the ice an' shiverin' w

cries Tom. "Oh

; "sittin' here all al

wish that you're her

dy. My time's come. That's all. But I w

n Tom c

aughin' at?

mical idea,

n' at m

jus' la

lace, Tom," says Peter,

he throwed back his head, and he roared

er. And more than Pin

says Tom, "you're

oney," s

ne," says Tom, "you been t

deny that I been havin' a li

that money wasn't

A

ey in a lump wouldn't

s on that order," says Pete

alks," s

' me aga

ns it. Money talks. What'll you

t for sa

game of an old man in trouble. 'Twas either that or lunacy. And there was

d to the lads. "I kn

thing

verest thing ever I thought of. W

sells hi

ale," says Tom. "Money talks. Come, now. Speak u

the pric

h you go

Tom. Anything you say in reason will sui

ok out, Peter! You're seventy-three. I'm fifty-thre

rant it

would," says Tom

I'll grant

None knows it better than you. Will you grant that I'

, T

s one of the lads. "Here's the gale come d

ne, isn't sh

could say nothing to

llars, Peter," says Tom.

ve forgot t' deduct your livin' from the total. Not

Tom. "I'll n

skin' me t' pay for twenty years o' life wh

isn't got the heart t' grind you. Will you pay

ol enough t'

boot," says Tom. "I wa

does,

her's bill

A

n!" says Tom.

ive up his life for me. This here bargain is a straight business deal. Business is business. 'Tis not my proposition. An' I calls you t' witness that I'm willin' t' pay what

, "t' Mary. Sh

. "You've my word that I'll do

wind will bide for that.

in a blast of the gal

l shame this man to his

ark, Tom,"

ul cold an' dark out here. I knows it

n, on a near-by pan.

says he. "I've done a

oard in Tom's stead; and just for a minu

You'll not fail t' remember. She'll know why I done th

, T

r me? I done ye! I vowed I'd even scores with ye afore I died. An' I've done it-I've done it! What did ye buy? Twenty years o' my life! What will ye pay for? Twenty years o' my life!" And he laughed. And then he cut a caper, and come close to the edge of the pan, and shook his fist

And a swirl of snow shrouded poor Tom

nyhow!" he yelled. "I didn'

ane's hands. But a queer thing happened next day. Up went the price of pork at Pinch-a-