sturdy shoulders he carried food, two books of devotions and one of
Irish poetry, and his vestments. Children who were playing a game called
"deer-hunting" on the barrens behind the harbor were the first to know
of the priest's approach. They shouted the news down to the gray cabins
on the slope. A few of the men were working out among the rocks, under
the skipper's supervision; others were cobbling skiffs and bullies that
lay high and dry beneath the empty stages, and the old fellows were
sitting around, giving advice and sucking at rank pipes. The harbor was
at peace; and, what was still more unusual, it was free from
hunger-fear. By the skipper's first important stroke of business his
reign promised to be prosperous, even though tyrannical. At word that
Father McQueen was sighted all work was stopped. The dories among the
outer rocks were pulled to the land-wash. The men left their tarring and
caulking under the drying-stages. Women issued from the cabins with
shawls thrown hastily about their heads and shoulders. The skipper led
the way up the twisty path to the level wilderness above. There was one
man in the world whom he feared--feared without bitterness even as he
did the saints on their thrones of gold. That man was Father McQueen.

Cap in hand, Black Dennis Nolan took the haversack from the priest and
slung it on his own shoulder.

"Ye've walked a weary way, father," he said. "Ye bes mud and water to
the knees, sir."

"But a step, Denny. Naught but a step, my son," replied the missionary,
cheerfully. "I was in Witless Bay for two holy baptisms, a marriage an'
a wake, an' I just took the notion to step over an' see ye all in
Chance Along. _Pax vobiscum_, all of ye! My children, ye look grand an'
hearty. How is Mother Nolan, the dear old body? Spry as ever, ye say?