e and a wave. The ledge still dripped the froth of a deluge which
had broken and swept on, and there was now poised above it, black,
frothy-crested, mightily descending, another wave of the vast and
inimical restlessness of the sea beyond.

There was a cliff in the mist above; it was a mere suggestion, a gray
patch, but yet a towering wall, implacably there, its presence
disclosed by a shadow where the mist had thinned. Fog had broken over
the cliff and was streaming down with the wind. Obscurity was
imminent; but light yet came from the west, escaping low and clean.
And there was a weltering expanse of sea beyond the immediate turmoil;
and far off, a streak of white, was the offshore ice.

It was not a picture done in gigantic terms. It was not a climax.
Greater winds have blown; greater seas have come tumbling in on the
black rocks of Out-of-the-Way. The point is this, Cobden says, that
the wind was rising, the sea working up, the ice running in, the fog
spreading, thickening, obscuring the way to harbor. The imagination
of the beholder was subtly stimulated to conceive the ultimate worst
of that which might impend, which is the climax of fear.

Cobden turned to Skipper Tom.

"What does Terry Lute call it?" he asked.

"Nothin'."

"H-m-m!" Cobden deliberated. "It must bear a name. A great picture
done by a great hand. It must bear a name."

"Terry calls it jus' 'My Picture.'"

"Let it be called 'The Fang,'" said Cobden.

"A very good name, ecod!" cried Skipper Tom. "'Tis a picture meant t'
scare the beholder."

* * * * *

Terry Lute was not quite shamelessly given to the practice of
"wieldin' a pencil" until he discovered that he could make folk laugh.
After that he was an abandoned soul, with a naughty strut on the
roads. For folk laughed with flattering amazement, and they clapped
Terry Lute on his broad little back, and much to his delight they
called him a limb o' the devil, and they spread his fame and his
sketches from Out-of-the-Way and Twillingate Long Point to Cape Norman
and the harbors of the Labrador. Caricatures, of course, engaged
him--the parson, the schoolmaster, Bloody Bill Bull, and the crusty
old shopkeeper. And had a man an enemy, Terry Lute, at the price of a
clap on the back and an admiring wink, would provide him with a
sketch which was like an arrow in his hand. The wink of admiration
must be above suspicion, however, else Terry's cleverness might tak