tarpaulin
which I used to cover the engine at night. With this, a cod line, the
boathook, and my one oar I improvised a sort of jury rig which I tied
erect at the forward end of the cockpit. Then I went aft and took the
wheel again. The tarpaulin made a poor apology for a sail, but I hoped
it might answer the purpose well enough to keep the Comfort before the
wind.

It did. Tacking was, of course, out of the question, but with the gale
astern the launch answered her helm and slid over the waves instead of
rolling between them. I sighed in relief. Then I remembered my passenger
sitting silent beside me. She did not deserve consideration, but I
vouchsafed a word of encouragement.

"Don't be frightened," I said. "It is only a stiff breeze and this boat
is seaworthy. We are all right now."

"But why did you take up the anchor?"

By way of answer I pointed aft over the stern. In the darkness the froth
of the shoal gleamed white. I felt her shudder as she looked.

"Where are we going now--please?" she asked, a moment later.

"We are headed for the Wellmouth shore. It is the only direction we can
take. If this wind holds we shall land in a few hours. It is all deep
water now. There are no more shoals."

"But," anxiously, "can we land when we reach there? Isn't it a bad
coast?"

"Not very. If we can make Mackerel Island we may be able to get ashore
at the light or anchor in the lee of the land. It is all right, Miss
Colton. I am telling you the truth. Strange as it may seem to you, I
really am."

I could not help adding the last bit of sarcasm. She understood. She
drew away on the bench and asked no more questions.

On drove the Comfort. The first fierceness of the squall had passed and
it was now merely what I had called it, a stiff breeze. Out here in the
middle of the bay the waves were higher and we shipped some spray over
the quarter. The air was sharp and the chill penetrated even my thick
jacket.

"You must be cold," I said. "Aren't you?"

"No."

"But you must be. Take the wheel a moment."

"I am not cold."

"Take the wheel."

She took it. I groped about in the cuddy again, got out my storm coat,
an old pea jacket which I wore on gunning expeditions, and brought it to
her.

"Slip this on," I said.

"I do not care for it."

"Put it on."

"Mr. Paine," haughtily, "I tell you . . . . oh!"

I had wrapped the coat about her shoulders and fastened the upper
button.

"Now sit down on the deck her