ow flight that leads down, down, down
with queer twists and turns, till we find ourselves close to the
water's edge. Even in the fiercest gales there is shelter here for the
red-roofed fishing village that surrounds the harbour, while on a warm
afternoon the air is almost oppressively hot. The brown sails of the
fishing smacks and the red roofs of the houses are faithfully
reflected in the clear water beneath them as in a looking-glass.

Outside the door of one of the houses a rough fisherman is seated on a
bench, his back against the house wall, mending his nets. At first
sight he looks almost like an old man, for his hair is grey, though
his body is still strong and active. His hands are twisted and bear
the marks of cruel scars upon them, but his face is peaceful, though
worn and rugged. He handles the nets lovingly, as if he were glad to
feel them slipping through his fingers again. Evidently the nets have
not been used for some time, for there are many holes in them, and the
mending is a slow business. As he works the fisherman sings in a low
voice, not loud enough for the neighbours to hear but just humming to
himself.

Every now and then the door of the house half opens, and a little girl
looks out and asks, 'Thou art really there, Father? truly safe back
again?' The man looks up, smiling, as he calls back, 'Ay, ay, my maid.
Get on with thy work, Margery, and I'll get on with mine.'

'Art thou sure thou art safe, Father?'

He does not answer this question in words, but he raises his voice and
sings the next verse of his song a little more loudly and clearly--

'Because on Me his love is set,
Deliver him I will,
And safely bring him higher yet
Upon My holy hil.'

Later on, when the nets are mended and the sun is sinking above the
Castle Cliff in a fiery glow, Margery comes out and sits on her
father's knee; the lads, home from school, gather round and say, 'Now
then, Master Sellar, tell us once more the story of thy absence from
us, and about how thou wast pressed and taken on board the _Royal
Prince_. Tell us about the capstan and the lashings; about how they
beat thee; what the carpenter and the boatswain's mate did, and how
the gunner went down three times on his bare knees on the deck to beg
thy life. Let us hear it all again.' 'Yes, please do, Father dear,'
chimes in Margery, 'only leave out some of the beatings and the
dreadful part, and hurry on very quickly to the end of the sto