... And this was true. They had eaten him up. The snow was all trampled and gory. They had eaten him up. Among the tatters of his garments, I found a hand; and I knew that hand for the hand of Jagger of Wayfarer’s Tickle.... They had turned wolves—they had eaten him up. From far off—the crest of a desolate hill—there came a long howl. I looked towards that place. A great dog appeared—and fled. I wondered if the dog I knew had had his day. I wondered if the first grip had been upon the throat....
When we came again to our harbour—came close again to the grief we had in rage and swift action forgot—when, from the inland hills, we caught sight of the basin of black water, and the cottages, snuggled by the white water-side—we were amazed to discover a schooner lying at anchor off my father’s wharf: the wreck of a craft, her topmast hanging, her cabin stove in, her jib-boom broke off short. But this amazement—this vast astonishment—was poor surprise as compared with the shock I got when I entered my father’s house. For, there—new groomed and placid—sat the doctor; and my dear sister was close to him—oh, so joyfully close to him—her hand in his, her sweet face upturned to him and smiling, glowing with such faith and love as men cannot deserve: a radiant, holy thing, come straight from the Heart of the dear God, who is the source of Love.
“Oh!” I ejaculated, stopping dead on the threshold.
“Hello, Davy!” the doctor cried.
I fell into the handiest chair. “You got home,” I observed, in a gasp. “Didn’t you?”
He laughed.
“Sure,” I began, vacantly, “an’, ecod!” I exclaimed, with heat, “what craft picked you up?”
“The Happy Sally.”
“Oh!” said I. ’Twas a queer situation. There seemed so little to say. “Was you drove far?” I asked, politely seeking to fill an awkward gap.