To Mary and her father Skipper Libe had with seamanlike courtesy abandoned the tiny cabin. The child was lying in the skipper's own berth--warmly covered, comfortably tucked in, provided with a book to read by the light of the swinging lamp.

The man took the child's hand. "I'm sometimes sorry," he said, "that we didn't wait for the mail-boat. The _Fish Killer_ is a pretty tough craft for a little girl to be aboard."

The Adventures of Billy Topsail — Part 76

"Sorry?" was the instant response, made with a little smile. "I'm not. I'm glad. Isn't Cape Grief close to leeward? Well, then, father, we're half way home. Think of it! _We're--half--way--home!_"

The Adventures of Billy Topsail — Part 76

"And we might have been waiting at St. John's," the child continued, her blue eyes shining. "Oh, father, I'd rather be aboard the _Fish Killer_ off Grief Head than in the very best room of the Crosbie Hotel. Half way home!" she repeated. "Half way home!"

The Adventures of Billy Topsail — Part 76

"On this coast," the father sighed, "no man is home until he gets there."

"But they've reefed the mains'l; they've stowed the stays'l; they've got the tops'l down. Haven't you heard them? I've been listening----"

It was a mere ejaculation of terror. He had no need to ask the question. Even Mary knew well enough what had happened. The _Fish Killer_ had struck an iceberg bow on. The shock; the crash forward; the clatter of a falling topmast; the cries on deck: these things were alive with the fearful information.

_The Crew of the Fish Killer Finds Refuge on an Iceberg, and Discovers Greater Safety Elsewhere, after Which the Cook is Mistaken for a Fool, but puts the Crew to Shame_

ROBINSON caught the child from the berth. He paused--it was an instinct born of Labrador experience--to wrap a blanket about her, though she was clothed for the day. She reminded him quietly that she would catch cold without her cap; and this he snatched in passing. Then he was on deck--in the midst of a litter from aloft and of a vast confusion of terrified cries.

Before she struck, the _Fish Killer_ had ascended a gently shelving beach of ice, washed smooth by the sea. There she hung precariously. Her stem was low, so low that the choppy sea came aboard and swamped the cabin; and the bow was high on the ice. Her bowsprit was in splinters, her topmast on deck, her spliced mainmast tottering; she was the bedraggled wreck of a craft.