But IDA was not to be daunted. Bounding like a chamois o'er the rocks,
to her house, she quickly returned with a long coil of rope, and
instantly hurled it over the curling breakers with such a strong arm and
true aim, that one end of it struck Mr. P. in the face with a crack like
that of a giant's whip.

He grasped the rope, and that instant his boat sank like a rock!

IDA hauled away like a steam-engine, and Mr. P.'s prow (his nose, you
know,) cut through the water like a knife, in a straight line for the
shore. In front of him he saw a great mass of sharp roots. He shuddered,
but over them he went. On, on, he went, nor turned aside for jagged
cleft or sharp-edged stone. A ship, loaded with queensware, had been
wrecked near shore, and through a vast mass of broken plates, and cups,
and saucers, Mr. P. went,--straight and swift as an arrow.

At last, wet, bleeding, ragged, scratched, and feint, he reached the
shore. Said IDA, as she supported him towards her dwelling: "How did you
ever come to be wrecked on such a day as this?"

Mr. P. hesitated. But with such a noble creature, the truth would surely
be the best. He told her all.

"Oh!" said he. "Dear girl, 'twas I, myself, who hewed down my mast and
scuttled my fair bark. And I did it, maiden fair! that thy brave arm
might rescue me from the watery deep, (you know what a good thing it
would be for both of us when it got in the papers,) and that on thy
hardy bosom I might be borne--"

"Born jackass!" interrupted IDA. "I believe that everybody who comes to