those sheep?

"I'll never believe it of you, old fellow!" Curtis said, as he led the
dog into a corner of the carriage house and tied him up there. Then he
flung himself down on a pile of sacks beside him and buried his face
in Don's curly black fur. The boy felt sullen, rebellious and
wretched.

He lay there until dark, thinking his own bitter thoughts and
listening to the rapidly increasing gale. Finally he got up and flung
off after the calves, with Don's melancholy howls at finding himself
deserted ringing in his ears.

He'll be quiet enough tomorrow night, thought Curtis wretchedly, as he
went upstairs to bed after housing the calves. For a long while he lay
awake, but finally dropped into a heavy slumber which lasted until
his aunt called him for milking.

The wind was blowing more furiously than ever. Up over the fields came
the roar and crash of the surges on the outside shore. The Harbour to
the east of Bayside was rough and stormy.

They were just rising from breakfast when Will Barrie burst into the
kitchen.

"The _Amy Reade_ is ashore on Gleeson's rocks!" he shouted. "Struck
there at daylight this morning! Come on, Curt!"

Curtis sprang for his cap, his uncle following suit more deliberately.
As the two boys ran through the yard, Curtis heard Don howling.

"I'll take him with me!" he muttered. "Wait a minute, Will."

The Harbour road was thronged with people hurrying to the outside
shore, for the news of the _Amy Readers_ disaster had spread rapidly.
As the boys, with the rejoicing Don at their heels, pelted along, Sam
Morrow overtook them in a cart and told them to jump in. Sam had
already been down to the shore and had gone back to tell his father.
As they jolted along, he screamed information at them over the shriek
of the gale.

"Bad business, this! She's pounding on a reef 'bout a quarter of a
mile out. They're sure she's going to break up--old tub, you
know--leaky--rotten. The sea's tremenjus high, and the surfs going
dean over her. There can't be no boat launched for hours yet--they'll
all be drowned. Old Paul's down there like a madman--offering
everything he's got to the man who'll save Oscar, but it can't be
done."

By this time they had reached the shore, which was black with excited
people. Out on Gleeson's Reef the ill-fated little schooner was
visible amid the flying spray. A grizzled old Harbour fisherman, to
whom Sam shouted a question, shook his head.

"No, can't do nothin'