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it was being carried out by little dolls far away.
    â€œHmmm. Aren’t you too young for that, though? You’re not very big. How old are you?” Peter asked.
    â€œFifteen, I turned fifteen on Christmas Eve,” Richard said. “I was born in 1888. How old are you?”
    â€œYou don’t look that old. I’m sixteen,” said Peter. “And you haven’t asked me what I do here, but I’m going to assume you’re wondering and tell you anyway.” He paused and stared at Richard. “Well, I’m a shipwright.”
    â€œA shipwright?” Richard repeated, not quite sure what Peter meant.
    â€œYes, well, I’m learning to be a shipwright,” Peter answered. “I’m an apprentice. I work with my uncles over there.” His arm flew in the direction of two large wooden buildings down by the water.
    â€œMatty and Tim on our crew make boats in the winter,” Richard said, thinking of his fellow crew members. “That’s winter work, building boats. Do you fish, too? Are you going on the spring trip?”
    â€œNo,” Peter shook his head. “I work here year-round. Lots of us stay ashore. The coopers, the sailmakers, blacksmiths, and tinsmiths. We never go out to the Banks. Or to the shore fishery, either. We stay here ashore.”
    Richard could not fathom a man or boy who did not go to sea. He looked quizzically at Peter, scarcely believing what his ears were telling him. None of the men in Little Bay stayed ashore, not unless they were on their deathbeds.
    â€œBoatbuilding is winter work for some men,” Peter continued. “For fellows who do the odd bit of building: dories and western boats. And lots of those fellows go to the Banks come spring. But for us, shipbuilding is year-round work.” His chest puffed up proudly. “Mostly we build schooners. We use models to start. I know how to pick the wood and saw the planking and frame for small schooners already. I can easily build a dory.”
    As Richard’s blue eyes stared up at him unblinking, he continued. “Lots and lots of schooners are being built in this country now. Hundreds of them, no, thousands. Schooners are the thing now. They’ll be in Newfoundland forever.”
    â€œI helped my father build a bulkhead for our double dory last week,” Richard ventured. “I liked doing it, it was good work.”
    Peter nodded.
    â€œI like shore work,” Richard added.
    â€œYes,” Peter said. “And that’s only a small job, building a bulkhead for a dory. Imagine what it’s like building schooners all the year round.” His eyes widened, and Richard nodded solemnly. Did he dare hope he could get work like this someday? Some of the men had said he was good at carpentry, a real quick learner, they’d said.
    â€œUh oh,” Richard said, suddenly remembering why he was here on the steps of the store. “I’ve got to go. I’ve got to get things for the Captain. Tobacco and such. I better hurry. I’ll see you again, Peter.”
    Peter tipped his cap in Richard’s direction as the boy rushed into the store.
    *
    In the forecastle at night, Richard heard stories that he thought would scare the life out of him. He had grown up hearing of shipwrecks and drowned fishermen, but never had these tales seemed so real. He had seen his long-faced father and uncles bury the victims of storms and gales, but it never occurred to him how dangerous the Banks fishery really was. This was rapidly changing now as he lay in the hold of the Laura Claire .

Chapter Nine
    T here were literally thousands of shipwrecks off Newfoundland. A century before Richard went on his first trip to the Banks, one in eight of the ships that left Bristol heading for Newfoundland never made it. It’s likely that they were lost, not near England but on the western side of the Atlantic, because the western side of an ocean is always the roughest. Since