was really quite safe and comfortable. It would not hurt her to
cry a little, and it might hurt somebody a great deal if the Big
Dipper light failed. Setting her lips firmly, Mary Margaret ran down
to the shore.

Like all the Harbour girls, Mary Margaret could row a boat from the
time she was nine years old. Nevertheless, her heart almost failed her
as she got into the little dory and rowed out. The snow was getting
thick. Could she pull across those black two miles between the Dippers
before it got so much thicker that she would lose her way? Well, she
must risk it. She had set the light in the kitchen window; she must
keep it fair behind her and then she would land on the lighthouse
beach. With a murmured prayer for help and guidance she pulled
staunchly away.

It was a long, hard row for the little twelve-year-old arms.
Fortunately there was no wind. But thicker and thicker came the snow;
finally the kitchen light was hidden in it. For a moment Mary
Margaret's heart sank in despair; the next it gave a joyful bound,
for, turning, she saw the dark tower of the lighthouse directly behind
her. By the aid of her lantern she rowed to the landing, sprang out
and made her boat fast. A minute later she was in the lighthouse
kitchen.

The door leading to the tower stairs was open and at the foot of the
stairs lay Uncle George, limp and white.

"Oh, Uncle George," gasped Mary Margaret, "what is the matter? What
has happened?"

"Mary Margaret! Thank God! I was just praying to Him to send somebody
to 'tend the light. Who's with you?"

"Nobody.... I got frightened because there was no light and I rowed
over. Mother and Uncle Martin are away."

"You don't mean to say you rowed yourself over here alone in the dark
and snow! Well, you are the pluckiest little girl about this harbour!
It's a mercy I've showed you how to manage the light. Run up and start
it at once. Don't mind about me. I tumbled down those pesky stairs
like the awkward old fool I am and I've broke my leg and hurt my back
so bad I can't crawl an inch. I've been lying here for three mortal
hours and they've seemed like three years. Hurry with the light, Mary
Margaret."

Mary Margaret hurried. Soon the Big Dipper light was once more
gleaming cheerfully athwart the stormy harbour. Then she ran back to
her uncle. There was not much she could do for him beyond covering him
warmly with quilts, placing a pillow under his head, and brewing him a
hot drink of tea.