ll that wild
hair pruned away--and then they began to laugh at each other as the
biggest joke in their short lives.

After they reached St. Anthony and were installed in the Orphanage,
they were two of the happiest and most popular lads in the place.

They purred like pleased kittens and lost no chance to show how much
they liked the people who were doing so much for them. They studied
hard, and put the same driving spirit into play. It could be seen that
the little "heathen" of the island were in a fair way to become in
time the leaders of men who are needed in all walks of life. Dr.
Grenfell felt well rewarded for all the trouble he had taken for Jimmy
and Billy and all their family.

The "liveyeres," as those who "live here" are called, may lead rough,
hard lives. But for that very reason they welcome books, and music,
and all such things.

One day as the _Strathcona_ was scudding southward, her sails swelling
with a stiff breeze, and the Doctor in a great hurry to reach a
distant coast-line and get to work on some patients who had been
waiting a long time for him, a little boat came and planted herself
directly in the _Strathcona's_ path.

The _Strathcona_ was a small craft herself, but she seemed a monster
compared with this impudent sailboat. The smaller boat had a
funny-looking flag, hoisted as a signal to stop. It was almost as if a
harbor tug should attempt to hold up the _Leviathan_.

Dr. Grenfell thought it must be some very serious surgical case.

He gave the order at once: "Down sail and heave her to."

Then an old, white-haired man, the only passenger in the small boat,
climbed stiffly over the rail, fairly creaking in his joints.

"Good-day," said Grenfell. "What can we do for you? We're in a hurry."

The old man took off his cap, and held it in his hand as he looked
down at the deck. Then he mustered up courage to make his request.

"Please, Doctor," he said slowly, "I wanted to ask you if you had any
books you could lend me. We haven't anything to read here."

Dr. Grenfell confesses with shame that his first impulse was to return
a sharp, vexed answer, and to ask, "What do you mean by holding up my
mission boat for such a reason?" But then he realized his mistake. In
a way, it would be as good a deed to put a prop under the old man's
spirit with a good book as to take off his leg with a knife.

"Haven't you got any books?"

"Yes, Doctor. I've got two, but I've read 'em through, over and