re it will frighten the life out of him!"

"No, it won't," replied Dan. "Freddy isn't the baby you think, Brother
Bart. He's got lots of sand. He was ready and willing to stay. We couldn't
leave the poor man there alone with the dogs."

"Sure you couldn't,--you couldn't," said the good Brother, his tone
softening. "But laddie--little laddie,--that never saw sickness or death!
Send off the other boys for the doctor, Jeroboam, and the priest as well,
while Dan and I go back for laddie."

But Captain Jeroboam, who was watching the horizon with a wide-awake
weather eye, shook his head.

"You can't, Padre,--you can't. Not even the 'Lady Jane' could make it agin
what's coming on now. If the boy is on dry land, you'll have to trust him
to the Lord."

"Oh, no, no!" answered the good Brother, forgetting what he said, in his
solicitude. "I'll go for him myself. Give us your boat, man, and Dan and I
will go for laddie."

"Ye can't, I tell ye!" and the old sailor's voice took a sudden tone of
command. "I'm captain of this here Killykinick, Padre; and no boat leaves
this shore in the face of such a storm, for it would mean death to every
man aboard her,--sure and certain death."

"The Lord have mercy,--the Lord have mercy!" cried Brother Bart. "My
laddie,--my poor little laddie! The fright of this will kill him entirely.
Oh, but you're the hard man, Jeroboam! You have no heart!"

"Back!" shouted Captain Jeb, heedless of the good old man's reproaches, as
a whistling sound came over the white-capped waves. "Back, under cover,
all of ye. The storm is on us now!"

And, fairly dragging Brother Bart, while Neb and Dan hurried behind them,
the Captain made for shelter in the old ship under the cliffs, where Dud
and Jim had already found refuge.

"Down with the hatches! Brace everything!" came the trumpet tones of
command of the old sailor over the roar of the wind. And doors and
portholes shut, the heavy bolts of iron and timber fell into place, and
everything was made tight and fast against the storm that now burst in all
its fury on Killykinick,--a storm that sent Brother Bart down on his knees
in prayer, and held the boys speechless and almost breathless with terror.
In the awful blackness that fell upon them they could scarcely see one
another. The "Lady Jane" shook from stem to stern as if she were being
torn from her fifty years' mooring. The stout awnings were ripped from the
upper deck; their posts snapped like reeds in