his own famous flat-boat that sank
with him and his brother in the estuary below Parkgate years before
when they were left to swim for it. But in his mental comparison it is
probable that the flat-boat, even in her oldest and most decrepid
days, would have passed for a rather fine and seaworthy craft in
contrast to this rickety old rowboat. The boat kept afloat, however,
and presently the liveyere pulled it alongside the gray rock that
served for a landing. They stepped out and the guide led the way up
the rocks to a lonely and miserable little sod hut. At the door he
halted.

"Here we is, sir," he announced. "Step right in. They'll be wonderful
glad to see you, sir."

Grenfell entered. Within was a room perhaps twelve by fourteen feet in
size. A single small window of pieces of glass patched together was
designed to admit light and at the same time to exclude God's good
fresh air. The floor was of earth, partially paved with small round
stones. Built against the walls were six berths, fashioned after the
model of ship's berths, three lower and three upper ones. A broken old
stove, with its pipe extending through the roof into a mud protection
rising upon the peak outside in lieu of a chimney, made a smoky
attempt to heat the place. The lower berths and floor served as seats.
There was no furniture.

The walls of the hut were damp. The atmosphere was dank and
unwholesome and heavy with the ill-smelling odor of stale seal oil and
fish. The place was dirty and as unsanitary and unhealthful as any
human habitation could well be.

Six ragged, half-starved little children huddled timidly into a corner
upon the entrance of the visitor from the ship and gazed at the Doctor
with wide-open frightened eyes. In one of the lower bunks lay the sick
man coughing himself to death. At his side a gaunt woman, miserably
and scantily clothed, was offering him water in a spoon.

It was evident to the trained eye of the Doctor that the man was
fatally ill and could live but a short time. He was a hopeless
consumptive, and a hasty examination revealed the fact that he was
also suffering from a severe attack of pneumonia.

Doctor Grenfell's big sympathetic heart went out to the poor sufferer
and his destitute family. What could he do? How could he help the man
in such a place? He might remove him to one of the clean, white
hospital cots on the _Albert_, but it would scarcely serve to make
easier the impending death, and the exposure a