in her clear head? This question was asked in affectionate pride by
more than one good seaman who had become Ida's intimate friend at the
close of her first year on Lime Rock, while all the skippers had an
intense admiration for the girl who not only handled her life-boat
with a man's skill, but who kept the light filled and trimmed and
burning to save her father steps, now that he was crippled with
rheumatism.

The heat of summer had given place to the crisp coolness of a glorious
October day as Ida was just starting to row to the mainland to do an
errand for her mother. She looked out of the window, across the bay,
to see if there was any prospect of a shower, and her keen eyes
glimpsed a sight that made her hurry for the glass. Looking through
it, she gave a sharp cry and rushed to the door.

"What is it, daughter?" the captain queried.

But Ida was already out of the house. So he hobbled slowly to the
window and, with the use of the glass Ida had dropped, saw his
energetic child push the life-boat out of its shelter, drag it to the
shore, jump in and row rapidly to the middle of the bay where a
pleasure-boat had capsized. There were four men in the water,
struggling with the high waves which momentarily threatened to
overcome them. When Ida reached them in her life-boat, two were
clinging to the overturned craft, and two were making a desperate
effort to swim toward shore. The watching captain, through his glass,
saw Ida row close to the capsized boat and with strong, steady hands
pull and drag one after another of the men into her boat. When they
were all in, she rowed with sure strokes back across the stormy water,
carrying her load of human freight to shore and receiving their thanks
as modestly as if she had not done a remarkable deed for a girl of
seventeen. A very fine piece of work was Ida's first rescue, but by no
means her last. She loved to row out in a storm and dare the winds and
waves to do their worst, and she grew to think her mission a clear
one, as life-saver of the light.

A year after her first experience as life-saver, her father, who had
recently been paralyzed, died, and so capable was his
eighteen-year-old daughter in doing his duties that she was allowed to
continue in the care of the light until her father's successor should
be appointed. When the news came to her, Ida's eyes gleamed, as if in
anticipation of some happy event, and to her devoted Newfoundland dog
she exclaimed: "We love