proceeded in silence to the landing. Here, by dint of much shouting and
hallooing, the inmates of a house close by became informed of something
unusual outside, and, after a suitable delay, a man appeared, carrying a
lantern.

"It's you, is it?" he said to the mail-carrier. "I reckoned you wouldn't
cross to-night. Who ye got in there?"

"It's Joe Chillis. We picked him up outside, about a mile off the land.
His boat had been upset, an' he'd lost an oar; an' ef we hadn't gone to
his assistance it would have been the last of old Joe, I guess."

"Hullo, Joe! Why don't you git up?" asked the man, seeing that Chillis
did not rise, or change his position.

"By George! I don't know what's the matter with him. Give me the
lantern;" and the mail-carrier took the light and flashed it over
Chillis's face.

"I don't know whether he's asleep, or has fainted, or what. He's awful
white, an' there's an ugly cut in his shoulder, an' his coat all torn
away. Must have hurt himself tryin' to right his boat, I guess. George!
the iron on the rowlock must have struck right into the flesh."

"He didn't say he was hurt," rejoined the other oarsman.

"It's like enough he didn't know it," said the man with the lantern.
"When a man's in danger he doesn't feel a hurt. Poor old Joe! he wasn't
drunk, or he couldn't have handled his boat at all in this weather. We
must take him in, I s'pose."

Then the three men lifted him upon his feet, and, by shaking and
talking, aroused him sufficiently to walk with their support to the
house. There they laid him on a bench, and brought him a glass of hot
whisky and water; and the women of the house gathered about shyly,
gazing compassionately upon the ugly wound in the old man's delicate
white flesh, white and delicate as the fairest woman's.

Presently, Chillis sat up and looked about him. "Have you got me the
oars?" he said to the mail-carrier.

"You won't row any more to-night, Joe, _I_ guess," the carrier answered,
smiling grimly. "Look at your shoulder, man."

"Shoulder be d----d!" retorted Chillis. "Beg pardon, ladies; I didn't
see you. Been asleep, haven't I? Perhaps, sence you seem to think I'm
not fit for rowin', one of these ladies will do me the favor to help me
put myself in order. Have you a piece of court-plaster, or a healing
salve, ma'am?"--to the elder woman. "Ladies mostly keep sech trifles
about them, I believe."

Then he straightened himself up to his magnificent height, and th