e was too great for Prudence, and he could not do the barn chores
himself. They really had no use for the gray mare, for nowadays the
neighbors did all their errands in town for them, and the few
remaining acres of the old farm lay fallow.

Nor, had he desired to sell the mare, would anybody be willing to
pay much for the twenty-two-year-old Queenie. In truth, Ira Ball was
too tender-hearted to think of giving the Queen of Sheba over to a
new owner and so sentence her to painful toil.

"She'd be a sight better off in the horse heaven, wherever that
is," he decided. But he was careful to say nothing like this in his
wife's hearing. "Women are funny that way," he considered. "She'd
rather let the decrepit old critter hang around eatin' her head off,
like I say, than mercifully put her out of her misery."

Stern times call for stern methods. Cap'n Ira Ball had seen the
tragic moment when he was forced to separate a bridegroom from his
bride with a sinking deck all but awash under his feet. What had to
be done had to be done! Prudence could no longer be endangered by
the stable tasks connected with the old mare. He could not relieve
her. They could scarcely afford a hired hand merely to take care of
Queenie.

He remained rather silent that evening, and even forgot to praise
Prue's hot biscuit, of which he ate a good many with his creamed
pollack. The sweet-tempered old woman chatted as she knitted on his
blue-wool hose, but she scarcely expected more than his occasional
grunted acknowledgment that he was listening. She always said it was
"a joy to have somebody besides the cat around to talk to." The
loneliness of shipmasters who sail the seven seas is often mentioned
in song and in story; the loneliness of their wives at home is not
usually marked.

They went to bed. Old men do not usually sleep much after second
cock-crow, and it was not far from three in the morning when Cap'n
Ira awoke. Like most mariners, he was wide awake when he opened his
eyes. He lay quietly for several moments in the broad bed he
occupied alone. The half-sobbing breathing of the old woman sounded
from her room, through the open door.

"It's got to be done," Cap'n Ira almost audibly repeated.

He got out of the bed with care. It was both a difficult and a
painful task to dress. When he had on all but his boots and hat he
tiptoed to a green sea chest in the corner, unlocked it, and from
beneath certain tarpaulins and other sea rubbish drew