Chapter 12

"Both boats, sir?" hesitated Blake. "We're short-handed to-day, for Ford has a crippled arm that would be no good in this surf."

"I'll take his place," said Father Tom, eagerly. "I've shot the rapids with my Indian guides many a time. I'll take Ford's place."

"Think twice of it, sir," was Blake's warning. "You are risking your life."

"I know," was the brief answer. "That's my business as well as yours, my friends; so I'll take my chance."

"There talks a man!" said the keeper, heartily. "Give him a sou'wester, and let him take his chances, as he asks, in Ford's place."

And, in briefer time than we can picture, the two lifeboats were swung out of their shelter in the very teeth of the driving gale, and manned by their fearless crews, including Father Tom Rayburn, who, muffled in a huge sou'wester, took his place with the rest; and all pushed into the storm.

* * * * *

At Last Island all hope seemed gone.

"One last shot, my boy!" daddy had said, as the gun dropped from his shaking hand. "And no one has heard,--no one could hear in the roar of the storm."

"Oh, they could,--they could!" murmured Freddy. "God could make them hear, daddy,--make them hear and come to help us. And I think He will. I have prayed so hard that we might not be drowned here all alone in the storm. You pray, too, daddy,--oh, please pray!"

"I can not,--I _dare_ not," was the hoarse answer.

"O daddy, yes you can,--you must! The waters are coming on us so fast, daddy,--so fast! Please try to pray with me. Our Lord made the winds and waves go down when He lived here on earth; He walked on the waters and they did not hurt Him. Oh, they are coming higher and higher on us, daddy! What shall we do?"

"Die," was the hoarse, fierce answer; "die here together, my boy,--my little boy! For me it is justice, judgment; but, O my God, why should Thy curse fall on my boy,--my innocent boy?"

"O daddy, no! That isn't the way to pray. You mustn't say 'curse,' daddy. You must say: 'Have mercy, dear Lord; have mercy! Save me and my little boy. Send some one to help us.' Oh, I am trying not to be afraid, but I can't help it, daddy!"

"My boy,--my poor little boy! Climb, Freddy! Try to climb up on the roof--the broken shaft! Leave me here, and try to climb, my boy! You may be safe for a while."

"O daddy, no, I can't climb and leave you," and Freddy clung piteously to his father's breast. "I'd rather die here with you, and God will take us both to heaven together. I haven't been a very good boy, I know; and maybe you haven't either; but if we are sorry He will let us come to Him in heaven--O dad, what is that?" Freddy's low tone changed to one of wild alarm. "What is it now,--what is it now?"

For the dogs, that had been crouching and cowering beside their master, suddenly started up, barking wildly, and dashed out into the rising waters; new sounds blended with the roar of the storm,--shouts, cries, voices.

"Here,--_here_!" daddy feebly essayed to answer. "Call to them, Freddy! It is help. God has heard your prayers. Call--call--call--loud as you can, my boy!"

But there was no need. Rex and Roy had already done the calling, the guiding. On they came, the sturdy rescuers, plunging waist-deep through the waters that were already breaking high on the beach and bramble growth, surging and swelling across the broken wall that had once guarded the Old Light, and lapping the low cabin floor. On the brave life-savers came, while Rex and Roy barked in mad welcome; and Freddy's clear, boyish cry, "Here,--here! Daddy and I are here!" pierced through the darkness and turmoil of the storm. On they came, strong and fearless,--God's angels surely, thought Freddy, though in strange mortal guise. And one, whose muffling sou'wester had been flung loose in his eager haste, led all the rest.

"Here, my men,--here!" he cried, bursting into the ruined hut, where a little figure stood, white-faced, breathless, bewildered with the joy of his answered prayer. "They are here! God have mercy!" broke in reverent awe from his lips. "Freddy, Freddy,--my own little Freddy here!"

"Uncle Tom,--Uncle Tom!" And Freddy sobbed outright as he was clasped in those dear, strong arms, held tight to the loving heart. "How did God tell you where to come for me, dear Uncle Tom?--Daddy, daddy look up,--look up! It's Uncle Tom!"

And what daddy felt as he looked up into that old friend's face, what Uncle Tom felt as he looked down on the "derelict" that had drifted so far from him, no one can say; for there was no time for words or wonderment. Life-savers can not stop to think, much less to talk. Daddy was caught up by two or three big fellows, without any question, while Uncle Tom looked out for Freddy.

It was a fierce struggle, through surging waves and battering wind and beating rain, to the waiting lifeboats; but, held tight in those strong arms, pressed close to the true heart whose every pulse was a prayer, Freddy felt no fear. Even when the stout boat, fighting its way back to the other shore, tossed like a cork in the breakers, when the oar snapped in Blake's hand, when all around was foam and spray, in which earth and heaven seemed lost, Freddy, nestling in Uncle Tom's sou'wester, felt as if its rough, tarry folds were angel wings.

And so safety and shelter were reached at last. Father Tom gave his little drenched, shivering, white-faced boy into Ford's friendly care.

"Put him to bed somewhere, to get dry and warm."

"But daddy,--my own dear, lost daddy?"

"Leave him to me, my boy," said Uncle Tom, softly. "I'll take care of daddy. Leave him to me."

And then Ford, who, somewhere back of Cape Cod, had a small boy of his own, proceeded to do his rough best for the little stranger. Freddy was dried, rubbed, and put into a flannel shirt some ten sizes too big for him, and given something hot and spicy to drink, and finally tumbled into a bunk with coarse but spotless sheets, and very rough but comfortable blankets, where in less than four minutes he was sound asleep, worn out, as even the pluckiest eleven-year-old boy would be, with the strain on his small body and brave young soul.

How long he slept, Freddy did not know; but it was long enough for the wind to lull, the skies to brighten, the black clouds to break and scatter before the golden glory of the summer sun. The wide lookout window had been thrown open, and showed a glorious rainbow spanning the western sky. And there, on a pallet thrown hastily on the floor, lay daddy, very still and pale, with Uncle Tom kneeling beside him, holding his hand. An icy fear now clutched Freddy's heart at the sight. Reckless of the ten-sizes-too-big shirt trailing around him, he was out of his bunk with a jump to his father's side.

"Daddy, daddy!--O Uncle Tom, is daddy dead?"

And daddy's eyes opened at the words,--eyes that were no longer burning, but soft and dim with tears.

"Not dead, little Boy Blue! Daddy is alive again,--alive as he has not been for long, long years.--Tell him all, Tom. I am too weak. Tell him all. He'll be glad to hear it, I know."

But Father Tom only put his arm around the boy and drew him close to his side.

"Why should I?" he said, smiling into the upturned face. "We know quite enough for a little boy; don't we, Freddy,--that, like another wanderer from his Father's house, daddy was dead and is alive again, was lost and is found. And now get into some short clothes, if you can find them, and we'll go over to Killykinick in my little motor boat; for poor Brother Bart is in sad terror about you, I am sure."

Ah, in sad terror, indeed! It was a pale, shaken old man that stood on the beach at Killykinick, looking over the sea, and listening to the Captain, who was striving to find hope where he felt there was none.

"Looks as if the old cabin on Last Island might be holding together still. Dan and Neb are knocking a raft together, and if they can make it float they'll go over there and get the little lad off. And if they don't Padre" (the rough old voice trembled),--"if they don't, wal, you are sky pilot enough to know that the little chap has reached a better shore than this."

"Aye, aye, I know, Jeroboam!" was the hoarse, shaken answer. "God knows what is best for His little lamb. His holy will be done. But, O my laddie, my little laddie, why did I let you go from me into the darkness and storm, my little boy, my little boy?"

"Hooray! Hooray!" Wild shouts broke in upon the broken-hearted prayer, as Jim and Dud and Dan burst round the bend of the rocks. "Brother Bart, Brother Bart! Look what's coming, Brother Bart!"

And, turning his dim eyes where the boys pointed, Brother Bart saw a little motor boat making its swift way over the still swelling waves. On it came, dancing in the sunlight arched by the rainbow, tossing and swaying to the pulse of the sea; and in the stern, enthusiastically waving the little signal flag that Ford had put into his hand to remember the life-savers, sat--

"Laddie!" burst from Brother Bart's lips, and he fell upon his knees in thanksgiving. "O God be praised and blessed for the sight! My laddie,--my own little laddie safe, safe,--my laddie coming back to me again!"

XXIII.--DAN'S MEDAL.

It was the day after the big storm that had made havoc even in the sheltered harbor of Beach Cliff, and so damaged "The Polly" in her safe moorings that six men were busy putting her into shipshape again. And dad's other Polly was in an equally doleful mood.

It was to have been a day of jollification with Marraine. They were to have gone voyaging together over the summer seas, that were smiling as joyously to-day as if they had never known a storm. They were to have stopped at the college camp in Shelter Cove, where Marraine had some girl friends; they were to have kept on their sunlit way to Killykinick, for so dad had agreed; they were to have looked in on the Life-Saving Station, which Marraine had never seen; in fact, they were to have done more pleasant things than Polly could count,--and now the storm had fallen on her namesake and spoiled all.

"Never mind, Pollykins!" comforted Marraine, who could find stars in the darkest sky. "We'll each take a dollar and go shopping."

"Only a dollar, Marraine? That won't buy much," said Polly, who had walked in ways where dollars seem very small indeed.

"Oh, yes, it will! There's no telling what it can buy in Jonah's junk shop," laughed Marraine. "I got a rusted tea tray that polished into silver plate, a blackened vase that rubbed into burnished copper. I should not wonder if he had an Aladdin's lamp hidden somewhere in his dusty shelves."

"Let us go look for it," said Polly, roused into gleeful interest. "Oh, I'd love to have Aladdin's lamp! Wouldn't you, Marraine?"

"What would you wish for, Pollykins?" asked Marraine, softly.

"Oh, lots of things!" said Polly, perching in her lap. "First--first of all, I wish that I could keep you here forever and forever, darling Marraine!"

"Well, you have me for six weeks every summer," laughed Marraine.

"But that isn't forever and forever," sighed Polly. "And mamma and dad and grandmamma and everybody else want you, too."

"Are you sure of that?" asked the lady, kissing the upturned face.

"Oh, very sure!" replied Polly, positively. "They say it's all nonsense for you to go to the hospital and take care of sick people. It's--it's something--I don't remember what."

"Stubborn pride?" suggested Marraine, with a merry sparkle in her eyes.

"Yes," said Polly, "that's just what grandmamma said. And stubborn pride is something bad; isn't it, Marraine?"

"Well, yes, it is," agreed Marraine,--"when it _is_ stubborn pride, Pollykins. But when one has empty hands and empty purse and--well, an empty life, too, Pollykins, it is not stubborn pride to try to fill them with work and care and pity and help."

"And that is what you do at the hospital, Marraine?"

"It is what I try to do, Pollykins. When my dear father died, and I found all his money gone, this beautiful home of yours opened its doors wide for me; dad, mamma, grandma, everybody begged me to come here. But--but it wasn't my real home or my real place."

"Oh, wasn't it, Marraine?" said Polly, sadly.

"No, dear. In our real home, our real place, God gives us work to do,--some work, even though it be only to bless and love. But there was no work for me here; and so I looked around, Pollykins, for my work and my place. If I had been very, _very_ good, I might have folded my butterfly wings under a veil and habit, and been a nice little nun, like Sister Claudine."

"Oh, I wouldn't have liked that at all!" said Polly, with a shiver.

"I'm afraid I wouldn't either," was the laughing answer. "Still, it's a lovely, useful, beautiful life, little girl. And the next--the very next--best place and best work seemed to me the hospital, with the white gown and cap I can put off when I please; with sickness and sorrow and suffering to soothe and help; with little children holding out their arms to me, and old people calling to me in their pain, and dying eyes turning to me for hope and help. So I am nurse in a hospital, and out of it, too, when there is need. And it's not for stubborn pride, as grandma says, and no doubt thinks; but because I believe it to be my real work and my real place. Now get your dollar, and we'll be off to Jonah's junk shop to look for Aladdin's lamp."

And Polly danced off for her flower-wreathed hat, and the two were soon on their way down the narrow streets to the dull, dingy little shop near the water, where several customers were already looking over the curiously assorted stock, that on weekdays was spread far out on the sidewalk to attract passers-by. Among these was a big, burly grey-haired man, whose bronzed face and easy-fitting clothes proclaimed the sailor.

"Why, Captain Carleton!" greeted Miss Stella, in some surprise.

"God bless my heart and soul!" was the hearty response, and the Captain held out both hands to the speaker. "This is sailor's luck, indeed! From what star of hope did you drop, Miss Stella?"

"Oh, I drop here for a holiday every summer!" she answered gaily. "I am glad to see you looking so well and strong again, Captain."

"Thanks to you, my dear lady! Under the great Master of life and death, thanks to you! I was about as far on the rocks as an old craft could be without going to pieces entirely. How that soft little hand of yours steered me into safe water I'll never forget, dear lady,--never forget. And I was a tough patient, too; wasn't I?"

"Well, you did say things sometimes that were not--prayers," was the laughing answer.

And, chatting on pleasantly of the Captain's last winter in the hospital, they glanced over old Jonah's stock until something of interest caught the sailor's eye.

"By George! How in thunder did this get here?"

"A find,--a real find, Captain?" asked Miss Stella. "What is it?"

"A medal," he answered,--"a medal awarded for 'Brave and faithful service on the "Reina Maria" sixty years ago.'" (He was scanning the bronze disc as he spoke),--"'Juan Farley.' Good Lord! Yes, poor old Jack! I wonder how he lived and died? And what in Heaven's name is his medal doing here?"

"Perhaps Jonah can tell you," suggested Miss Stella; while Polly, whose bright eyes were searching for Aladdin's lamp, paused to listen.

"That ar medal?" said Jonah in answer to the Captain's questioning. "Let me think now! That ar medal--ticketed nineteen, isn't it?--was left here by a youngster. Now, what in thunder was his name? I'll have to look in my books to see."

And while he looked Captain Carleton explained his interest in his find.

"You see, my father was master and half owner of the 'Reina Maria,' though she was Spanish built and manned. But, luckily, Jack Farley, a first-class sailor, was second mate. There was a mutiny aboard, and it would have been all up with my father and his chief officer if brave Jack had not smelled mischief in time, and put down the hatches on the scoundrels at the risk of his own life. Ship and cargo (it was a pretty valuable ship) were saved; and this medal, that bears the stamp of her then Spanish Majesty, was Jack's reward. My father always felt that he ought to have had something more; but the Spanish owners were close-fisted, so my old man had to content himself with helping Jack (who was a rather reckless sort of chap ashore) in his own way. He got him out of many a tight place on the strength of that medal; and he would have looked out for him until the last, but he shipped on an East Indian, and drifted out of our reach. And this medal was left here by a boy, you say, my man?"

"Yes, sir" (Jonah had found his entry now),--"by a boy who said it was his: that it had been given him by an old sailor man who was dead; and he'd like to sell the medal now, for he wanted some money bad."

"Good!" said the old Captain, eagerly. "I'll give him his price. Who and where is the boy?"

"His name is Dan Dolan and he lives at Killykinick."

"Dan Dolan!" exclaimed Miss Stella.

"Oh, does he mean my--_my_ Dan, Marraine?" chirped Polly, breathlessly.

"What! You know the boy?" cried the old sailor, in amazement. "God bless me,--you!"

"Why, yes, we know him,--don't we, Pollykins?" said Miss Stella. "But what he is doing with the medal we can't say. We're certain he has it rightfully and honestly; and as soon as 'The Polly' (my cousin's yacht) can spread her broken wings, we are going to Killykinick. Suppose you come with us, and see the owner of the medal, and strike a bargain yourself?"

"By George, I will,--I will! A sail with you, Miss Stella, is a temptation I can not resist. And I must have the medal. I must see the boy, and hear how he got it. I'll buy it from him at his own price; and you shall negotiate the sale, dear lady!"

"Take care," said Miss Stella, with a merry sparkle in her eyes,--"take care how you do business with me, Captain! Remember how I drew upon you for the babies' ward last winter! I can fleece without mercy, as you know."

"Fleece as you please," was the hearty answer. "I can stand it, for that soft little hand of yours did work for this old man that he can never repay."

So the agreement was made; and Miss Stella, having invested in a queer, twisted candlestick, which she declared was quite equal to Aladdin's lamp, and Polly having decided to reserve her dollar for a neighboring candy store, the party at Jonah's junk shop separated, with the promise of meeting as soon as "The Polly" should be ready for a flight to Killykinick.

But that pleasant excursion was indefinitely postponed; for when Miss Stella reached Polly's home it was to find two priestly visitors awaiting her. One was an old friend, the present pastor of St. Mary's Church, near the Foresters' home; the other, tall, pale even through his bronze, anxious-eyed, she had never met.

"Father Rayburn, Miss Allen," was the pastor's brief introduction. "We have come to throw ourselves on your mercy, my dear young lady. You are here for your summer holiday, I know; and I hesitate to interrupt it. But Father Rayburn is in sore need of experienced service that you alone can give."

"You need a nurse?" asked Miss Stella.

"Yes." (It was Father Rayburn who answered.) "My brother--or perhaps I should say my brother-in-law, as that is really our relationship,--is lying very ill at Killykinick. While still prostrated with fever, he was exposed to the storm of yesterday, in which he nearly lost his life. Between the shock, the excitement of his rescue by the life-savers, he is very, very ill,--too ill to be removed to a hospital; and he is at Killykinick with only boys and men to care for him," continued Father Rayburn. "The doctors tell me an experienced nurse is necessary, and we can find none willing to take so serious a case in such a rude, remote place. But my good friend Father John seems to think that you would take pity on our great need."

"Oh, I will,--I will!" was the eager answer. "I already have friends at Killykinick among those fine boys from St. Andrew's. My little goddaughter and I were to make an excursion there to-day, but the storm disabled Mr. Forester's yacht. I am so glad to be of service to you, Father! I will get ready at once."

* * * * *

In spite of the joyful return of laddie yesterday, there was gloom this morning at Killykinick. Daddy, who had been brought over at his own request from the Life-Saving Station, lay in the old Captain's room, which Brother Bart had resigned to him, very, very sick indeed.

"Sinking fast, I'm afraid," the doctor said. "The fever has broken, but the shock of yesterday's danger and rescue has been too much for a man in his weakened state. Still there's a chance for him--a fighting chance. But it will take very careful and experienced nursing to pull him through."

So Father Tom had gone in search of a nurse, leaving Freddy and Brother Bart watching by the sick bed; while Dan, who as second mate was assisting his chief officers to right and repair the "Sary Ann," listened with a heavy heart to the old salt's prognostications.

"He won't last the day out," declared Captain Jeb. "Blue about the gills already! But, Lord, what could you expect, doused and drenched and shaken up like he was yesterday? It will be hard on the little chap, who was so glad to get his father back. It's sort of a pity, 'cording to my notion, that, being adrift so long, he didn't go down in deep-sea soundings, and not come ashore to break up like this."

"O Captain Jeb, no, no!" Dan looked up from his hammering on the "Sary Ann" in quick protest against such false doctrine. "A man isn't like a ship: he has a soul. And that's the main thing, after all. If you save your soul, it doesn't make much difference about your body. And drifting ashore right here has saved the soul of Mr. Wirt (or Mr. Neville, as we must call him now); for he was lying over on Last Island, feeling that there was no hope for him in heaven or on earth. And then Freddy came to him, and Father Tom, and he turned to God for pardon and mercy; and now his dying is all right,--though I haven't given him up yet," concluded Dan, more cheerfully. "Poor little Freddy has been praying so hard all night, I feel he is going to be heard somehow. And I've seen Mick Mulligan, that had typhoid last summer, looking a great deal worse than Mr. Neville, and before Thanksgiving there wasn't a boy on the hill he couldn't throw. Here comes Father Tom back with--with--" Dan dropped his hammer entirely, and stood up to stare in amazement at the little motor boat making its way to the broken wharf. "Jing! Jerusalem! if--if it isn't that pretty lady from Beach Cliff that Polly calls Marraine!"

XXIV.--A STAR IN THE DARKNESS.

Marraine,--Polly's Marraine,--Aunt Winnie's old friend,--the lovely, silver-robed lady of the party who had stood by Dan in his trouble!--it was she, indeed, all dressed in white, with a pretty little cap on her soft, wavy hair, and her hands full of flowers. Miss Stella always made a first appearance at a patient's bedside with flowers. She said they were a friendly introduction that never failed.

"It's the nurse woman they went for," gasped Captain Jeb, as the new arrival proceeded to step from boat to wharf with a light grace that scarcely needed Father Tom's assisting hand. "Well, I'll be tee-totally jiggered! Who ever saw a nurse woman pretty as that?"

But Dan did not hear. He had dropped nails, hammer, and all present interest in the recuperation of the "Sary Ann," and was off down the beach to meet the fair visitor, whose coming he could not understand.

"Danny," she said, holding out her empty hand to him,--"Miss Winnie's Danny!--I told you I had friends here, Father Rayburn; and this is one that I expect to find my right-hand man. What a queer, quaint, wonderful place this Killykinick is! I am so glad you brought me here to help you!"