as; legends of saints, and tales of queer dances or fights away in
the cold Newfoundland baiting-ports. Salters was mainly agricultural;
for, though he read "Josephus" and expounded it, his mission in life
was to prove the value of green manures, and specially of clover,
against every form of phosphate whatsoever. He grew libellous about
phosphates; he dragged greasy "Orange Judd" books from his bunk and
intoned them, wagging his finger at Harvey, to whom it was all Greek.
Little Penn was so genuinely pained when Harvey made fun of Salters's
lectures that the boy gave it up, and suffered in polite silence. That
was very good for Harvey.

The cook naturally did not join in these conversations. As a rule, he
spoke only when it was absolutely necessary; but at times a queer gift
of speech descended on him, and he held forth, half in Gaelic, half in
broken English, an hour at a time. He was especially communicative with
the boys, and he never withdrew his prophecy that one day Harvey would
be Dan's master, and that he would see it. He told them of
mail-carrying in the winter up Cape Breton way, of the dog-train that
goes to Coudray, and of the ram-steamer _Arctic_, that breaks the ice
between the mainland and Prince Edward Island. Then he told them
stories that his mother had told him, of life far to the southward,
where water never froze; and he said that when he died his soul would
go to lie down on a warm white beach of sand with palm-trees waving
above. That seemed to the boys a very odd idea for a man who had never
seen a palm in his life. Then, too, regularly at each meal, he would
ask Harvey, and Harvey alone, whether the cooking was to his taste; and
this always made the "second half" laugh. Yet they had a great respect
for the cook's judgment, and in their hearts considered Harvey
something of a mascot by consequence.

And while Harvey was taking in knowledge of new things at each pore and
hard health with every gulp of the good air, the We're Here went her
ways and did her business on the Bank, and the silvery-gray kenches of
well-pressed fish mounted higher and higher in the hold. No one day's
work was out of common, but the average days were many and close
together.

Naturally, a man of Disko's reputation was closely watched--"scrowged
upon," Dan called it--by his neighbours, but he had a very pretty knack
of giving them the slip through the curdling, glidy fog-banks. Disko
avoided company for two reasons. He