Three hours he struggled with the full flooding tide. 
    Now the Channel Rock danger is o’er. 
  One more stretch of water, some more dangerous rocks,
    Then the gleaming surf, then the shore.

  “A rope, bring a rope,” the kind neighbors shout,
    “A rope now the captain will save.” 
  They coiled a stout rope and with powerful hand,
    Flung it out o’er the turbulent wave.

  Joy!  Joy! he is saved!  He clutches the rope,
    With cold, bruised and stiffening hand,
  A long pull, a strong’ pull, and more dead than alive,
    Through the surf they draw him to land.

  “Home, home for hot coffee,” to the lassie she cried,
    Home, home for hot coffee, went she,
  Returning, brought coffee, dry clothing, warm food,
   A fleet-footed lassie was she.

  But the kid, boylike, would investigate the boat,
    And so he climbed over its side. 
  “Half full of water,” he said, “not a bluefish or clam,
    Must have all floated out on the tide.”

  With boat hook and lantern, the kids travelled home,
    “Little sister, now what do you think,
  Hadn’t we said, ‘Now I lay me,’ to the Lord every night? 
    Would He let Pa and our dory sink?”

  “No, no,” said the lassie, “No, no, that ain’t so,
    Naughty children very often are we,
  ’Tis ’cause Ma puts a Bible in Pa’s chest of clothes
    Every time that he goes ’way to sea.”

  Gratitude profound, thanksgiving and joy
    Filled the heart of the loving wife,
  But the captain, a man of few words, only said,
    “Yes, a pretty narrow squeak for a life.”

RICHES

C.A.  COTTRELL

  If I can leave behind me, here and there
    A friend or two to say when I am gone
  That I have helped to make their pathways fair,
  Had brought them smiles when they were bowed with care,
    The riches of this world I’ll carry on. 
  If only three or four shall pause to say
    When I have passed beyond this earthly sphere,
  That I brought gladness to them on a day
  When bitterness was theirs, I’ll take away
    More riches than a billionaire leaves here.

CAPE TROUT STREAMS

The chronic trout fisherman is by nature secretive.  He is loath to tell where he made his big catches and shrouds the location of the streams in mystery.  If pinned down closely he will sometimes indicate a general locality but it is hard to get him to be more definite.  The reason for this is obvious.  He is zealous of his rights as a “discoverer” and feels that he is not obliged to share his knowledge with anybody.  He won’t take the risk of having the stream “fished out” by others than himself.  The secrets of the location of gold strikes in the days of ’49 were no more closely kept.