The sun was well up when they reached the top of the hill--a pale,
frightened-looking sun, but nevertheless a sun. The bartender took off
his cap and saluted it gravely. Below them lay the town.

"We'll go down there," said Jan to Mrs. Goles, "and from there, when
you're well, we'll go home--to my mother. But," he added gravely, "we
will go by train."

She smiled weakly at him. "I could go without a train--on my hands and
knees I could crawl to the mother of you! You don't know it, but when I
was growing up it was a man like you I always used to dream about. And
I'm not sure I'm not dreaming now!"

"Don't worry," said the bartender. "We're all awake--and alive. And you
bet it's great to be alive again! Ain't it,"--he turned to the Finn
woman,--"you mother of eight?"

The Finn woman made no answer. She was nursing her baby.




Cogan Capeador


Eight bells had gone, the morning watch was done, it was almost time to
eat, and so Kieran, the pump-man, laid aside the tools of his berth and
came strolling aft; and swinging down the long gangway he sang: