Up the little board walk to a path through the woods the three tramped.
Denny Shane was popular with young folks; even the mischievous boys who
would occasionally untie his boat before a storm had no reason to fear
his wrath, for such pranks were quickly forgotten.

"And the mother, Freddie?" he asked. "How's she gettin' on?"

"Well, she worries a good deal," the girl replied. "But I keep telling
her it must come right in time."

"Sure it will. The rascals that would do wrong to a widder couldn't
prosper. 'Taint lucky. But they're foxy. Did you hear anything new?"

"Yes, but not much that is substantial. My friend and I want to see
you to find out all that you may know about it. Perhaps there is some
clue we have been overlooking, that you could give us."

"Well, you're welcome to all I know. But here we are. No need to
unlock my door," he said as he saw Cora smile at his unceremonious
entrance to the shack. "Them that has nothin' has nothin' to fear."

A surprising little place, indeed, the girls were shown into. Neat and
orderly, yet convenient and practical, was Denny Shane's home. There
was a stove and a mantel, a table, two chairs and a long bench. Pieces
of rag carpet indicated the most favored spots--those to be lived on.

"And now, Freddie," began Denny, drawing out two chairs, "what do you
think of my housekeeping?"

"Why, you are just as comfortable and neat as possible," she replied.
"But I notice one thing has not lost its place--your red oar."

"No--indeed!" he said almost solemnly. "That oar will stay with me
while Denny Shane has eyes to see it. It has a story, Freddie, and I
often promised to tell it to you. This is as good a time as another."

He put his pipe down, brought a big chair up to the window, opened a
back door to allow the salt air to sweep in; then, while Cora looked
with quickening interest at the old red oar, that hung over the
fireplace, Denny shook his head reflectively and started with his
story.

"That oar," he said, "seems like a link between me and Leonard
Lewis--your grandpa, Freddie. And, too, it is a reminder of the night
when I nearly went over the other sea, and would have, but for Leonard
Lewis and his strong red oar."

A light flashed into the old eyes. Plainly the recollections brought
up by his story were sacred. He left his chair and went over to the
mantel, climbed up on a box and touched the oar that had sagged a
little from its position.

"The wind rocks