ife tottered round, making preparations for the evening meal, and
muttered recollections of shipwrecks which the storm brought to her
mind. Now and then she would go to a window, turn back her cap-border
from her forehead, put her face close to the glass, shading off the
firelight with her hand, and gaze out into the darkness.

"Asa did not go out either, thank the good Father!" she said. The dog
whined piteously. "St! St! Poor Scip! Here, shall have a piece! Good
dog! A fearful night indeed it is."

The two men came in from the barn, shook off the wet, and drew near
the fire.

"Just such a night, twenty-nine years ago come August, we ran afoul of
Hatteras. You remember, old woman, how they frighted ye about me,
don't ye?"

Amidst such reminiscences we were called to supper. I remember being
solemnly impressed when that old man, bent with hardship and the
weight of years, clasped his hands reverently, and in rude terms, but
full of meaning, asked a blessing upon their humble board. I remember
the flickering light from the logs burning on the hearth, and how it
showed, upon the faces of those who sat there, a strong feeling of the
words in which rose an added petition in behalf of those on the mighty
deep.

Supper being ended, the old man took down the tobacco-board, and, when
he had cut enough to fill his pipe, handed it to his son, who, having
done the same, restored it to its nail in the chimney-corner. Then
they smoked, and talked of dangers braved and overcome, of pirates,
and shipwrecks, and escapes, till I involuntarily drew closer into my
corner, and looked over my shoulder. Suddenly the dog under the table
gave a whining growl.

"I never seed the like o' that dog," exclaimed the fisherman, turning
to me. "I thought he was asleep. But if ever a foot comes nigh the
house at night, he gives notice. Depend on it, there's some one
coming."

The door of the little entry opened, with a rush of the whistling
wind, and a man stepped in. The dog half rose, and though he wagged
his tail, in token that he knew the step to be that of a friend, he
kept up a low whine. A young man, muffled to the eyes, and with the
water dripping from his huge pea-jacket, opened the kitchen-door.

"William Crosby, why, what brings you out in such a storm as this?
Strip off your coat, and draw up to the fire, can't ye? Where are you
bound, then, and the night as dark as a wolf's throat?"

The young fisherman made no answer, unless