Chris grasped his oar and spun the boat only in time, for the
down-flowing tide and rising wind combined to drive the _Venture_
forward at increasing speed. The tide being still high, the ship was
carried well upon the sandbar before it grounded, lolling over to one
side much like the sleeping sailors.

[Illustration]

"Quick, lad! Now we must catch the _Mirabelle_, and you and I must
part."

"Oh, sir!" Chris cried, holding his oar above the water and turning
his head toward the man beside him. Mr. Wicker clapped Chris on the
shoulder and a glint of moonlight showed him to be smiling.

"I shall miss you too, my lad," he said. "Now, let us send this boat
over the river as fast as she can go. And bear in mind--keep your own
shape at all times unless you can change it out of sight of prying
eyes." They pulled at the oars. "Oh yes, I nearly forgot. Among the
effects placed in your sea chest you will find a conch shell. Hold it
to your ear, Christopher, as children do to hear the sea. You will be
able to hear my voice, if ever you should need to."

"Oh--like a walkie-talkie?" Chris asked, pulling at his oar.

"Somewhat." And Chris knew his master smiled at him.

"What about getting you to shore, sir?" Chris enquired, pulling in
rhythm so that the rope boat flew down the black and silver river.

"Have you forgotten who I am, my boy?" he was asked in return.

"No sir," said Chris, feeling a little small.

"Then undo the dinghy and clamber up the side, for here we are," said
Mr. Wicker, and the towering hull of the _Mirabelle_ rose above them.

Chris grasped a rope ladder that hung down beside them to the water's
edge and turned for a last word.

"I'll do my best, sir, but I hope you'll stay with me!" he cried.

"All that I can, Christopher," came the distant voice. "Godspeed!"

And looking about, Chris made out, coasting on the air, a sea gull,
balancing upon its black-tipped wings. Swallowing a lump in his throat
that proved bothersome, Chris jerked at one oar and deftly coiled the
magic rope over his arm, holding to the ship's ladder with the other.

A signal flashed, a lantern swung in an arc, and dim figures waiting
in their places hauled on the lines. As Chris stepped to the deck over
the side, the great white sails rose, spread, and bellied out from the
three masts. Chris looked in wonder as the _Mirabelle_, proud as a
woman, lifted up her head.

Soon on the silent river only a dwindling sight of lo