Captain Eri knew that the hardest and most dangerous portion of his perilous trip was just at its beginning. If the dory got through the surf without capsizing, it was an even bet that she would stay right-side-up for a while longer, at any rate. So he pulled out of the little cove, and pointed the boat's bow toward the thundering smother of white, his shoulders squared, his hands tightened on the oar handles, and his under-jaw pushed out beyond the upper. Old foremast hands, those who had sailed with the Captain on his coasting voyages, would, had they seen these signs, have prophesied trouble for someone. They were Captain Eri's battle-flags, and just now his opponent was the gray Atlantic. If the latter won, it would only be after a fight.

The first wave tripped over the bar and whirled beneath him, sending the dory high into the air and splashing its occupant with spray. The Captain held the boat stationary, waiting for the second to break, and then, half rising, put all his weight and strength on the oars. The struggle had begun.

They used to say on board the Hannah M. that the skipper never got rattled. The same cool head and steady nerve that Josiah had admired when the catboat threaded the breakers at the entrance of the bay, now served the same purpose in this more tangled and infinitely more wicked maze. The dory climbed and ducked, rolled and slid, but gained, inch by inch, foot by foot. The advancing waves struck savage blows at the bow, the wind did its best to swing her broadside on, but there was one hundred and eighty pounds of clear grit and muscle tugging at the oars, and, though the muscles were not as young as they had been, there were years of experience to make every pound count. At last the preliminary round was over. The boat sprang clear of the breakers and crept out farther and farther, with six inches of water slopping in her bottom, but afloat and seaworthy.

It was not until she was far into deep water that the Captain turned her bow down the shore. When this was done, it was on the instant, and, although a little more water came inboard, there was not enough to be dangerous. Then, with the gale astern and the tide to help, Captain Eri made the dory go as she, or any other on that coast, had never gone before.

The Captain knew that the wind and the tide that were now aiding him were also sweeping the overturned lifeboat along at a rapid rate. He must come up with it before it reached the next shoal. He must reach it before the waves, and, worse than all, the cold had caused the poor fellows clinging to it for life to loose their grip.

The dory jumped from crest to crest like a hurdler. The sleet now beat directly into the Captain's face and froze on his eyebrows and lashes, but he dared not draw in an oar to free a hand. The wind caught up the spindrift and poured it over him in icy baths, but he was too warm from the furious exercise to mind.

In the lulls he turned his head and gazed over the sea, looking for the boat. Once he saw it, before the storm shut down again, and he groaned aloud to count but two black dots on its white surface. He pulled harder than ever, and grunted with every stroke, while the perspiration poured down his forehead and froze when it reached the ice dams over his eyes.

At last it was in plain sight, and the two dots, now clearly human beings, were still there. He pointed the bow straight at it and rowed on. When he looked again there was but one, a figure sprawled along the keel, clinging to the centerboard.

The flying dory bore down upon the lifeboat, and the Captain risked what little breath he had in a hail. The clinging figure raised its head, and Captain Eri felt an almost selfish sense of relief to see that it was Luther Davis. If it had to be but one, he would rather it was that one.

The bottom of the lifeboat rose like a dome from the sea that beat and roared over and around it. The centerboard had floated up and projected at the top, and it was about this that Captain Davis' arms were clasped. Captain Eri shot the dory alongside, pulled in one oar, and the two boats fitted closely together. Then Eri reached out, and, seizing his friend by the belt round his waist, pulled him from his hold. Davis fell into the bottom of the dory, only half conscious and entirely helpless.

Captain Eri lifted him so that his head and shoulders rested on a thwart, and then, setting his oar against the lifeboat's side, pushed the dory clear. Then he began rowing again.

So far he had been more successful than he had reason to expect, but the task that he must now accomplish was not less difficult. He must reach the shore safely, and with another life beside his own to guard.

It was out of the question to attempt to get back to the cove; the landing must be made on the open beach, and, although Captain Eri had more than once brought a dory safely through a high surf, he had never attempted it when his boat had nearly a foot of water in her and carried a helpless passenger.

Little by little, still running before the wind, the Captain edged in toward the shore. Luther Davis moved once or twice, but said nothing. His oilskins were frozen stiff and his beard was a lump of ice. Captain Eri began to fear that he might die from cold and exhaustion before the attempt at landing was made. The Captain resolved to wait no longer, but to take the risk of running directly for the beach.

He was near enough now to see the leaping spray of the breakers, and their bellow sounded louder than the howl of the wind or the noises of the sea about him. He bent forward and shouted in the ear of the prostrate life-saver.

“Luther!” he yelled, “Lute!”

Captain Davis' head rolled back, his eyes opened, and, in a dazed way, he looked at the figure swinging back and forth with the oars.

“Lute!” shouted Captain Eri, “listen to me! I'm goin' to try to land. D'you hear me?”

Davis' thoughts seemed to be gathering slowly. He was, ordinarily, a man of strong physique, courageous, and a fighter every inch of him, but his strength had been beaten out by the waves and chilled by the cold, and the sight of the men with whom he had lived and worked for years drowning one by one, had broken his nerve. He looked at his friend, and then at the waves.

“What's the use?” he said feebly. “They're all gone. I might as well go, too.”

Captain Eri's eyes snapped. “Lute Davis,” he exclaimed, “I never thought I'd see you playin' crybaby. Brace up! What are you, anyway?”

The half-frozen man made a plucky effort.

“All right, Eri,” he said. “I'm with you, but I ain't much good.”

“Can you stand up?”

“I don't know. I'll try.”

Little by little he raised himself to his knees.

“'Bout as fur's I can go, Eri,” he said, between his teeth. “You look out for yourself. I'll do my durndest.”

The dory was caught by the first of the great waves, and, on its crest, went flying toward the beach. Captain Eri steered it with the oars as well as he could. The wave broke, and the half-filled boat paused, was caught up by the succeeding breaker, and thrown forward again. The Captain, still trying to steer with one oar, let go of the other, and seizing his companion by the belt, pulled him to his feet.

“Now then,” he shouted, “stand by!”

The boat poised on the curling wave, went down like a hammer, struck the sand, and was buried in water. Just as it struck, Captain Eri jumped as far shoreward as he could. Davis sprang with him, but it was really the Captain's strength that carried them clear of the rail.

They kept their feet for an instant, but, in that instant, Captain Eri dragged his friend a yard or so up the shelving beach. Then they were knocked flat by the next wave. The Captain dug his toes into the sand and braced himself as the undertow sucked back. Once more he rose and they staggered on again, only to go down when the next rush of water came. Three times this performance was repeated, and, as they rose for the fourth time, the Captain roared, “Now!”

Another plunge, a splashing run, and they were on the hard sand of the beach. Then they both tumbled on their faces and breathed in great gasps.

But the Captain realized that this would not do, for, in their soaked condition, freezing to death was a matter of but a short time. He seized Davis by the shoulder and shook him again and again.

“Come on, Lute! Come on!” he insisted. “Git up! You've GOT to git up!”

And, after a while, the life-saver did get up, although he could scarcely stand. Then, with the Captain's arm around his waist, they started slowly up the beach toward the station.

They had gone but a little way when they were met by Ralph Hazeltine and Captain Perez.

Mrs. Snow had been, for her, rather nervous all that forenoon. She performed her household duties as thoroughly as usual, but Elsie, to whom the storm had brought a holiday, noticed that she looked out of the window and at the clock frequently. Once she even went so far as to tell the young lady that she felt “kind of queer; jest as if somethin' was goin' to happen.” As the housekeeper was not the kind to be troubled with presentiments, Elsie was surprised.

Dinner was on the table at twelve o'clock, but Captain Eri was not there to help eat it, and they sat down without him. And here again Mrs. Snow departed from her regular habit, for she ate little and was very quiet. She was the first to hear an unusual sound outside, and, jumping up, ran to the window.

“Somebody's drivin' into the yard,” she said. “Who on airth would be comin' here such a day as this?”

Captain Jerry joined her at the window.

“It's Abner Mayo's horse,” he said. “Maybe it's Perez comin' home.”

It was not Captain Perez, but Mr. Mayo himself, as they saw when the rubber blanket fastened across the front of the buggy was dropped and the driver sprang out. Mrs. Snow opened the door for him.

“Hello, Abner!” exclaimed Captain Jerry, as the newcomer stopped to knock the snow from his boots before coming in, “what have you done to Perez? Goin' to keep him for a steady boarder?”

But Mr. Mayo had important news to communicate, and he did not intend to lose the effect of his sensation by springing it without due preparation. He took off his hat and mittens and solemnly declined a proffered chair.

“Cap'n Burgess,” he said, “I've got somethin' to tell you—somethin' awful. The whole life-savin' crew but one is drownded, and Cap'n Eri Hedge—”

An exclamation from Mrs. Snow interrupted him. The housekeeper clasped her hands together tightly and sank into a chair. She was very white. Elsie ran to her.

“What is it, Mrs. Snow?” she asked.

“Nothin', nothin'! Go on, Mr. Mayo. Go on!”

The bearer of ill-tidings, gratified at the result of his first attempt, proceeded deliberately:

“And Cap'n Hedge and Luther Davis are over at the station pretty nigh dead. If it wa'n't for the Cap'n, Luther'd have gone, too. Eri took a dory and went off and picked him up. Perez come over to my house and told us about it, and Pashy's gone back with him to see to her brother. I didn't go down to the store this mornin', 'twas stormin' so, but as soon as I heard I harnessed up to come and tell you.”

Then, in answer to the hurried questions of Captain Jerry and Elsie, Mr. Mayo told the whole story as far as he knew it. Mrs. Snow said nothing, but sat with her hands still clasped in her lap.

“Luther is ha'f drownded and froze,” concluded Abner, “and the Cap'n got a bang with an oar when they jumped out of the dory that, Perez is afraid, broke his arm. I'm goin' right back to git Dr. Palmer. They tried to telephone him, but the wire's down.”

“Dear! dear! dear!” exclaimed Captain Jerry, completely demoralized by the news. “That's dreadful! I must go right down there, mustn't I? The poor fellers!”

Mrs. Snow rose to her feet quietly, but with a determined air.

“Are you goin' right back soon's you've got the Doctor, Mr. Mayo?” she asked.

“Why, no, I wa'n't. I ain't been to my store this mornin', and I'm 'fraid I ought to be there.”

To be frank, Abner was too great a sensation lover to forfeit the opportunity of springing his startling news on the community.

“Then, Josiah, you'll have to harness Dan'l and take me down. I mustn't wait another minute.”

“Why, Mrs. Snow!” expostulated Captain Jerry, “you mustn't go down there. The Doctor's goin', and I'll go, and Pashy's there already.”

But the housekeeper merely waved him aside.

“I want you to stay here with Elsie,” she said. “There's no tellin' how long I may be gone. Josiah 'll drive me down, won't you, Josiah?”

There was no lack of enthusiasm in the “able seaman's” answer. The boy was only too glad of the chance.

“But it ain't fit weather for you to be out in. You'll git soakin' wet.”

“I guess if Pashy Davis can stand it, I can. Elsie, will you come and help me git ready, while Josiah's harnessin'?”

As they entered the chamber above, Elsie was thunderstruck to see her companion seat herself in the rocker and cover her face with her hands. If it had been anyone else it would not have been so astonishing, but the cool, self-possessed housekeeper—she could scarcely believe it.

“Why, Mrs. Snow!” she exclaimed, “what IS it?”

The lady from Nantucket hastily rose and wiped her eyes with her apron.

“Oh, nothin',” she answered, with an attempt at a smile. “I'm kind of fidgety this mornin', and the way that man started off to tell his yarn upset me; that's all. I mustn't be such a fool.”

She set about getting ready with a vim and attention to detail that proved that her “fidgets” had not affected her common-sense. She was pale and her hands trembled a little, but she took a covered basket and packed in it cloth for bandages, a hot-water bottle, mustard, a bottle of liniment, and numerous other things likely to be of use. Last of all, she added a bottle of whisky that had been prescribed as a stimulant for John Baxter.

“I s'pose some folks would think 'twas terrible carryin' this with me,” she observed. “A woman pitched into me once for givin' it to her husband when he was sick. I told her I didn't favor RHUBARB as a steady drink, but I hoped I knew enough to give it when 'twas necessary.”

Ralph and Captain Perez were surprised men when the housekeeper, dripping, but cheerful, appeared on the scene. She and Josiah had had a stormy passage on the way down, for the easy-going Daniel had objected to being asked to trot through drifts, and Mrs. Snow had insisted that he should be made to do it. The ford was out of the question, so they stalled the old horse in the Mayo barn and borrowed Abner's dory to make the crossing.

Mrs. Snow took charge at once of the tired men, and the overtaxed Miss Patience was glad enough to have her do it. Luther Davis was in bed, and Captain Eri, after an hour's sojourn in the same snug harbor, had utterly refused to stay there longer, and now, dressed in a suit belonging to the commandant, was stretched upon a sofa in the front room.

The Captain was the most surprised of all when Mrs. Snow appeared. He fairly gasped when she first entered the room, and seemed to be struck speechless, for he said scarcely a word while she dosed him with hot drinks, rubbed his shoulder—the bone was not broken, but there was a bruise there as big as a saucer—with the liniment, and made him generally comfortable. He watched her every movement with a sort of worshipful wonder, and seemed to be thinking hard.

Captain Davis, although feeling a little better, was still very weak, and his sister and Captain Perez were with him. Josiah soon returned to the Mayo homestead to act as ferryman for Dr. Palmer when the latter should arrive, and Ralph, finding that there was nothing more that he could do, went back to the cable station. The storm had abated somewhat and the wind had gone down. Captain Eri and Mrs. Snow were alone in the front room, and, for the first time since she entered the house, the lady from Nantucket sat down to rest. Then the Captain spoke.

“Mrs. Snow,” he said gravely, “I don't believe you've changed your clothes sence you got here. You must have been soaked through, too. I wish you wouldn't take such risks. You hadn't ought to have come over here a day like this, anyway. Not but what the Lord knows it's good to have you here,” he added hastily.

The housekeeper seemed surprised.

“Cap'n Eri,” she said, “I b'lieve if you was dyin' you'd worry for fear somebody else wouldn't be comf'table while you was doing it. 'Twould be pretty hard for me to change my clothes,” she added, with a laugh, “seein' that there probably ain't anything but men's clothes in the place.” Then, with a sigh, “Poor fellers, they won't need 'em any more.”

“That's so. And they were all alive and hearty this mornin'. It's an awful thing for Luther. Has he told anything yit 'bout how it come to happen?”

“Yes, a little. The schooner was from Maine, bound to New York. Besides her own crew she had some Italians aboard, coal-handlers, they was, goin' over on a job for the owner. Cap'n Davis says he saw right away that the lifeboat would be overloaded, but he had to take 'em all, there wa'n't time for a second trip. He made the schooner's crew and the others lay down in the boat where they wouldn't hinder the men at the oars, but when they got jest at the tail of the shoal, where the sea was heaviest, them Italians lost their heads and commenced to stand up and yell, and fust thing you know, she swung broadside on and capsized. Pashy says Luther don't say much more, but she jedges, from what he does say, that some of the men hung on with him for a while, but was washed off and drownded.”

“That's right; there was four or five there when we saw her fust. 'Twas Lute's grip on the centerboard that saved him. It's an awful thing—awful!”

“Yes, and he would have gone, too, if it hadn't been for you. And you talk about MY takin' risks!”

“Well, Jerry hadn't ought to have let you come.”

“LET me come! I should like to have seen him try to stop me. The idea! Where would I be if 'twa'n't helpin' you, after all you've done for me?”

“I'VE done? I haven't done anything!”

“You've made me happier 'n I've been for years. You've been so kind that—that—”

She stopped and looked out of the window.

“It's you that's been kind,” said the Captain. “You've made a home for me; somethin' I ain't had afore sence I was a boy.”

Mrs. Snow went on as if he had not spoken.

“And to think that you might have been drownded the same as the rest,” she said. “I knew somethin' was happenin'. I jest felt it, somehow. I told Elsie I was sure of it. I couldn't think of anything but you all the forenoon.”

The Captain sat up on the couch.

“Marthy,” he said in an awed tone, “do you know what I was thinkin' of when I was pullin' through the wust of it this mornin'? I was thinkin' of you. I thought of Luther and the rest of them poor souls, of course, but I thought of you most of the time. It kept comin' back to me that if I went under I shouldn't see you ag'in. And you was thinkin' of me!”

“Yes, when that Mayo man said he had awful news, I felt sure 'twas you he was goin' to tell about. I never fainted away in my life that I know of, but I think I 'most fainted then.”

“And you cared as much as that?”

“Yes.”

Somehow both were speaking quietly, but as if it was useless longer to keep back anything. To speak the exact truth without reserve seemed the most natural thing in the world.

“Well, well, well!” said the Captain reverently, and still in the same low tone. “I said once afore that I b'lieved you was sent here, and now I'm sure of it. It seems almost as if you was sent to ME, don't it?”

The housekeeper still looked out of the window, but she answered simply, “I don't know.”

“It does, it does so. Marthy, we've been happy together while you've been here. Do you b'lieve you could be happy with me always—if you married me, I mean?”

Mrs. Snow turned and looked at him. There were tears in her eyes, but she did not wipe them away.

“Yes,” she said.

“Think now, Marthy. I ain't very young, and I ain't very rich.”

“What am I?” with a little smile.

“And you really think you could be happy if you was the wife of an old codger like me?”

“Yes.” The answer was short, but it was convincing.

Captain Eri rose to his feet.

“Gosh!” he said in a sort of unbelieving whisper. “Marthy, are you willin' to try?”

And again Mrs. Snow said “Yes.”

When Dr. Palmer came he found Luther Davis still in bed, but Captain Eri was up and dressed, and there was such a quiet air of happiness about him that the man of medicine was amazed.

“Good Lord, man!” he exclaimed, “I expected to find you flat on your back, and you look better than I've seen you for years. Taking a salt-water bath in mid-winter must agree with you.”

“It ain't so much that,” replied the Captain serenely. “It's the pay I got for takin' it.”

When the Doctor saw Perez alone, he asked the latter to keep a close watch on Captain Eri's behavior. He said he was afraid that the exertion and exposure might have affected the Captain's brain.

Perez, alarmed by this caution, did watch his friend very closely, but he saw nothing to frighten him until, as they were about to start for home, Captain Eri suddenly struck his thigh a resounding slap

“Jerry!” he groaned distressfully. “I clean forgot. I've gone back on Jerry!”