a twinkle in
my critic's eye as it caught mine.

"Go ahead," was all that he said, however.

* * * * *

Deep-Water "Crik," we call it. About half a dozen fishermen's families
live there. Well, three days ago a boat came over at daylight to see
if they could get a doctor, and I was debating as to the advisability
of leaving the hospital, when an old skipper from a schooner in the
harbour came ashore to tell me: "It's t' old Englishman; Uncle
Solomon they calls him. He's had a bad place this twelvemonth."

"How's the wind outside?"

"Soldier's wind. Abeam both ways."

"Think I could get back to-night?"

"Yes, by after dark."

"Let's get right away, then."

But other calls delayed us, and it was nearly midday before we started
for the cape. Unfortunately, the wind veered as the sun sank, and
"headed" us continually. The northern current was running strong, and
it was just "duckish" when at last we entered the creek.

The former glories of Deep-Water Creek have passed away. Fortune has
decreed that seals and mackerel and even salmon to a large extent
should not "strike in" along that shore. Bad seasons and the wretched
trading system have impoverished the fishermen, while the opening of
the southern mines has taken away some of the most able-bodied. Here
and there a braver cottage still boasts a coat of whitewash and a
mixture of cod oil and red dust on the roof. But for the most part
there is a sombre, dejected look about the human part of the harbour
that suggests nothing but sordid poverty.

It had commenced to rain, and we were wet, cold, and feeling generally
blue as we landed at a small fish stage, whose very cleanliness helped
further to depress us, telling as it did the tale of a bad "voyage."
For now it ought to have reeked of fish and oil; and piles of cod
heads, instead of the cleanest of cold water, should have covered the
rocks beneath. So many of our troubles are due to deficient dietary,
winter was already on our heels, and there seemed to be the shadow of
hunger in the very air.

As soon, however, as we landed, a black-bearded, bright-faced man of
about fifty gave us a hearty greeting, and such evident happiness lit
up his peculiarly piercing eyes that it made us feel a little more
cheerful, even before he had taken us into his house. There we found a
cup of steaming hot tea prepared. That tea did not seem a whit less
sweet, because "there be ne'er a drop o' mil