its way. It hung on this in the trough of a sea;
but the next billow swept it over. Before long it was bumping on the
rocks almost within Jim's reach.

Watching his chance, he lunged forward and caught it. A crashing surge
flung him down heavily and rolled him over and over; but he stuck
stoutly to his prize. When the water ran back he came crawling up on his
hands and knees, sliding the cask before him.

"Can't stand!" he explained, briefly. "Ankle hurt! Now muckle onto this
line, everybody, and haul in! They've got a hawser bent on the other
end."

A glance toward the yacht told that he was right. It also told that the
peril of her human freight was greater than ever. Each sea, raising her
slightly, dropped her back with her decks at a sharper angle toward the
land. The grinding of the rocks through her steel side could be
distinctly heard.

"All together! In she comes! Now ... heave! Now ... heave! Now ...
_heave!_"

Their strength doubled by the realization that life hung on their
efforts, the boys swayed at the line until at last they grasped the end
of the hawser. To it was attached another smaller rope for pulling in a
boatswain's chair.

Working rapidly, they made the hawser fast round an upright boulder. The
lightning flashes were now less frequent, but lanterns on the ship and
ashore enabled each group to note the other's progress. At last the
slender cableway was rigged. Jim swung a lantern. Another lantern on the
yacht answered.

"The smaller line, boys! Pull in! Careful!"

As the boys hauled, a figure dangled away from the vessel's side.
Shoreward it swayed, now high above the wave-troughs, now dipping
through a lofty crest. It dragged safely over the inside ledge, while
the boys held their breaths; and presently they were unlashing a man
from the boatswain's chair.

"Yes," he said in response to Jim's question, "she's the steam-yacht
_Barona_. Belongs to Churchill Sadler of New York. One of his
millionaire friends chartered her for a short trip to the Maine coast.
Fifteen men aboard. I'm the mate. Came ashore first to see if this rig
would work all right."

The chair was already half-way back to the vessel.

"They'll send Mr. Whittington next," continued the mate.

Percy started with surprise.

"What's that? Whittington?"

"Yes. John P., the millionaire! He's the man who hired the yacht."

"He's my father!" gasped Percy.

The mate gave an exclamation of astonishment.

"Lucky we got