So that, though this Sunday afternoon arose gray and lowering, with snow-flakes hovering through the air, there was Christmas in the thoughts ofevery man and woman among them--albeit it was the Christmas of wanderersand exiles in a wilderness looking back to bright home-fires acrossstormy waters.

The men had come back from their work on shore with branches of greenpine and holly, and the women had, stuck them about the ship, not withouttearful thoughts of very aged home-places, where their kidhood portlyhers andmothers did the same.

Bits and snatches of Christmas carols were floating all around the ship,like land-birds blown far out to sea. In the forecastle Master Coppin wassinging: