Praise the saints for that."

The people, men, women, and children, clustered round him with beaming
faces, and in return he beamed at one and all, and spoke to a dozen by
name. He leaned on the skipper's arm.

"But it bes still early in the forenoon, father," said Dennis. "Where
did yer reverence sleep last night then?"

"Snug as a fox in his den, my son," replied the sturdy old man. "When
dark came on I found me a dry cave in the side of a knoll, an' dry moss
an' sticks for a fire."

"It bain't right for yer reverence to sleep out these rough winter
nights," protested the skipper. "Maybe ye'll be gettin' yer death one o'
these nights, sir."

"Nay, Denny, don't ye go worryin' about me," said the priest. "I am as
tough as a husky."

He descended the path to the clustered cabins, still holding the
skipper's arm and with the populace sliding and crowding at his muddy
heels. His gray eyes were as keen as they were kindly. He remarked
several of the great iron rings on the rocks to seaward.

"What are ye up to now, Denny?" he asked, halting for a moment, and
pointing with a plump but strong and weather-beaten hand.

The skipper's black eyes followed the line indicated.