36 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM 



I say nothing. I am out of tune for once. 



Talking to himself more than to me, he went on, 

 ' I knowed there was somethin' in the wind, and the 

 fowl knowed it too ; when they hollered so, they 

 knowed a body was comin' home in the storm.' 



That night, passing down the street to visit a 

 friend, I heard the measured tread of the fishermen 

 coming ; and looking back, saw a grave, silent little 

 procession. They were bringing him home ; all that 

 was left of her son to his mother. 



I followed my poor friend to his grave beneath 

 the walnut trees, and his upturned face comes before 

 me distinctly as I write this, just as it looked when I 

 saw him lying by the water's edge. 



