So they took her meagre clothes and miserable bedding out on the cliffs, piled them, soaked them in oil, and set them afire.
The flames leapt high and made a beacon to be seen afar.
Out there on the black face of the deep six hopeless, helpless men in a trap-boat, groping their way blindly, saw the flames and took heart again.
"See!" they cried to one another. "Look there! Up yonder on the cliffs! They're givin' us a light to steer by!"
They drove their oars into the yeasty waves again with strength renewed. Little did they know what it was that had made the light for them.
When at last they dragged their boat ashore and hobbled to the hut, they saw the body of the girl, the lamp, and the captain and the Doctor making the body ready for the burial. They entered the hut, and were told what had happened.
"B'ys," said the foremost, "she's dead. Mary's dead. The last thing she did was to give us a light to show us the way home. Poor girl, poor little girl!"
Once when a small steamer Grenfell was using had broken down, he found shelter in a one room hut ashore.
The inmates had few clothes, almost no food, and neither tools nor proper furniture. There was nothing between them and the Aurora Borealis but ruin and famine. There were eight children. Five slept in one bed: three slept with the parents in the other bed: Grenfell in his sleeping-bag lay on the floor, his nose at the crack of the door to get fresh air.
They all suffered from the cold, for there was not a blanket in the house.