“Tell them apart?” Jo echoed Ann’s question; it sounded so foolish to him that he barely took the trouble to make any answer. “Why, I’ve known85 them since I was a baby in long clothes. Why shouldn’t I be able to tell them apart?” 85 Then, seeing that she was actually puzzled, he stopped teasing and pointed them out to her; she had seen them all before. “I do suppose,” he said, “that in the dim light they look as much alike as so many Chinamen. Don’t you recognize that one down by the boat in the water? That’s Jed; he’s a mite shorter and rounder than the rest, though I don’t suppose you’d notice it in broad daylight. Yes, I know he looks very different with his slicker off. The one traveling along with the basket—he’s Walt. He’s the youngest next to me. He’ll be fifty-three this fall. That fellow coming toward us now, he’s Pete Simonds; he’s quite a joker.” “Pete Simonds was one who went out to the ship with your father the day after she was wrecked,” said Ann, remembering the name. “Sure,” said Jo. “They all were there. They all came up from the village when I told them that a boat needed help. Why shouldn’t they?” Ann could not take her eyes from the figures pottering up and down the shelving beach of pebbles, fitting their dories for the trip out to sea. These were the men who had taken a small boat across the terrible pounding waves to go to the help of sailors who had come from no one knew where. They had risked their lives to try to do something for others. While Fred Bailey was telling the story Ann had86 listened as if some one were reading a thrilling tale out of a magazine or a book, without half realizing it all had actually happened. But these were real live men, and old men at that. She had seen them, often, going along the road on their way to the cove, but she never had thought much about their connection with the wreck. 86 She looked more closely at Pete Simonds. As she came up beside him she noticed how powerful he was in spite of the wrappings of his cumbersome slicker. His great fingers were gnarled and looked like steel rods. Under his sou’wester she could see frayed ends of his snow-white hair and his eyes shone as cold ice shines when the winter sky is unclouded. “Hallelujah, Jo-ey,” he shouted as he came abreast of them, shifting his bitten pipe to the other corner of his shaven lips. “Ain’t you a mite late? A spry boy like
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