u pick me up for?" the stranger groaned. "Disko, what did
you pick me up for?"

Disko dropped a heavy hand on his shoulder, for the man's eyes were
wild and his lips trembled as he stared at the silent crew. Then up and
spoke Pennsylvania Pratt, who was also Haskins or Rich or McVitty when
Uncle Salters forgot; and his face was changed on him from the face of
a fool to the countenance of an old, wise man, and he said in a strong
voice: "The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the
name of the Lord! I was--I am a minister of the Gospel. Leave him to
me."

"Oh, you be, be you?" said the man. "Then pray my son back to me! Pray
back a nine-thousand-dollar boat an' a thousand quintal of fish. If
you'd left me alone my widow could ha' gone on to the Provident an'
worked fer her board, an' never known--an' never known. Now I'll hev to
tell her."

"There ain't nothin' to say," said Disko. "Better lie down a piece,
Jason Olley."

When a man has lost his only son, his summer's work, and his means of
livelihood, in thirty counted seconds, it is hard to give consolation.

"All Gloucester men, wasn't they?" said Tom Platt, fiddling helplessly
with a dory-becket.

"Oh, that don't make no odds," said Jason, wringing the wet from his
beard. "I'll be rowin' summer boarders araound East Gloucester this
fall." He rolled heavily to the rail, singing:

"Happy birds that sing and fly
Round thine altars, O Most High!"

"Come with me. Come below!" said Penn, as though he had a right to give
orders. Their eyes met and fought for a quarter of a minute.

"I dunno who you be, but I'll come," said Jason submissively. "Mebbe
I'll get back some o' the--some o' the-nine thousand dollars." Penn led
him into the cabin and slid the door behind.

"That ain't Penn," cried Uncle Salters. "It's Jacob Boiler, an'--he's
remembered Johnstown! I never seed such eyes in any livin' man's head.
What's to do naow? What'll I do naow?"

They could hear Penn's voice and Jason's together. Then Penn's went on
alone, and Salters slipped off his hat, for Penn was praying. Presently
the little man came up the steps, huge drops of sweat on his face, and
looked at the crew. Dan was still sobbing by the wheel.

"He don't know us," Salters groaned. "It's all to do over again,
checkers and everything--an' what'll he say to me?"

Penn spoke; they could hear that it was to strangers. "I have prayed,"
said he. "Our people believe in prayer. I hav