“'Now, Liz,' says he, 'can you cook?' “'Fair t' middlin',' says she. 'I won't lie.' “''Twill do,' says he. 'An' does you want t' get married t' this here dam' fool?' “'An it pleathe you,' says she. “'Shoos,' says the skipper, 'will you let this woman do the cookin'?' “'Well, skipper,' says the cook, 'I will; for I don't want nobody t' die o' my cookin' on this here v'y'ge.' “'An' will you keep out o' the galley?' “'I 'low I'll _have_ to.' “'An', look you! cook, is you sure--is you _sure_,' says the skipper, with a shudder, lookin' at the roof, 'that you wants t' marry this here--' “'Don't you do it, skipper!' says the cook. 'Don't you say that no more! By God!' says he, 'I'll kill you if you does!' “'Is you sure,' says the skipper, 'that you wants t' marry this here--woman?' “'I will.' “'Well,' says the skipper, kissin' the Book, 'I'low me an' the crew don't care; an' we can't help it, anyhow.' “'What about mother's ring?' says the cook. 'She might's well have that,' says he, 'if she's careful about the wear an' tear. For joolery,' says he t' Liz, 'don't stand it.' “'It can't do no harm,' says the skipper. “'Ith we married, thkipper?' says Liz, when she got the ring on. “'Well,' says the skipper, 'I 'low that knot 'll hold 'til fall. For,' says he, 'I got a rope's end an' a belayin'-pin t' make it hold,' says he, 'til we gets long-side of a parson that knows more about matrimonial knots 'n me. We'll pick up your goods. Liz,' says he, 'on the s'uthard v'y'ge. An' I hopes, ol girl,' says he, 'that you'll be able t' boil the water 'ithout burnin' it.' “'Ay, Liz. I been makin' a awful fist o' b'ilin' the water o' late.' “She gave him one look--an' put her clean pinny to her eyes. “'What you cryin' about?' says the cook. “'I don't know,' says she; 'but I 'low 'tith becauthe now I knowth you _ith_ a fool!' “'She's right, Tumm,' says the cook. 'She's got it right! Bein' born on Hollow eve,' says he, 'I couldn't be nothin' else. But, Liz,' says he, 'I'm glad I got you, fool or no fool.' “So she wiped her eyes, an' blowed her nose, an' give a little sniff, an' looked up, an' smiled. “'I isn't good enough for you,' says the poor cook. 'But, Liz,' says he, 'if you kissed me,' says he, 'I wouldn't mind a bit. An' they isn't a man in this here fo'c's'le,' says he, lookin' around, 'that'll _say_ I'd mind. Not one,' says he, with the little devil jumpin' in his eyes. “Then she stopped cryin' for good. “'Go ahead, Liz!' says he. 'I ain't afeared. Come on! Give us a kiss!' “'Motheth Thooth,' says she, 'you're the firtht man ever athked me t' give un a kith!' “She kissed un. 'Twas like a pistol-shot. An', Lord! her poor face was shinin'....” In the forecastle of the _Good Samaritan_ we listened to the wind as it scampered over the deck; and we watched Tumm pick at the knot in the table. “Was she happy?” I asked, at last.