tight in the locks."

Gregory nodded and took his place in the skiff.

"We'll be back in five minutes," he said. Then he shoved the dory out
into the fog.

* * * * *

From the ledge of rock which bordered the cove, the half-starved man
pulled the razor-backed mussels from the sea-grass and broke them open
with his pocket-knife. For some time he ate rapidly. Then he ceased
pulling at the shellfish and listened. A boat was coming to anchor in
the cove. He could hear the soft slip of the chain through the chaulks.
Perhaps they would land on the beach. Then he would be trapped on the
ledge until they had gone.

Picking his way over the barnacled rocks he started for the beach. As he
climbed from the ledge, he stopped suddenly and clung to the rocks. On
the beach at his feet, and only a few feet away, he heard the pebbles
grate beneath the bow of a boat. The men were already landing. Staring
into the opaque wall of white, he saw it clouded by three dark blots.
Followed the rattle of stones, the soft crunch of the sand dying slowly
away into silence. The men had gone on up the beach.

The man who clung to the rocks climbed noiselessly to the sand, his
brain burning with one great idea. While the visitors were gone from the
place he would steal their boat. In the fog no one could find him. He
could row about the island and be picked up at sea in the morning by
some fishing-boat. The great chance had come to him at last.

Perhaps the men had left another to guard the boat. The thought caused
him to draw his pocket-knife. Grasping it tightly in his shaking
fingers, he crawled silently over the wet sand, feeling for the sides of
the dory with his extended arm.

Hope danced brightly before his eyes as he touched the boat. Weakened by
hunger, he rubbed his shriveled limbs and tottered to his feet, waving
his knife. Then he chuckled aloud. There was no one in the boat.

Throwing the knife upon one of the seats, he leaped again to the sand
and began to shove. Mother of God, he had no strength. The bottom grated
noisily on the pebbles. Then the dory slid into the water. Laughing to
himself, he threw his body over the rail and felt about for the oars.

Men were running down the beach. He had not a second to lose. His hand
closed upon the oars. He was saved. Tugging feebly at the heavy sweeps,
he drew them through the water with all his might and the dory moved
slowly forward. Again his weakened