Harvey waked to find the "first half" at 'breakfast, the fo'c'sledoor drawn to a crack, and every square inch of the schoonersinging its own tune. The black bulk of the cook balanced behindthe tiny galley over the glare of the stove, and the pots and pansin the pierced wooden board before it jarred and racketed to eachplunge. Up and up the fo'c'sle climbed, yearning and surging andquivering, and then, with a clear, sickle-like swoop, came downinto the seas. He could hear the flaring bows cut and squelch, andthere was a pause ere the divided waters came down on the deckabove, like a volley of buck-shot. Followed the woolly sound ofthe cable in the hawse-hole; a grunt and squeal of the windlass; ayaw, a punt, and a kick, and the "We're Here" gathered herselftogether to repeat the motions."Now, ashore," he heard Long Jack saying, "ye've chores, an' yemust do thim in any weather. Here we're well clear of the fleet,an' we've no chores - an' that's a blessin'. Good night, all." Hepassed like a big snake from the table to his bunk, and began tosmoke. Tom Platt followed his example; Uncle Salters, with Penn,fought his way up the ladder to stand his watch, and the cook setfor the "second half."It came out of its bunks as the others had entered theirs, with ashake and a yawn. It ate till it could eat no more; and thenManuel filled his pipe with some terrible tobacco, crotchedhimself between the pawl-post and a forward bunk, cocked his feetup on the table, and smiled tender and indolent smiles at thesmoke. Dan lay at length in his bunk, wrestling with a gaudy,gilt-stopped accordion, whose tunes went up and down with thepitching of the "We're Here". The cook, his shoulders against thelocker where he kept the fried pies (Dan was fond of fried pies),peeled potatoes, with one eye on the stove in event of too muchwater finding its way down the pipe; and the general smell andsmother were past all description.Harvey considered affairs, wondered that he was not deathly sick,and crawled into his bunk again, as the softest and safest place,while Dan struck up, "I don't want to play in your yard," asaccurately as the wild jerks allowed."How long is this for?" Harvey asked of Manuel."Till she get a little quiet, and we can row to trawl. Perhaps to-night. Perhaps two days more. You do not like? Eh, wha-at?""I should have been crazy sick a week ago, but it doesn't seem toupset me now - much.""That is because we make you fisherman, these days. If I was you,when I come to Gloucester I would give two, three big candles formy good luck.""Give who?""To be sure - the Virgin of our Church on the Hill. She is verygood to fishermen all the time. That is why so few of us Portugeemen ever are drowned.""You're a Roman Catholic, then?""I am a Madeira man. I am not a Porto Pico boy. Shall I beBaptist, then? Eh, wha-at? I always give candles - two, three morewhen I come to Gloucester. The good Virgin she never forgets me,Manuel.""I don't sense it that way," Tom Platt put in from his bunk, hisscarred face lit up by the glare of a match as he sucked at hispipe. " It stands to reason the sea's the sea; and you'll git jestabout what's goin', candles or kerosene, fer that matter.""Tis a mighty good thing," said Long Jack, "to have a fri'nd atcoort, though. I'm o' Manuel's way o' thinkin'. About tin yearsback I was crew to a Sou' Boston market-boat. We was off Minot'sLedge wid a northeaster, butt first,atop of us, thicker'n burgoo. The ould man was dhrunk, his chinwaggin' on the tiller, an' I sez to myself, 'If iver I stick myboat-huk into T-wharf again, I'll show the saints fwhat manner o'craft they saved me out av.' Now, I'm here, as ye can well see,an' the model of the dhirty ould Kathleen, that took me a month tomake, I gave ut to the priest, an' he hung Ut up forninst thealtar. There's more sense in givin' a model that's by way o' bein'a work av art than any candle. Ye can buy candles at store, but amodel shows the good saints ye've tuk trouble an' are grateful.""D'you believe that, Irish?" said Tom Platt, turning on his elbow."Would I do Ut if I did not, Ohio?""Wa-al, Enoch Fuller he made a model o' the old Ohio, and she's toSalem museum now. Mighty pretty model, too, but I guess Enoch henever done it fer no sacrifice; an' the way I take it is -"There were the makings of an hour-long discussion of the kind thatfishermen love, where the talk runs in shouting circles and no oneproves anything at the end, had not Dan struck up this cheerfulrhyme:"Up jumped the mackerel with his striped back.Reef in the mainsail, and haul on the tack;For it's windy weather -"Here Long Jack joined in:"And it's blowy weather;When the winds begin to blow, pipe all hands together!"Dan went on, with a cautious look at Tom Plait, holding theaccordion low in the bunk:"Up jumped the cod with his chuckle-head,Went to the main-chains to heave at the lead;For it's windy weather," etc.Tom Platt seemed to be hunting for something. Dan crouched lower,but sang louder:"Up jumped the flounder that swims to the ground.Chuckle-head! Chuckle-head!Mind where ye sound!"Tom Platt's huge rubber boot whirled across the fo'c'sle andcaught Dan's uplifted arm. There was war between the man and theboy ever since Dan had discovered that the mere whistling of thattune would make him angry as he heaved the lead."Thought I'd fetch yer," said Dan, returning the gift withprecision. "Ef you don't like my music, git out your fiddle. Iain't goin' to lie here all day an' listen to you an' Long Jackarguin' 'baout candles. Fiddle, Tom Platt; or I'll learn Harvehere the tune!"Tom Platt leaned down to a locker and brought up an old whitefiddle. Manuel's eye glistened, and from somewhere behind thepawl-post he drew out a tiny, guitar-like thing with wire strings,which he called a nachette."'Tis a concert," said Long Jack, beaming through the smoke. "Areg'lar Boston concert."There was a burst of spray as the hatch opened, and Disko, inyellow oilskins, descended."Ye're just in time, Disko. Fwhat's she doin' outside?""Jest this!" He dropped on to the lockers with the push and heaveof the "We're Here"."We're singin' to kape our breakfasts down. Ye'll lead, av course,Disko," said Long Jack."Guess there ain't more'n 'baout two old songs I know, an' ye'veheerd them both."His excuses were cut short by Tom Platt launching into a mostdolorous tune, like unto the moaning of winds and the creaking ofmasts. With his eyes fixed on the beams above, Disko began thisancient, ancient ditty, Tom Platt flourishing all round him tomake the tune and words fit a little:"There is a crack packet - crack packet o' fame,She hails from Noo York, an' the Dreadnought's her name.You may talk o' your fliers - Swallow-tail and Black Ball -But the Dreadnought's the packet that can beat them all."Now the Dreadnought she lies in the River Mersey,Because of the tugboat to take her to sea;But when she's off soundings you shortly will know(Chorus.)She's the Liverpool packet - O Lord, let her go!"Now the Dreadnought she's howlin' 'crost the Banks o' Newfoundland,Where the water's all shallow and the bottom's all sand.Sez all the little fishes that swim to an' fro:(Chorus.)'She's the Liverpool packet -O Lord, let her go!'"There were scores of verses, for he worked the Dreadnought everymile of the way between Liverpool and New York as conscientiouslyas though he were on her deck, and the accordion pumped and thefiddle squeaked beside him. Tom Platt followed with somethingabout "the rough and tough McGinn, who would pilot the vessel in."Then they called on Harvey, who felt very flattered, to contributeto the entertainment; but all that he could remember were somepieces of "Skipper Ireson's Ride" that he had been taught at thecamp-school in the Adirondacks. It seemed that they might beappropriate to the time and place, but he had no more thanmentioned the title when Disko brought down one foot with a bang,and cried, "Don't go on, young feller. That's a mistaken jedgment- one o' the worst kind, too, becaze it's catchin' to the ear.""I orter ha' warned you," said Dan. "Thet allus fetches dad.""What's wrong?" said Harvey, surprised and a little angry."All you're goin' to say," said Disko. "All dead wrong from startto finish, an' Whittier he's to blame. I have no special call toright any Marblehead man, but 'tweren't no fault o' Ireson's. Myfather he told me the tale time an' again, an' this is the way'twuz.""For the wan hundreth time," put in Long Jack, under his breath."Ben Ireson he was skipper o' the Betty, young feller, comin' homefrum the Banks - that was before the war of 1812, but jestice isjestice at all times. They f'und the Active o' Portland, an'Gibbons o' that town he was her skipper; they f'und her leakin'off Cape Cod Light. There was a terr'ble gale on, an' they wasgettin' the Betty home's fast as they could craowd her. Well,Ireson he said there warn't any sense to reskin' a boat in thatsea; the men they wouldn't hev it; and he laid it before them tostay by the Active till the sea run daown a piece. They wouldn'thev that either, hangin' araound the Cape in any sech weather,leak or no leak. They jest up stays'! an' quit, nat'rally takin'Ireson with 'em. Folks to Marblehead was mad at him not runnin'the risk, and becaze nex' day, when the sea was ca'am (they neverstopped to think o' that), some of the Active's folk was took offby a Truro man. They come into Marblehead with their own tale totell, sayin' how Ireson had shamed his town, an' so forth an' soon; an' Ireson's men they was scared, seem' public feelin' ag'in''em, an' they went back on Ireson, an' swore he was respons'blefor the hull act. 'Tweren't the women neither that tarred andfeathered him - Marblehead women don't act that way - 'twas apassel o' men an' boys, an' they carted him araound town in an olddory till the bottom fell aout, an' Ireson he told 'em they'd besorry for it some day. Well, the facts came aout later, same'sthey usually do, too late to be any ways useful to an honest man;an' Whittier he come along an' picked up the slack eend of a lyin'tale, an' tarred and feathered Ben Ireson all over onct more afterhe was dead. 'Twas the only time Whittier ever slipped up, an''tweren't fair. I whaled Dan good when he brought that piece backfrom school. Tots don't know no better, o' course; but I've giveyou the facts, hereafter an' evermore to be remembered. Ben Iresonweren't no sech kind o' man as Whittier makes aout; my father heknew him well, before an' after that business, an' you beware o'hasty jedgments, young feller. Next!"Harvey had never heard Disko talk so long, and collapsed withburning cheeks; but, as Dan said promptly, a boy could only learnwhat he was taught at school, and life was too short to keep trackof every lie along the coast.Then Manuel touched the jangling, jarring little nachette to aqueer tune, and sang something in Portuguese about "Nina,innocente!" ending with a full-handed sweep that brought the songup with a jerk. Then Disko obliged with his second song, to anold-fashioned creaky tune, and all joined in the chorus. This isone stanza:"Now Aprile is over and melted the snow,And outer Noo Bedford we shortly must tow;Yes, out o' Noo Bedford we shortly must clear,We're the whalers that never see wheat in the ear."Here the fiddle went very softly for a while by itself, and then:"Wheat-in-the-ear, my true-love's posy blowin';Wheat-in-the-ear, we're goin' off to sea;Wheat-in-the-ear, I left you fit for sowin';When I come back a loaf o' bread you'll be!"That made Harvey almost weep, though he could not tell why. But itwas much worse when the cook dropped the potatoes and held out hishands for the fiddle. Still leaning against the locker door, hestruck into a tune that was like something very bad but sure tohappen whatever you did. After a little he sang in an unknowntongue, his big chin down on the fiddle-tail, his white eyeballsglaring in the lamplight. Harvey swung out of his bunk to hearbetter; and amid the straining of the timbers and the wash of thewaters the tune crooned and moaned on, like lee surf in a blindfog, till it ended with a wail."Jimmy Christmas! Thet gives me the blue creevles," said Dan."What in thunder is it?""The song of Fin McCoul," said the cook, "when he wass going toNorway." His English was not thick, but all clear-cut, as thoughit came from a phonograph."Faith, I've been to Norway, but I didn't make that unwholesimnoise. 'Tis like some of the old songs, though," said Long Jack,sighing."Don't let's hev another 'thout somethin' between," said Dan; andthe accordion struck up a rattling, catchy tune that ended:"It's six an' twenty Sundays sence las' we saw the land,With fifteen hunder quintal,An' fifteen hunder quintal, 'Teen hunder toppin' quintal,'Twix' old 'Queereau an' Grand!""Hold on!" roared Tom Plait "D'ye want to nail the trip, Dan?That's Jonah sure, 'less you sing it after all our salt's wet.""No, 'tain't. Is it, dad? Not unless you sing the very las' verse.You can't learn me anything on Jonahs!""What's that?" said Harvey. "What's a Jonah?""A Jonah's anything that spoils the luck. Sometimes it's a man -sometimes it's a boy - or a bucket. I've known a splittin'-knifeJonah two trips till we was on to her," said Tom Plait. "There'sall sorts o' Jonahs. Jim Bourke was one till he was drowned onGeorges. I'd never ship with Jim Bourke, not if I was starvin'.There wuz a green dory on the Ezra Flood. Thet was a Jonah too,the worst sort o' Jonah. Drowned four men she did, an' used toshine fiery o' nights in the nest.""And you believe that?" said Harvey, remembering what Tom Platthad said about candles and models. "Haven't we all got to takewhat's served?"A mutter of dissent ran round the bunks. "Outboard, yes; inboard,things can happen," said Disko. "Don't you go makin' a mock ofJonahs, young feller.""Well, Harve ain't no Jonah. Day after we catched him," Dan cutin, "we had a toppin' good catch."The cook threw up his head and laughed suddenly - a queer, thinlaugh. He was a most disconcerting nigger."Murder!" said Long Jack. "Don't do that again, doctor. We ain'tused to Ut.""What's wrong?" said Dan. "Ain't he our mascot, and didn't theystrike on good after we'd struck him?""Oh! yess," said the cook. "I know that, but the catch iss notfinish yet.""He ain't goin' to do us any harm," said Dan, hotly. "Where are yehintin' an' edgin' to? He's all right.""No harm. No. But one day he will be your master, Danny.""That all?" said Dan, placidly. "He wun't - not by a jugful.""Master!" said the cook, pointing to Harvey. "Man!" and he pointedto Dan."That's news. Haow soon?" said Dan, with a laugh."In some years, and I shall see it. Master and man - man andmaster.""How in thunder d'ye work that out?" said Tom Platt."In my head, where I can see.""Haow?" This from all the others at once."I do not know, but so it will be." He dropped his head, and wenton peeling the potatoes, and not another word could they get outof him."Well," said Dan, "a heap o' things'll hev to come abaout 'foreHarve's any master o' mine; but I'm glad the doctor ain't choosento mark him for a Jonah. Now, I mistrust Uncle Salters fer theJonerest Jonah in the fleet regardin' his own special luck. Dunnoef it's spreadin' same's smallpox. He ought to be on the CarriePitman. That boat's her own Jonah, sure - crews an' gear make nodiffer to her driftin'. Jimmy Christmas! She'll etch loose in aflat ca'am.""We're well dear o' the fleet, anyway," said Disko, "Carrie Pitmanan' all." There was a rapping on the deck."Uncle Salters has catched his luck," said Dan, as his fatherdeparted."It's blown clear," Disko cried, and all the fo'c'sle tumbled upfor a bit of fresh air. The fog had gone, but a sullen sea ran ingreat rollers behind it. The "We're Here" slid, as it were, intolong, sunk avenues and ditches which felt quite sheltered andhomelike if they would only stay still; but they changed withoutrest or mercy, and flung up the schooner to crown one peak of athousand grey hills, while the wind hooted through her rigging asshe zigzagged down the slopes. Far away a sea would burst in asheet of foam, and the others would follow suit as at a signal,till Harvey's eyes swam with the vision of interlacing whites andgreys. Four or five Mother Carey's chickens stormed round incircles, shrieking as they swept past the bows. A rain-squall ortwo strayed aimlessly over the hopeless waste, ran down wind andback again, and melted away."'Seems to me I saw somethin' flicker jest naow over yonder," saidUncle Salters, pointing to the northeast."Can't be any of the fleet," said Disko, peering under hiseyebrows, a hand on the fo'c'sle gangway as the solid bowshatcheted into the troughs. "Sea's oilin' over dretful fast.Danny, don't you want to skip up a piece an' see how aour trawl-buoy lays?"Danny, in his big boots, trotted rather than climbed up the mainrigging (this consumed Harvey with envy), hitched himself aroundthe reeling crosstrees, and let his eye rove till it caught thetiny black buoy-flag on the shoulder of a mile-away swell."She's all right," he hailed. "Sail O! Dead to the no'th'ard,comin' down like smoke! Schooner she be, too."They waited yet another half-hour, the sky clearing in patches,with a flicker of sickly sun from time to time that made patchesof olive-green water. Then a stump-foremast lifted, ducked, anddisappeared, to be followed on the next wave by a high stern withold-fashioned wooden snail's-horn davits. The sails were red-tanned."Frenchmen!" shouted Dan. "No, 'tain't, neither. Da-ad!""That's no French," said Disko. "Salters, your blame luck holdstighter'n a screw in a keg-head.""I've eyes. It's Uncle Abishai.""You can't nowise tell fer sure.""The head-king of all Jonahs," groaned Tom Platt. "Oh, Salters,Salters, why wasn't you abed an' asleep?"How could I tell?" said poor Salters, as the schooner swung up.She might have been the very Flying Dutchman, so foul, draggled,and unkempt was every rope and stick aboard. Her old-stylequarter-deck was some four or five feet high, and her rigging flewknotted and tangled like weed at a wharf-end. She was runningbefore the wind - yawing frightfully - her staysail let down toact as a sort of extra foresail, -" scandalised," they call it, -and her fore-boom guyed out over the side. Her bowsprit cocked uplike an old-fashioned frigate's; her jib-boom had been fished andspliced and nailed and clamped beyond further repair; and as shehove herself forward, and sat down on her broad tail, she lookedfor all the world like a blowzy, frousy, bad old woman sneering ata decent girl."That's Abishai," said Salters. "Full o' gin an' Judique men, an'the judgments o' Providence layin' fer him an' never takin' goodholt. He's run in to bait, Miquelon way.""He'll run her under," said Long Jack. "That's no rig fer thisweather.""Not he, 'r he'd 'a' done it long ago," Disko replied. "Looks's ifhe cal'lated to run us under. Ain't she daown by the head more'nnatural, Tom Platt?""Ef it's his style o' loadin' her she ain't safe," said thesailor, slowly. "Ef she's spewed her oakum he'd better git to hispumps mighty quick."The creature thrashed up, wore round with a clatter and rattle,and lay head to wind within ear-shot.A greybeard wagged over the bulwark, and a thick voice yelledsomething Harvey could not understand. But Disko's face darkened."He'd resk every stick he hez to carry bad news. Says we're in fera shift o' wind. He's in fer worse. Abishai! Abishai!" He wavedhis arm up and down with the gesture of a man at the pumps, andpointed forward. The crew mocked him and laughed."Jounce ye, an' strip ye, an' trip ye!" yelled Uncle Abishai. "Alivin' gale - a livin' gale. Yah! Cast up fer your last trip, allyou Gloucester haddocks. You won't see Gloucester no more, nomore!""Crazy full - as usual," said Tom Platt. "Wish he hadn't spied us,though."She drifted out of hearing while the greyhead yelled somethingabout a dance at the Bay of Bulls and a dead man in the fo'c'sle.Harvey shuddered. He had seen the sloven tilled decks and thesavage-eyed crew."An' that's a fine little floatin' hell fer her draught," saidLong Jack. "I wondher what mischief he's been at ashore.""He's a trawler," Dan explained to Harvey, "an' he runs in ferbait all along the coast. Oh, no, not home, he don't go. He dealsalong the south an' east shore up yonder." He nodded in thedirection of the pitiless Newfoundland beaches. "Dad won't nevertake me ashore there. They're a mighty tough crowd - an' Abishai'sthe toughest. You saw his boat? Well, she's nigh seventy year old,they say; the last o' the old Marblehead heel-tappers. They don'tmake them quarter-decks any more. Abishai don't use Marblehead,though. He ain't wanted there. He jes' drif's araound, in debt,trawlin' an' cussin' like you've heard. Bin a Jonah fer years an'years, he hez. 'Gits liquor frum the Feecamp boats fer makin'spells an' selling winds an' such truck. Crazy, I guess.""Twon't be any use underrunnin' the trawl to-night," said TomPlatt, with quiet despair. "He come alongside special to cuss us.I'd give my wage an' share to see him at the gangway o' the oldOhio 'fore we quit floggin'. Jest abaout six dozen, an' SamMocatta layin' 'em on crisscross!"The dishevelled "heel-tapper" danced drunkenly down wind, and alleyes followed her. Suddenly the cook cried in his phonographvoice: "It wass his own death made him speak so! He iss fey - fey,I tell you! Look!" She sailed into a patch of watery sunshinethree or four miles distant. The patch dulled and faded out, andeven as the light passed so did the schooner. She dropped into ahollow and - was not."Run under, by the great hook-block!" shouted Disko, jumping aft."Drunk or sober, we've got to help 'em. Heave short and break herout! Smart!"Harvey was thrown on the deck by the shock that followed thesetting of the jib and foresail, for they hove short on the cable,and to save time, jerked the anchor bodily from the bottom,heaving in as they moved away. This is a bit of brute force seldomresorted to except in matters of life and death, and the little"We're Here" complained like a human. They ran down to whereAbishai's craft had vanished; found two or three trawl-tubs, agin-bottle, and a stove-in dory, but nothing more. "Let 'em go,"said Disko, though no one had hinted at picking them up. "Iwouldn't hev a match that belonged to Abishai aboard. 'Guess sherun clear under. 'Must ha' been spewin' her oakum fer a week, an'they never thought to pump her. That's one more boat gone along o'leavin' port all hands drunk.""Glory be!" said Long Jack. "We'd ha' been obliged to help 'em ifthey was top o' water.""'Thinkin' o' that myself," said Tom Platt."Fey! Fey!" said the cook, rolling his eyes. "He hass taken hisown luck with him.""Ver' good thing, I think, to tell the fleet when we see. Eh, wha-at'?" said Manuel. "If you runna that way before the wind, and shework open her seams -" He threw out his hands with anindescribable gesture, while Penn sat down on the house and sobbedat the sheer horror and pity of it all. Harvey could not realisethat he had seen death on the open waters, but he felt very sick.Then Dan went up the crosstrees, and Disko steered them back towithin sight of their own trawl-buoys just before the fogblanketed the sea once again."We go mighty quick hereabouts when we do go," was all he said toHarvey. "You think on that for a spell, young feller. That wasliquor."After dinner it was calm enough to fish from the decks, - Penn andUncle Salters were very zealous this time, - and the catch waslarge and large fish."Abishai has shorely took his luck with him," said Salters. "Thewind hain't backed ner riz ner nothin'. How abaout the trawl? Idespise superstition, anyway."Tom Platt insisted that they had much better haul the thing andmake a new berth. But the cook said: "The luck iss in two pieces.You will find it so when you look. I know." This so tickled LongJack that he overbore Tom Platt, and the two went out together.Underrunning a trawl means pulling it in on one side of the dory,picking off the fish, rebaiting the hooks, and passing them backto the sea again something like pinning and unpinning linen on awash-line. It is a lengthy business and rather dangerous, for thelong, sagging line may twitch a boat under in a flash. But whenthey heard, "And naow to thee, O Capting," booming out of the fog,the crew of the "We're Here" took heart. The dory swirledalongside well loaded, Tom Platt yelling for Manuel to act asrelief-boat.-"The luck's cut square in two pieces," said Long Jack, forking inthe fish, while Harvey stood open-mouthed at the skill with whichthe plunging dory was saved from destruction. "One half was jestpunkins. Tom Platt wanted to haul her an' ha' done wid ut; but Isaid, 'I'll back the doctor that has the second sight,' an' theother half come up sagging full o' big uns. Hurry, Man'nle,an' bring's a tub o' bait. There's luck afloat tonight."The fish bit at the newly baited hooks from which their brethrenhad just been taken, and Tom Platt and Long Jack movedmethodically up and down the length of the trawl, the boat's nosesurging under the wet line of hooks, stripping the sea-cucumbersthat they called pumpkins, slatting off the fresh-caught codagainst the gunwale, rebaiting, and loading Manuel's dory tilldusk."I'll take no risks," said Disko, then - "not with him floatin'around so near. Abishai won't sink fer a week. Heave in thedories, an' we'll dressdaown after supper."That was a mighty dressing-down, attended by three or four blowinggrampuses. It lasted till nine o'clock, and Disko was thrice heardto chuckle as Harvey pitched the split fish into the hold."Say, you're haulin' ahead dretful fast," said Dan, when theyground the knives after the men had turned in. "There's somethin'of a sea tonight, an' I hain't heard you make no remarks on it.""Too busy," Harvey replied, testing a blade's edge. "Come to thinkof it, she is a high-kicker."The little schooner was gambolling all around her anchor among thesilver-tipped waves. Backing with a start of affected surprise atthe sight of the strained cable, she pounced on it like a kitten,while the spray of her descent burst through the hawse-holes withthe report of a gun. Shaking her head, she would say: "Well, I'msorry I can't stay any longer with you. I'm going North," andwould sidle off, halting suddenly with a dramatic rattle of herrigging. "As I was just going to observe," she would begin, asgravely as a drunken man addressing a lamp-post. The rest of thesentence (she acted her words in dumb-show, of course) was lost ina fit of the fidgets, when she behaved like a puppy chewing astring, a clumsy woman in a side-saddle, a hen with her head cutoff, or a cow stung by a hornet, exactly as the whims of the seatook her."See her sayin' her piece. She's Patrick Henry naow," said Dan.She swung sideways on a roller, and gesticulated with her jib-boomfrom port to starboard."But-ez---fer-me, give me liberty - er give me-death!"Wop! She sat down in the moon-path on the water, courtesying witha flourish of pride impressive enough had not the wheel-gearsniggered mockingly in its box.Harvey laughed aloud. "Why, it's just as if she was alive," hesaid."She's as stiddy as a haouse an' as dry as a herrin'," said Dan,enthusiastically, as he was stung across the deck in a batter ofspray. "Fends'em off an 'fends 'em off, an' 'Don't ye come anigh me,' she sez.Look at her -jest look at her! Sakes! You should see one o' themtoothpicks h'istin' up her anchor on her spike outer fifteen-fathom water.""What's a toothpick, Dan?""Them new haddockers an' herrin'-boats. Fine's a yacht forward,with yacht sterns to 'em, an' spike bowsprits, an' a haouse thatu'd take our hold. I've heard that Burgess himself he made themodels fer three or four of 'em, Dad's sot ag'in' 'em on accounto' their pitchin' an' joltin', but there's heaps o' money in 'em.Dad can find fish, but he ain't no ways progressive - he don't gowith the march o' the times. They're chock-full o' labour-savin'jigs an' sech all. 'Ever seed the Elector o' Gloucester? She's adaisy, ef she is a toothpick.""What do they cost, Dan?""Hills o' dollars. Fifteen thousand, p'haps; more, mebbe. There'sgold-leaf an' everything you kin think of." Then to himself, halfunder his breath "Guess I'd call her Hattie S., too."