Mayo rowed ashore and toiled his way up the little street to the widow's cottage. He was ashamed to meet Polly Candage--ashamed with the feelings of a strong man who has put out every effort and has failed. But, somehow, he wanted to feel that sisterly grip of her hand and look down into those encouraging gray eyes. He remembered that in times past she had soothed and stimulated him. This time he did not come to her expecting to get new courage for further effort; he had exhausted all resources, he told himself. But in his bitter humiliation he needed the companionship of a true friend--yes, he felt, almost, that she was now the only friend he had left. His experiences with those whom he had before looked on as friends had made him feel that he stood alone. She came running to him in the little parlor, her hands outstretched and her face alight. He felt at first sight of her, and his face flushed at thought of his weakness, that he wanted to put his head on her shoulder and weep. “You poor boy, things have not been going well!” He choked, for the caress in her tones touched his heart. He patted her hands, and she sat down beside him on the old haircloth sofa. “I've had a terrible week of it, Polly.” Her sweet smile did not waver. The gray eyes stared straight into his. “I have talked to 'em till my mouth has been parched and my tongue sore, and God knows my heart is sore. All they do is look at me and shake their heads. I thought I had friends alongshore--men who believed in me--men who would take my word and help me. I'll never be fooled again by the fellows who pat you on the back in sunny weather, and won't lend you an umbrella when it rains unless you'll leave your watch with 'em for security. And speaking of the watch,” he went on, smiling wistfully, for her mere presence and her unspoken sympathy had begun to cheer him, “reminds me why I'm here in Maquoit. Oh yes,” he put in, hastily, catching a queer look of disappointment on her face, “I did want to see you. I looked forward to seeing you after all the others had turned their backs on me. There's something wonderfully comforting in your face, Polly, when you just look at me. You don't have to say a word.” “I do thank you, Boyd.” “I hear that Rowley is getting uneasy about his schooner--wants to take it away from us. So I have sold my watch and all the other bits of personal things I could turn into cash, and am here to give him the money and tell him we're going back to fishing again.” “You'll give up the steamer?” “Yes--and hopes and prospects and all. I've got to.” “But if you could win!” “I'll stay down where I belong. I won't dream any more.” “Don't give up.” “There's nothing else to do. We poor devils need something besides our bare hands.” The girl struggled mightily with her next question, but he did not note her emotions, for his elbows were on his knees and he was staring at the rag carpet. “Will it cost a lot of money for what you want to do on the steamer?”