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No longer of early mornings did the resounding pop! pop! of

motor-dories ring back from the rocks and headland as the

trawlers and hand-liners put to sea. No longer did the groups of

weary fishermen gather on the store steps for an evening pipe and

chat or the young bloods chuck horseshoes at the foot of the

chapel hill.

It was a village of women. True, Squire Hardy, being too old to

fish, had remained at home, and Bill Boughton, who was completing

details for the immediate and profitable sale of the season's

catch, was behind the counter of his general store.

He dealt out supplies to the women and children, and wrote down

against their fathers' shares the amount of credit extended. But

others, day after day, found nothing set against them, and this

was due to the promise of help that Elsa Mallaby kept.