But as I was saying,—­all this time, Mr. Gabriel, he scarcely looked at Faith.  At first she didn’t comprehend, and then something swam all over her face as if the very blood in her veins had grown darker, and there was such danger in her eye that before we stepped into the boat again I wished to goodness I had a life-preserver.  But in the beginning the religious impression lasted and gave him great resolutions; and then strolling off and along the beach, he fell in with some men there and did as he always did, scraped acquaintance.  I verily believe that these men were total strangers, that he’d never laid eyes on them before, and after a few words he wheeled about.  As he did so, his glance fell on Faith standing there alone against the pale sky, for the weather ’d thickened, and watching the surf break at her feet.  He was motionless, gazing at her long, and then, when he had turned once or twice irresolutely, he ground his heel into the sand and went back.  The men rose and wandered on with him, and they talked together for a while, and I saw money pass; and pretty soon Mr. Gabriel returned, his face vividly pallid, but smiling, and he had in his hand some little bright shells that you don’t often find on these Northern beaches, and he said he had bought them of those men.  And all this time he’d not spoken with Faith, and there was the danger yet in her eye.  But nothing came of it, and I had accused myself of nearly every crime in the Decalogue, and on the way back we had put up the lines, and Mr. Gabriel had hauled in the lobster-net for the last time.  He liked that branch of the business; he said it had all the excitement of gambling,—­the slow settling downwards, the fading of the last ripple, the impenetrable depth and shade and the mystery of the work below, five minutes of expectation, and it might bring up a scale of the sea-serpent, or the king of the crabs might have crept in for a nap in the folds, or it might come up as if you’d dredged for pearls, or it might hold the great backward-crawling lobsters, or a tangle of seaweed, or the long yellow locks of some drowned girl,—­or nothing at all.  So he always drew in that net, and it needed muscle, and his was like steel,—­not good for much in the long pull, but just for a breathing could handle the biggest boatman in the harbor.  Well,—­and we’d hoisted the sail and were in the creek once more, for the creek was only to be used at high-water, and I’d told Dan I couldn’t be away from mother over another tide and so we mustn’t get aground, and he’d told me not to fret, there was nothing too shallow for us on the coast—­“This boat,” said Dan, “she’ll float in a heavy dew.”  And he began singing a song he liked:—­

  “I cast my line in Largo Bay,
    And fishes I caught nine: 
  There’s three to boil, and three to fry,
    And three to bait the line.”

And Mr. Gabriel ’d never heard it before, and he made him sing it again and again.

  “The boatie rows, the boatie rows,
    The boatie rows indeed,”