'an' they isn't one,' says he, 'will wed a fool.'

"'Not one?' says the skipper.

"'Nar a one,' says the cook.

"'I'm s'prised,' says the skipper.

"'Nar a maid t' Thunder Arm,' says the cook, 'will wed a fool, an' I
'low they isn't one,' says he, 'on the Labrador.'

"'It's been done afore, cook,' says the skipper, 'an' I 'low 'twill be
done agin, if the world don't come to an end t' oncet. Cook,' says he,
'I _knows_ the maid t' do it.'

"The poor cook begun t' grin. 'Does you, skipper?' says he. 'Ah,
skipper, no, you doesn't!' And he sort o' chuckled, like the fool he
was. 'Ah, now, skipper,' says he, '_you_ doesn't know no maid would
marry me!"

"'Ay, b'y,' says the skipper, 'I got the girl for _you_. An' she isn't a
thousand miles,' says he, 'from where that dam' ol' basket of a _White
Lily_ lies at anchor,' says he, 'in Whoopin' Harbor. She isn't what
you'd call handsome an' tell no lie,' says he, 'but--'

"'Never you mind about that, skipper.'

"'No,' says the skipper, 'she isn't handsome, as handsome goes, even in
these parts, but--'