Jim let the dory slip back to the
end of her painter.

"Might as well take an Indian breakfast."

He buckled his belt a hole tighter.

"Not a sail in sight yet! We could lie down in the dory and go to sleep,
if she wasn't full of water. But, as things are, we'll have to make
ourselves as comfortable as we can right here. Let's hope it won't be
for long!"

The gale weakened to a brisk breeze. The sea fell rapidly to a long,
lazy swell, on which the buoy rocked drowsily. The warm sun inclined the
boys to sleep; but they fought it off and scanned the horizon with eager
eyes. Seven o'clock. Eight. Nine. Ten. And still no sign of a sail.

At half past ten a smoke-feather rose in the east.

"Yarmouth boat on her way to Boston," said Jim. "She'll pass too far
north to see us."

He was right. The steamer's course kept her on the horizon, several
miles off. Before long she vanished to the west. Half past eleven went
by, and no fishermen appeared. Percy began to fear that Jim was
mistaken, after all.

"Here comes our packet," remarked Spurling, quietly.

A tiny saw-tooth of canvas was rising out of the sea, miles northwest.
As it grew larger it developed into a schooner under full sail, heading
straight for the buoy.

"She sees us," said Jim.

Percy felt like dancing for joy. Nearer and nearer came the schooner.
The boys could see her crew staring curiously at them from along her
rail. Fifty yards off she shot up into the wind and prepared to launch a
boat. They could read the name on her starboard bow.

"The _Grade King_," spelled Spurling. "I know her. She's a Harpswell
vessel. Come out to seine herring. Bet she left Portland early this
morning. Her captain's Silas Greenlaw; he used to sail with Uncle Tom.
He'll use us O. K."

A dory with two men in it came rowing toward the buoy.

"How long've you fellows been hanging on here?" shouted a red-sweatered,
gray-haired man in the stern.

"Since six last night. We blew down from Tarpaulin Island in the
norther. Don't you know me, Captain Greenlaw?"

"Why, it's Jim Spurling, Tom Sprowl's nephew!" exclaimed the astonished
captain. "So the gale blew you down from Tarpaulin, eh? Well, all I've
got to say is that you were confounded lucky to hit the buoy and not the
breaker. How long since you've had anything to eat or drink?"

"Forty-six hours since we've had a swallow of water, and about twenty
since we finished our last hard bread."

"Well, well! You must be h