he kept his boat, when
above the rush and whistle of the gale he heard Jamie's voice. He
hurried back a few paces before he could make out what the little fellow
was saying.

"Pap," cried the child, "I want to get out of the wagon. 'Fraid Bill
goin' to run away!"

"Oh, nonsense!" answered Captain Joe. "Bill won't run away. He doesn't
know how. You stay there, and don't be frightened, and I'll be right
back."

"But, pap, the wind blows me too hard," piped the small voice,
pleadingly.

"Oh, all right," said the father, and returning to the wagon he lifted
the child gently down and set him on his feet. "Now," he continued,
"it's too windy for you out on the other side of the dike. You run over
and sit on that big stick, where the wind can't get at you; and wait for
me. And be sure you don't let Bill run away."

As he spoke the Captain noticed that the horse, ordinarily one of the
most stolid of creatures, seemed to-night peculiarly uneasy; with his
head up in the air he was sniffing nervously, and glancing from side to
side. As Jamie was trudging through the long grass to the seat which his
father had shown him, the Captain said, "Why, Bill _does_ seem scary,
after all; who'd have thought this wind would scare _him_?"

"Bill don't like it," replied Jamie; "it blows him too hard." And, glad
to be out of the gale, which took his breath away, the little fellow
seated himself contentedly in the shelter of the dike. Just then there
was a clatter of wheels and a crash. Bill had whirled sharply about in
the narrow road, upsetting and smashing the light wagon.

Now, utterly heedless of his master's angry shouts, he was galloping in
mad haste back toward the uplands, with the fragments of the wagon at
his heels. The Captain and Jamie watched him flying before the wind, a
red spectre in the lurid light. Then, turning away once more to see to
his boat, the Captain remarked, "Well, laddie, I guess we'll have to
foot it back when we get through here. But Bill's going to have a
licking for this!"

Left to himself, Jamie crouched down behind the dike, a strange,
solitary little figure in the wide waste of the marshes. Though the full
force of the gale could not reach him, his long fair curls were blown
across his face, and he clung determinedly to his small, round hat. For
a while he watched the beam of red light, till the jagged fringe of
clouds closed over it, and it was gone. Then, in the dusk, he began to
feel a little fri