in
his breast was hot against them. With the children his popularity grew
apace.

To-day the _Ernestina_ was bound for Sandy Hook to give the small
passengers a sight of the real ocean. They saw the ocean, and were not
much impressed. Apparently they had expected the waves to come rolling
in mountains high, whereas the ocean was as flat as Central Park lake.
To be sure there was a slow swell that mysteriously heaved the
_Ernestina_ and troubled squeamish tummies, but it was not at all
spectacular.

Later they lay in calm water inside the Hook while everybody ate. As
the day wore on the weather began to thicken. The wind veered to the
East and blew chill, and banks of white fog gathered on the horizon.
Evan wondered why no one gave the word to return. It was hardly his
place to interfere, but in the end he felt obliged to.

Tenterden happened to be the one that he spoke to. "We're going to
have some dirty weather," Evan said lightly, "and we're a long way from
the Bowery."

Tenterden looked him up and down. "Say, are you going to tell us how
to run this show?" he asked. "That's good."

Evan shrugged and left him. "I owe you one for that, old man," he
thought. "All right, my time will come."

It came sooner than he expected.

Someone did give the word, and the little _Ernestina_ started back up
the lower Bay at her customary head-long rate of eight miles an hour.
And none too soon; the white wall of fog was creeping fast on her trail.

Evan was doing duty on the forward deck where the largest crowd of
children was gathered. These were the healthiest and most obstreperous
of their passengers. With his back in the point of the bow he could
survey all his charges at once. No other helper was in that part of
the boat at the moment. All was serene; the children for the most part
swinging their legs in camp chairs and amiably disputing.

Suddenly from the very bowels of the vessel there came a horrifying
report. The _Ernestina_ staggered sickeningly, listed to port, and
commenced to limp around in a circle like a wounded bird. Terrible
smashing and rending sounds succeeded the first crash. It seemed as if
the frail little vessel must fly asunder under such blows.

After a second's frozen silence on deck a dreadful chorus broke forth.
Only those who have witnessed a panic at sea will know. On land one
may always run from a horror; at sea there is nothing between horror
and horror. When the major