all door again and tiptoed
out.

The house was perfectly still, save for the ticking of the big clock.
She sped down the stairway, and as she passed the glimmering face of the
time-keeper she glanced at it and saw that the minute hand was just eight
minutes past the hour.

In a closet under the stairs were the girls' outside garments, and
hats. She found somebody's tam-o'-shanter and her own sweater-coat,
and slipped both on in a hurry. When she opened the door the chill,
salt air, with not a little fog in it, breathed into the close hall.

She stepped out, pulled the door to and latched it, and crossed the
porch. The harbor seemed deserted. Two or three night lights sparkled
over on the village side. What vessels rode at anchor showed no lights at
their moorings. But the great, steady, yellow light of the beacon on
the point shone steadily--a wonderfully comforting sight, Ruth thought,
at this hour of the night.

There were no more flashes of lantern light from the dock. Nor did she
hear a sound from that direction as she passed out through the trimly
cut privet hedge and took the shell walk to the boathouse. She was in
canvas shoes and her step made no sound. In a moment or two she was in
the shadow again.

Then she heard voices--soft, but earnest tones--and knew that two people
were talking out there toward the end of the dock. One was a deep voice;
the other might be Nita's--at least, it was a feminine voice.

"Who under the sun can she have come here to meet?" wondered Ruth,
anxiously. "Not one of the boys. This can't be merely a lark of some
kind----"

Something scraped and squeaked--a sound that shattered the silence of the
late evening completely. A dog instantly barked back of the the bungalow,
in the kennels. Other dogs on the far shore of the cove replied. A
sleep-walking rooster began to crow clamorously, believing that it was
already growing day.

The creaking stopped in a minute, and Ruth heard a faint splash. The
voices had ceased.

"What can it mean?" thought the anxious girl. She could remain idle
there behind the boathouse no longer. She crept forth upon the dock to
reconnoiter. There seemed to be nobody there.

And then, suddenly, she saw that the catboat belonging to Mr. Stone's
little fleet--the "_Jennie S._" it was called, named for Heavy
herself--was some distance from her moorings.

The breeze was very light; but the sail was raised and had filled, and
the catboat was drifting quit