spirit of the meeting had made a deep
impression on him; but, as the time passed and those supposedly older
and wiser delivered themselves merely of useless schemes, a plan that
had come into his mind early in the evening began to take definite
shape. As he sat there he pondered the matter over until it seemed to
him the only really feasible idea.

Finally, after almost two hours of discussion with no conclusion
reached, a pause occurred, and Code, to the amazement of his
companions, got upon his feet. As he did so he flushed, for he
wondered how many of those eyes suddenly fixed upon him were eyes of
hostility or doubt. The thought stung him to a greater determination.

"I don't want to be considered bold after so many older men have
spoken," he said, looking at the squire, "but I have a suggestion to
make."

"Go ahead, make it," bellowed the squire cordially. "I wish more young
men would give us their ideas."

"Thinking it over, I have come to this conclusion," proceeded
Schofield. "There is only one thing the men on this island do
perfectly, and that is fish. Therefore, it seems only common sense to
me that they ought to go on fishing."

A ripple of laughter ran around the room that was now hot and stuffy
from the glare and smell of the great oil-lamps. Code heard the laugh,
and his brows drew down into a scowl.

"Of course, they cannot go on fishing here. But there are any number
of places north and east of us where they can go on. I mean the Grand
Banks and the Cape Shore in the Gulf of St. Lawrence. We have
schooners and sloops, we have dories, and men, and can get provisions
on credit, I should think, for such a cruise.

"That, then, is my idea--that the captains of Grande Mignon fit out
their vessels, hire their crews on shares, and go out on the Banks for
fish like the Gloucester men and Frenchmen. If we do it we're going
against the best in the world, but I don't believe there is a
fisherman here who doesn't believe we can hold our own."

Suddenly far back in the room a woman arose.

She was young, and her face showed that once it might have been
beautiful. Her frame was large and angular, and her rusty black
clothes sat awkwardly upon it. But youth and beauty and girlish charm
had gone from her long since, as it does with those whose men battle
with the sea. She was a widow, and a little girl clung sleepily to her
dress.

"Code Schofield," she cried, "what about the women? Ye ain't goin' off
to