yes.

"That's the coast-guard's boat!" exclaimed Andy. "The sea picked her
up, she did, and threw her right over the sea-wall as if she was an
egg, an' mashed her flat. That shows how much of a chance there'd be
for us to get through an' get back, supposin' we could find 'em. No,
boy, we've got to wait."

"Look!" cried the lad, excitedly. "Please look, Andy. What's that
bobbing up and down in the surf?"

The fisherman put to his eyes his worn and rusted spy-glass.

Then he gritted his teeth and bit his lip. "You stay up here on the
road, boy. I got to climb down there and make sure."

Wilf stood at the sea-wall. He was barely tall enough to look over it.

He watched Andy clamber painfully down over the great rocks piled high
against the outer face of the wall.

Every now and then a big wave would rise up, a green monster of
hissing foam and fury, and throw itself on him like a wild animal
trying to scare him back.

But men of that breed are not afraid. The stalwart figure, though
often knocked down and half drowned, would struggle to his feet again
and go on.

Wilf saw Andy pick up the--yes, it was a body--and put it on his
shoulder, and come staggering toward the rocks. Then he clambered
tediously over the stones, and Wilf saw whose body it was that Andy
was carrying.

It was his boy friend Jim, who had gone out only a few hours before,
with the sun on his fair hair, laughing and whistling and shouting his
gay farewell. "Be back in a little while, Wilf! Bring you a nice big
fish for your supper. You want to have a good hot fire ready to cook
it Better change your mind and come along." Never again would he hear
that cheery hail of invitation to adventure.

Andy laid the little half-frozen figure down, carefully, tenderly,
beside the wall.

"Too bad!" he said, "too bad! But the sea can be terrible cruel to the
sons o' men. I wonder we keep goin' back to her as we do. Now I got to
take the poor boy to his mother."

He picked up the body, and trudged off into the storm, toward the
fishing-huts.

Wilf went back to his own house, thinking about the sea and how cruel
it had been.

"Mother," he said, as they sat together talking over the tragedy,
"isn't it queer that you can have such fun with the sea sometimes,
swimming in it and rowing on it, and then all of a sudden it gets mad
and kills somebody you love? Just suppose I'd gone out in the boat
with Jim!"

Wilf thought it fine fun to go swimming, with