They went up to the dark mass Job had pointed out. There on a heap of weed, thrown up by the late storm, lay the wooden nymph, the paint almost washed away, and there, with its arms tightly clasped about her neck, lay a strange creature, half fish, half human. “As sure as the world, it’s a merman!” said Job; “and there really are such critters, after all! Poor fellow! The human part of him was pretty good-lookin’ when he was alive. See what a dent he’s got in his head!” “And this is the figure-head of The Sea-nymph,” said Master Torrey. “Don’t you know it?” “To be sure! Well, it does beat all! What shall we do with the merman? I’d kind of hate to make a show of him. He’s a sort of man, and I ’spose he had his feelings anyhow. Look at the empty scabbard and the sword-belt; and he’s got a ring on his finger.” Job bent down and tried to unfold the dead hand from its close clasp. At that moment, though it was very calm, a huge wave rose from the sea, and came thundering up the beach, covering the two men with spray. When it retreated the dead merman and the figure-head were gone, and up from the sea came a low sobbing sound. Master Torrey and Job stood watching, surprised and startled. Another minute, and up came a second huge wave, bearing upon its crest the oaken sea-nymph. On it rolled—a mountain of water. It dashed its burden upon the jagged rocks once, twice, thrice, and strewed the shattered fragments over sea and sand. Job drew a long breath. “Waal,” said he, “there goes the best piece of wood I ever chipped. Tell ye what, philosophy won’t explain everything. ’Tain’t best to be too rational if you want to have any insight into things in _this_ world. If that wa’n’t done a-purpose, I never see a thing done so!” They turned back and walked toward the town. Far away in the offing a whale sent up an enormous jet, a sea-gull screamed wildly above their heads. “Going to say anything about this?” said Job at last. “What would be the use?” said Master Torrey, sharply. “Half of them would not believe you; and who wants to set all the fools in the place chattering?” “Not I! I’m not over-fond of answering questions. I’d rather ask ’em,” said Job. “Do you know, putting this and that together, and the story of the queer fish that hung round the ship, I’ve got a notion that poor fishy thing fell in love with that figger-head of ourn? You couldn’t expect such a critter as he was to have more sense than a landsman, and I expect the log fell on him when the brig went to pieces and killed him.” “So much the better for him if he had given his soul to a wooden image,” said Master Torrey, bitterly. “Good-night;” and he left Job and walked slowly back to his handsome new house. Job looked after him wistfully. Just then old Ichabod came up and saluted the wood-carver.