those that arrived with familiar jocularity.

Into the hall, meant to accommodate two hundred, three hundred people
were packed. The men in their rusty black, the women in their simple
white or flowered dresses, the children brushed and pig-tailed, had
all brought their Sunday manners and serious, attentive faces.

On the low platform presently appeared the Rev. Adelbert Bysshe
and Squire Hardy. The rector was a young man with a thin, ascetic
face. His mouth was pursed into a small line, and he wore large,
round spectacles to aid his faded blue eyes. His clerical garb
could not conceal the hesitating awkwardness of his manner, and
the embarrassment his hands and feet caused him seemed to be his
special cross in life.

When the audience had become quiet he rose and took his stand before
them, lowering his head and peering over his glasses.

"Friends," he said, "we have gathered here to-night to discuss the
welfare of Grande Mignon Island and the village of Freekirk Head."

A look of startled uncertainty swept over the simple, weather-beaten
faces in front of him.

"You know that I am not exaggerating," he continued, "when I say that
we are face to face with the gravest problem that has ever confronted
us. It has pleased God in His infinite Providence so to direct the
finny tribes that the denizens of the deep have altered the location
of their usual fishing-grounds.

"Day after day you men have gone forth with nets and lines like the
fishers of old; day after day, also like some of the fishers of old,
you have returned empty-handed. The salting-bins are not filled, the
drying-frames are bare, the shipments to St. John's have practically
ceased.

"I do not need to tell you that this spells destitution. This island
depends on its fish, and, since cod and hake and pollock have left us,
we must cast about for other means of support.

"This meeting, then, after due deliberation last night and earnest
supplication of the Almighty for guidance, has been called to
determine what course we shall pursue."

Mr. Bysshe, warm now and perspiring freely, retired to his seat and
mopped his face. Across the audience, which had listened intently,
there swept a murmur of low speech.

It is not given to most fisherfolk to know any more than the bare
comforts of life. Theirs is an existence of ceaseless toiling,
ceaseless danger, and very poor reward. Hardship is their daily lot,
and it requires a great incentive to bring them