Amidst such reminiscences we were called to supper. I remember being
solemnly impressed when that old man, bent with hardship and the
weight of years, clasped his hands reverently, and in rude terms, but
full of meaning, asked a blessing upon their humble board. I remember
the flickering light from the logs burning on the hearth, and how it
showed, upon the faces of those who sat there, a strong feeling of the
words in which rose an added petition in behalf of those on the mighty
deep.

Supper being ended, the old man took down the tobacco-board, and, when
he had cut enough to fill his pipe, handed it to his son, who, having
done the same, restored it to its nail in the chimney-corner. Then
they smoked, and talked of dangers braved and overcome, of pirates,
and shipwrecks, and escapes, till I involuntarily drew closer into my
corner, and looked over my shoulder. Suddenly the dog under the table
gave a whining growl.

"I never seed the like o' that dog," exclaimed the fisherman, turning
to me. "I thought he was asleep. But if ever a foot comes nigh the
house at night, he gives notice. Depend on it, there's some one
coming."

The door of the little entry opened, with a rush of the whistling
wind, and a man stepped in. The dog half rose, and though he wagged
his tail, in token that he knew the step to be that of a friend, he
kept up a low whine. A young man, muffled to the eyes, and with the
water dripping from his huge pea-jacket, opened the kitchen-door.

"William Crosby, why, what brings you out in such a storm as this?