! No boat c'd live in that surf f'r a moment. The
schooner'll go to pieces mighty soon, I'm feared. It's turrible!
turrible! to stan' by an' watch yer neighbours drown like this!"

Curtis and Will elbowed their way down to the water's edge. The
relatives of the crew were all there in various stages of despair, but
old Paul Stockton seemed like a man demented. He ran up and down the
beach, crying and praying. His only son was on the _Amy Reade_, and he
could do nothing to save him!

"What are they doing?" asked Will of Martin Clark.

"Trying to get a line ashore by throwing out a small rope with a stick
tied to it," answered Martin. "It's young Stockton that's trying now.
But it isn't any use. The cross-currents on that reef are too
powerful."

"Why, Don will bring that line ashore!" exclaimed Curtis. "Here, Don!
Don, I say!"

The dog bounded back along the shore with a quick bark. Curtis grasped
him by the collar and pointed to the stick which young Stockton had
just hurled again into the water. Don, with another bark of
comprehension, dashed into the sea. The onlookers, grasping the
situation, gave a cheer and then relapsed into silence. Only the
shriek of the gale and the crash of the waves could be heard as they
watched the magnificent dog swimming out through the breakers, his big
black head now rising on the crest of a wave and now disappearing in
the hollow behind it. When Don finally reached the tossing stick,
grasped it in his mouth and turned shoreward, another great shout went
up from the beach. A woman behind Curtis, whose husband was on the
schooner, dropped on her knees on the pebbles, sobbing and thanking
God. Curtis himself felt the stinging tears start to his eyes.

When Don reached the shore he dropped the stick at Curtis's feet and
gave himself a tremendous shake. Curtis caught at the stick, while a
dozen men and women threw themselves bodily on Don, hugging him and
kissing his wet fur like distracted creatures. Old Paul Stockton was
among them. Over his shoulder Don's big black head looked up, his eyes
asking as plainly as speech what all this fuss was about.

Meanwhile some of the men had already pulled a big hawser ashore and
made it fast. In half an hour the crew of the _Amy Reade_ were safe on
shore, chilled and dripping. Before they were hurried away to warmth
and shelter, old Paul Stockton caught Curtis's hand. The tears were
running freely down his hard, old face.

"Tell your uncle he