Speeding toward us, with the flag of true friendship flying at the peak, comes a gallant ship. In letters of gold the name _Dwight Temple_ stands out from the bow. Many times we have asked aid from its owner and never once has it been refused, though in our great wreck his loss was heavy. Here comes to our relief the good ship _George Todd_, a friend that has never failed; but in many of our dark hours his ship has sailed in foreign waters, far removed from our troubled seas. Then comes sailing right for us _Charlie Fitch_, never but once appealed to, and then did his best and instantly to help us. And now one more, the _Carleton Cushing,_--a true friend, a heart of oak, but the craft too small to avail in a heavy sea--and that is all! How about the great ocean steamer which could take on board our whole boat and never miss the cost? Has the captain seen our signals? Seen them?--yes, again and again, written in letters of blood drawn from our hearts, and ignored them. Freighted with probably fifty millions of dollars that ship goes from port to port doing good. It must be so, for these philanthropic acts have been widely advertised. But while we have sailed in the same waters for nearly forty years our boat is now too small to be noticed, though once we did receive a keg of ship biscuit for which we still owe and are not ungrateful. And there is another large steamer--how about that one? No help for us there. We sailed in company for years, but now that steamer, the _Viedler,_ is bound on a voyage of discovery to the North Pole and has no desire to aid a craft which has met with disaster, even though manned by old friends. And so it is with all the rest. See all those small boats--not one but has seen our signals of trouble. We did not expect from them material aid. They are too small to give it. But though for many years we have been friends, helping them time and time again in their days of need, they have forgotten us. From them we looked for the touch of sympathy, the firm grasp of the hand, the friendly word of encouragement, and we looked in vain. Not even to the woman came a single line to lighten her burden. It's the way of the world. Thank God, I have been able to chronicle exceptions, even though so few. CHAPTER L A DREAM It is midnight--my narrative is finished. As the pen drops from my hand the weary eyes close and I sleep. The living room in our bungalow. Before the great stone fire-place sitting side by side, my wife and I. Her hand rests in mine as we gaze into the flames ascending from the fragrant logs resting on the massive wrought-iron andirons. These and the caribou head looking down on us from above the high mantel came from the hall at "Redstone." The chime rings out as in the days long gone by from the dear old clock re-purchased from Charlie Wood.