all that fire?"

"It wasn't fire--that is, not much of it," was the answer. "It was
mostly smoke. We have a moving picture company on board, and they had a
lot of fireworks, some of 'em tied up in old sail cloth. The fireworks
started to go off--why I don't know--and they set fire to the cloth, and
when we wet that down it made an awful smoke. But all the stuff was in
a zinc-lined compartment, so there wasn't much real danger. The worst
was when those rockets went off and shot up right out of the hatchway."

"And are you sure the fire is entirely out?" asked the mate of Mr.
Lawrence's vessel.

"Just about. We'll have the men make a search, so that there won't be
any further danger."

After a little more conversation the three rowboats were brought close
to the steam yacht, from the side of which a ladder had been lowered.

"O dear! Are we to go back to that boat?" queried the girl Dave had
saved from drowning.

She was a miss of perhaps eighteen years, tall and slender, with brown
hair and big brown eyes. She appealed to our hero as she spoke.

"I don't see what else there is to do," he answered, "unless you want to
be taken to our steamer."

"What place is your steamer bound for?"

"We hope to make Portland some time this afternoon."

"Oh indeed! Then I think I would rather go aboard that steamer than back
on the yacht," answered the young lady. "What do you think, Aunt Bess?"
she went on, appealing to the woman in the rowboat, who by this time had
recovered from her plunge into the sea.

"I think I would like to get ashore as soon as possible, Della,"
returned the aunt. "I just hate the water, anyway, and I don't think
I'll take another sea trip in a hurry."

"Oh, say, Miss Ford, you might as well go back on the steam yacht. I
guess the danger is all over," put in the fourth person who had been
picked up--a young man about Dave's age. "Didn't you hear the captain
say that the fire was out?"

"Yes, I know," answered Della Ford. "But I'm so afraid, Mr. Porton," and
the girl looked rather helplessly at those around her.

"Where is that steam yacht bound for?" questioned Phil.

"We were going somewhere outside of Cape Cod," answered the stout man
who had been rescued. "But I guess Mr. Appleby will have to give the
trip up for the present. He's the manager of our company, you know," he
added, by way of explanation.

"What sort of a company is that--a theatrical company?" asked Shadow.

"Oh, no. This is