tightly gripping the rope, its mate shading his eyes, as he
stared fixedly towards the whirling death-pool, from whose jaws
he had so miraculously been plucked.

There was naught of debility, either of body or of mind, to be
read in that figure, and with his fears on that particular point
set at rest, for the time being, Professor Featherwit called out,
distinctly:

"Is it all well with you, my good friend? Can you hold fast
until the shore is reached, think?"

"Heaven bless you,--yes!" came the reply, in half-choked tones.
"If I fail in giving thanks--"

"Never mention it, friend; it cost us nothing," cheerily
interrupted the professor, then adding, "Hold fast, please, and
we'll put on a wee bit more steam."

The flying-machine was now fairly headed for a strip of shore
which offered an excellent opportunity for making a safe landing,
and as that accelerated motion did not appear to materially
affect the stranger, it took but a few minutes to clear the lake.

"Stand ready to let go when we come low enough, please," warned
the professor, deftly managing his pet machine for that purpose.

The stranger easily landed, then watched the flying-machine with
painfully eager gaze, hands clasped almost as though in prayer.
A more remarkable sight than this half-naked shape, burned brown