Harry was sitting on the wharf absently pitching pebbles into the water below and watching the circular ripples expand until they disappeared into the surrounding wavelets. There was another ship approaching and just maybe he could earn a few cents or maybe even a dollar by running errands. The eleven-year-old boy could still remember his father well, the big husky man who had such a roaring laugh that it would fairly fill the room. He remembered being tossed up in the air and caught by those huge strong hands, the happy homecomings when his ship pulled into port and they would all be together until he again had to sail away. They lived in a nice house and had everything they needed. Then came the day that his ship had pulled in and they weren’t met by that ruddy laughing face and those strong arms. It was the captain who came walking slowly up the walk. He told them of the storm and a crate of goods coming loose and knocking Richard Gibbs overboard into that raging sea. He gave Harry’s mother an envelope and said, “I’m sorry.” and turned and was gone. That had been three years ago.