knoll, an' dry moss
an' sticks for a fire."

"It bain't right for yer reverence to sleep out these rough winter
nights," protested the skipper. "Maybe ye'll be gettin' yer death one o'
these nights, sir."

"Nay, Denny, don't ye go worryin' about me," said the priest. "I am as
tough as a husky."

He descended the path to the clustered cabins, still holding the
skipper's arm and with the populace sliding and crowding at his muddy
heels. His gray eyes were as keen as they were kindly. He remarked
several of the great iron rings on the rocks to seaward.

"What are ye up to now, Denny?" he asked, halting for a moment, and
pointing with a plump but strong and weather-beaten hand.

The skipper's black eyes followed the line indicated.

"That bes a grand idee o' mine, yer reverence," he answered, after a
moment's hesitation. "Sure I'll tell ye all about it, sir, after ye get
yerself dry alongside the stove."

"Something to do with wrecks, Denny?" queried the priest.

"Aye, yer reverence, it bes a part o' the gear for salvin' wrecks,"
returned Nolan.

At the skipper's door Father McQueen dismissed his followers with a
blessing and a promise to see them all after dinner. Then, after a few
kindly words to Mother Nolan, he entered his own room, where Cormick had
a fire of driftwood roaring in the chimney. He soon returned to the
kitchen, in socks and moccasins of the skipper's, a rusty cassock and a
red blanket. The innate dignity and virtue of the old man gave to his
grotesque attire the seeming of robes of glory, in spite of the very
human twinkle in his gray eyes and the shadow of a grin about the
corners of his large mouth. He accepted a chair close to the stove--but
not the most comfortable chair, which was Mother Nolan's. They knew his
nature too well to offer him that. The skipper gave him a bowl of hot
wine, mulled with sugar and spices, which he accepted without demur and
sipped with relish. After a few minutes of general conversation, during
which Mother Nolan expatiated on her rheumatics, he turned to the
skipper, and laid a hand on that young giant's knee.

"So ye are preparing gear for the salving of wrecks, my son?" he
queried.

"Aye, yer reverence, we bes fixin' chains an' lines among the rocks so
as maybe we kin get a holt on whatever comes ashore," replied Nolan.

"A good idea," returned the other. And then, "Have ye had any wrecks
already this winter?"

"Aye, yer reverence, there be'd one in Nolan