His skin was now as tough and well-tanned as his leathern belt, in which hung many a curious implement of war and peace, a perfect tool-shop for the boarder's wild work, or the seaman's craft.

In that strong, hard face there was a tale of a life of exposure, a lawless life, which had well-nigh given over to the evil one the soul which God meant for himself.
"I want you to write a letter for me," said Derry, looking cautiously about him and then going on, "a letter to my little daughter.

Hush; not a word of this to any of the men.

When it is done, you must put it inside of one of your love-letters to your mother.

They mustn't get wind of it.