position on an impromptu pillow made of his coat. Fog opened his eyes.
'Anything come ashore?' he asked faintly, trying to turn his head
towards the reef. Conquering his repugnance, the young man walked out
on the long point. There was nothing there; but farther down the coast
barrels were washing up and back in the surf, and one box had stranded
in shallow water. 'Am I, too, a wrecker?' he asked himself, as with
much toil and trouble he secured the booty and examined it. Yes, the
barrels contained provisions.

Old Fog, revived by the sight, lay propped at the stern, giving
directions. Waring found himself a child obeying the orders of a wiser
head. The load on board, the little skiff carrying its share behind,
the young man set sail and away they flew over the angry water; old
Fog watching the sky, the sail, and the rudder, guiding their course
with a word now and then, but silent otherwise.

'Shall we see the castle soon?' asked Waring, after several hours had
passed.

'We may be there by night, if the wind doesn't shift.'

'Have we so far to go, then? Why, I came across in the half of a
night.'

'Add a day to the half and you have it. I let you down at dawn and
towed you out until noon; I then spied that sail beating up, and I
knew there would be a storm by night, and--and things were desperate
with me. So I cast you off and came over to set the light. It was a
chance I did not count on, that your dug-out should float this way; I
calculated that she would beach you safely on an island farther to the