At that he opened the door quietly and stepped inside with a strange air
of reverence and eagerness. The boy followed softly and closed the door
behind him. The fire roared and crackled in the round stove, but the
room was empty of human life. Wet garments of fine linen hung on a line
behind the stove. The inner door opened and old Mother Nolan hobbled
into the kitchen with a wrinkled finger to her lips.

"Whist wid ye!" she cautioned. "She be sleepin' like a babe, the poor
darlint, in Father McQueen's own bed, wid everything snug an' warm as
ye'd find in any marchant's grand house in St. John's."

She took her accustomed seat beside the stove and lit her pipe.

"Saints alive! but can't ye set down!" she exclaimed. "I wants to talk
wid ye, b'ys. Tell me this--where bes t'e rest o' the poor folk from the
wrack?"

"She bes the only livin' soul we found, Granny," replied the skipper.
"She was lashed in the foremast--an' t'other spars was all over the
side. We found a poor dead body in one o' the cabins--drownded to
death--an' not so much as another corpse. Aye, Granny, 'twas a desperate
cruel wrack altogether."

The old woman shot a keen glance at him; but he returned it without a
blink.

"Didn't ye find no more gold an' diamonds, then?" she asked.

"We found some gold. I give it all to the men."