part of it is that they never seem to lose courage."

"I wonder they don't go elsewhere and try some other kind of work,"
suggested Miss Jelliffe.

"I dare say they are fitted for little else," I replied. "And besides,
like so many other people all over the face of the earth they are
attached to their own land, and many get homesick who are transplanted to
other places. They seem to have taken root in the cracks between these
barren rocks, and the tearing them away is hard. So they keep on, in
spite of all the hardships. They get lost in storms and fogs; they get
drowned or are frozen to death on the ice-pans, nearly every spring, at
the sealing, for which they are paid in shares. This naturally means that
if the ship is unsuccessful they get nothing for all their terrible toil
and exposure. Indeed, Miss Jelliffe, they are brave people and hard
workers, who never get more than the scantiest rewards. I think I am
becoming very fond of them. I'm a Newfoundlander, you know."

"Was it home-sickness that brought you back?" she asked.

"It may have been sickness of some sort," I answered.

She looked at me, without saying anything more, and we stepped on board
the boat, after I had guided her over the precarious footing of a loose
plank which, however, she tackled bravely.




CHAPTER VI