Song of the Sea," he repeated gropingly. "I don't know ...I
play it," and he made the motion of drawing a bow across strings, "very
still and low." And this was all Thorpe's question could elicit.

Thorpe fell silent in the spell of the night, and pondered over the
chances of life which had cast on the shores of the deep as driftwood
the soul of a poet.

"Your Song," said the cripple timidly, "some day I will hear it. Not
yet. That night in Bay City, when you took me in, I heard it very dim.
But I cannot play it yet on my violin."

"Has your violin a song of its own?" queried the man.

"I cannot hear it. It tries to sing, but there is something in the way.
I cannot. Some day I will hear it and play it, but--" and he drew nearer
Thorpe and touched his arm--"that day will be very bad for me. I lose
something." His eyes of the wistful dog were big and wondering.

"Queer little Phil!" cried Thorpe laughing whimsically. "Who tells you
these things?"

"Nobody," said the cripple dreamily, "they come when it is like
to-night. In Bay City they do not come."

At this moment a third voice broke in on them.

"Oh, it's you, Mr. Thorpe," said the captain of the vessel. "Thought it
was some of them lumber-jacks, and I was going to fire 'em below. Fine
night."

"It is that," answered Thorpe, again the cold, unresponsive man of
reticence. "When do you expect to get in, Captain?"

"About to-morrow noon," replied the captain, moving away. Thorpe
followed him a short distance, discussing the landing. The cripple stood
all night, his bright, luminous eyes gazing clear and unwinking at the
moonlight, listening to his Heart Song of the Sea.

Chapter XXX

Next morning continued the traditions of its calm predecessors.
Therefore by daybreak every man was at work. The hatches were opened,
and soon between-decks was cumbered with boxes, packing cases, barrels,
and crates. In their improvised stalls, the patient horses seemed to
catch a hint of shore-going and whinnied. By ten o'clock there loomed
against the strange coast line of the Pictured Rocks, a shallow bay and
what looked to be a dock distorted by the northern mirage.

"That's her," said the captain.

Two hours later the steamboat swept a wide curve, slid between the
yellow waters of two outlying reefs, and, with slackened speed, moved
slowly toward the wharf of log cribs filled with stone.

The bay or the dock Thorpe had never seen. He took them on the captain's
s