One boy stepped along with an air of pride and
importance. His companions were deferential to a certain extent, but
they, too, exhibited an unusual demeanour. Some of the glory and honour
that shone in Mattie's face was reflected in theirs. With the assurance
of an ambassador bearing high credentials he saluted me--
"Hello, Mister! Good day."
"Good day," I responded. "You come from that cutter?"
Mattie--"Yes, mister. Mickie sit down here, now? Me got 'em letter.
Brother belonga gin, belonga Mickie; him gib it!"
"No; Mickie sit down alonga Palm Islands. Come back, bi'mby."
Mattie (with a downcast air)--"My word! Bo'sun (the brother-in-law) gib
it letter belonga Mickie."
"Where letter?" I asked.
Mattie--"Me got 'em," and drawing out a very soiled little parcel, he
proudly exposed a piece of greyish wood, about the size and shape of a
lead pencil, on which had been cut two continuous intersecting grooves.
"Me giv' 'em Mickie; Bo'sun alonga Cooktown. He want to come up this
way now."
The letter was a mere token of material expression of the fact that the
sender was in the land of the living, and of his faith in the bearer,
who was charged with all the personal messages and news.
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