re we gave up and quit, at
least the captains did. Then night come down black overhead, with the
swell all phosphorescent. I allus think of mother in a light sea under a
black sky, like it was that night, when our tug run into the wreck by
accident.

I jumped first on board. The poor hulk lay flush with the swell, lifting
and falling just enough to roll the thin green water, all bright specks,
across and across the deck. Mother was there, her bare arm reaching out,
her left hand lifting her skirt, her face looking up, dreaming as she
turned, and turned, and swayed, in a slow dance. It's what they calls a
waltz, and seems, as I stood watching, I'd almost see the music swaying
her as she wove circles, water of stars pouring over her bare feet.
Seems though the music stopped, and she came straight to me. Speaks like
a lil' small girl. "Oh, mummy," she says, "look," and draws her hands
apart so, just as if she was showing a long ribbon, "watered silk," she
mutters, "only nine cents a yard. Oh, mayn't I, mayn't I, mummy?"

And there was dad, with all that water of stars washing across and
across him.

CHAPTER III

YOUTH

A dog sets down in his skin, tail handy for wagging--all his possessions
right thar.

Same with me, setting on the beach, with a cap, jersey, overalls, sea
boots, paper bag of peanuts, beached wreck of the old _Pawnticket_ in
front, and them two graves astern. Got more'n a dog has to think about,
more to remember, nothin' to wag. Two days I been there, and the peanuts
is getting few. Little gray mother, dad, the _Happy Ship_, just dead,
that's all, dead. The tide makes and ebbs, the wind comes and goes,
there's days, nights and the little waves beating time--time--time, just
as if they cared, which they don't.

I didn't hear the two horses come, but there's a young person behind me
sort of attracting attention. When he moves there's a tinkle of iron,
creaking leather, horsy smell, too, and presently he sets down along of
me, cross-legged. I shoved him the peanuts, but he lit a cigarette,
offering me one. Though he wasn't, he just felt same as a seafaring man,
so I didn't mind him being there.

"The ocean," says he, "is it allus like that?"

"'Cept when there's weather."

"That's a ship?"

"Was."

"Dead?"

"Dead."

He wanted to look at my sheath knife, and when I handed it he seen the
lettering "Green River" on the blade. He'd been along Green River and
there's no knives like that