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told and that I’d be the best one to break it to him that he couldn’t get better. Henry and me are old cronies—we sailed in the Gray Gull for years together. Well, I went over and sat down by Henry’s bed and I says to him, says I, jest right out plain and simple, for if a thing’s got to be told it may as well be told first as last, says I, ‘Mate, I reckon you’ve got your sailing orders this time,’ I was sorter quaking inside, for it’s an awful thing to have to tell a man who hain’t any idea he’s dying that he is. But lo and behold, Mistress Blythe, Henry looks up at me, with those bright old black eyes of his in his wizened face and says, says he, ‘Tell me something I don’t know, Jim Boyd, if you want to give me information. I’ve known that for a week.’ I was too astonished to speak, and Henry, he chuckled. ‘To see you coming in here,’ says he, ‘with your face as solemn as a tombstone and sitting down there with your hands clasped over your stomach, and passing me out a blue-mouldy old item of news like that! It’d make a cat laugh, Jim Boyd,’ says he. ‘Who told you?’ says I, stupid like. ‘Nobody,’ says he. ‘A week ago Tuesday night I was lying here awake—and I jest knew. I’d suspicioned it before, but then I knew. I’ve been keeping up for the wife’s sake. And I’d like to have got that barn built, for Eben’ll never get it right. But anyhow, now that you’ve eased your mind, Jim, put on a smile and tell me something interesting,’ Well, there it was. They’d been so scared to tell him and