had gone behind a bank of dull storm clouds. After a long while
Sandy, looking over the expanse of ugly choppy waves, shuddered and
panted:

"It's going to be dark soon; it can't be more than a half mile to yonder
rock--I'm for swimming to it! Once on land we can move about, get our
blood going, and perhaps find a sheltered spot--till--morning!"

Tom looked at his brother vaguely; he was suffering keenly:

"Don't be a fool!" he shuddered. Jerry-Jo, huddled in a wet heap, was
sobbing like a baby--gone utterly to pieces.

Another hideous space of silence followed, then Sandy spoke again:

"I'm going to make the try. I'm dying of cold. It's the only chance for
any of us. Here goes!"

And before any one could interfere he made his leap and was in the water,
a bobbing speck among the ugly white caps!

"Good God!"

That was all Tom said, but his crazed eyes were upon that strained,
uplifted face. Jerry-Jo ceased his moaning and--laughed! It was a foolish
cackle, such as a maniac might give, mistaking a death-struggle for a bit
of play.

"He's--a good swimmer!" he gasped, and laughed again. Tom turned, for an
instant, wondering eyes upon him. He may have, in that moment, estimated
his own chance, his duty to Jerry-Jo, and his determination to be with
his brother. The perplexed gaze lasted but the briefest space of time and
then with:

"All right! here goes!" he was making for Sandy with a strength born of
despair and madness.

"Come back!" shrieked Jerry-Jo with the frenzy of one deserted and too
cowardly or helpless to follow: "Come back!"

But neither swimmer heard nor heeded. For a moment more the black and the
red heads bobbed about, the faces turned toward each other grimly. Even
in that waste and at the bitter last the sense of companionship held
their thought. Jerry-Jo, rigid and every sense at last alert in an effort
for self-preservation, saw Sandy smile. It was a wonderful smile: it was
like a flash of sunlight on that black sea; then Sandy's lips moved, but
no one was ever to know what he said, and then--Jerry-Jo was alone in the
coming night and the rolling waves!

"They should," said Mary McAdam, "be home by seven at the latest. The
wind's with them coming back; it was with them part of the way going!"

Anton Farwell sat on the steps of the Lodge, his dogs peacefully lying at
his feet. All day, since hearing of the boys' trip, he had been restless
and anxious. Farwell had his bad hours often, but