the less of me for that. Whenever things look dark, I lean up against
something and think of mother. If they get positively black, I stand
on one leg and think of father. After that I can face anything.

Did I think, too, of another, younger than mother and fairer than
father? Yes, I did. "Bear up, darling," I had whispered as she
nestled her head beneath my oilskins and kicked out backward with
one heel in the agony of her girlish grief, "in five years the voyage
will be over, and after three more like it, I shall come back with
money enough to buy a second-hand fishing-net and settle down on
shore."

Meantime the ship's preparations were complete. The masts were all
in position, the sails nailed up, and men with axes were busily
chopping away the gangway.

"All ready?" called the Captain.

"Aye, aye, sir."

"Then hoist the anchor in board and send a man down with the key to
open the bar."

Opening the bar! the last sad rite of departure. How often in my
voyages have I seen it; the little group of men soon to be exiled
from their home, standing about with saddened faces, waiting to see
the man with the key open the bar--held there by some strange
fascination.

* * * * *