ly.

"By Jove! I believe that's a boat beating down the bay," said I. "Sail
ho!" And so eager were they that they forgot my omission of direct
reply.

"It's very likely only the lighthouse supply boat coming in," said I.
"I'll find out over there. Better run along, or the morning flight of
the birds will be over." So they ran along.

As for myself, I called Peterson and Williams for another visit to our
disabled ship, which now lay on a level keel, white and glistening,
rocking gently in the bright wind. I left word for the ladies that we
might not be back for luncheon.

We found that the piling waters of Cote Blanche, erstwhile blown out
to sea, were now slowly settling back again after the offshore storm.
The _Belle Helene_ had risen from her bed in the mud now and rode
free. Our soundings showed us that it would be easy now to break out
the anchor and reach the channel, just ahead. So, finding no leak of
consequence, and the beloved engines not the worse for wear, Williams
went below to get up some power, while Peterson took the wheel and I
went forward to the capstan.

The donkey winch soon began its work, and I felt the great anchor at
length break away and come apeak. The current of the air swung us
before we had all made fast; and as I sounded with a long bow pike, I
presently called out to Peterson, "No bottom!" He nodded; and now,
slowly, we took the channel and moved on in opposite the light. We
could see the white-capped gulf rolling beyond.

"Water there!" said Peterson. "We can go on through, come around in
the Morrison cut-off, and so make the end of the Manning channel to
the mainland. But I wish we had a local pilot."

I nodded. "Drop her in alongside this fellow's wharf," I added. "The
ladies have sent some letters--to go out by the tender's boat,
yonder--I suppose he'll be going back to-day."

"Like enough," said Peterson; and so gently we moved on up the dredged
channel, and at last made fast at the tumble-down wharf of the
lighthouse; courteously waiting for the little craft of the tender to
make its landing.

We found the mooring none too good, what with the storm's work at the
wharf, and as we shifted our lines a time or two, the gaping,
jeans-clad Cajun who had come in with mail and supplies passed in to
the lighthouse ahead of us; and I wonder his head did not twist quite
off its neck, for though he walked forward, he ever looked behind him.

When at length we two, Peterson and mysel