ly carving a block
of wood with a clasp-knife.

CHAPTER V

FATHER MCQUEEN VISITS HIS FLOCK

After the storm from the northwest had blown itself out, a spell of soft
weather set in along the coast. East and southeast winds brought fog and
mild rains, the ice rotted along the land-wash and the snow dwindled
from the barrens and left dripping hummocks and patches of black bog
exposed. The wreck in Nolan's Cove had gone to pieces during the
blizzard, sunk its cargo of pianos, manufactured cotton and hardware in
six fathoms of water and flung a liberal proportion of its spars and
timbers ashore.

Black Dennis Nolan felt as sure that Jack Quinn had perished in the
storm as if he had seen him prone and stiff under the drifting snow. The
fool had left the harbor that night, sometime before the onslaught of
the blizzard, but after midnight to a certainty. He had gone out--and he
had not returned! There could be no doubt about his miserable fate. The
skipper pictured him in his clear mind as lying somewhere out on the
barrens with the red-bound casket clutched in a frozen hand. So the
skipper devoted a day to searching for him over the thawing, sodden
wilderness behind the harbor. He took Bill Brennen and Nick Leary with
him. The other men did not grumble at being left behind, perhaps because
they were learning the unwisdom of grumbling against the skipper's
orders, more likely because they did not care a dang if Foxey Jack Quinn
was ever found or not, dead or alive. Quinn had not been popular. The
skipper informed his two companions that the missing man had broken into
his house and robbed him of an article of great value.

"We bes sure to find him somewheres handy," said Bill Brennen. "Foxey
Jack was always a fool about the weather--didn't know east from west
when the wind blowed. What was it he robbed from ye, skipper?"

"Whatever it was, ye'll both git yer share if we finds it," replied the
skipper. "More nor that I bain't willin' to say."

He fixed Bill Brennen with a glance of his black eyes that made that
worthy tremble from his scantily-haired scalp to the soles of his big,
shuffling feet. Bill was one of those people who cannot get along
without a master. In the past, for lack of another, he had made an
exacting tyrant out of a very mild and loving wife; but since the
masterful opening of the new skipper's reign he had snapped his fingers
at his wife, who had ruled him for close upon twenty years. He was