Elsie had gone home, and in a few days our little party would break up entirely, Ella and Amy return to their homes, Mary, Donald and Charlie go with Edward and Violet to their mother's cottage to spend some time as Mrs. Travilla's guests.

The Allisons had gone, and there was now abundance of room, though the Conlys, mother and daughter, still lingered, loath to leave the delightful sea breezes.

The quiet life led under her cousin Elsie's roof was not much to Virginia's taste, but nothing better had offered as yet.

Breakfast was over, the morning tasks the girls had set themselves were all done, and the whole four came trooping out upon the porch where the three lads were standing apparently very intent upon some object out at sea.

Edward was looking through a spy-glass, which he handed to Donald just as the girls joined them, saying, "See if you can make out the name." "Not quite, but she is certainly a yacht," was Donald's reply, after a moment's steady gaze at one of the many vessels within sight; for they had counted more than forty of various sorts and sizes, some outward bound, others coming in. The one which so excited their interest was drawing nearer.

"Let me look," said Mary. "I have the reputation of being very far-sighted."

Donald handed her the glass and pointed out the vessel.

She sighted it, and in another moment said, "Yes, I can read the name—'The Curlew.'"

"Ah, ha!" cried Edward in a very pleased tone, "I was correct; it is Will Tallis's yacht."

"And really it looks as if he meant to call at Ocean Beach," added Charlie. "Must have heard, Ned, that you and I are here."

"Doubtless," laughed Edward.

"Will Tallis?" repeated Violet inquiringly. "Is he a friend of yours, Edward?"

"Why, yes; have you never heard me speak of him? He's a splendid fellow, one whom I should very willingly introduce to my mother and sisters."

"And has a yacht of his own?"

"Yes; he's very rich, and delights in being on the sea. Inherits the taste, I suppose; his father was a sea-captain. He told us—Charlie and me—that he meant to go yachting this season, and wished he could persuade us to go with him."

"And I, for one, should like nothing better," said Charlie. "Why, Ned, he is coming ashore! See, they have dropped anchor and are putting off from the yacht in a boat! Yes, here they come, pulling straight for this beach. Where's my hat? Let's run down, boys, and meet them as they land!" cried the lad, greatly excited.

Amy had found his hat and silently handed it to him. Edward and Donald seized theirs, and all three rushed to the beach.

"Come, girls," said Ella, "let us go too; why should we miss the fun, if there is to be any?"

They put on their hats, took their sun-umbrellas, and started. They however went only as far as to the sidewalk in front of the Colorado House—so many people were thronging the beach to witness the landing, which was now evidently to take place just below there, and our modest, refined young ladies did not like to be in a crowd.

Mrs. Perkins and Susie joined them. Fred was away; had gone over to New York, expecting to return by the evening train.

"Not much to be seen by us but the waves and the crowd," remarked Ella, a little impatiently. "Nor much to be heard but the murmur of their voices." "They must have landed, I think," Mrs. Perkins said. "Yes, here they come; our lads, I mean, and a stranger with them. A very nice looking fellow he is, too."

The four young men drew near, and Edward introduced "My friend, Mr. Tallis," to the ladies.

He was very gentlemanly in appearance, and had a pleasant, open countenance, a cordial, hearty manner as he shook hands with the matronly married lady and lifted his hat to the younger ones.

"I am happy to make your acquaintance, ladies," he said, with a genial smile and an admiring glance at Violet, "and have come to ask the pleasure of your company on board my yacht. I am bound for Boston and the coasts of New Hampshire and Maine—a short sea-voyage which I trust you will find enjoyable if I can but persuade you to try it."

Mrs. Perkins declined, with thanks, for herself and Susie. Violet did likewise. The other three hesitated, but finally yielded to the persuasions of the lads.

"O Edward, you will not go, surely?" whispered Violet, drawing her brother aside.

"And why not?" he returned with some impatience.

"Because you haven't mamma's consent, or grandpa's either." "No, but that's only because they are not here to give it. I'm sure there's nothing objectionable. Will's the very sort of fellow they would approve, the vessel is new and strong, and the captain and crew understand their business."

"But a storm might come up."

"Why, Vi, how silly! there's no appearance of a storm, and we are not intending to go far out to sea. Besides, you might just as well bring that objection to any trip by sea."

"Yes; but if you had mamma's consent it would be different."

"I don't see that. I'd ask it, of course, if I could—and be sure to get it, too, I think—but there isn't time; they don't want to lose this favorable wind and fine weather, and will be off again within an hour. Come, make up your mind to go with us: I want you along, for I think it will be a delightful little voyage."

"Thank you, brother, but I don't wish to go, and couldn't enjoy it if I went without mamma's knowledge and consent: and I do wish you would not go."

"Vi, I never knew you so absurd and unreasonable! But if you will not go along, perhaps I ought to stay to take care of you. I had not thought of that before. Mother left you in my charge, but I am sure she would not want me to lose this pleasure, and it strikes me as a trifle selfish in you to make it necessary for me to do so."

"I don't want you to stay on my account," she said, tears springing to her eyes, "and I don't think you need. I can go home this afternoon by the cars. Probably mamma would not mind my taking so short a ride alone."

"I don't know: but I should enjoy the voyage far more with you along."

"What is the matter?" asked Mrs. Perkins, overhearing a part of the talk. "I will take charge of your sister, Mr. Travilla, if she prefers to stay behind."

"Thank you," Edward responded with brightening countenance. "But—Vi, you will not care to bathe while we are gone?"

"No, Ned, I shall not go in without you, as mamma desired me not."

"And you are willing for me to go?"

"Not quite; I wish you wouldn't; only don't stay to take care of me."

Edward looked a good deal vexed and annoyed.

"Mrs. Perkins," he said, turning to her, "if Fred were here, would you object to his going?"

"No, not at all. I should leave him to follow his own inclination. But," as Edward turned triumphantly to Violet, "I am not meaning to encourage you to go, if your sister thinks your mother might object: all mothers do not see alike, you know."

"Well," he said, "I imagine I am as competent a judge of that as Violet is. I feel well-nigh certain that she would bid me go and enjoy myself. She's not one of the fussy kind of mothers who are afraid to let their children stir out of their sight."

"Then you will go?" said Mr. Tallis.

"Yes," Edward answered, resolutely avoiding Violet's pleading looks.

"I wish we could persuade your sister," Mr. Tallis said, turning to her. "Are you timid about venturing on the sea, Miss Travilla?"

"Not particularly," she said, coloring slightly.

"Then do come with us! the more the merrier, you know, and I should be so happy. I do not feel quite comfortable to carry off all the rest of your party and leave you alone."

The girls joined their entreaties to his, but Violet was firm in her resolution to remain on shore.

Then Mary offered to stay with her, but as Violet felt convinced that it would involve a sacrifice on her cousin's part, she would not consent.

They now all hastened back to the cottage to make such preparations as might be needful. It was not much to any of them, as they expected to return the next day or the one following. "Edward, can I be of any assistance to you?" Violet asked, going to the door of his room.

"Yes, if you like to pack this valise. Maybe you would do it better than I. I'm alone, so come in."

Violet accepted the invitation, and did the little service quite to his satisfaction.

"You are a nice, handy girl, if I do say it that shouldn't," he remarked laughingly. "But what's the matter?" as he saw that her eyes were full of tears.

"O Edward, don't go away vexed with me!" she exclaimed, putting an arm around his neck. "Suppose a storm should come up, and—and we should never see each other again."

The last words came with an irrepressible burst of tears and sobs. The loving young heart was sore from recent bereavement, and ready to fear for all its dear ones.

"Come, don't fret about possibilities," he said, kindly. "I'm not vexed now, and you must forgive me for calling you selfish."

"You don't think I am?"

"No, indeed! but just the darlingest little sister ever a fellow had. I shouldn't like—if anything should happen—to have you remember that as one of the last things I had said to you. No, I was the selfish one. Now good-bye, and don't worry about me," he said, holding her close, and kissing her several times; "you know, Vi dear, that we are under the same protecting care on sea and on land."

"Yes," she whispered, but with some hesitation, and drawing a deep sigh.

"Ah!" he said, "you doubt whether I shall be taken care of because I'm going without permission. Are you not forgetting that we have always been trained to think and decide for ourselves in all cases where it is right and proper for us to do so? And why should I need permission to go on the sea in a yacht any more than in a fishing-boat? Can you answer me that?" he concluded, half laughingly.

"No," she said, with a slight smile, "and I daresay you are in the right about it."

"Then you won't change your mind ('tis a woman's privilege, you know) and go along? It's not yet too late."

"No, thank you; I do not care to claim all the woman's privileges yet," she answered with playful look and tone.

"Hello, Ned! 'most ready?" shouted Charlie from below. "Time's about up."

They went down at once.

The other girls were on the porch quite ready to start, Donald standing with them. Mrs. Perkins and Susie could be descried down on the beach waiting to see them off; Mr. Tallis too, chatting with the ladies.

The young men gathered up the ladies' satchels and their own. Charlie offered his arm to Amy, but she declined it with a laughing assurance that she was now strong enough to walk without support.

"Miss Neff," he sighed, turning to Ella, "I've lost my situation: will you?"

"And you and the rest of us will, maybe, lose something else if we don't hurry," she answered lightly. "'Time and tide wait for no man,' so let us make haste before they fail us."

These three were very merry, the other three sober almost to absolute quietness as they made their way to the waiting boat.

Edward kissed his sister again as he was about to step into it, and she clung to his neck for a moment whispering, "Ah, I shall pray that you may come back safely!"

"Don't borrow trouble, you dear little goose," he said, as he let her go.

At the last moment it appeared that Donald was not going.

There were various exclamations of surprise and disappointment from the voyagers when his purpose to remain behind became apparent, "They had understood he was going—why did he change his mind?"

"Well," he said, with a quiet smile, "a man is not bound to give all his reasons, but the fact is Mrs. Perkins has held out strong inducements to me to stay where I am." "And he couldn't be in better company, could he?" was her laughing addition.

Violet was as much taken by surprise as the others, but in her secret heart not at all sorry—"It would be so much less lonely with Cousin Donald there."

They stood on the beach, waving their handkerchiefs to their departing friends until the latter had reached the deck of the yacht. Nor did they cease to watch the vessel so long as the smallest portion of it was visible, as it faded quite out of sight.

Violet felt a strong inclination to indulge in a hearty cry, but putting a determined restraint upon herself, chatted cheerfully instead. Yet her friends perceived her depression and exerted themselves for her entertainment.

"It seems to me," Donald said, with a glance at Violet, but addressing Mrs. Perkins, as they went into a summer house near by and sat down, "that this little lady has less of inquisitiveness than most people—(I will not say most of her sex, for I think my own is by no means deficient in the characteristic)—or she would have made some inquiry in regard to the strong inducements I spoke of."

"What were they?" Violet asked. "You have roused my sleeping curiosity."

"Mrs. Perkins has kindly offered to come to the cottage and help us with our housekeeping while the rest of the lads and lassies are away, and to bring Miss Susie and her brother with her."

Vi's face lighted up with pleasure. "It is very kind," she said. "Now I shall not mind the absence of the others half so much as I had expected. I like my little room at the cottage, and do not fancy living in a crowd as I must anywhere else."

"Then you will not go home?" Donald said, inquiringly.

"No; upon second thought I have decided against that plan, because if I did go I must tell mamma how it happened, and then if a storm should come up she would be tortured with useless anxiety about my brother."

"You are very thoughtful of your mother."

"As any one would be who had such a mother as ours, Cousin Donald."

"She is certainly very lovely and lovable," he said. "Now about our meals, cousin. Do you object to taking them in a crowd? at one of the public houses here?"

"No; I think it the least of two evils," she answered, with a smile, "for I own to being somewhat tired of the fun of housework and cooking."

"Then we will settle upon that plan," Mrs. Perkins said; "sleep and live at the cottage, breakfast, dine and sup elsewhere." Mrs. Perkins was a very good talker, full of general information, anecdote and entertaining reminiscences, a delightful companion even to one as young as Violet.

Time passed swiftly to them all. Life at the cottage, because it took them out of the crowd, was more enjoyable than that at the hotels, which were all very full at this season, and as a consequence, very noisy.

The cottage seemed very peaceful and quiet by contrast. Indeed it was far quieter now than it had been at any time in the past two or three weeks, and Violet, who was beginning to weary of so much sport and mirthfulness, really found the change agreeable.

By the middle of the afternoon of the next day they began to watch for the reappearance of the Curlew; but night closed in again without the sight.

There was a very fresh and stormy breeze from the north-east when they went to bed. In the morning it blew almost a gale, and as Violet's eyes turned seaward her face wore a very anxious expression.

"No sign of the Curlew yet," she sighed, as she stood at the parlor window gazing out upon the wind-tossed billows, plunging, leaping, roaring, foaming as if in furious passion.

"No; and we may well thank God that we do not," said Donald's voice close at her side, "for the wind is just in the quarter to drive them ashore: I hope they are giving the land a wide berth."

She looked up into his face with frightened eyes.

"Do not be alarmed," he said; "let us not anticipate evil. They may be safe in port somewhere; and at all events we know who rules the winds and waves."

"Yes," she murmured, in low tremulous tones, "the stormy wind fulfils His word: and no real evil shall befall any of His children."

There was a moment of silence; then, "It is about breakfast time now," he said, "but you will not venture out in this gale, surely? Shall I not have your meal sent in to you?"

"Thank you, but I prefer to make the effort to go," she said; "I want to get a nearer view of the sea."

The others felt the same desire, and presently they all started out together.

The ladies found it as much as they could do to keep their feet even with the assistance of their stronger companions, and the great, wind-driven waves sometimes swept across the sidewalk.

It was clearly dangerous, if not impossible, to approach nearer to the surging waters. The gale was increasing every moment, the sky had grown black with clouds and distant mutterings of thunder, and an occasional lightning flash gave warning that the worst was yet to come. Evidently it would be no day for outdoor exercise or amusement.

Regaining the cottage with difficulty, after eating their breakfast they brought out books, games and fancy work, resolved to make the best of circumstances. Yet anxious as they were for the fate of their friends, the voyagers in the yacht, they did little but gaze out upon the sea, looking for the Curlew, but glad that neither she nor any other vessel was in sight.

The Curlew's cabin was comfortably, even luxuriously furnished, her larder well supplied with all the delicacies of the season. Favored with beautiful weather and propitious winds, our friends found their first day out from Ocean Beach most enjoyable.

They passed the greater part of their time on deck, now promenading, now reclining in extension chairs, chatting, laughing, singing to the accompaniment of flute and violin; the one played by Edward, the other by Charlie.

The yacht was a swift sailer, her motion easy, and until the afternoon of the second day they were scarcely troubled with sea-sickness. Most of the time they kept within sight of land, touching at Boston, Portsmouth, and several other of the New England seaports, and continuing on their course until the wind changed, when they turned, with the purpose of going directly back to Ocean Beach.

For some hours all went well, a stiff breeze carrying them rapidly in the desired direction; but it grew stronger and shifted to a dangerous quarter, while the rough and unsteady motion of the vessel made all the passengers so sea-sick that they began to heartily wish themselves safe on land.

The ladies grew frightened, but the captain assured them there was as yet little cause for alarm. He had shortened sail and put out to sea, fearing the dangers of the coast.

But the wind increased constantly until by night it was blowing a gale, and though every stitch of canvas had been taken in and furled, they were being driven landward.

All night long the seamen fought against the storm, striving to keep out to sea, but conscious that their efforts were nearly futile. There was little sleep that night for passengers or crew.

Morning broke amid a heavy storm of rain, accompanied by thunder and lightning, while the wind seemed to have redoubled its fury, blowing directly toward the shore.

The girls, conscious that they were in peril of shipwreck, had gone to their berths without undressing. Amy had been very sick all night, and the other two, who stood it better, had done their best to wait upon her, though it was little that could be done for her relief, and the pitching and rolling of the vessel frequently threw them with violence against each other or the furniture.

"It is morning," said Ella at length; "see, it grows light in spite of the storm; and I hear voices in the saloon. Shall I open the door?"

"Yes," said Mary, "let us learn the worst, and try to be prepared for it."

The three young men were in the saloon, and the girls joined them, Amy looking like the ghost of herself.

Charlie, who had stationed himself near her door, instantly gave her the support of his arm, putting it about her waist, while he held fast to the furniture with the other hand, and her head dropped on his shoulder.

With death staring them in the face they did not care for the eyes of their companions in peril: who, indeed, were too full of the danger and solemnity of their own position to pay any attention to the matter.

"O darling," Charlie said hoarsely, "if I could only put you safe on shore!"

"Never mind," she answered, looking lovingly into his eyes, "if we die, we shall die together; and O Charlie, as we both trust in Jesus, it will only be going home together to be 'forever with the Lord,' never, never to part again!" "Yes, there's comfort in that," he said; "and if you are to go, I'm glad I'm here to go with you. But life is sweet, Amy, and we will not give up hope yet."

Mary and Edward had clasped hands, each gazing silently into the sad and anxious face of the other.

She was thinking of her invalid mother, her father, brothers and sisters, and how they would miss her loving ministrations.

He too thought of his tender mother so lately widowed, her sorrow over the loss of her first-born son; and of other dear ones, especially Violet, away from all the rest, the only one conscious of his danger. He was glad now that she had refused to come with them, but he knew the terrible anxiety she must feel, the almost heart-breaking sorrow his loss and the sight of their mother's grief would be to her.

"Mr. Tallis, I know we must be in great danger," Ella said, as he took her hand to help her to a seat. "Is there any hope at all?"

"Oh surely, Miss Neff!" he replied; "we will not give up hope yet, though we are indeed in fearful peril. The greatest danger is that we shall be driven ashore; but we are still some distance off the coast, and the wind may change or lull sufficiently for an anchor to hold when we are in water shallow enough for trying that expedient. And even should we be wrecked, there will be still a chance for us in the good offices of the members of the life-saving service."

"Ah, yes," she said, a gleam of hope shining in her eyes, "the brave fellows will not leave us to perish if they can help us."

"And we will put our trust in God," added Mary.

What a day it was to them all, the storm raging throughout the whole of it with unabated fury, and their hope of escape from the dangers of the deep growing less and less.

The patrolmen were out, and toward sundown one of them descried the masts of a vessel far away in the distance. It was seen by others also, for all day long many glasses had been, at frequent intervals, sweeping the whole field of vision seaward.

The news spread like wildfire, creating a great excitement among the multitude of people gathered in the hotels and boarding-houses, as well as among the dwellers by the sea, not excepting the brave surfmen whose aid was likely to be in speedy requisition.

Hundreds of pairs of eyes watched the vessel battling with the storm, yet spite of every effort sweeping nearer and nearer the dreadful breakers. She seemed doomed to destruction, but darkness fell while yet she was too far away for recognition. Violet and her companions had gazed upon her with fast beating hearts from the time of her appearance until they could no longer catch the faintest outline of her figure in the gathering gloom.

Donald had nearly satisfied himself of her identity, but would not for any consideration have had Violet know that he believed her to be the Curlew. Even without that confirmation of her fears, the anxiety of the poor child was such that it was painful to witness.

It was indeed the Curlew, and about the time she was descried by those on land the captain remarked aside to her owner, "The Jersey shore is in sight, Mr. Tallis, and nothing short of a miracle can save us from wreck, for we are driving right on to it in spite of all that can be done. The Curlew is doomed, she has dragged her anchor, and will be in the breakers before many hours."

"It will be a heavy loss to me, captain," was the reply, "but if all our lives are saved I shall not grumble; shall on the contrary be filled with thankfulness."

"Well, sir, we'll hope for the best," was the cheerful rejoinder.

Soon all on board knew the full extent of the danger, and our young friends gave themselves to solemn preparation for eternity; also, in view of the possibility of some being saved while others were lost, made an exchange of parting messages to absent loved ones.

It was again a sleepless night to them; sleepless to our Ocean Beach friends at the cottage also, and to many others whose hearts were filled with sympathy for those in the doomed vessel.

About midnight the report of a signal gun of distress sent all rushing to the beach. She had struck, not a quarter of a mile from the shore; and as the clouds broke away the dark outline of her hull could be distinctly discerned among the foam-tipped breakers.

The rain had ceased, and there was a slight lull in the tempest of wind, so that it was possible to stand on the beach; but so furious still was the action of the waves that the patrolman, having instantly answered the gun by burning his signal-light, and now rushing in among his mates, reported that the surf-boat could not be used.

So the mortar-car was ordered out.

There was not an instant's delay. Gallantly the men bent to their work, dragged the car toilsomely over the low sand-hills to a spot directly opposite the wreck, and by the light of a lantern placed it and every part of the apparatus—the shot-line box, hauling lines and hawser for running, with the breeches-buoy attached—in position, put the tackles in place ready for hauling, and with pick and spade dug a trench for the sand anchor.

Each man having his particular part of the work assigned him, and knowing exactly what he was to do and how to do it, and all acting simultaneously, the whole thing was accomplished in a short space of time after reaching the desired spot.

An anxious, excited crowd was looking on. Apart from the throng and a little higher up the beach were our friends, Fred in charge of his mother and Susie, Donald with Violet under his protection.

She had begged so hard to come, "because it might be the Curlew, so how could she stay away?" that he had no heart to resist her entreaties. And he felt that she would be safe in his care, while Mrs. Perkins' presence made it perfectly proper.

All being in readiness the gun was fired, and the shot flew through the rigging of the ill-fated vessel.

Edward, now standing on her deck, understood just what was to be done, and no time was lost. With a glad shout, heard by those on shore, the line was seized by the sailors and rapidly hauled in.

Ere long the hawser was stretched straight and taut between the beach and the wreck—the shore end being raised several feet in the air by the erection of a wooden crotch—and the breeches-buoy was ready to be drawn to and fro upon it.

"Will you try it first, sir?" the captain of the Curlew said to Mr. Tallis.

"No, I should be the last man to leave the wreck."

"Go, go, Will!" cried Edward imperatively; "go and tell them to send the life-car, for there are ladies to be saved."

"Yes, go sir; don't waste precious time in disputing," cried the captain; and thus urged the young man went.

He reached the shore in safety, was welcomed with a glad shout, and instantly the word circulated among the crowd, "The owner of the Curlew. It is she."

Violet had nearly fallen fainting to the ground, but Donald, supporting her with his arm said in her ear, "Courage, my brave lassie! and they shall all be saved."

"Take care of my mother and sister for a moment, Keith!" exclaimed Fred, and plunging into the crowd he quickly made his way to the side of the rescued man.

"This way, if you please," he said, touching him on the shoulder; "a lady, Miss Travilla, would be glad to speak to you."

"Oh, yes! I know!" and all dripping and panting as he was, but having already delivered his message, and seen the men on the way for the safety-car, he went to her.

"It is Mr. Tallis," Fred said; "Miss Travilla, my mother and sister, and Mr. Keith," for it was too dark for a distinct view of each other's faces.

"My brother?" faltered Violet, holding out her hand.

"Is uninjured thus far, my dear young lady, and I trust will be with you in a few minutes. The vessel must, I presume, go to pieces finally, but will undoubtedly hold together long enough for all on board to be brought safely to shore."

Men from among the crowd had volunteered to assist in bringing the car, and while awaiting its coming the breeches-buoy travelled back and forth, bringing the sailors; for neither Edward nor Charlie would leave the ladies, and the captain insisted that he should be the last man to be rescued.

From the hour of their early morning meeting in the saloon the Curlew's passengers were almost constantly together, a very sober, solemn, and nearly silent company. Mary, in speaking of it afterward, said she felt as if she were attending her own funeral and listening to the sighs and sobs of her bereaved friends.

"And yet," she added with a bright, glad smile, "it was not all sadness and gloom; for the consolations of God were not small with me, and the thought of soon being with Christ in glory was at times very sweet."

When the vessel struck, Charlie started up with a sharp cry, "We are lost!"

Then all immediately fell on their knees while Edward poured out a fervent prayer, that they might be saved from a watery grave, if such were the will of God, if not, prepared for death and a glorious immortality; adding a final petition for the dear ones who would grieve for their loss.

Just as they rose from their knees the signal gun was fired.

Then the captain came down the companion-way and looking in upon them, said. "Don't despair ladies and gentlemen; things are not quite so bad as they might be; we have grounded very near the shore and a life-saving station, and my signal gun was immediately replied to by the patrolman with his red signal light. So we may feel assured that prompt and efficient help is near at hand."

Hope revived in their breasts, as they listened; then Will Tallis and Edward ventured upon deck, leaving the girls in Charlie's charge.

The warning lights on shore gave to the anxious watchers on the deck an inkling of what was being done for their relief, and when the shot was fired from the mortar and came whizzing through the rigging, Edward cried out in delight. "The line, the line! Now we shall be helped ashore!"

As the vessel was now without motion, save a shiver as now and again a great wave struck her, the girls were pretty comfortable and in no immediate danger, and as they urged it, Charlie, too, at length ventured upon deck.

He soon returned with an encouraging report, the better understood by the girls because of their late visit to the life-saving station. "The sailors were hauling in the line," he said, and soon the work of transporting them all to land would begin.

Amy shuddered at the thought of a ride in the life-car, yet, as the surfman had predicted, felt that even that would be far preferable to drowning.

The next report brought them was of Mr. Tallis's safe landing, and the next that the life-car waited for them.

Edward, the captain, and two sailors helped Mary and Ella across the wind-swept deck and into the car, Charlie and another sailor following with Amy.

They put her in after the other two and Charlie stepped in next, calling to Edward to come also.

"No," was the quiet reply. "I go by the breeches-buoy."

The sliding door was hastily shut, and Amy gasped for breath as she felt the car gliding swiftly along the hawser, while the great waves dashed over it, rocking it from side to side.

Charlie's arm was round her, holding her close, but she grew deathly sick and fainted quite away.

The minutes seemed hours, but at last they heard, above the thunder of the breaking waves, a great shout, and at the same instant felt the car grate upon the sand.

The door was pushed open, Charlie, the nearest to it, stepped out, drew Amy after him, apparently more dead than alive, and leaving it to others to assist Mary and Ella, bore her in his arms, in almost frantic haste, to the nearest house.

Mary was in Vi's arms almost before she knew that she had actually reached shore; Vi kissing her with tears and sobs, and crying, "Edward, Edward, where is he?"

"Coming," Mary said, "the brave, generous fellow would see us all safe first."

It was not long now till Violet's anxiety was fully relieved and her heart sending up glad thanksgivings as she found herself clasped to her brother's breast, all dripping wet though he was.

And great was the joy of the young owner of the Curlew when he learned that though she was a total wreck, not a single soul had been lost in her.