Progress was fearfully slow. Inch by inch he gained on the shore--crawling--crawling steadily. All the while he feared that the great pans would drift out and leave the fragments room to disperse. Once he had to spread wide his arms and legs and pause until the ice was packed closer.
"Two yards more--only two yards more!" he could say at last.
Once on the road to Ruddy Cove, which he well knew, his spirits rose; and with a cheery mood came new strength. It was a rough road, up hill and down again, through deep snowdrifts and over slippery rocks. Night fell; but there was light enough to show the way, save in the deeper valleys, and there he had to struggle along as best he might.
Step after step, hill after hill, thicket after thicket: cheerfully he trudged on; for the mail-bag was safe on his back, and Ruddy Cove was but three miles distant. Three was reduced to two, two to one, one to the last hill.
From the crest of Ruddy Rock he could look down on the lights of the harbour--yellow lights, lying in the shadows of the valley. There was a light in the post-office. They were waiting for him there--waiting for their letters--waiting to send the mail on to the north. In a few minutes he could say that Her Majesty's mail had been brought safe to Ruddy Cove.
Billy looked up from his seat by the roaring fire in the post-office. An old woman had come in. There was a strange light in her eyes--the light of a hope which survives, spite of repeated disappointment.
Billy hoped that there was. He longed to see those gentle eyes shine--to see the famished look disappear.
"No, Aunt Esther; 'tis not come yet. Maybe 'twill come next----"
"Sure, I've waited these three year," she said, with a trembling lip. "'Tis from me son----"
"Ha!" cried the postmaster. "What's this? 'Tis all blurred by the water. 'Missus E--s--B--l--g--e--l.' Sure, 'tis you, woman. 'Tis a letter for you at last!"
"'Tis from me son!" the old woman muttered eagerly. "'Tis t' tell me where he is, an'--an'--when he's comin' home. Thank God, the mail came safe the night."
What if Billy had left the mail-bag to soak and sink in the waters of the bay? What if he had failed in his duty to the people? How many other such letters might there not be in that bag for the mothers and fathers of the northern ports?