"We'd seen them sailin' fellows go by a while before; and we knew Rollin was one of 'em. They wasn't but two, as we could see, managin' the craft; and they was full sail, clippin' it lively. I calk'late there ain't many knows this shore better'n me, but I wouldn't 'a' durst skirted along the adge down thar' at sech a rate, not in the finest day blowin'. First, we thought it was somebody didn't know what they was about. When we made out it was Rollin, we knew, if he was drunk, he was tol'able well acquainted with the rocks along shore, and 'ud probably put further out when he got through showin' off. We didn't worry about 'em, nor think no more about 'em, in special. The boys didn't want to talk to rile George Olver.
"So we kep' to work, and in a minute, cheery ag'in with the hammers click, clickin'—and every now and then the boys 'ud strike up a singin' something'. 'Beyond the River,' and 'Homeward Bound.'
"It sounded dredful purty down thar' by the water, with the water and the wideness all around sorter softenin' of it. It made a man feel curious and wishful somehow.
"Well, by and by, him and George Olver struck up a song. I've heern 'em sing it before, them two. As nigh as I calk'late, it's about findin' rest in Jesus, and one a askin' questions, all fa'r and squar', to know the way and whether it's a goin' to lead thar' straight or not, and the other answerin'. And he—he was a tinkerin', 'way up on the foremast, George Olver and the rest on us was astern,—and I'll hear to my dyin' day how his voice came a floatin' down to us thar'—chantin'-like it was—cl'ar and fearless and slow. So he asks, for findin' Jesus, ef thar's any marks to foller by; and George Olver, he answers about them bleedin' nail-prints, and the great one in His side. So then that voice comes down ag'in, askin' if thar's any crown, like other kings, to tell Him by; and George Olver, he answers straight about that crown o' thorns. Then says that other voice, floatin' so strong and cl'ar, and if he gin up all and hollered, what should he have? what now?
"So George Olver, he sings deep o' the trial and the sorrowin'. But that other voice never shook, a askin', and what if he helt to Him to the end, what then should it be, what then? George Olver answers: 'Forever-more, the sorrowin' ended—Death gone over.'
"Then he sings out, like his mind was all made up, 'And if he undertook it, would he likely be turned away?'
"'And it's likelier,' George Olver answers him; 'that heaven and earth shall pass.'
"So I'll hear it to my dyin' day—his voice a floatin' down to me from up above thar', somewhar', askin' them questions that nobody could ever answer like, so soon, he answered 'em for himself—and when I looked up, thar' was Harvey, with his hammer dropped, and his mouth wide open, a starin' up thar', and the tears rollin' down his cheeks like he was a baby.
"They didn't sing no more, after that. They was still for about five minutes, I calk'late. Harvey, he was still, too; but pretty soon, he wakes up and says, 'Gad, boys! Did ye ever see sech a queer look in the sky? I believe thar's a September gale brewin'."
"'It's a little wind storm, I reckon,' says Bachelder. Bachelder was settin', with his legs curled up under him, mendin' sail, and he begun to spin one o' them yarns o' hisn, with his voice pitched up middlin' high, and the boys, they begun to laugh and cheer.