or?"

"Oh, we wont run you down. Don't be alarmed. We've lost our way out
here, and we're going to follow you in. Hope you know where you are."

And then there was a cackle of surprise and laughter among the steamer's
officers, in which Frank and some of the passengers joined, and the
saucy little "fishing-boat" came steadily on in the wake of her gigantic
guide.

"This is grand for us," remarked Dab Kinzer to Ford, as he kept his eyes
on the after-lantern of the "Prudhomme." "They pay all our pilot fees."

"But they're going to New York."

"So are we, if to-morrow doesn't come out clear and with a good wind to
go home by."

"It's better than crossing the Atlantic in the dark, anyhow. But what a
price we got for those fish!"

"They're ready to pay well for such things at the end of the voyage,"
said Dab. "I expected they'd try and beat us down a peg. They generally
do. We only got about fair market price, after all, only we got rid of
our whole catch at one sale."

Hour followed hour, and the "Swallow" followed the steamer, and the fog
followed them both so densely that sometimes even Dick Lee's keen eyes
could with difficulty make out the "Prudhomme's" light. And now Ford
Foster ventured to take a bit of a nap, so sure did he feel that all the
danger was over, and that "Captain Kinzer" was equal to what Dick Lee
called the "nagivation" of that yacht. How long he had slept he could
not have guessed, but he was suddenly awakened by a great cry from out
the mist beyond them, and the loud exclamation of Dab Kinzer, still at
the tiller:

"I believe she's run ashore!"

It was a loud cry, indeed, and there was good reason for it. Well for
all on board the great French steamship that she was running no faster
at the time, and that there was no hurricane of a gale to make things
worse for her. Pilot and captain had both together missed their
reckoning,--neither of them could ever afterward tell how,--and there
they were stuck fast in the sand, with the noise of breakers ahead of
them and the dense fog all around.

Frank Harley peered anxiously over the rail again, but he could not have
complained that he was "wrecked in sight of shore;" for the steamer was
anything but a wreck yet, and there was no such thing as a shore in
sight.

"It's an hour to sunrise," said Dab to Ford, after the latter had
managed to comprehend the situation. "We may as well run further in and
see what we can see."

It must have been agg