of varying extent, from
fragments, like cracked ice, to wide pans; and the whole, it seemed,
floated in contact, pan touching pan all the way across from the feet
of Black Cliff to the first rocks of Scalawag Harbor.

What was inimical was the lift and fall of the ice in the great swells
running in from the open sea.

"Well?" said Tommy Lark.

"I don't know. What do you think?"

"It might be done. I don't know."

"Ay; it might be. No tellin' for sure, though. The ice is in a
wonderful tumble out there."

"Seems t' be heavy ice on the edge o' the sea."

"'Tis in a terrible commotion. I'd not chance it out there. I've never
seed the ice so tossed about in the sea afore."

Tommy Lark reflected.

"Ay," he determined at last; "the best course across is by way o' the
heavy ice on the edge o' the sea. There mus' be a wonderful steep
slant t' some o' them pans when the big seas slips beneath them. Yet a
man could go warily an' maybe keep from slidin' off. If the worst
comes t' the worst, he could dig his toes an' nails in an' crawl. 'Tis
not plain from here if them pans is touchin' each other all the way
across; but it looks that way--I 'low they _is_ touchin', with maybe a
few small gaps that a man could get round somehow. Anyhow, 'tis not
quite certain that a man would cast hisself away t' no purpose out
there; an' if there's evil news in that telegram I 'low a man could
find excuse enough t' try his luck."

"There's news both good and evil in it."

"I don't know," said Tommy Lark uneasily. "Maybe there is. 'Tis awful
t' contemplate. I'm wonderful nervous, Sandy. Isn't you?"

"I is."

"Think the wind will rise? It threatens."

"I don't know. It has a sort of a switch to it that bodes a night o'
temper. 'Tis veerin' t' the east. 'Twill be a gale from the open if it
blows at all."

Tommy Lark turned from a listless contemplation of the gray reaches of
the open sea.

"News both good an' evil!" he mused.

"The one for me an' the other for you. An' God knows the issue! I
can't fathom it."

"I wish 'twas over with."

"Me too. I'm eager t' make an end o' the matter. 'Twill be a sad
conclusion for me."

"I can't think it, Sandy. I thinks the sadness will be mine."

"You rouse my hope, Tommy."

"If 'tis not I, 'twill be you."

"'Twill be you."

Tommy Lark shook his head dolefully. He sighed.

"Ah, no!" said he. "I'm not that deservin' an' fortunate."

"Anyhow, there's good news in that telegram for