eatures of the vicinity,
to meet and talk with whom many a tourist lengthened a stay in
Newport, and Ida enjoyed meeting them and showing them her light and
her home and her boat and her dog and all her other treasures, while
in return they told her many interesting things about the great world
beyond the beams of her light.

Up in the tower one day--it was in the autumn of 1867--she was looking
out over the bay, fearing trouble for some vessel, as a furious storm
was raging, and the wind was blowing snow in such white sheets that
few captains could make their way among the rocks of the harbor
without difficulty, while any one foolish enough to set out in a
rowboat would find it impossible to reach the shore.

Out flashed the rays of the beacon-light, and far off on the
tempestuous waves Ida saw what seemed to be two men in a boat with a
load of sheep. The wind was howling, and borne on its shrieking Ida
fancied she could hear the moans of the men and the frightened beasts.

One quick look at her light, to make sure that it was all right to
leave, then down ran the life-saver to her self-appointed work. Never
was there such a gale blowing in Narragansett Bay, and in the smaller
bay white-capped waves and gusts of wind and rain added to biting,
stinging cold made it almost impossible even for sturdy Ida to
struggle out from the boat-house, to launch her rowboat on the stormy
sea. But she never gave in to any obstacles, and soon her little boat
could be seen making slow headway across the bay, in the direction of
the drifting men and their cargo of sheep.

Now the wind drove her back, now it blew her small craft to one side
and the other, but steadily, though slowly, she gained on herself, and
at last she reached the men, who could make no headway in the teeth of
such a gale, and were simply drifting and watching Ida's acts with
incredulous wonder. A young girl--come to rescue them in such a storm
as this! Quickly she helped them to climb into her boat, and took up
her oars. One man protested. "But the sheep," he said.

"Leave them to me!" commanded Ida, sternly, rowing as fast as she
could, her dark hair streaming over her shoulders and her cheeks
rose-red from the stinging cold of the air. Neither man ventured
another word. Reaching the rocky coast of the island, Ida sprang out
after them, pointed out the kitchen door, and said:

"Stay in there and get warm till I come back."

"But--" began one.

Ida was alrea