put on board the steamer and off
to market. By that time a dead calm prevailed, compelling the fishermen
to "take things easy."

"Billy," said David Bright, "fetch me that bit of wood and a hatchet."

Billy obeyed.

"Now then, let's see how well you'll cut that down to the size o' this
trunk--to fit on where that bit has bin tore off."

The skipper was seated on a pile of boxes; he flung his left hand with a
careless swing, on the fish-box on which Billy was about to cut the
piece of wood, and pointed to the trunk which needed repair. Billy
raised the axe and brought it down with the precision and vigour
peculiar to him. Instead of slicing off a lamp of wood, however, the
hatchet struck a hard knot, glanced off, and came down on his father's
open palm, into which it cut deeply.

"Oh! father," exclaimed the poor boy, dropping the axe and standing as
if petrified with horror as the blood spouted from the gaping wound,
flowed over the fish-box, and bespattered the deck.

He could say no more.

"Shove out the boat, boys," said the skipper promptly, as he shut up the
wounded hand and bound it tightly in that position with his
pocket-handkerchief to stop the bleeding.

Joe Davidson, who had seen the accident, and at once understood what was
wanted, sprang to the boat at the same moment with Luke and Spivin. A
good heave, at the tackle; a hearty shove with strong shoulders, and the
stern was over the rail. Another shove and it was in the sea.

"Lucky we are so close to her," said Joe, as he jumped into the boat
followed by Luke and Gunter.

"Lucky indeed," responded Luke.

Somehow David Bright managed to roll or jump or scramble into his boat
as smartly with one hand as with two. It is a rare school out there on
the North Sea for the practice of free-hand gymnastics!

"Bear away for the mission smack, Joe."

No need to give Joe that order. Ere the words had well passed the
skipper's lips he and Luke Trevor were bending their powerful backs,
and, with little Billy at the steering oar, the boat of the _Evening
Star_ went bounding over the waves towards the fisherman's floating
refuge for wounded bodies and souls.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

A DAY OF CALM FOLLOWED BY A NIGHT OF STORM.

A fine-toned manly voice was heard, as the boat approached the mission
smack, singing one of the popular hymns which are now pretty well-known
throughout the fishing fleets.

"No mistaking that voice," said David Bright tu