hurried to the door, which looked out on the harbour. The night,
owing to the fog, was dark with a darkness that seemed almost
tangible. From somewhere out of that darkness came a muffled shouting,
like that of a person in distress.

"Prue, there's somebody in trouble out there!" exclaimed Natty.

"Oh, it's surely never Ev!" cried Prue.

Natty shook his head.

"Don't think so. Ev had no intention of coming back tonight. Get that
lantern, Prue. I must go and see what and who it is."

"Oh, Natty, you mustn't," cried Prue in distress. "There's a heavy
swell on yet--and the fog--oh, if you get lost--"

"I'll not get lost, and I must go, Prue. Maybe somebody is drowning
out there. It's not Ev, of course, but suppose it were! That's a good
girl."

Prue, with set face, had brought the lantern, resolutely choking back
the words of fear and protest that rushed to her lips. They hurried
down to the shore and Natty sprang into the little skiff he used for
rowing. He hastily lashed the lantern in the stern, cast loose the
painter, and lifted the oars.

"I'll be back as soon as possible," he called to Prue. "Wait here for
me."

In a minute the shore was out of sight, and Natty found himself alone
in the black fog, with no guide but the cries for help, which already
were becoming fainter. They seemed to come from the direction of
Little Bear, and thither Natty rowed. It was a tough pull, and the
water was rough enough for the little dory. But Natty had been at home
with the oars from babyhood, and his long training and tough sinews
stood him in good stead now. Steadily and intrepidly he rowed along.
The water grew rougher as he passed out from the shelter of Blue Point
into the channel between the latter and Little Bear. The cries were
becoming very faint. What if he should be too late? He bent to the
oars with all his energy. Presently, by the smoother water, he knew he
must be in the lea of Little Bear. The cries sounded nearer. He must
already have rowed nearly a mile. The next minute he shot around a
small headland and right before him, dimly visible in the faint light
cast by the lantern through the fog, was an upturned boat with two men
clinging to it, one on each side, evidently almost exhausted. Natty
rowed cautiously up to the one nearest him, knowing that he must be
wary lest the grip of the drowning man overturn his own light skiff.

"Let go when I say," he shouted, "and don't--grab--anything, do you
hear? Don