But the ocean, as it is called at Farlingford, seemed to have an inexhaustible supply of such Titans to throw up on the rattling shingle winter after winter.

And, after all, they were seafaring men, and therefore brothers.

Farlingford turned out to a man, each seeking to be first across the river every time "John Darby" called them, as if he had never called them before.
To-night none paused to finish the meal, and many a cup raised half-way was set down again untasted.

It is so easy to be too late.
Already the flicker of lanterns on the sea-wall showed that the rectory was astir.

For Septimus Marvin, vaguely recalling some schoolboy instinct of fair-play, knew the place of the gentleman and the man of education among humbler men in moments of danger and hardship, which should, assuredly, never be at the back.
"Yonder's parson," some one muttered.