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Then he got up and took his rough working-jacket over his arm.

“I mun go down to th’ Mary Anne,” he said, “an’ work a bit, or we’ll ne’er get her turned o’er afore th’ tide comes in. That boat’s a moit o’ trouble.” And he sighed heavily.

Half-way to the gate he stopped before a cluster of ground honeysuckle, and perhaps for the first time in his life was conscious of a sudden curious admiration for them.

“She’s powerful fond o’ such loike bits o’ things–posies an’ such loike,” he said. “Thems some as I planted to please her on th’ very day as we were wed. I’ll tak’ one or two. She’s main fond on ’em–fur such a hard un.”

And when he went out he held in his hand two or three slender stems hung with the tiny pretty humble bells.

He had these very bits of simple blossoms in his hand when he went down to where the Mary Anne lay on the beach for repairs. So his fellow-workmen said when they told the story afterwards, remembering even this trivial incident.

He was in a strange frame of mind, too, they noticed, silent and heavy and absent. He did not work well, but lagged over his labor, stopping every now and then to pass the back of his hand over his brow as if to rouse himself.

“Yo’ look as if yo’ an’ th’ missus had had a fallin’ out an’ yo’n getten th’ worst o’ th’ bargain,” one of his comrades said by way of rough jest.

They were fond of joking with him about his love for his handsome, taciturn wife. But he did not laugh this time as he usually did.

“Mind thy own tackle, lad,” he said dully, “an I’ll mind mine.”

From that time he worked steadily among them until it was nearly time for the tide to rise. The boat they were repairing had been a difficult job to manage, as they could only work between tides, and now being hurried they lingered longer than usual. At the last minute they found it must be moved, and so were detained.

“Better leave her until th’ tide ebbs,” said one, but the rest were not of the same mind.

“Nay,” they argued, “it’ll be all to do o’er agen if we do that. Theer’s plenty o’ time if we look sharp enow. Heave again, lads.”

Then it was that with the help of straining and tugging there came a little lurch, and then it was that as the Mary Anne slipped over on her side one of the workers slipped with her, slipped half underneath her with a cry, and lay on the sand, held down by the weight that rested on him.

With his cry there broke out half a dozen others, and the men rushed up to him with frightened faces. . “Are yo’ hurt, Seth, lad?” they cried. “Are yo’ crushed or owt?”

The poor fellow stirred a little and then looked up at them pale enough.

“Bruised a bit,” he answered them, “an’ sick a bit, but I dunnot think theer’s any bones broke. Look sharp, chaps, an’ heave her up. She’s a moit o’ weight on me.”

They went to work again one and all, so relieved by his words that they were doubly strong, but after toiling like giants for a while they were compelled to pause for breath. In falling the boat had so buried herself in the sand that she was harder to move than ever. It had seemed simple enough at first, but it was not so simple, after all. With all their efforts they had scarcely stirred her an inch, and their comrade’s position interfered with almost every plan suggested. Then they tried again, but this time with less effect than before, through their fatigue. When they were obliged to pause they looked at each other questioningly, and more than one of them turned a trifle paler, and at last the wisest of them spoke out:–