der. "I'll hold her here until you
come back."

I left her and found my clothes (which, chair and all, had tumbled
against the foot of the bed and so had not gone into the water), and
soon reappeared on deck. The wind was blowing strongly, but it did not
now seem to be very cold. The deck reminded me of the gang-plank of a
Harlem steamboat at low tide. It was inclined at an angle of more than
forty-five degrees, I am sure. There was light enough for us to see
about us, but the scene and all the dreadful circumstances made me feel
the most intense desire to wake up and find it all a dream. There was no
doubt, however, about the boarder being wide awake.

"Now then," said he, "take hold of her on that side and we'll help her
over here. You scramble down on that side; it's all dry just there. The
boat's turned over toward the water, and I'll lower her down to you.
I'll let a rope over the sides. You can hold on to that as you go down."

I got over the bulwarks and let myself down to the ground. Then the
boarder got Euphemia up and slipped her over the side, holding to her
hands, and letting her gently down until I could reach her. She said
never a word, but screamed at times. I carried her a little way up the
shore and set her down. I wanted to take her up to a house near by,
where we bought our milk, but she declined to go until we had saved
Pomona.

So I went back to the boat, having carefully wrapped up Euphemia, to
endeavor to save the girl. I found that the boarder had so arranged
the gang-plank that it was possible, without a very great exercise of
agility, to pass from the shore to the boat. When I first saw him,
on reaching the shelving deck, he was staggering up the stairs with a
dining-room chair and a large framed engraving of Raphael's Dante--an
ugly picture, but full of true feeling; at least so Euphemia always
declared, though I am not quite sure that I know what she meant.

"Where is Pomona?" I said, endeavoring to stand on the hill-side of the
deck.

"I don't know," said he, "but we must get the things out. The tide's
rising and the wind's getting up. The boat will go over before we know
it."

"But we must find the girl," I said. "She can't be left to drown."

"I don't think it would matter much," said he, getting over the side
of the boat with his awkward load. "She would be of about as much use
drowned as any other way. If it hadn't been for that hole she cut in the
side of the boat, this would