There was a long, gruff sound—a big whistle, like low thunder—and silence... then the whistle—sharper, and seeking—and the muffled chugging of big screws.... The faces, toward the sea, waited—intent. “She’s off her course—“... The vague sounds came in nearer—and sheered away.... Through the veiling fog they could see red lights—and green—of the steamer. Then the whistle broke shrilly and moved off... the churring waves followed her.... On the beach they had thrown fresh brush on the fire, great armfuls that flared high—and the sound of the steamer dwindled through the mist. “Looks as if the moon might break through,” said Uncle William. The eyes looked up to a luminous spot in the fog—and came back to the beach.... “He ’d ’a’ been in hours ago,” said Andy, “—if he was coming—” “Put in-shore—like enough,” responded Uncle William. The men gathered about the fire, squatting on the sand or sitting on boxes and kegs.... The fire was dying down now, but no one rose to throw on fuel.... The girl wandered to the water’s edge and stood listening. The little waves touched her feet, but she did not draw back... Glances, by the fire, sought her and looked away. A dense stillness had settled on them—only the little moving waves broke it, as they ran up and ran back.... A muffled creak out of the dark, like the whisper of a sail turning, half-asleep—Then the rattle of cords, and a voice that laughed—“A-hoy!” The mist was still again, and then the call, coming through its blankness, “A-hoy! Ship ahoy!” The mist parted and the boat came gliding through—her lights little points in the night—Slowly the mists lifted—rolling up, like great curtains into the darker night. A soft light that was not of moon or stars grew about them—The fire had died out and only the gentle light shone everywhere and through it the dark boat, seeming motionless, crept softly in. XXV THE group on the beach went swiftly toward the dock, Uncle William’s lantern leading the way and swinging toward the end. He leaned over toward the boat in the mysterious light, “What ’d you ketch, Georgie?” The young man looked up and a rope swirled through the air—“Twenty-six-seven barrel,” he said easily. A shout went up from the dock, broken sounds, bits of scoffing disbelief that piled down into the boat and shouted back and made a marvel of the catch.