“Put in-shore—like enough,” responded Uncle William.
The men gathered about the fire, squatting on the sand or sitting on boxes and kegs.... The fire was dying down now, but no one rose to throw on fuel.... The girl wandered to the water’s edge and stood listening. The little waves touched her feet, but she did not draw back... Glances, by the fire, sought her and looked away. A dense stillness had settled on them—only the little moving waves broke it, as they ran up and ran back.... A muffled creak out of the dark, like the whisper of a sail turning, half-asleep—Then the rattle of cords, and a voice that laughed—“A-hoy!” The mist was still again, and then the call, coming through its blankness, “A-hoy! Ship ahoy!”
The mist parted and the boat came gliding through—her lights little points in the night—Slowly the mists lifted—rolling up, like great curtains into the darker night. A soft light that was not of moon or stars grew about them—The fire had died out and only the gentle light shone everywhere and through it the dark boat, seeming motionless, crept softly in.
THE group on the beach went swiftly toward the dock, Uncle William’s lantern leading the way and swinging toward the end. He leaned over toward the boat in the mysterious light, “What ’d you ketch, Georgie?”
The young man looked up and a rope swirled through the air—“Twenty-six-seven barrel,” he said easily.
A shout went up from the dock, broken sounds, bits of scoffing disbelief that piled down into the boat and shouted back and made a marvel of the catch.
Uncle William, with his big smile, moved back along the wharf—looking for someone.... He went toward the beach, swinging his lantern—far in the distance, towards Andy’s, something flitted, and paused, and went on, and drifted past the horizon, out of sight. Uncle William’s eye followed it, smiling. “Cur’us the way women is—running after ye, one minute—till you’re most scared—and then.”... He waved his lantern at the misty, moonlit hill, where the little figure flitted toward the sky. He shook his head.... Out at the end of the wharf there was calling and creaking, and the thumping of barrels and blocks of ice. Uncle William watched them a minute—then he turned toward the cliff. “What he ’ll need more ’n anything’s a good hot meal,” he said. He climbed to the little house and opened the door cautiously. Bodet, across the room, glanced at him. “He’s come,” he said.