little life in me, I never expected to see another night. Then I must
have forgotten everything, even t' people on t' shore. For I never saw
any boat coming, or any one land. Everything had been washed away but
myself. I had been alone, I reckon, many hours. It seemed ages since I
'd heard a human voice; but I still remembers some one putting his
hand on my shoulder. They had been calling, so they told me, but
somehow I heard nothing. They kept me a good many days before I knowed
anything--doing for me like a mother would for her boy. But more'n a
week had gone by before I could tell 'em who I was.

"And then it all came back to me--t' cruel suffering of my shipmates,
and most of all of Willy, t' only chick or child I ever had. He had my
coat over his oil frock, and he were so brave, so young, and so
strong. And he lived till morning--long after great strong men had
perished--and me able to do nothing. Then his poor frozen body was
washed to and fro in that terrible surf, as if my boy wouldn't leave
me even if he was dead. Why I lived on, and why it pleased God to
spare my poor life I never knowed, or shall know, Doctor, till he
tells me himself."

He was sitting bolt upright now, looking me straight in the face. But
the fire died suddenly from Uncle Rube's eyes, and, exhausted by the
effort and the memories the story brought back to him, he fell back in
the chair as if he had been struck by some knock-out blow. The thud of
the fall once more woke the child, and, seeing me jump to the old
man's help, she began to sob piteously. It was only for a moment,
however. The splendid vitality of the man, toughened by his hard life
and simple fare, soon made him master of himself again, and,
apologizing for giving me trouble, he took up the child, crooning over
her to get her quiet.

"Forty years I've been living here, Doctor," he went on. "Forty
years--and t' last ten I've been all alone. Not a living soul have I
had t' chance to save all these long years, though God knows I've kept
as good a lookout as one watch could. Then Neighbor Blake lost his
helpmate like I had mine, and he let me share up with him, and have
Nellie. He wanted his boys to help him get food and things for t'
rest, so a girl was what he gave me. And I couldn't have had a boy,
Doctor, anyhow. Willy's place will never be filled for me, till he
comes himself and fills it, and that won't be long now either." He
looked at his pipe, which had gone out, and th