, just as if he saw the scene again, his eyes closed and his
splendid shock of long white hair was once more thrown back into its
accustomed place in the rocking-chair.

"It wasn't a fair deal, Doctor. Not a fair deal. We was sailors in
those days, just as much as them is in they old tin kettles that
rattles up and down t' Straits now, for all they big size and they
gold braid. T' Manxman wouldn't have come by her end as she did if
stout arms and good seamen could 'a' saved her. Murdered she was,
Doctor, murdered by this same Jack Frost what's trying to blow us out
o' house and home right now. But don't you have no uneasiness, Doctor,
I've got him beat this time, and she'll not drag. No, sir, not till I
do"--and a fierce spirit gleamed out through his eyes.

We had often wondered why Uncle Rube, the genial, gentle, hospitable
old man that the coast knew him to be, had come to put down his
anchors in this wild and almost desolate gorge. Here was a possible
explanation. The loss of his only lad must have been from this very
Manxman, and by some strange twist of mentality the father had
determined to plant himself just as near the scene and circumstance as
human strength permitted, end there, single-handed if need be, fight
out the battle of life, with the daily sense of flaunting the enemy
that had robbed him of his joy in life--his one and only child. For
with Chestertonian paradox this lonely man's passion was children.

"No. No, he can't move her, Doctor," he repeated, as if he were
reading my thoughts, as I truly believe that he was. For our minds in
the North are not crusted like tender feet with horny coverings from
the chafe of boots, or as are minds beset with telephones, special
deliveries, and editions of the yellow press.

"No, Uncle Rube, you don't think I'd sit here if I wasn't certain of
it. You've got him beaten to a frazzle this time."

I was right then, for Uncle Rube "slacked away" as he put it, and took
up the thread of his story again without further comment, but not
before apologizing for any undue familiarity into which the
excitement, of which he was well aware, might have betrayed him.

"Us found t' seals early that year, and panned a voyage of as fine
young fat as ever a 'swiler' wished for, but t' weather was dirty from
t' day us struck t' patch, as if Jack Frost was determined us
shouldn't have 'em. Anyhow, afore we could pick up more'n half what
us'd killed, a dozen o' our lads got adrift