maybe earlier than we ever thought
for, or he thought for, no doubt, but--it come. And what you have told
us, captain, is something for a man to be hearing of his son--and to be
hearing it from you. And only this very night, with the word of you come
home, my mind was hardening against you, Captain Glynn, for no denying
I've heard hard things even as I've heard great things of you. But now
I've met you, I know they mixed lies in the telling, Captain Glynn. And
as for Arthur--" John Snow stopped.

"As for Arthur"--'twas something to listen to, the voice of Hugh Glynn
then, so soft there was almost no believing it--"as for Arthur, John
Snow, he went as all of us will have to go if we stop long enough with
the fishing."

"Ay, no doubt. As you may go yourself, captain?"

"As I expect to go, John Snow. To be lost some day--what else should I
look forward to?"

"A black outlook, captain."

"Maybe, maybe. And yet a man's death at the last."

"So 'tis, captain--so 'tis."

John Snow and Hugh Glynn gripped hands, looked into each other's eyes,
and parted--Hugh Glynn out into the night again and John Snow, with Mrs.
Snow, to their room, from where I could hear her sobbing. I almost
wanted to cry myself, but Mary Snow was there. I went over and stood
behind her. She was looking after some one through the window.

It was Hugh Glynn walking down the steep hill. Turning the corner below,
I remember how he looked back and up at the window.

For a long silence Mary Snow sat there and looked out. When she looked
up and noticed me, she said: "It's a hard life, the bank fishing, Simon.
The long, long nights out to sea, the great gales; and when you come
home, no face, it may be, at the door to greet you."

"That it is, Mary."

"I saw his wife one day, Simon," said Mary Snow softly, "and the little
boy with her. But a week before they were killed together that was; six
years ago, and he, the great, tall man, striding between them. A
wonderful, lovely woman and a noble couple, I thought. And the grand
boy! And I at that heedless age, Simon, it was a rare person, be it man
or woman, I ran ahead to see again."

"Come from the window, Mary," I said to that, "and we'll talk of things
more cheerful."

"No, no, Simon--don't ask me to talk of light matters to-night." With
that and a "Good night" she left me for her room.

Out into the street I went. John Snow's house stood at the head of a
street atop of a steep hill, and I remem