nd seaman
and mate on more vessels than I can count--in every part of the
uncivilized world. I skippered one ship, even--pestilential tub that she
was."

He fell silent after this speech, longer than any he had made so far.

"Then I'll get home," Kirk said. "_Home_. Can't we let 'em know, or
anything? I suppose they've been worrying."

"I think it likely that they have," said the mate. "No, this ship's got
no wireless. I'll send 'em a telegram when we dock to-morrow."

"Thank you," said Kirk. Then, after a long pause: "Oh, if you knew how
awful it was out there."

"I know," said Mr. Martin.

The _Celestine_ was bowling into Bedford Harbor with a fair wind. Kirk,
in a reefer any number of sizes too large for him, sat on a
hatch-coaming and drank in the flying wonder of the schooner's way. He
was sailing on a great ship! How surprised Ken would be--and envious,
too, for Ken had always longed to sail in a ship. The wind soughed in
the sails and sang in the rigging, and the water flew past the
_Celestine_ and bubbled away behind her in a seething curve of foam. Mr.
Martin stood looking up at the smooth, rounded shape of the main
topsail, and whistling the song about the hat which he had lost and so
miraculously found. He looked more than usually thoughtful and
melancholy.

A fussy tug took the _Celestine_ the last stage of her journey, and
early afternoon found her warped in to the wharf where Ken had seen her
on the eve of her departure. Then, she had been waking to action at the
beginning of a long cruise; now, a battered gull with gray, folded
wings, she lay at the dock, pointing her bowsprit stiffly up to the
dingy street where horses tramped endlessly over the cobblestones. The
crew was jubilant. Some were leaving for other ships; some were going on
shore leave, with months' pay unspent.

"I'm attending to this salvage, sir," said Mr. Martin, to the captain.
"My folks live up Asquam way. I'll take him along with me."

Asquam's languid representative of the telegraph knocked upon the door
of Applegate Farm, which was locked. Then he thrust the yellow envelope
as far under the door as possible and went his way. An hour later, a
tall man and a radiant small boy pushed open the gate on Winterbottom
Road and walked across the yellow grass. Kirk broke away and ran toward
the house, hands outflung.

"Phil! Ken!" he called jubilantly.

His face shadowed as his hands came against the unyielding door of the
house.