The raft grounded gently on the beach. Jan took the wounded girl and set
out for the top of the sand-hill with her. The bartender took the baby
and toiled behind with its mother.
"Say," said the bartender, "you're all right! How many more children to
home?"
"Home?" She held up seven fingers. "And him," pointing to the baby.
"Great Stork! Here!" He set down the baby, drew out the bar-money and
offered it to her. "When a ship goes down, I heard a sea-lawyer say
once, all debts go with her. And that must mean all credits go too.
Anyhow we'll make it so now. Here--for you."
"Me? No, no. I have husband. Fine job--dollar-half day."
"Dollar an' a half! It's too much for the father of eight children for
one day! But this--see. For baby. And the Lord knows a baby who came
through last night and never a yip out of him, he oughter get a million.
Here--put in bank--for baby."
"Ah-h! For baby. Tenk you." She beamed and took the money. "You brave
man! Him"--pointing to Jan's back--"brave man too."
"Him, brave--yes. But me? No, no. Me scared blue. He'd 'a' shot me next
only I beat him to it."
"Kill baby too." She kissed the baby.
* * * * *
The sun was well up when they reached the top of the hill--a pale,
frightened-looking sun, but nevertheless a sun. The bartender took off
his cap and saluted it gravely. Below them lay the town.
"We'll go down there," said Jan to Mrs. Goles, "and from there, when
you're well, we'll go home--to my mother. But," he added gravely, "we
will go by train."
She smiled weakly at him. "I could go without a train--on my hands and
knees I could crawl to the mother of you! You don't know it, but when I
was growing up it was a man like you I always used to dream about. And
I'm not sure I'm not dreaming now!"
"Don't worry," said the bartender. "We're all awake--and alive. And you
bet it's great to be alive again! Ain't it,"--he turned to the Finn
woman,--"you mother of eight?"
The Finn woman made no answer. She was nursing her baby.