ust a wind which tore across the waste of waters
within view of her station, scattering their crests in foam and
spoondrift, and rolling them in huger and still huger breakers on
the strand. It was a magnificent sight, but a terrifying one as
well. The girl watched almost continually for a white patch against
the black of the storm which might mark a sailing craft in peril.

Steam vessels went past, several of them. They, surely, were in
little danger, were their hulls ordinarily sound and their engines
perfect. All the fishing craft had made for cover the night before.
The New York-Boston steamers would keep to the inside passage in
this gale.

Sheila had made all taut and trim inside the cabin. She had plenty
of firewood and sufficient provisions to last her for a time.

About noon she heard the crunch of footsteps on the sand. It was
little John-Ed who first appeared before her eyes. He thrust a
letter into Sheila's hand.

"Dad brought it up from the port this morning, and I got it away
from him. Say," he continued, evidently much disturbed, "he's coming
here."

"Who is coming here--your father?"

"No, no! Not dad. I--I couldn't help it. I didn't tell him. I said
you wanted to play alone here at being shipwrecked, and I was just
like you said--your man Friday."

"Who do you mean?" asked Sheila, greatly agitated. "Not--"

"I bet 'twas that Tunis Latham told him you was here," continued
John-Ed. "Anyway, don't blame me. All I done was to help him down
the path."

He disappeared. Sheila stepped to the door. Cap'n Ira was laboring
over the sands toward the cabin, leaning on his cane, his coat
flapping in the wind and his cap screwed on so tightly that a
hurricane could not possibly have blown it away.

But in addition and aside from the buffeting he had suffered from
the wind, the old man looked much less trim and taut than Sheila had
ever before seen him. He had not been shaved for at least three
days; a button hung by a thread upon his coat; there was a coffee
stain on the bosom of his shirt.

He looked so miserable, and so faint, and so buffeted about, that
the girl cried out, running from the door of the cabin to meet him.
The sweat of his hard effort stood on his brow, and he panted for
breath.

"I swan! Ida May--er--well, whoever you be, gal, let me set down!
I'm near spent, and that's a fact."

"Oh, Cap'n Ball, you should not have done this!" cried the girl,
letting him lean upon her and aiding