FISHERMEN'S MEMORIAL AND RECORD BOOK. 165 



with streets lying quiet iu the summer sunshine. The loaves on the 

 trees rustle, the windows of the houses ore open, and green vines are 

 planted, and gay flowers blossom. Sometimes, now and then, a face 

 comes to the window or the door, and looks out seaward ; while a 

 prayer is breathed for the safety of " father's vessel." 



Perhaps, in one of the houses, there is a woman walking up and 

 down the room getting dinner ready, and a baby lies sleeping in the 

 cradle, which she stirs now and then with her foot as she passes. 

 She is singing a fisherman's ballad ; but there is a little shadow on 

 her face, for she is thinking of " father's vessel." It has been gone 

 but a few days, perhaps, on Georges Bank ; or it has been several 

 weeks in the Bay, and there has been a violent storm ; consequently 

 the loved ones at home are waiting anxiously for tidings of it. And 

 now she hears a joyful ring of voices, and her face grows radiant as the 

 children come bursting into the house, bringing the glad news, " Here 

 comes father's vessel ! " 



In the great journey of life we are all of us going our different 

 ways, doing our own work, of which others perhaps get the sweetness, 

 while we only have the pain of toil. The spinner spins his bright 

 threads into soft cloths, which others will make up into beautiful 

 garments ; the writer plans in trouble and weariness the tender story 

 which others will read in the sunshine of happy homes ; and the 

 fisherman braves the hardships and perils of a trip off on Georges, 

 or the treacherous Banks, in order to secure a choice luxury for 

 another man's table. We all of us go our own way, and are not apt 

 to give much time thinking of the toil and trials of others. 



Yet sometimes, when we trifle with a delicious bit of fish at dinner, 

 a thought comes to us of the great sea out of which it was caught. 

 Perhaps a life was given for this same dainty morsel we are eating. 

 Perchance the vessel was wrecked, and, drifting with torn sails and 

 broken spars, had a terrible hard time of it. It is not a pleasant 

 picture. We like better to think of the schooner slowly rounding 

 the Point. We like to think of the water flashing and heaving in the 

 sunlight ; of little children clapping their hands, dancing and shout- 

 ing ; and waiting wives and mothers thanking God with happy tears 

 in their eyes, as the joyful cry rings out over the beach, "Here 

 comes father's vessel ! " 



