troke toward the breakwater.

Something lay very still in the bow, covered with a sail-cloth.

Two coast-guardsmen rowed; one steered.

The boat came toward the breakwater, in a shaft of sunlight.

Christobel turned to the man beside her.

"Is there any hope?" she asked.

"'Fraid not, lady. My mate just signalled: all U P."

"Ah!" she said, looking wide-eyed into his face. "Ah!--But there must
be pioneers."

The coast-guardsman turned and walked toward the crowd.

"She's 'is wife, men," he said, with a jerk of his thumb over his
shoulder. "She's 'is wife; yet when I told her it was all U P, she
said: 'There must be pioneers.'"

The crowd of roughs doffed their caps.

The boat drew slowly nearer.

Then she saw the Professor, hurrying down the shingle, waving his
umbrella.

He must not come yet.

She advanced to the shore end of the breakwater, and spoke to the crowd.

"Please," she said, "oh, please, if possible, prevent that gentleman
from reaching the breakwater."

They turned, and saw the advancing figure of the Professor, flurried
and irate.

"'Ullo, Bill," cried a voice. "She says: Don't let the old bloke
through."

They passed the word from one to the other. "Don't let the old bloke
through." They closed the outer ranks, standing shoulder to shoulder.
The Professor's umbrella waved wildly on the outskirts.

She moved along the breakwater. Yes, that was it. "Don't let the old
bloke through." She had never used such a word in her life before, but
it just met the needs of the case. "Don't let the old bloke through."

The boat drew nearer.

A bugle, away up on the cliff, sounded the call to arms.

"Little Boy Blue, come blow me your horn! The cow's in the meadow; the
sheep, in the corn. Where is the boy who looks after the sheep? Ah,
dear God! Where is the Boy? Where is the Boy? Where is the
Boy?--He's under the sailcloth--fast asleep."

The boat drew nearer. She could hear the measured plash of the oars;
the rhythmic rattle of the rowlocks. They advanced, to the beat of the
words in her brain.

"There must--be pion--eers! Don't let the old bloke through. Oh,
where is the boy who looks after the sheep? He's under the sail-cloth,
fast asleep."

The boat drew level with the breakwater, grating against it.

"Under the sail-cloth, Boy dear; under the sail-cloth--fast asleep."

Tenderly, carefully, they lifted their burden. As the boat rocked, and
their feet shuffled