flective frown on his
face. He was feeling in no mood for Victoria Day sports. In a very
short time he and Ev and Prue must leave Blue Point lighthouse, where
they had lived all their lives. To Natty it seemed as if the end of
all things would come then. Where would life be worth living away from
lonely, windy Blue Point Island?

David Miller had died the preceding winter after a long illness. He
had been lighthouse keeper at Blue Point for thirty years. His three
children had been born and brought up there, and there, four years
ago, the mother had died. But womanly little Prue had taken her place
well, and the boys were devoted to their sister. When their father
died, Everett had applied for the position of lighthouse keeper. The
matter was not yet publicly decided, but old Cooper Creasy had sized
the situation up accurately. The Millers had no real hope that Everett
would be appointed.

Victoria Day, while not absolutely stormy, proved to be rather
unpleasant. A choppy northeast wind blew up the bay, and the water was
rough enough. The sky was overcast with clouds, and the May air was
raw and chilly. At Blue Point the Millers were early astir, for if
Everett wanted to sail over to the mainland in time to catch the
excursion train, no morning naps were permissible. He was going alone.
Since only one of the boys could go, Natty had insisted that it should
be Everett, and Prue had elected to stay home with Natty. Prue had
small heart for Victoria Day that year. She did not feel even a thrill
of enthusiasm when Natty hoisted a flag and wreathed the Queen's
picture with creeping spruce. Prue felt as badly about leaving Blue
Point Island as the boys did.

The day passed slowly. In the afternoon the wind fell away to a dead
calm, but there was still a heavy swell on, and shortly before sunset
a fog came creeping up from the east and spread over the bay and
islands, so thick and white that Prue and Natty could not even see
Little Bear Island on the right.

"I'm glad Everett isn't coming back tonight," said Prue. "He could
never find his way cross the harbour in that fog."

"Isn't it thick, though," said Natty. "The light won't show far
tonight."

At sunset they lighted the great lamps and then settled down to an
evening of reading. But it was not long before Natty looked up from
his book to say, "Hello, Prue, what was that? Thought I heard a
noise."

"So did I," said Prue. "I sounded like someone calling."

They