over
again, long ago."

"What were they?"

"One is the Works of Josephus, sir, and the other is Plutarch's
Lives."

The old fellow was overjoyed when the Doctor put aboard his bobbing
skiff a box of fifty books--a mixture of everything from Henty's
stories to sermons.

Dr. Grenfell never could tell what a day--or a night--would bring
forth. If variety is the spice of life, his life in the north has been
one long diet of paprika.

Once late in the fall he was creeping along the Straits of Belle Isle
in a motor-boat--the only one in those waters at that time.

It broke down, as the best of motor-boats sometimes will, and the
tidal current, with that brutal habit which tidal currents have, began
to pull the boat on the rocks as with an unseen hand.

They tied all the lines they had together, attached the anchor, and
put it overboard.

The water was so deep they could not reach the bottom.

Darkness was shutting down--and it was an awful place to pass the
night.

Then a schooner's lights flashed out. "Hurrah!" cried Grenfell's men.
"We're all right now!"

They lashed the hurricane light on their boat-hook and waved it to and
fro like mad. They MUST make those fellows on the schooner take notice
and stop for them. The sea would probably get them if they failed.

The water was so rough, the night so dark, that even their precious
motor-boat was nothing, if only they could clamber aboard that
schooner. At almost any time, those Straits offer stretches of the
most perilous sailing-water in the world. Sailors who have rounded
Cape Horn would say yes to that.

But just then--to their horror, the schooner which had been close to
them put about and hurried off like a startled caribou. Soon the
powerless motor-boat was left far, far behind, wallowing in the trough
of waves much too big for her size.

They shouted with all their might, but the whistling wind threw away
their outcry instead of carrying it across the tossing waves, which
threatened to swamp the boat at any instant.

They shot off their guns.

They yelled again.

They lit flares such as are used in the navy for signal lights.

But it was all in vain.

They almost began to believe they had dreamed of rescue--that a
phantom ship had come to them in a nightmare.

They waved their hurricane light again and again, as high as they
could hold it.

The engineer, a willing amateur, all this while had been toiling away
till his hands bled, at his mo