“It ain’t as bad as I thought when I wired ye,” said Captain Joe to Sanford, stopping him as he edged a way through the group of men outside. “It’s turrible hard on th’ poor mate, jes’ been married. Never died till he reached th’ dock. There warn’t a square inch o’ flesh onto him, the doctor said, that warn’t scalded clean off. Poor feller,” and his voice broke, “he ain’t been married but three months; she’s a-comin’ down on the express. Telling her’s the wust thing we’ve got to do to-day. Cap’n Bob’s goin’ ter meet ’er. The other boys is tore up some,” he went on, “but we’ll have ’em crawlin’ ’round in a week or so. Lacey’s got th’ worst crack. Doctor sez he kin save his eye if he pulls through, but ye kin lay yer three fingers in th’ hole in his face. He won’t be as purty as he was,” with an effort at a smile, “but maybe that’ll do him good.” Sanford crossed at once to Lacey’s bed, and laid his hand tenderly on that of the sufferer. The young fellow opened his well eye, and a smile played for an instant about his mouth, the white teeth gleaming. Then it faded with the pain. Betty bent over him still closer and adjusted the covering about his chest. “Has he suffered much during the night, Betty?” asked Sanford. “He didn’t know a thing at first, sir. He didn’t come to himself till the doctor got through. He’s been easier since daylight.” Then, with her head turned toward Sanford, and with a significant gesture, pointing to her own forehead and cheek, she noiselessly described the terrible wounds, burying her face in her hands as the awful memory rose before her. “Oh, Mr. Sanford, I never dreamed anybody could suffer so.” “Where does he suffer most?” asked Sanford in a whisper. Lacey opened his eye. “In my back, Mr. Sanford.” Betty laid her fingers on his hand. “Don’t talk, Billy; doctor said ye weren’t to talk.” The eye shut again wearily, and the brown, rough, scarred hand with the blue tattoo marks under the skin closed over the little fingers and held on. Betty sat fanning him gently, looking down upon his bruised face. As each successive pain racked his helpless body she would hold her breath until it passed, tightening her fingers that he might steady himself the better: all her heart went out to him in his pain. Aunty Bell watched her for a moment; then going to her side, she drew her hand with a caressing stroke under the girl’s chin, a favorite love-touch of hers, and said:— “Cap’n says we got to go home, child, both of us. You’re tuckered out, an’ I got some chores to do. We can’t do no more good here. You come ’long an’ get washed up ’fore Caleb comes. You don’t want to let him see ye bunged up like this, an’ all smudged and dirty with th’ soot a-droppin’ down. He’ll be here in half an hour. They’ve sent the tug to the Ledge for him an’ the men. Come, Betty, that’s a good child.”