a new shoal the next. I've heard my father tell 'bout pickin'
huckleberries when he was a boy off where them breakers are now. Good
dry land it was then. Hey! there's Luther. Ship ahoy, Lute!"

The little brown life-saving station was huddled between two sand-hills.
There was a small stable and a henhouse and yard just behind it. Captain
Davis, rawboned and brown-faced, waved a welcome to them from the side
door.

"Spied you comin', Eri," he said in a curiously mild voice, that sounded
odd coming from such a deep chest. "I'm mighty glad to see you, too?
Jump down and come right in. Pashy 'll be out in a minute. Here she is
now."

Miss Patience Davis was as plump as her brother was tall. She impressed
one as a comfortable sort of person. Captain Eri did the honors and
everyone shook hands. Then they went into the living room of the
station.

What particularly struck Mrs. Snow was the neatness of everything. The
brass on the pump in the sink shone like fire as the sunlight from the
window struck it. The floor was white from scouring. There were shelves
on the walls and on these, arranged in orderly piles, were canned goods
of all descriptions. The table was covered with a figured oilcloth.

Two or three men, members of the crew, were seated in the wooden chairs
along the wall, but rose as the party came in. Captain Davis introduced
them, one after the other. Perhaps the most striking characteristic of
these men was the quiet, almost bashful, way in which they spoke; they
seemed like big boys, as much as anything, and yet the oldest was nearly