s bad as I ever seed in these parts, miss. I'll do
what I can. 'Twon't be much, I'll bet."

I ran down to the house, followed by Scud at a moderate walk. Scud never
ran. Would he have run for the drowning? I doubted it.

The clouds had arisen with terrible velocity. They coursed over the bare
sky like a black bull with horns down. White cirrhus clouds now darted
out here and there ahead, like fluttering standards of warning. And now
the sun was gored to death. The black bank advanced in one wide line.
Blackness had fallen everywhere. Anxiety was visible in every form of
nature--in the cries of the birds, the skulking of the dogs, the
blanched faces of the boarders, the attention of the fishermen.

In the British navy, when any terrible and sudden disaster occurs on a
man-of-war, such as the bursting of a gun, a collision, or striking upon
the rocks, the bugler sounds, what is known as "the still." On hearing
it every man aboard comes to a standstill. This momentary pause enables
each to collect his nerves to meet the summons of the shock. Nature was
now commanding "the still"; but the order came through the eyes. No
sound was as yet heard. The sea, the air, sentient life, all souls, held
their breath before the shock that must come. Men collected along the
coast to meet the threatened tornado. By that subtle force which
sensitive organisms will recognize, be it called telepathy or psychic
power or magnetism, I knew, ignorant as I was, that nature was silently
preparing for a terrific struggle.

When Scud and I joined Mabel on the rocks in front of her house we found
her wringing her hands, sobbing and crying for help. It seemed that her
two children, who had gone out fishing with their city guest, were in a
sail-boat. This was managed by a boy about their age--none of them were
over sixteen. But the lad who sailed the little boat was a fisherman's
son. He was considered very expert, and had broad experience from his
babyhood up. But this fact did not soothe the mother. Appalled by the
color and the swiftness of the clouds, and the ominous import to the
safety of the little sail-boat, we scanned the harbor and the coast; but
no boat answering to the description was in sight. Scud tried to comfort
the mother in his shaggy way. "The b'ys hev sailed to the inner cove,
ma'am. They's ashore by this time, I'll bet."

As Scud spoke, the large fishing-schooners, leaving and entering the
broad harbor shot, one after the other