It had begun to snow early in the evening, a light fall at first, but growing heavier every minute, and, as the flakes fell thicker and faster, the wind began to blow, and its force increased steadily. Ralph, hearing the gusts as they swooped about the corners of the house, and the “swish” of the snow as it was thrown against the window panes, several times rose to go, but Captain Eri in each instance urged him to stay a little longer. Finally, the electrician rebelled.

“I should like to stay, Captain,” he said, “but how do you think I am going to get over to the station if this storm grows worse, as it seems to be doing?”

“I don't think,” was the calm reply. “You're goin' to stay here.”

“Well, I guess not.”

“I guess yes. S'pose we're goin' to let you try to row over to the beach a night like this? It's darker 'n a nigger's pocket, and blowin' and snowin' great guns besides. Jest you look out here.”

He rose, beckoned to Ralph, and then opened the outer door. He had to use considerable strength to do this, and a gust of wind and a small avalanche of snow roared in, and sent the lighter articles flying from the table. Elsie gave a little scream, and Mrs. Snow exclaimed, “For the land's sake, shut that door this minute! Everything 'll be soppin' wet.”

The Captain pulled the door shut again, and dropped the hook into the staple.

“Nice night for a pull, ain't it?” he observed, smiling. “No, sir, I've heard it comin' on, and I made up my mind you'd have to stay on dry land for a spell, no matter if all creation wanted you on t'other side.”

Ralph looked troubled. “I ought to be at the station,” he said.

“Maybe so, but you ain't, and you'll have to put up at this boardin' house till mornin'. When it's daylight one of us 'll set you across. Mr. Langley ain't foolish. He won't expect you to-night.”

“Now, Mr. Hazeltine,” said the housekeeper, “you might jest as well give it up fust as last. You KNOW you can't go over to that station jest as well as I do.”

So Ralph did give it up, although rather against his will. There was nothing of importance to be done, but he felt a little like a deserter, nevertheless.

“Perez won't git home neither,” observed Captain Eri. “He's snowed in, too.”

Captain Perez had that afternoon gone down to the Mayo homestead to take tea with Miss Davis.

“Git home! I should think not!” said Mrs. Snow decidedly. “Pashy's got too much sense to let him try it.”

“Well, Elsie,” commented Captain Jerry, “I told you we'd have a no'theaster 'fore the winter was over. I guess there'll be gale enough to satisfy you, now. No school to-morrer.”

“Well, that's settled! Let's be comf'table. Ain't there some of that cider down cellar? Where's the pitcher?” And Captain Eri hurried off to find it.

When bedtime came there was some argument as to where the guest should sleep. Ralph insisted that the haircloth sofa in the parlor was just the thing, but Captain Eri wouldn't hear of it.

“Haircloth's all right to look at,” he said, “but it's the slipperiest stuff that ever was, I cal'late. Every time I set on a haircloth chair I feel's if I was draggin' anchor.”

The cot was declared ineligible, also, and the question was finally settled by Josiah and Captain Eri going upstairs to the room once occupied by John Baxter, while Ralph took that which they vacated.

It was some time before he fell asleep. The gale seemed to be tearing loose the eternal foundations. The house shook and the bed trembled as if a great hand was moving them, and the snow slapped against the windows till it seemed that they must break.

In the morning there was little change in the weather. The snow had turned to a sleet, half rain, that stuck to everything and coated it with ice. The wind was blowing as hard as ever. Captain Eri and Ralph, standing just outside the kitchen door, and in the lee of the barn, paused to watch the storm for a minute before they went down to the beach. At intervals they caught glimpses of the snow-covered roofs of the fish shanties, and the water of the inner bay, black and threatening and scarred with whitecaps; then another gust would come, and they could scarcely see the posts at the yard gate.

“Think you want to go over, do you?” asked the Captain.

“I certainly do, if I can get there.”

“Oh, we can git there all right. I've rowed a dory a good many times when 'twas as bad as this. This ain't no picnic day, though, that's a fact,” he added, as they crossed the yard, and caught the full force of the wind. “Lucky you put on them ileskins.”

Ralph was arrayed in Captain Jerry's “dirty-weather rig,” and although, as Captain Eri said, the garments fitted him “like a shirt on a handspike,” they were very acceptable.

They found the dory covered with snow and half-full of slush, and it took some few minutes to get her into condition. When this was accomplished they hauled her down to the shore, and Captain Eri, standing knee-deep in water, steadied her while Ralph climbed in. Then the Captain tumbled in himself, picked up the oars, and settled down for the pull to the outer beach.

A dory, as everyone acquainted alongshore knows, is the safest of all small craft for use in heavy weather. It is unsinkable for one thing, and, being flat-bottomed, slips over the waves instead of plowing through them. But the high freeboard is a mark for the wind, and to keep a straight course on such a morning as this requires skill, and no small amount of muscle. Ralph, seated in the stern, found himself wondering how on earth his companion managed to row as he did, and steer at the same time. The strokes were short, but there was power in them, and the dory, although moving rather slowly, went doggedly on.

“Let me take her,” shouted Ralph after a while, “you must be tired.”

“Who, me?” Captain Eri laughed. “I could keep this up for a week. There ain't any sea in here. If we was outside now, 'twould be diff'rent, maybe.”

They hit the beach almost exactly at the right spot, a feat which the passenger considered a miracle, but which the Captain seemed to take as a matter of course. They beached and anchored the dory, and, bending almost double as they faced the wind, plowed through the sand to the back door of the station. There was comparatively little snow here on the outer beach—the gale had swept it nearly all away.

Mr. Langley met them as they tramped into the hall. The old gentleman was glad to see his assistant, for he had begun to fear that the latter might have tried to row over during the evening, and met with disaster. As they sat round the stove in his room he said, “We don't need any wrecks inside the beach. We shall have enough outside, I'm afraid. I hear there is one schooner in trouble now.”

“That so?” asked Captain Eri. “Where is she?”

“On the Hog's Back shoal, they think. One of the life-saving crew told McLaughlin that they saw her last night, when the gale first began, trying to make an offing, and that wreckage was coming ashore this morning. Captain Davis was going to try to reach her with the boat, I believe.”

“I should like to be at the life-saving station when they land,” said Ralph. “It would be a new experience for me. I've seen the crew drill often enough, but I have never seen them actually at work.”

“What d'you say if we go down to the station?” asked the Captain. “That is, if Mr. Langley here can spare you.”

“Oh, I can spare him,” said the superintendent. “There is nothing of importance to be done here just now. But it will be a terrible walk down the beach this morning.”

“Wind 'll be at our backs, and we're rigged for it, too. What d'you say, Mr. Hazeltine?”

Ralph was only too glad of the opportunity to see, at least, the finish of a rescuing expedition, and he said so. So they got into the oilskins again, pulled their “sou'westers” down over their ears, and started on the tramp to the life-saving station.

The electrician is not likely to forget that walk. The wind was, as the Captain said, at their backs, but it whistled in from the sea with terrific strength, and carried the sleet with it. It deluged them with water, and plastered them with flying seaweed and ice. The wet sand came in showers like hail, and beat against their shoulders until they felt the sting, even through their clothes. Toward the bay was nothing but gray mist, streaked with rain and sleet; toward the sea was the same mist, flying with the wind over such a huddle of tossing green and white as Ralph had never seen. The surf poured in in rollers that leaped over each other's humped backs in their savage energy to get at the shore, which trembled as they beat upon it. The ripples from one wave had not time to flow back before those of the next came threshing in. Great blobs of foam shot down the strand like wild birds, and the gurgle and splash and roar were terrific.

They walked as near the water line as they dared, because the sand was harder there. Captain Eri went ahead, hands in his pockets and head down. Ralph followed, sometimes watching his companion, but oftener gazing at the sea. At intervals there would be a lull, as if the storm giant had paused for breath, and they could see for half a mile over the crazy water; then the next gust would pull the curtain down again, and a whirl of rain and sleet would shut them in. Conversation meant only a series of shrieks and they gave it up.

At length the Captain turned, grinned pleasantly, while the rain drops splashed on his nose, and waved one arm. Ralph looked and saw ahead of them the clustered buildings of the life-saving station. And he was glad to see them.

“Whew!” puffed Captain Eri as they opened the door. “Nice mornin' for ducks. Hey, Luther!” he shouted, “wake up here; you've got callers.”

They heard footsteps in the next room, the door opened, and in came—not Luther Davis, but Captain Perez.

“Why, Eri!” he exclaimed amazedly.

“For the land's sake, Perez! What are you doin' here?”

“What are YOU doin' here, I should say. How d'you do, Mr. Hazeltine?”

Captain Eri pushed back his “sou'wester,” and strolled over to the stove. Ralph followed suit.

“Well, Perez,” said the former, extending his hands over the fire, “it's easy enough to tell you why we're here. We heard there was a wreck.”

“There is. She's a schooner, and she's off there on the Hog's Back. Luther and the crew put off to her more 'n two hours ago, and I'm gittin' worried.”

Then Perez went on to explain that, because of the storm, he had been persuaded to stay at Mrs. Mayo's all night; that Captain Davis had been over for a moment that evening on an errand, and had said that the schooner had been sighted and that, as the northeaster was coming on, she was almost certain to get into trouble; that he, Perez, had rowed over the first thing in the morning to get the news, and had been just in time to see the launching of the lifeboat, as the crew put off to the schooner.

“There ain't nothin' to worry 'bout,” observed Captain Eri. “It's no slouch of a pull off to the Hog's Back this weather, and besides, I'd trust Lute Davis anywhere on salt water.”

“Yes, I know,” replied the unconvinced Captain Perez, “but he ought to have been back afore this. There was a kind of let-up in the storm jest afore I got here, and they see her fast on the shoal with the crew in the riggin'. Luther took the small boat 'cause he thought he could handle her better, and that's what's worryin' me; I'm 'fraid she's overloaded. I was jest thinkin' of goin' out on the p'int to see if I could see anything of 'em when you folks come.”

“Well, go ahead. We'll go with you, if Mr. Hazeltine's got any of the chill out of him.”

Ralph was feeling warm by this time and, after Perez had put on his coat and hat, they went out once more into the gale. The point of which Perez had spoken was a wedge-shaped sand ridge that, thrown up by the waves and tide, thrust itself out from the beach some few hundred yards below the station. They reached its tip, and stood there in the very midst of the storm, waiting for the lulls, now more frequent, and scanning the tumbling water for the returning lifeboat.

“Schooner's layin' right over there,” shouted Captain Perez in Ralph's ear, pointing off into the mist. “'Bout a mile off shore, I cal'late. Wicked place, the Hog's Back is, too.”

“Wind's lettin' up a little mite,” bellowed Captain Eri. “We've had the wust of it, I guess. There ain't so much—”

He did not finish the sentence. The curtain of sleet parted, leaving a quarter-mile-long lane, through which they could see the frothing ridges racing one after the other, endlessly. And across this lane, silent and swift, like a moving picture on a screen, drifted a white turtleback with black dots clinging to it. It was in sight not more than a half minute, then the lane closed again, as the rain lashed their faces.

Captain Perez gasped, and clutched the electrician by the arm.

“Godfrey mighty!” he exclaimed.

“What was it?” shouted Ralph. “What was it, Captain Eri?”

But Captain Eri did not answer. He had turned, and was running at full speed back to the beach. When they came up they found him straining at the side of the dory that Luther Davis used in tending his lobster pots. The boat, turned bottom up, lay high above tide mark in the little cove behind the point.

“Quick, now!” shouted the Captain, in a tone Ralph had never heard him use before. “Over with her! Lively!”

They obeyed him without question. As the dory settled right side up two heavy oars, that had been secured by being thrust under the seats, fell back with a clatter.

“What was it, Captain?” shouted Ralph.

“The lifeboat upset. How many did you make out hangin' onto her, Perez? Five, seemed to me.”

“Four, I thought. Eri, you ain't goin' to try to reach her with this dory? You couldn't do it. You'll only be drownded yourself. My Lord!” he moaned, wringing his hands, “what 'll Pashy do?”

“Catch a-holt now,” commanded Captain Eri. “Down to the shore with her! Now!”

They dragged the dory to the water's edge with one rush. Then Eri hurriedly thrust in the tholepins. Perez protested again.

“Eri,” he said, “it ain't no use. She won't live to git through the breakers.”

His friend answered without looking up. “Do you s'pose,” he said, “that I'm goin' to let Lute Davis and them other fellers drown without makin' a try for 'em? Push off when I tell you to.”

“Then you let me go instead of you.”

“Don't talk foolish. You've got Pashy to look after. Ready now!”

But Ralph Hazeltine intervened.

“I'm going myself,” he said firmly, putting one foot over the gunwale. “I'm a younger man than either of you, and I'm used to a boat. I mean it. I'm, going.”

Captain Eri looked at the electrician's face; he saw nothing but determination there.

“We'll all go,” he said suddenly. “Mr. Hazeltine, run as fast as the Lord 'll let you back to the station and git another set of oars. Hurry!”

Without answering, the young man sprang up the beach and ran toward the buildings. The moment that he was inside Captain Eri leaped into the dory.

“Push off, Perez!” he commanded. “That young feller's got a life to live.”

“You don't go without me,” asserted Perez stoutly.

“All right! Push off, and then jump in.”

Captain Perez attempted to obey. He waded into the water and gave the dory a push, but, just as he was about to scramble in, he received a shove that sent him backwards.

“Your job's takin' care of Pashy!” roared Captain Eri.

Perez scrambled to his feet, but the dory was already half-way across the little patch of comparatively smooth water in the cove. As he looked he saw it enter the first line of breakers, rise amid a shower of foam, poise on the crest, and slip over. The second line of roaring waves came surging on, higher and more threatening than the first. Captain Eri glanced over his shoulder, turned the dory's bow toward them and waited. They broke, and, as they did so, the boat shot forward into the whirlpool of froth. Then the sleet came pouring down and shut everything from sight.

When Ralph came hurrying to the beach, bearing the oars, he found Captain Perez alone.