Peter Crudden was a hard-looking figure of a man, coming into Duncan's store that day. He had not shaved for days, and his thick hair looked enormous--it was so tangled. He had not slept in a week; and when he took his seat on the long store bench and let his head settle wearily back against the wall he looked old. He was telling about the big gale coming on and how her spars went, which maybe saved her from going into the shoals and being lost right there, and how they worked her way clear o' the shoals under jury-rig, how they were lookin' for a little ease and comfort, when aboard comes this unlucky sea, with no more warning than a shooting star out of the sky, and sweeps--cleaner than ever you could sweep the floor o' the store--her deck and all, everything. And atop o' that a sea to fill her cabin full. Four of 'em makin' for the deck were thrown back into the cabin again--smashed afoul o' the stove one, and atop o' the lockers and into a looard bunk another; and how they picked themselves up and made the deckhand when they got there--as if a clean-swept deck warn't hard luck enough--there was Dave Elwell that was to the wheel, his breast smashed again' the wheel spokes and he dead. "And the two on the deck gone--gone, sir, so quick that we never even got a sight o' them or a smothered hail from them goin'," concluded Peter. "An' cold! And ice! And--" But once more he let his head fall back against the wall. Fred was so wrapped up in Peter's story that he forgot Mrs. Pentle till he found her beside him and heard her saying in a low voice: "When I was a little girl I listened to fishermen on that same bench, with their stories of toil and death. And I remember how I would linger, making believe to retie my packages into a tighter bundle, to hear more of what they had to say. It was a man sitting on that bench, Mr. Lichens, in just that way, not knowing who I was, who brought word of my father's vessel gone down--and all hands with her." "I cal'late the hard tales told from that same bench would fill more books than was ever writ about Gloucester, an' there's been a many--an' some foolish ones among 'em," said Fred. "Those two men washed overboard"--Peter was speaking again--"some one has got to tell their people how they come to be lost. And poor Dave in the ice-house aboard the vessel--some one has got to 'tend to him." "I'll 'tend to Dave," said Mr. Duncan. "That'll help," said Peter. "And now--I'm through with fishin'--through with goin' to sea! I'm goin' to stop ashore!" It was then Mrs. Pentle ran from beside Fred and into the store. "Captain Crudden----" "This is Mrs. Pentle, captain," said Mr. Duncan. "Celia Curtin that was," explained Mrs. Pentle. "I knew you as a boy." "I know," said Peter. And then he almost smiled: "And no girl in Gloucester ever better able to take care of herself!" "If I could get you something to do in my store, would you take it, captain? If it was fit work, I mean, for a man?"