The raft grounded gently on the beach. Jan took the wounded girl and set out for the top of the sand-hill with her. The bartender took the baby and toiled behind with its mother. "Say," said the bartender, "you're all right! How many more children to home?" "Home?" She held up seven fingers. "And him," pointing to the baby. "Great Stork! Here!" He set down the baby, drew out the bar-money and offered it to her. "When a ship goes down, I heard a sea-lawyer say once, all debts go with her. And that must mean all credits go too. Anyhow we'll make it so now. Here--for you." "Me? No, no. I have husband. Fine job--dollar-half day." "Dollar an' a half! It's too much for the father of eight children for one day! But this--see. For baby. And the Lord knows a baby who came through last night and never a yip out of him, he oughter get a million. Here--put in bank--for baby." "Ah-h! For baby. Tenk you." She beamed and took the money. "You brave man! Him"--pointing to Jan's back--"brave man too." "Him, brave--yes. But me? No, no. Me scared blue. He'd 'a' shot me next only I beat him to it." "Kill baby too." She kissed the baby. * * * * * The sun was well up when they reached the top of the hill--a pale, frightened-looking sun, but nevertheless a sun. The bartender took off his cap and saluted it gravely. Below them lay the town. "We'll go down there," said Jan to Mrs. Goles, "and from there, when you're well, we'll go home--to my mother. But," he added gravely, "we will go by train." She smiled weakly at him. "I could go without a train--on my hands and knees I could crawl to the mother of you! You don't know it, but when I was growing up it was a man like you I always used to dream about. And I'm not sure I'm not dreaming now!" "Don't worry," said the bartender. "We're all awake--and alive. And you bet it's great to be alive again! Ain't it,"--he turned to the Finn woman,--"you mother of eight?" The Finn woman made no answer. She was nursing her baby. Cogan Capeador Eight bells had gone, the morning watch was done, it was almost time to eat, and so Kieran, the pump-man, laid aside the tools of his berth and came strolling aft; and swinging down the long gangway he sang: "There was a girl,--I knew her well,--a girl in Zanzibar-- A bulgeous man of science said you bet her avatar Was Egypt's Cleopatra--and from off a man-o'-war I met her first--and O, her eyes! A blazing polar star! From which you couldn't head away no more than you could fly-- Gypsy one of Zanzy! For you who wouldn't die!" It was one of those fine days in the Gulf of Mexico. Abreast of the ship the Florida reefs, low-crested, ragged, and white, loomed above the smooth sea.