like pluck when I see it, and the way that boy jumped in on the shark
was plucky enough for anything. If it hadn't been for him, skipper,
that little gal of yourn 'd have been a goner and no mistake."

"You are right, Dickinson, she would indeed. Thank God she is spared to
me, though. You _can_ no doubt be of the greatest use to us; and as to
thinking you a brute--_I_ do nothing of the kind, nor does Mr Evelin, I
am sure. I believe you make yourself out to be a great deal worse than
you really are. Well, Robert, what is this, my boy? Is it true that
your leg is broken?"

"I am afraid it is, sir," answered Bob, who looked very pale, and was
evidently suffering great pain. "But I don't care about that, so long
as May is all right."

"She _is_, Robert, thanks to God and to your courage. But we will all
thank you by and by more adequately than we can do now. Let us look at
your leg, that is the first thing to be attended to."

"Will you allow me, Captain Staunton?" interposed Lance. "I have some
knowledge of surgery, and I think my hand will be more steady than yours
after your late excitement."

The skipper willingly gave place to Lance; and the latter, kneeling down
by Bob's side, drew out a knife with which he slit up the left leg of
the lad's trousers.

A painful sight at once revealed itself. The leg was broken half-way
between the ankle and the knee, and the splintered shin-bone protruded
through the lacerated and bleeding flesh. Captain Staunton felt quite
sick for a moment as he saw the terrible nature of the injury; and even
Lance turned a trifle pale.

"A compound fracture, and a very bad one," pronounced Evelin. "Now,
Dickinson, if you wish to be of use, find Kit, the carpenter, and bring
him to me."

The man vanished with alacrity, and in another minute or two returned
with Kit.

Lance explained what he wanted--a few splints of a certain length and
shape, and a supply of good stout spun-yarn.

"Do you think Ralli would give us a bandage or two and a little lint
from one of his medicine-chests?" asked Lance of Dickinson.

"If he won't I'll pound him to a jelly," was the reckless answer; and
without waiting for further instructions the man ran down to the water,
jumped into the dingy, and, casting off the painter, began to ply his
oars with a strength and energy which sent the small boat darting across
the bay with a foaming wave at her bows and a long swirling wake behind
her.

In l