What was left of the ship gave a mighty reel.

"Quick or she'll suck you down," the officer roared, as he fairly flung
the boy into the water,--and how he hurt that broken arm! "You can swim.
Strike out. Good-by."

The boy had caught a glimpse of the captain standing on the bridge as
the wreck went down and then the wild waters closed over his head. It
was frightfully cold. A hard gale was blowing. The waves ran terribly
high. His left arm was helpless. His head ached fiercely. What was the
use? Still the boy struck out bravely with his free hand. The instinct
of life! It was too dark to see. The sky was covered with drifting
clouds. Only here and there a little rift of moonlight came through.

"Christmas morning," he sobbed out as the waves rolled him over. "Oh, my
God!"

He felt himself going down. All at once the waters seemed to grow still.
It was suddenly calm. He was no longer cold. He threw his head up for
one last look at the sky and life and then he hung, as it were,
suspended in some strange way. He saw a figure walking across the smooth
of the seas as it had been solid ground. The figure drew nearer, the
wind seemed to have died away, but the draperies that shrouded it swung
gently as they would while a man walked along. The face he saw dimly,
vaguely, but there was light in it somehow. It came slowly nearer.

"Christmas morning," whispered the boy.

The hand of the figure reached down. It caught the boy's right arm. He