only one of a thousand of her kind who
stolidly concealed a desolate suspense. And now her turn had come,
harder than the rest, for she was in at the death.

It is a mystery until this day how Scud reached the over-turned
sail-boat as he did. With a dory his work would not have been
comparatively easy; but with a thirteen-foot yacht's tender it was
super-human. The two girls clinging to the wreck were lifted bodily into
the boat. Scud was quick but cool, and imparted perfect confidence to
the water-sodden children. At the fisherman's peremptory order, the two
boys clung to each side of the tender. We could see them dragging in the
water; it was the only way. Scud now began to row before the storm.

There were no cheers from the rocks. Not a man of them stirred. The
fishermen, hardened to perils of the sea, had been fascinated by this
exhibition of cool-blooded heroism from the least heroic of them all.

The cockle-shell dashed madly towards the shore.

No power could row it weighted against the wind that beat upon it with
fitful concentration. Straight before the tender was a little beach
between the rocks, not more than twenty feet wide, but this was
protected at its entrance by a line of reefs, easily passable at high
tide, and bare at low. The rollers broke upon most of these rocks, and
the spume swirled in dirty froth upon the pebbly beach. Scud made for
the opening. The gale drove him wildly along. A few men now ran to the
beach and the outlying rocks, ready to do the possible at any emergency.
Would Scud pass the reef or not? There was not time to answer the
question. The boat rose upon a huge wave. Foam and spray enveloped it
from view. There was a rumbling cry of horror. There was a dull
splintering crash. Fifty men rushed to the beach and lined the cliffs.
The boat had struck upon the last rock. As the wave passed on, the
terrible sight of black human heads appeared in a setting of white foam.

But these were within reach almost. These could be saved. Ah! Men wade
in, somehow, anyhow, forming a line, and pass one to shore. Saved! And
then another. Thank God! Here comes the third on that wave! Grasp that
dress! Tenderly, it is a girl. All here! All saved!

But where is Scud? Oh, but _he_ can swim. He is strong and used to
chilling water and fierce waves. The helpless children safe, and Scud
gone? Impossible! Incredible! Too horrible!

Involuntarily one man and then another turned to look at the widow and