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And the great sea with our friends and our enemies.

And bed, he thought.

Bed is my friend.

Just bed, he thought.

Bed will be a great thing.

It is easy when you are beaten, he thought.

I never knew how easy it was.

And what beat you, he thought.

"Nothing," he said aloud. "I went out too far."

When he sailed into the little harbour the lights of the Terrace were out and he knew everyone was in bed.

The breeze had risen steadily and was blowing strongly now.

It was quiet in the harbour though and he sailed up onto the little patch of shingle below the rocks.

There was no one to help him so he pulled the boat up as far as he could.

Then he stepped out and made her fast to a rock.

He unstepped the mast and furled the sail and tied it.

Then he shouldered the mast and started to climb.

It was then he knew the depth of his tiredness.

He stopped for a moment and looked back and saw in the reflection from the street light the great tail of the fish standing up well behind the skiff's stern.

He saw the white naked line of his backbone and the dark mass of the head with the projecting bill and all the nakedness between.

He started to climb again and at the top he fell and lay for some time with the mast across his shoulder.

He tried to get up.

But it was too difficult and he sat there with the mast on his shoulder and looked at the road.

A cat passed on the far side going about its business and the old man watched it.

Then he just watched the road.

Finally he put the mast down and stood up. He picked the mast up and put it on his shoulder and started up the road. He had to sit down five times before he reached his shack.

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