had left home because of family
troubles. I talked to the young men first, to those who had forgotten
their mothers and thought their mothers had forgotten them, and I told
of my experiences with waiting, heavy-hearted mothers who had sons at
sea. Some heads went down at that, and here and there I saw a boy gulp,
but the old fellow I was particularly anxious to move still grinned up
at me like a malicious monkey. Then I talked of the sailor's wife, and
of her double burden of homemaking and anxiety, and soon I could pick
out some of the husbands by their softened faces. But still my old
man grinned and squinted. Last of all I described the whalers who were
absent from home for years, and who came back to find their children and
their grandchildren waiting for them. I told how I had seen them, in our
New England coast towns, covered, as a ship is covered with barnacles,
by grandchildren who rode on their shoulders and sat astride of their
necks as they walked down the village streets. And now at last the sneer
left my old man's loose lips. He had grandchildren somewhere. He
twisted uneasily in his seat, coughed, and finally took out a big red
handkerchief and wiped his eyes. The episode encouraged me.

"When I came here," I added, "I intended to preach a sermon on 'The
Heavenly Vision.' Now I want to give you a glimpse of that in addition
to the vision we have had of home."

I ended with a bit of the sermon and a prayer, and when I raised my head
the old man of the sardonic grin was standing before me.

"Missus," he said in a husky whisper, "I'd like to shake your hand."

I took his hard old fist, and then, seeing that many of the other
sailors were beginning to move hospitably but shyly toward me, I said:

"I would like to shake hands with every man here."

At the words they surged forward, and the affair became a reception,
during which I shook hands with every sailor of my congregation. The
next day my hand was swollen out of shape, for the sailors had gripped
it as if they were hauling on a hawser; but the experience was worth
the discomfort. The best moment of the morning came, however, when the
pastor of the ship faced me, goggle-eyed and marveling.

"I wouldn't have believed it," was all he could say. "I thought the men
would mob you."

"Why should they mob me?" I wanted to know.

"Why," he stammered, "because the thing is so--so--unnatural."

"Well," I said, "if it is unnatural for women to talk to men