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X. OLSON! He returned last night, the eleventh of February, in a blaze of glory! Ah, the wonder of it and of all he brought. Rockwell and I sat at our cards just before supper-time. The day, a calm one, a fair one, had passed and Olson again had not come. We were downcast. Every possible cause for his continued absence had been reviewed in my mind. To wait longer was not to be endured. And so we sat with far-off thoughts and toyed with the silly cards. Suddenly the long, clear sound of a boat's horn reached us from the night outdoors. We ran and peered into the darkness. At last we saw a black spot moving far out on the water. Oh God! it was entering the cove. In what a frenzy of excitement we hurried down the beach! Nearer they come and nearer, men's voices, the little cabin light, and the vessel gliding toward us; they're abreast of us, they drop anchor. "Olson, Olson" I shout, "Olson, is that you?" "He's aboard," is answered, "How are you, and how's the little boy?" We see them loading a dory from the vessel's deck,—and now they row it to the shore. It's good to see a fine young fisherman and shake his hand. Again and once again the loads are ferried in and carried up the long and slippery low-tide beach. Rockwell has lighted Olson's lamp, he sweeps his cabin, and starts the fire in the stove. At the last load I slip aboard the vessel. I am "wanted!' There stands Olson swaying gigantic on the deck above us as we bump the side. A bear's greeting! Olson is radiant, radiant and mellow with the joy of homecoming and the warmth of tasted spirits. The skipper I know, yes! the itn good Englishman, Hogg, who had us once to dinner at his camp. Down in the cabin in the heat and fumes of a cooking feast we tip the friendly bottle. Ah! tell me not, abstainer, of any glories you have known. One night, one midnight out on the black waters of a Newfoundland harbor, the million stars above, and on the wretched vessel's deck the horde of halfdrunk , soul-starved men saying their passionate farewells,—on the dull plain of their life a flash of lightning revealed an abyss;—this night on the still, dark cove of Resurrection Bay, rimmed with wild mountains and the wilderness, strong men about you, mad, loosened speech and winged, prophetic vision,—God! but sane daylight seeing seems to touch but the white, hard surface of where life is hidden. From the hot cabin I climbed the boat's ladder, up, up onto the world's heights. Ah, how the cold, clean wind from the wide spaces then swept my soul, and how close about my head the dome of heaven and the stars! This is no earth-ship but the deck of a meteor vessel that I tread, the moon ship of the ancient northern gods. I row ashore for Rockwell, stow the goods higher on the beach, and we return aboard for supper. Over Rockwell the skipper makes a great fuss, says he's a famous oarsman and could beat his daddy, a fine, big, strong boy. Warm hearted skipper!—and he reaches again for the bottle and I drink. It's vinegar! Profuse apologies, and the right one is found. We eat, we stuff!—and then the three us, Rockwell laden with presents of fruit, say good-night and row ashore. Poor, tired Olson, has little strength to move the heavy loads from the beach. No matter, I struggle alone and finally stow them in his cabin, a great pile. Then a cup of coffee with the old man, a little furious talk about the war,—fury at a world that could mess things so,—and home to bed where already Rockwell slept. This morning the icy bath. Then without breakfast we began upon our mail. What a wonderful Christmas at last! The bed was piled high with presents, the table high with letters. We sorted and gloated like hungry tigers that in the ecstasy of possession merely lick their food. All through the morning and deep into the afternoon I read the mail. Unwashed dishes stood about, for meals we but ate what was at hand. (Here follows in the journal a list two pages...

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