splashed with scales--
Hands that seem implements rather, appearing strangely no part of the
man, but something, like the child, that has grown away from
him and has taken a life of its own--
Strong for a sixteen-foot sweep, delicate to handle the silken snood of
a line--
A man that the winds and the spray have blown on, gnarled and bent to
the sea's own liking,
The Father!

And the boy--
Like delicate dawn to the sunset was the child to his father--
A sturdy slight little figure, as straight as the mast,
A grey and more gently coloured figure, glancing round with the
father's self-same gestures softened, and with childish
trustful sea-blue eyes;
Pattering with naked feet on the stern-sheets, and hauling the fish
with a wary cat-like motion....
O splendid and beautiful pair!
O man of the sea! O child growing up to the sea!
You have given yourselves to the waters, and the waters have given
of their spirit to you,
And I know when you speak that the sea is speaking through you,
And I know when I look at the sea, 'tis the likeness of your souls,
And I know that as I love you, I am loving also the sea--
O splendid and beautiful portions of the sea!

18

[Sidenote: _MRS FINN'S PROFESSIONS_]

Mrs Pinn has put aside her respectful defiance, has ceased addressing
me as _sir_, and turns out to be a most jolly old woman, possessed of
any amount of laughing _camaraderie_. She frankly explains the change
thus: "I used to think yu was reeligious. Yu du look a bit like a
passon [parson] sometimes. Do 'ee know 't?--No, not now; be blow'd if
yu du! Yu'm so wicked as the rest of 'em, _I_ believe, but yu ben't
like they ol' passons. I'll 'llow yu'm better'n they." My own
recollection, however, runs back to the evening when she brought her
damped-down washing round, and I turned the mangle for her. It is
hardish work. 'Tis a wonder how she, an old woman, can do it when, if
births are scarce, she is reduced to taking in washing for a week or
two. Tony calls her the Tough Old Stick. Excellent name! I can picture
her in her cottage up on land, bringing up her long family with much
shouting, much hard common sense, some swearing and a deal of useful
prejudice. Now, in her second youth--not second childhood--she is
mainly a lace-worker and midwife. One night, Tony and myself broke into
her cottage, locked t