I.

_WAS HE WORTH SAVING?_

"I might try," squeaked a diminutive boy, whose dark eyes had an

unfortunate twist.

"Ye-s-s, Bartie," said his grandmother doubtfully, looking out of the

window upon the water wrinkled by the rising wind.

"Wouldn't be much wuss," observed Bartholomew's grandfather, leaning

forward in his old red arm-chair and steadily eying a failing fire as if

arguing this matter with the embers. Then he added, "You could take the

small boat."

"Yes," said Bart eagerly. "I could scull, you know; and if the doctor

wasn't there when I got there, I could tell 'em you didn't feel well,

and he might come when he could."

"That will do, if he don't put it off too long," observed the old man,

shaking his head at the fire as if the two had now settled the matter

between them. "Yes, you might try."

Bartie now went out to try. Very soon he wished he had not made the

trial. Granny Trafton saw him step into the small boat moored by the

shore, and then his wiry little arms began to work an oar in the stern

of the boat. "Gran'sir Trafton," as he was called, came also to the

window, and looked out upon the diminutive figure wriggling in the

little boat.

"He will get back in an hour," observed Gran'sir Trafton.

"Ought to be," said Granny Trafton.

It is a wonder that Bartie ever came back at all. He was the very boy to

meet with some kind of an accident. Somehow mishaps came to him

readily. If any boy had a tumble, it was likely to be Bartie Trafton.

If measles slyly stole into town to be caught by somebody, Bartie

Trafton was sure to be one catcher. In a home that was cramped by

poverty--his father at sea the greater fraction of the time, and the

other fraction at home drunk--this under-sized, timid, shrinking boy

seemed as continually destined for trouble as the Hudson for the sea.

"I don't amount to much," was an idea that burdened his small brain, and

the community agreed with him. If the public had seen him sculling

Gran'sir Trafton's small boat that day, it would have prophesied ill

before very long. The public just then and there upon the river was

very limited in quantity. It consisted of two fishermen wearily pulling

against tide a boat-load of dried cod-fish, a boy fishing from a rock

that projected boldly and heavily into the water, and several boys

playing on the deck of an old schooner which was anchored off the shore,

and had been reached by means of a raft.

The fishermen pulled wearily on. The boys on the schooner deck ran and

shouted at their play. The young fisherman's line dangled down from the

crown of the big shore-rock. The small sculler out in Gran'sir

Trafton's small boat busily worked his oar. Bart did not see a black

spar-buoy thrusting its big arm out of the water, held up as a kind of

menace, in the very course Bart was taking. How could Bart see it? His

face was turned up river, and the buoy was in the very opposite quarter,

not more than twenty feet from the bow of the boat Bart was working

forward with all his small amount of muscle. A person is not likely to

see through the back of his head. Closer came the boat to the buoy.

Did not its ugly black arm, amid the green, swirling water, tremble as

if making an angry, violent threat? Who was this small boy invading the

neighbourhood where the buoy reigned as if an outstretched sceptre? On

sculled innocent Bartholomew, the threatening arm shaking violently in

his very pathway, and suddenly--whack-k! The boat struck, threatened to

upset, and did upset--Bart! He could swim. After all the unlucky falls

he had had into the water, it would have been strange if he had not

learned something about this element; but he had reached a place in the

river where the out-going current ran with strength, and took one not

landward but seaward. How long could he keep above water--that timid,

shrinking face appealing for pity to every spectator? The boys on the

deck of the old schooner soon saw the empty dory floating past, and they

now caught also the cry for help from the pitiful face of the panting

swimmer--a cry that amid their loud play they had not heard before.

"O Dick," said one of the younger boys, "there's a fellow overboard, and

there's his boat! Quick!"

At this sharp warning every one looked up. Then they rushed to the

schooner's rail and looked over. Yes: there was the white face in the

water; there was the drifting boat.

The boy addressed as Dick was the leader of the party. His black,

staring eyes, and his profusion of black, curly hair, would have

attracted attention anywhere. His eyes now sparkled anew, and he tossed

back his bushy curls, exclaiming,--

"Boys, to the rescue! Attention! Man the _Great Emperor_."

"Throw this rope," was a suggestion made by another boy, seizing a rope

lying on the deck. A rope did not move Dick's imagination so powerfully

as the _Great Emperor_. The rope was not nearly so daring as the raft,

though it would have given speedy and sufficient help.

"To the rescue!" rang out Dick's voice. "Not in a rush! Ho, there!

Orderly, men!"

Strutting forward with a blustering air, Dick led his rescue-band to the

_Great Emperor_, which at the impulse of every rocking little wave

thumped against the schooner's hull. The band of rescuers went down

upon the raft with more of a tumble than was agreeable to Captain Dick

of the _Great Emperor_. Dick concluded that there was too much of a

crew to dexterously manage the raft in the swift voyage that must now be

made. Several would-be heroes were sent back disappointed to the

schooner, and they proceeded, when too late, to cast the rope which had

been ignominiously spurned. It splashed the water in vain. Bartie tried

to reach it; but it was like Tantalus in the fable striving to pluck the

grapes beyond his grasp.

"Cast off!" Dick was now shouting excitedly, pompously. "Pull with a

will for the shipwrecked mariner!" was his second order.

This meant to use two poles in poling and paddling, as might be more

advantageous.

In the meantime the boy fisherman on the rock had been operating

energetically though quietly. He had seen the catastrophe, and had not

ceased to watch the little fellow who was struggling with the current

somewhere between the schooner and the shore. Bartie had aimed to reach

the shore, and the distance was not great; but just in this place the

current ran with swiftness and power, and the little fellow's strength

was failing him. He had given several shrieks for help, but it seemed

as if he had been doing that thing all through life; and as the world

outside of gran'sir and granny had not paid much attention to his

appeals, would the world do it now? Bart had almost come to the

conclusion that it would be easier to sink than to struggle, when he

heard a noise in the water and close at hand. Was it the _Great

Emperor_? No; its deck was still the scene of an impressive

demonstration of getting ready to do something. The noise heard by Bart

had been made by the boy fisherman, who, stripping off his jacket,

kicking off his boots, and sending his stockings after them, had thrown

himself into the water, and was making energetic headway toward Bart.

It was good swimming--that of some one who had both skill and strength

on his side.

"Bartie!" he shouted.

What a world of hope opened before Bartie at the sound of that voice!

"Here! here! Put your hands on my shoulders, not round my neck, you

know. There! that is it. Now swim. We'll fetch her."

Fetch what? It was a pretty difficult thing to say definitely what that

indefinite "her" might mean. The current was still strong. Bart's

rescuer, if alone, could have gained the shore again; but could he bring

the rescued? Bart's face, pitiful and pale, projected just above the

water, and as his wet hair fell back upon his forehead his countenance

looked like that of a half-drowned kitten.

A third party on the river, that of the fishermen in their cod-laden

boat moving slowly up river and hugging the shore for the sake of help

from the eddies, had now become conscious that something was going on.

"What's that a-hollerin'?" asked one of the men, Dan Eaton, reversing

his head.

"Trouble enough!" exclaimed Bill Bagley, who had also taken a look

ahead. "Pull, Bill!"

"Put for them two boys, Dan! one is a-helpin' t'other."

The boat began to advance as if the dead cod-fish had become live ones

and were lending their strength to the oarsmen.

"Good!" thought the rescuer in the water, who saw between him and the

far-off, level, misty sky-line a boat and the backs of two fishermen.

"Hold on there!" he said encouragingly to Bartie; "there's a boat

coming!"

The help did not arrive any too soon. Bartie's hands were resting

lightly on his rescuer's shoulders, and he was arguing if he could not

throw his arms around the neck of his beloved object, whether it might

not be well to relinquish his feeble, tired hold altogether, and drop

back into the soft, yielding depths of the water all about him; such an

easy bed to lie down in! Life had given him so many hard berths. This

seemed a relief.

"Ho, there you are!" shouted Dan, as the boat came up. He seized

Bartie, while Bill Bagley gripped the other boy, and both Bartie and his

companion were hauled into the boat, rather roughly, and somewhat after

the fashion of cod-fish, but effectually.

"Now, Dan, let us pull for that cove and land our cargo!" said Bill.

"You boys can walk home? We have got to go to the other side and take

our fish to town."

"Oh yes," said the rescuer.

"I--I--can--walk!" exclaimed the shivering Bartie.

"Ah, youngster, you came pretty near not walking ag'in if it hadn't been

for t'other chap."

This made Bartie feel at first very sober, and then he looked very

grateful as he turned toward his rescuers and said,--

"I--thank--you all. I--I--I'll do as--much for you--some time."

"Will ye?" replied Bill Bagley with a grin. "Really, I hope we shan't

be in that fix where you'll have to."

"See there!" exclaimed Dan. "There's the boat adrift!"

The Trafton boat was leisurely floating down the stream. Bart had

forgotten all about this craft. A frightened look shadowed his face.

"Don't you worry, Johnny!" said Bill Bagley kindly. "We will land you,

and then go a'ter your craft."

"But I promised gran'sir to go for the doctor."

"Dr. Peters?"

"Yes."

"Wall, Dan and I are goin' near the old man's, and we'll send him

over.--Won't we, Dan?"

"And I'll bring your boat up to your landing," said his young rescuer to

Bart. "So you go right home and get warm and don't worry."

A thankful look, like sunshine out of a dark cloud, broke out of Bart's

black eyes, and he shrank closer to the sympathetic breast on which he

leaned.

"I'll do as much for you," he whispered to the boy fisherman.

"That's all right, Bartie," replied his rescuer.

"See here!" now inquired Dan. "What are those spoonies up to? Where

are they a-goin', I wonder, on that raft? To Afriky?"

"Guess that craft's got to be picked up too. She's a-makin' for the sea

in spite of all their polin'," said Bill.

The _Great Emperor_ was indeed moving seaward. Captain Dick was

frantically ordering his crew to "pull her round;" but like sovereigns

generally, the _Great Emperor_ had a mind of its own, and would not be

"pulled round." Deliberately the raft was making headway for the open

sea, and possibly "Afriky." It might be a conspiracy on the part of

wind and tide to aid in this wilful attempt of the raft; but if a

conspiracy, it was no secret. The tide was openly pressing against the

raft with its broad blue shoulders, and the wind openly blew against the

boys, as if they were so much canvas spread for its filling.

"What you up to, fellers?" shouted Dick to Dab and John Richards, who

managed one of the poles. "Bring her round and head her for the shore!"

"We can't," said John pettishly.

"Can't!" replied Dick in scorn. "Why can't you? Tell me! Then we will

spend the night on the sea.-- You pull, Jimmy."

"Can't!" said Jimmy Davis nervously. "She--she--won't turn--and--"

Here his pole slipped out of its hole and down he tumbled on the raft,

his pole falling into the water.

[Illustration: "Down he tumbled on the raft, his pole falling into the

water." _Page 16_]

"Oh dear!" shrieked Dick. "What a set! There goes that oar! Reach

after it, Dab!"

Dab already was beating the water furiously with his pole in his efforts

to reach that "oar" now adrift. It was all in vain. The conspiracy to

take them all to sea and there let them spend the chilly night had

spread to the very equipments of the _Great Emperor_.

"Catch me on a raft ag'in!" whimpered John Richards.

"Catch me on one with you!" replied Dick fiercely. "Might have got that

boy if you had pulled, and now those other folks have got him."

"'Those other folks' are coming after us!" observed Dab Richards.

"Oh dear!" groaned the humiliated Dick. "Make believe pull up river."

"I won't!" said John Richards.

"Pull so that they may think that we don't need them. Now!" urged Dick.

"I won't!" declared Dab.

Jimmy Davis also was going to say, "I won't;" but he remembered that his

pole was in the water, and refrained. He looked rebellious, though he

said nothing.

There was now not only a conspiracy among the elements, but a mutiny

among the crew. Dick sulked.

"Let her drift!" he said. "I don't care!"

"She won't drift long!" remarked Dab sarcastically. "The _Great

Emperor_, that started to pick up somebody, is now going to be picked up

by somebody."

Yes, the fishermen were pulling out from the shore. They picked up the

boat, attached it to their own craft, and then laboriously rowed for the

vessel in the hands of conspirators without and mutineers within.

"Where you chaps bound?" shouted Dan.

"Bound for the bottom of the sea," said Dick grimly.

"We'll stave that off," said Bill. "Here, take this rope! Now, we must

try to git you ashore."

It was rather a queer tug-boat that did the towing---a fisherman's dory

in which, sandwich fashion, alternated piles of codfish and oarsmen

rowing; Bill, Dan, and Bart's rescuer. It was a singular fleet also

that was towed ashore--the _Great Emperor_ and Gran'sir Trafton's boat.

"Who is that boy rowing with those fishermen?" wondered Dick. "Can it

be--"

Then he concluded it could not be.