a livin' chance o' savin' her," had bellowed the
captain of a fishing smack, as he swept by, within
biscuit-toss of the dock, his boom submerged, the
water curling over the rail.

"She went slap ag'in them chunks o' cut stone!"
shouted the mate of a tug through the window of a
pilot house.

"Got her off with her bow split open, but they
can't keep her free! Sunk by now, I guess," had
yelled one of the crew of a dory making for the shipyard.

As each bulletin was shouted back over the water
in answer to the anxious inquiries of Marrows, the
wife would clasp her fingers the tighter. She made
no moan or outburst. Abram would blame her and
say it was her fault,--everything was her fault that
went wrong.

When the tug had made fast to a wharf spile Captain
Joe cleared the stringpiece, and walked straight
to Marrows. He was still soaking wet underneath his
clothes, only his outer garments being dry,--a condition
which never affected him in the least, "salt
water bein' healthy," he would say.

"What did I tell ye, Abram Marrows?" he
exploded, in a voice that could be heard to the turnpike.
"Didn't I say Baxter warn't fittin', and that