fields of France.

The new picture was impressed on his mind as on the sensitized film of a
camera, and simultaneously the action of distant figures were registered
upon it. Toiling up the steep bank to the cottage was a marionette made
recognizable as Muriel by a tiny dash of red at the waist and on the
head. For an instant he wondered if Smiles and his little namesake had
already reached the house. Then he caught sight of them, still on the
beach. There was fully a quarter of a mile of water between him and the
shore, but the distance was being cut down bravely by the race-about,
whose specialty was going to windward in a blow. Steadied by her racing
keel, she cut through the waves like a knife.

The child, a mere gray dot, was apparently fleeing as fast as his sturdy
little legs could carry him from the pursuing girl.

In spite of his bitterness of soul, Donald's lips curved into a smile as
they formed the words, "Ah, the battle is on, once more. Rose has
insisted that they hurry up to the house and Don has said, 'I won't.'
Jerusalem, look at him kite it!"

At that instant a tremulous curtain of light was let down from heaven,
momentarily, and the two tiny figures were disclosed as clear as by day.
He saw the baby dodging adroitly under Smiles' outstretched arms, and
heading out onto the narrow pier, to which was attached a float for
rowboats.

"He's got his 'mad' up," thought the man, as he veered off a point so as
to get a better view. "He isn't afraid of thunder, lightning or of
rain--or anything else, and it would be just like him to run right off
the ... Great God in heaven, he's done it!" he shouted aloud and sprang
to his feet, and almost lost his grip on the straining tiller. Even as
he had been thinking, the light had grown again, and he saw the child,
halfway down the pier, with a rebellious jerk tear himself loose from
the clutching grasp on his blouse, lose his balance, stumble and roll
from the incline into the now surging water.

The _Water Witch_ luffed sharply, and her sail snapped with a report
like a pistol shot. Without taking his horrified gaze from the unreal
picture which the ghastly lightning illumined, Donald instinctively
steadied the boat, and, with his powerful body strained forward as
though he were urging the craft to greater effort. "God, God, God." The
words came through his clenched teeth, half prayer, half curse at the
Fate which held him helpless to act--and the wind snatched t