the _Queen Victoria_. Still more to his surprise he found himself one
Sunday afternoon listening, with unwonted tears in his eyes, to some of
his mates as they told their spiritual experiences to an assembly of
some hundred or so of weather-beaten fishermen. Before quitting that
vessel he discovered that he possessed a powerful and tuneful voice,
admirably adapted for singing hymns, and that he was capable of publicly
stating the fact that he was an unworthy sinner saved by grace.

When at last he returned ashore and unexpectedly entered the Yarmouth
home, Nellie could scarcely believe her senses, so great was the change.

"Jim!" she cried, with opening eyes and beating heart, "you're like your
old self again."

"Thank God," said Jim, clasping her in his strong arms. But he could
say no more for some time. Then he turned suddenly on curly-headed
Jimmie, who had been fiercely embracing one of his enormous sea-boots,
and began an incoherent conversation and a riotous romp with that
juvenile fisherman.

A brighter sunshine than had ever been there before enlightened that
Yarmouth home, for God had entered it and the hearts of its occupants.

Example is well-known to be infectious. In course of time a number of
brother fishermen began to think as Jim Greely thought and feel as he
felt. His house also became the centre, or headquarters, of an informal
association got up for the purpose of introducing warmth and sunshine
into poor homes in all weathers, and there were frequently such large
meetings of the members of that association that it taxed Nellie's
ingenuity to supply seats and stow them all away. She managed it,
however; for, as Jim was wont to remark, "Nellie had a powerful
intellec' for her size."

Among the frequenters of this Yarmouth home were several of the men who
had once been staunch supporters of the Green Dragon, and of these the
most enthusiastic, perhaps, if not the most noisy, were Black Whistler,
Lively Dick, and fair-haired Charlie.

CHAPTER NINE.

A NORTHERN WAIF.

If a waif is a lost wanderer, then little Poosk was a decided waif for
he had gone very much astray indeed in the North American backwoods. It
was a serious matter for an Indian child of six years of age to become a
waif in the dead of winter, with four feet of snow covering the entire
wilderness, and the thermometer far below zero.

Yes, little Poosk was lost. His Indian mother, when she tied up his
little head i