done,'
And all together let us go beneath the ocean's roar."

I never again expect to hear a sea song sung as Tom O'Donnell sang it
then, his beard still wet with the spray and his eyes glowing like
coal-fire. And the voice of him! He must have been heard in half of
Gloucester that night. He made the table quiver. And when they all
rose with glasses raised and sang the last lines again:

"And here's to it that once again
We'll trawl and seine and race again;
Here's to us that's living and to them that's gone before;
And when to us the Lord says, 'Come!'
We'll bow our heads, 'His will be done,'
And all together we shall go beneath the ocean's roar----"

any stranger hearing and seeing might have understood why it was that
their crews were ready to follow these men to death.

"The like of you, Tom O'Donnell, never sailed the sea," said Patsie
Oddie when they had got the last ro-o-ar--"even the young ladies come
in off the street to hear you better."

He meant Minnie Arkell, who was standing in the doorway with her eyes
fixed on O'Donnell, who had got up to go home, but with Wesley trying
to hold him back. He was to the door when Minnie Arkell stopped him.
She said she had heard him singing over to her house and couldn't keep
away, and then, with a smile and a look into his eyes, she asked
O'Donnell what was his hurry--and didn't he remember her?

In her suit of yachting blue, with glowing face and tumbled hair, she
was a picture. "Look at her," nudged Clancy--"isn't she a corker? But
she's wasting time on Tom O'Donnell."

"What's your hurry, Tom?" called Wesley. "Another song."

"No, no, it's the little woman on the hill. She knew I was to come
down to-night and not a wink of sleep will she get till I'm home. And
she knows there'll be bad work to-morrow maybe and she'd like to see
me a little before I go, and I'd like to see her, too."

"She's a lucky woman, Captain O'Donnell, and you must think a lot of
her?" Minnie Arkell had caught his eye once more.

"I don't know that she's so awfully lucky with me on her hands,"
laughed O'Donnell, "but I do think a lot of her, child."

"Child? to me? But you don't remember me, Captain?"

"Indeed, and I do, and well remember you. And it's the beautiful woman
you've grown to be. But you always were a lovely child. It's often my
wife spoke of you and wondered how you were. She's heard me speak of
your father a hundred times, I know. A brave m