“Yuh’ll needta be, yuh git in a hurricane. Got three pieces o’ advice, an’ yuh take ’em from an old-time sailorman. Keep yer hawsers free fer runnin’, yer eyes on the weathah, an’ remember that any idjit kin crack it on but the wise man knaowsta shorten sail on time.” With a flicker of a wink, Cudlip reached under the counter and came up with a pencil, a pad of paper, and a tin of Copenhagen. “Heah’s another piece o’ advice. Write daown the name o’ yer vessel, the date, and ta wheah she’s bound an’ wrap the tabaccer in it an’ bring it ta Aunt Sophronia o’er ta Isle Au Haut,” he said, pronouncing the island’s name Eye’llaholt. “Phrony be partial ta tabaccer. She’ll take care o’ yuh.” When none of them made a move, but only stared, as if he had begun to speak in tongues, he asked in a scandalized tone, “Yuh ain’t never heard o’ Aunt Phrony?”

They all three shook their heads.

“We-ell. She brings good luck ta sailormen and fishermen who show her propah respect. Y’see, she knaows the secrets o’ the seas, she has command o’er wind and weathah, so it’s a good idear ta fix things right with her before yuh git under way. She won’t do nuthin’ bad if yuh don’t, she ain’t no witch, but she won’t do nuthin fer yuh, either, just leave yuh ta the mercy o’ the sea, which in my experience ain’t inclined to show much.” He nudged the items across the counter. “Tabaccer’s free. Wouldn’t think o’ chaagin’ a pinny fer a offerin’ ta Aunt Phrony.”

Shrugging, rolling his eyes covertly at Will, Nathaniel figured it would be diplomatic to humor this superstitious seagoing peddler with the gray tufts in his ears. He wrote “Double Eagle—Key West / Cuba—June 17,” tore the page from the pad, and wrapped it around the tin.

“You’re not really going to do that, are you, Nat?”—Drew, sounding indignant. “Isle Au Haut’s way out of our way for one thing, and for another, this stuff is the craziest stuff I ever heard.”

“What did yuh say, son?” asked Cudlip, a bit indignant himself. “Crazy, yuh say?”

“He didn’t mean anything by it,” Nathaniel pleaded, angry at his kid brother’s lack of tact. “C’mon, let’s go, Drew.”

“Hang on, I wanter heah what this young ’un thinks is crazy abaout what I said.”

“Nature controls the wind and the weather, or maybe God does.” Drew looked directly at Cudlip. “Not some Aunt Phrony.”

“We-ell, it could be Phrony’s got her a telegraph or telephone wire strung ’tween her place an’ heaven, caaz everytime but one I seen ta it things was fixed right with her, an’ the one time I didn’t, we lost three men in the most godawful gale yuh kin think of.”