“I couldn’t let you go by without saying good luck again, Dannie.” “Oh, the girl!” He patted her head and drew her to him till he felt her lips making warm little circles against his neck. “Dannie?” “Yes, dear.” “I wish you’d stay at home this trip. The _Pantheon_ is old.” “Old? So she is. Not the vessel the _Katie_’ll be--not by a dozen ratings. But Lord, Katie, I’ve been through too many blows in her for you to be worrying now, dear.” “I know it, Dannie, and yet I wish you weren’t going this trip.” “Well, I wish I warn’t myself. I’d like nothing better than to be staying this month home and watching the new one building--to overhaul every plank and bolt and thread of oakum that’s put in her. All day long watch her building, and every night come and tell you how she is getting on, the pair of us side by side before the fire. That’d beat winter fishing on Georges--fighting your way out of the shoal water when it comes a no’the-easter, and chopping ice off her to keep her afloat when it comes a no’wester. Yes, dear, it cert’nly would be a comfort--home here with you and watching the _Katie_ building. But we can’t both have comfort, dear. You to home and me to sea we’ll have to be for many years yet, dear. I’ll go out this trip as I went out a hundred of others before. When I’m back--why, ’twill be worth the trip, dear, that coming back to you.” “I’ll be at the dock this time, Dannie.” “Then the old _Pantheon_ won’t be too close to the slip before somebody’ll be making a flying leap for the cap-log. There, there, dear, this one trip, and then it’ll be Mrs. Dannie Keating and a month ashore--hah, what! There’s the girl! But God bless you, dear, and keep you till I’m home again.” “Good luck, Dannie. There, but Oh, Dannie?” “Yes?” “Don’t go yet--just a minute more, dear.” He patted her cheek and dried her eyes, and when she wouldn’t stop sobbing, he unbuttoned his coat and made her rest her head on his breast. Her ear against the blue flannel shirt, she could feel his heart. And it was a heart--like all of himself, full of strength. A cold winter’s morning it was, but here all afire. He was right--it would be a storm indeed when he went under. And yet--she could not help it--she broke into sobbing again. “What’s it now?” “Oh, Dannie, last night after I left you I heard my father telling that another vessel had been given up for lost. Did you know?” “I’ve heard, dear.” “And you never told me. You tell me the danger is small----” “And ’tis small, dear. Sea room and sound gear, and a good vessel will live forever. Of course, accidents will happen--sometimes something parting at the wrong time, or being run down by a steamer in the fog--which was what happened, I don’t doubt, to the _Tempest_”