“Portland harbor is so beautiful that I hate to leave it,” Ellen said to the other girls as they were getting under way.

“So do I,” agreed Mabel. “There never was anything so lovely as that harbor with the lighted bridge running across it.”

“And it just seemed too wonderful to be true for those northern lights to appear on top of everything else. I would have given anything if the rest of you had been up on deck to see them too. I didn’t know what had happened till Breck stuck his head up through the galley hatch and told me,” Jane said.

“Speaking of Breck,” Frances put in, “have you ever seen anything like the change in that gentleman? When we first came on board, he was silent as the grave and solemn as any owl, and now he works around on deck, whistling and he talks a lot more. And,” she added, “he knows how to talk remarkably well too.”

“But have you noticed to whom he talks?” inquired Mabel with a teasing glance at Jane.

“Why no, come to think of it, I hadn’t noticed particularly.”

“As if you would notice anything, Ellen, with Jack anywhere near you. If I ever get so wrapped up in my fat Charlie, will you all promise to drown me?” begged Mabel.

“You are both of you unbearable. But promise to drown you? No, it would hasten your death too much,” and Frances laughed at Mabel’s pleading face. “The disease is just as bad in you as in Ellen. The only difference is in the way it affects you. It makes Ellen a little quieter than usual and you a little noisier.”

The “Boojum” had gathered speed and was roaring along with the spray coming over the bow and drenching the girls to such an extent that they were forced to go and sit tamely in the cockpit, a thing that was distasteful to them all, but particularly to Frances and Jane.

“If our wind and luck hold, we can easily make Vinal Haven tonight,” said Charlie, looking up from the chart he and Jack had been reading.

“For my part,” announced Frances, “I hope it doesn’t. We have been too lucky, always doing just what we set out to do. With the exception of turning over at Plymouth, everything has happened according to Hoyle.”

“Well, we will see if we can’t arrange a little shipwreck for the bloodthirsty lady from the wild and woolly west,” laughed Jack.

At sunset the “Boojum” was nosing her way through a little group of islands, lying purple on the dark water. To port lay the largest, its rocky cliffs taking on weird lights from the sinking sun.

Jane caught her breath in a little gasp of admiration. Reaching for the chart, she quickly found their whereabouts. “Mr. Wing,” she called excitedly, “this is just too lovely a spot to pass. The chart says it’s Hurricane Island and dead ahead is Old Harbor. Can’t we stop here tonight instead of going on to Vinal Haven. Old Harbor ought to be a good anchorage. It is protected on three sides by these islands.”

“Why Plain Jane, as far as I am concerned, we can. The others are an easy-going bunch and generally want to do whatever anybody suggests. Let me see the chart.”

Jane hung over him until he nodded his head in approval of the harbor’s description on the chart and then dashed forward to free the anchor.

“Oh! Breck, did you ever in your life see anything quite as beautiful as that big island with the sun slipping down back of it?” she asked him as he leaned against the foremast, looking out for buoys.

“I am mighty glad you asked Mr. Wing to anchor here tonight. I was just thinking that was just what I would do if I were on my own boat.”

“Can you tell whether those purplish humps on the island are houses or just huge boulders? It seems a funny place for a settlement and, besides, there isn’t a single light in any of the windows if they are houses and not rocks,” asked Jane, peering into the fast-gathering darkness.

“Tomorrow, if you say so and there is time, I’ll row you over and we can find out. I don’t believe I ever heard of Hurricane Island before. It’s a nice adventurous kind of name though.”

Mabel came bouncing along the deck in the way peculiar to her and broke in with, “Everybody is raving about the beauty of this place and, of course, I know it is really lovely but nobody will listen to me and my material thoughts. I have seen one million lobster pots, I know and, Breck, please try and see tomorrow if you can’t get some for us. Where there are so many lobster pots, there must be some people to take the lobsters out.”

The next morning directly after breakfast Jane and Frances took the dinghy and rowed over to explore a small island running up into a high peak. Mr. Wing had promised to let the little party stay at this interesting spot for as long as they liked. The original plan had been to cruise on to Bar Harbor and then come leisurely back to New York. With one accord, it had been decided that it would be more fun to stop at Old Harbor for a few days than to go on to Bar Harbor for, as Mabel said, “there is nothing at Bar Harbor but clothes and silly little men,” and Charlie had said, “What about the fluffy little girls?”

Jack and Ellen and Mabel and Charlie had gone out in the tender to follow some fishermen and make arrangements for getting Mabel the coveted lobsters. Mr. Wing, the steward, and Breck had stayed aboard the “Boojum” to keep ship, which meant for Mr. Wing, lying on the deck mattress and dozing in the sun; for the steward, a general galley cleaning, and for Breck the filling of many sheets of white paper with his surprisingly small writing.

“Now that we are here,” Frances said to Jane as she jumped out on the rocky beach of the island, “I don’t see what in the world we are going to tie the dinghy to.”

“Why not lug one of these rocks down and set it on the rope? That ought to hold it,” suggested Jane.

Assuring themselves that the dinghy was made fast, the two friends set out to see the island. It was literally covered with blueberries, as they had so often found to be the case in the other little islands they had seen during the trip.

After eating her fill, Jane announced that she was going to lie down and go to sleep in the sun.

“Lazy Jane, no sleep for me. I am going to climb to the very top of the hill and to the very top of the huge rock on top of the hill. Excelsior! It will be a gorgeous view up there. You ought to come.” Frances started out with many flourishes of a long stick she had found.

The warmth of the sun and the sound of the water beating against the rocks that bordered the island soon sent Jane into a delicious sleep.

Frances clambered up the hill, stopping now and again to look out over the water, the panorama becoming more beautiful as she climbed higher. It was difficult climbing too, for there were many loose rocks and she started several miniature land slides.

On the extreme top of the hill was a rocky plateau, in the center of which lay a shallow pool of stagnant water. As she drew near, two huge black crows cawed and flew from its edge.

“Ugh!” she said. “How very gruesome, and how silly for me to be talking out loud.” Then she heard a little sound as of a sharp, intaken breath, coming from behind a big, flat rock to the left of where she stood. She went quickly and leaned over the rock. At the sight of a man’s prostrate figure she involuntarily drew back.

“Dern the luck,” said the figure in a rather weak voice.

“If you would ask me I would say ‘bless the luck’,” contradicted Frances, coming forward to see what was the trouble.

At the sound of her voice, the man tried to raise himself on an elbow but, making a wry face, he gave it up.

“I am in luck now somebody has come, but I have been here since yesterday afternoon,” he said.

“What in the world happened to you?”

“Slipped on a rock. Think I must have broken my thigh bone; anyway I can’t move my left leg.”

“It would hurt terribly to move you without a stretcher, wouldn’t it?”

“One thing certain, it couldn’t hurt me any more than just staying here.”

“Well, then I will go down and get Jane,” announced Frances.

“What good will a Jane do? I don’t want to be rude, but this thing hurts like the devil.”

“Say whatever you want to; you might be allowed that. I’ll be back in a jiffy.” Frances shot down the hill with lightning speed. She pounced on Jane and woke her with a little shake.

Jane rubbed sleepy eyes and raised a critical eyebrow.

“Broken-legged man—up on top—by himself—how in the world can we get him down?” panted Frances.

“Have to improvise a stretcher,” said Jane, wide awake at once. “Thank heavens for the blessed old Camp Fire organization. We can take the oars and slip our skirts on them and that will make a dandy stretcher.”

“Jane, you are a perfect peach! I never would have thought of that,” Frances told her friend as they ran down to where they had left the dinghy.

To their dismay they found that the tide had gone out and the constant tugging had slipped the rope out from under the rock and the dinghy was slipping along on the tide about a hundred yards from shore. Quickly the girls got out of their skirts and, in their jersey silk bloomers and flannel blouses, waded out into the water toward the rapidly receding boat.

Giggling a little with excitement, Frances said, “Goodness, but I am glad we left our shoes on. These rocks would have simply killed our feet.”

Soon they were in deep water and they struck out with the strong double over arm that had been the envy of Ellen. In no time, they had wriggled over the side of the dinghy and were pulling for the island. This time the two girls dragged the dinghy clear of the receding tide to be sure that they would have no further misadventures.

Each one taking an oar and a skirt, they started the uphill climb.

“Suppose you hadn’t found him, Frances. Wouldn’t it have been awful?” and Jane shuddered a little at the thought. “What does he look like?”

“I didn’t have time to notice much but that he had on a heavy gray sweater and fearfully dirty white duck trousers. I don’t even know whether he is big or little.”

On reaching the rocky plateau, Jane exclaimed, “Frances, this is the most moving-picturey place to discover an injured gent I ever saw!”

Frances led her around the big rock and she looked down at the man. “How much do you weigh?” Jane asked by way of greeting.

The man smiled a little at this and answered, “One hundred and eighty, but, after no dinner or breakfast, I suppose I have wasted away to a mere nothing.”

“Well, Frances, that means each of us carries ninety pounds down the hill. But we can do it as long as we don’t have to do it every day.”

“Of course, I couldn’t think of letting you do such a thing,” objected the man.

“I would like to know how you are going to help it. To be sure, we could go back to the boat and get one of the boys, but that would just delay the game and I know you ought to get that leg set as soon as possible. Besides, I don’t believe men are any better in an emergency than girls, ’specially Camp Fire Girls; do you, Jane?”

The girls slipped the skirts on the oars and laid the improvised stretcher close beside the man. He was able to help them a little and, without causing him too much pain, they at last had him on the stretcher.

“I am awfully sorry for you; it will be hard on you going down this hill, but we will try not to bump you,” Jane promised him.

The man on the stretcher had not lost a bit of his hundred and eighty pounds, the girls decided as they lifted their load. Both of them were thankful for their hard muscles and good wind. After what seemed ages, they reached the beach and set the stretcher in the dinghy. Then both of them threw themselves flat on the seaweed that the tide had left and rested and caught their wind. The man had lost consciousness from the painful journey down and from lack of food.

“No use bringing him to till we get on the boat. It will hurt him horribly getting him over the side. Another thing, Jane, there won’t be room enough for both you and me in the dinghy now. You pull a better oar than I do, so you get in and row the man out and I’ll swim along out in a minute. I’ll get there soon after you do.”

“But I could come back for you,” objected Jane. “You must be dead tired.”

“Of course I don’t feel ‘fresh as a daisy,’ but it is no harder for me to swim out to the boat than it is to row out.”

There was no one on deck of the “Boojum” as Jane brought the dinghy carefully alongside. She called to Breck and he came up from the galley.

At his surprised look she said, “Frances found this broken-legged man up on the top of the hill on that island and we brought him down. He has fainted or something and I don’t see how we can get him over the side of the ‘Boojum’.”

“How in the world you two kids did it is beyond me, but I will ask questions later. Mr. Wing and I can rig up a bosun’s chair and get him on board all right.”

Breck waked Mr. Wing and they set to work to rig the bosun’s chair and soon had the man lying on one of the transoms in the saloon.

“Now,” said Mr. Wing, “it yet remains for us to get a doctor to him.”

“Mr. Wing,” said Breck in an embarrassed way, “it wouldn’t do for me not to tell you this. I have had three years of medicine at Harvard and was with an ambulance corps in France during the first two years of the war. What I mean is that I can set the leg and I think I had better do it before it swells any more. Jane, you get some waste from the locker to the right of the engine and pack some long planks for the splints. If it is necessary, we can get him into a cast at Portland.”

With deft hands Breck got off the man’s shoe and cut away the duck trousers. Jane, with her head in a whirl, found two suitable boards in the galley, evidently parts of a box in which provisions had come, and she mechanically began to pad them with waste. “That makes him about thirty,” she thought, “because it has been two years since the war. I hope he doesn’t think of me as a perfect kid. I will be twenty-one in a month, anyway.”

A wet and bedraggled Frances clambered over the side and appeared in the saloon just in time to get a weary, grateful smile from the man as he came to.