Part 47 (1/2)

”A' laboriously frolanced at his feet clad in the bright green carpet-slippers, dear to seafaring men Then he turned to the side of the mantelpiece and took the church keys from the nail For everybody knohere everybody else keeps his keys in Farlingford He forgot to shut the door behind hi into his sea-boots, swore at his retreating back

”Likely as not, he'll getten howld o' the wrong roup,” he e could point out the rope of ”John Darby,” as that which had a piece of faded scarlet flannel twisted through the strands

In a few ave the call, which every ford answered with an emotionless, mechanical promptitude From each fireside some tired worker reached out his hand toward his most precious possession, his sea-boots, as his forefathers had done before him for two hundred years at the sound of ”John Darby”

The women crammed into the pockets of the men's stiff oilskins a piece of bread, a half-filled bottle--knowing that, as often as not, their husbands ht and half the next day on the beach, or out at sea, should the weather perh the surf

There was no need of excitement, or even of comment Did not ”John Darby”

call them from their firesides or their beds a dozen tile? As often as not, there was nothing to be done but drag the dead bodies from the surf; but soner from the northern seas, who ca else And next day, rigged out in dry clothes and despatched toward Ipswich on the carrier's cart, he would shake hands aardly with any standing near and bob his head and say ”T'ank you” again, and go away, monosyllabic, mystic, never to be heard of ford, seemed to have an inexhaustible supply of such titans to throw up on the rattling shi+ngle winter after winter And, after all, they were seafaring ford turned out to ato be first across the river every time ”John Darby” called theht none paused to finish the ain untasted It is so easy to be too late

Already the flicker of lanterns on the sea-wall showed that the rectory was astir For Septi soentle huer and hardshi+p, which should, assuredly, never be at the back

”Yonder's parson,” some one muttered ”His head is clear now, I'll warrant, when he hears 'John Darby'”

”'Tis only on Sundays, when 'John' rings slow, 'tis h For half of Farlingford was already at the quay, and three or four boats were bu out, and the wind, whizzing slantwise across it, pushed it against the wooden piles of the quay,them throb and treruff voice, at the foot of the steps, where the salt water, splashi+ng on the snow, had laid bare the green and slimy moss Two or three volunteers stu down-streaht slowly back, head to wind She hung motionless a few yards fro the water into a whirl of phosphorescence, and then forged slowly ahead

Septimus Marvin was not alone, but was accoford--John Turner, of Ipswich, understood to live ”foreign,” but to return, after the lians, when occasion offered The rector was in oilskins and sou'wester, like any one else, and the gleaear seeed with bottles and bandages Under his arm he carried a couple of blanket horse-cloths, useful for carrying the injured or the dead

”The Curlo--the Inner Curlo--yes, yes!” he shouted in response to information volunteered on all sides ”Poor fellows! The Inner Curlo, dear, dear!”

And he groped his way down the steps, into the first boat he saith a simple haste John Turner followed him He had tied a silk handkerchief over his soft felt hat and under his chin

”No, no!” he said, as Septimus Marvin made rooer Put ht on an oar,”

and he clambered forward to a vacant thwart

”Mind you come back for us, River Andrew!” cried little Sep's thin voice, as the boat swirled down strea bull's-eye lantern followed it, and showed River Andrew and another pulling stroke to John Turner's bow, for the banker had been a famous oar on the Orwell in his boyhood

Then, with a smack like a box on the ear, another snow-squall swept in from the sea, and forced all on the quay to turn their backs and crouch

Many went back to their ho could be known for some hours Others crouched on the landward side of an old coal-shed, peeping round the corner

Miriam and Sep, and a few others, waited on the quay until River Andrew or another should return It was an understood thing that the helpers, such as could o first In a few ht of the moon, now thinly covered by clouds, the black forms of the first to reach the other shore could be seen straggling across the le-bank that lies between the river and the sea Two boats werethe jetty, while a fourth was returning toward the quay It was River Andrew, faithful to his own element, who preferred to be first here, rather than obey orders on the open beach

There were several ready to lend a helping hand against tide and wind, and Miriale, in the footsteps of those who had gone before The north-east wind seared their faces like a hot iron, but the snow had ceased falling As they reached the sule-bank, they could see in front of them the black line of the sea, and on the beach, where the white of the snow and the white of the roaring surf lers had left this group to search the beach, north or south; but it was known, fro in from the tail of the Inner Curlo Bank must reach the shore at one particular point A few lanterns twinkled here and there, but near the group of watchers a bonfire of wreckage and tarry fraght hither for the purpose, had been kindled

Two boats, hauled out of reach of a spring tide, were being leisurely prepared for launching There was no hurry; for it had been decided by the older h the surf then rolling in At the turn of the tide, in two hours' ti,” a bystander said to Miria Sea Andre so a while back--says it looked like a schooner”

Theout to sea to the southward He carried an unlighted torch--a flare, roughly made, of tarred rope, bound round a stick At tio down the beach holding it above his head, while he stood knee deep in the churning foam to peer out to sea He would presently return, without coainst his foot and take his place a the silent watchers No one spoke; but if any turned his head sharply to one side or other, all the rest wheeled, like oneat the tulances on the false alar wait, four gesting oddly the rush of hounds upon a fox

They had si dark, half sunk in the shalloater In a le slope toward the fire, carrying a heavy weight They laid their burden by the fire, where the snow had melted away, and it was a man He was in oilskins, and some one cut the tape that tied his sou'wester His face was covered with blood