“Ye don’t see the likes of that often,” he continued, “an’ it ain’t everyone who kin read its meanin’, either.”

“What do you see there?” Reynolds asked, more interested in hearing the man’s deliberate drawl than the meaning of the fog-bank.

“Wall, it seems to me that a fog-bank hasn’t a ghost of a chance fer life when the sun hits it good an’ hard.”

“That one hasn’t, anyway,” Reynolds replied, as he watched the cloud gradually thinning and drifting away.

“It’s the same with all clouds, sir, an’ it makes no difference whether they’re hangin’ over the water or over one’s life.  They’re bound to disappear when the sun gits after ’em.”

“Do you think so?”

“I sartinly do.  Why, there isn’t a cloud but’ll gather up its skirts an’ run when a good big blazin’ laugh gits after it.  An’ that’s what we want in this world to-day; more cheerfulness, more of the joy of life.”

“Have you tried it?”

“Y’bet I have, an’ it’s allus worked like a charm.  I could tell ye of many a squabble that’s been settled by the means of a smilin’ face an’ a good hearty laugh.  There’s nuthin’ like it.”

“You’re an optimist, I see,” and Reynolds smiled for the first time in many a day.  He could not help it, for this stranger radiated a stimulating influence of cheerfulness and goodwill.

“I try to be, sir, an’ when I see a fog-bank hoverin’ over people like that one did out yonder a little while ago, I consider it my duty to act like the sun an’ drive it away.  Then, there’s good feelin’ all around, ’specially among the ones who were under the cloud.”

“I imagine it is that way with those men who have just been picked up.  They must feel happy over the lifting of the fog at the right moment.”

“That’s jist what I mean.  It meant much to them.”

“Do you know who they are?”

“Miners, no doubt, who wish to go north.  They’ve been prospecting mebbe, on some of the islands along the coast, an’ started out to hail a passin’ steamer.  They do it at times.”

“And the steamers always pick them up?”

“Sure; they wouldn’t go by without takin’ ’em on board, no matter who they are.  It’s the great Brotherhood of man, ye see, back of it all, an’ ye’ll find that spirit stronger the farther north ye go.  It’s different here from what it is in the big cities, an’ the more ye preach of that the better.”

“Preach!  What do you mean?” Reynolds asked in amazement.

“You be one of them missionary chaps, ain’t ye?”

Reynolds laughed.  “What makes you think so?”

“Dunno, ‘cept yer solemncoly face, an’ the way yer dressed.  Missionaries ginerally come north lookin’ about as you do, to turn the sinner from the error of his way, an’ to convart the heathen Injun.  They’re not overly pop’lar up thar.”

“Why not?”

“Oh, they’ve too high an’ mighty notions about the way men should live; that’s the trouble.”