III.

_DID THE SCHOONER COME BACK?_

Mr. Toby Tolman sat in the snug little kitchen of the lighthouse tower.

He was alone, but the clock ticked on the wall, and the kettle purred

contentedly on the stove. Music and company in those sounds.

The light-keeper had just visited the lantern, had seen that the lamp

was burning satisfactorily, had looked out on the wide sea to detect, if

possible, any sign of fog, had "felt of the wind," as he termed it, but

did not discover any hint of rough weather. Having pronounced all things

satisfactory, he had come down to the kitchen to read awhile in his

Bible. The gray-haired keeper loved his Bible. It was a companion to

him when lonely, a pillow of rest when his soul was weary with cares, a

lamp of guidance when he was uncertain about the way for his feet, a

high, strong rock of refuge when sorrows hunted his soul.

"I just love my Bible," he said.

He had reason to say it. What book can match it?

As he sat contentedly reading its beautiful promises, he caught the

sound of singing.

"Some fishermen going home," he said, and read on. After a while he

heard the sound of a vigorous pounding on the lighthouse door.

"Why, why!" he exclaimed in amazement, "what is that?"

He rose and hastily descended the stair-way leading to the entrance of

the lighthouse. To gain admission to the lighthouse, one first passed

through the fog-signal tower. The lighthouse proper was built of stone;

the other tower was of iron. They rose side by side. A covered

passage-way five feet long connected the two towers, and entrance from

the outside was first through the fog-signal tower. The foundation of

each tower was a stubborn ledge that the sea would cover at high-water,

and it was now necessary to have all doors beyond the reach of the

roughly-grasping breakers. Otherwise they would have unpleasantly

pressed for admittance, and might have gained it. The entrance to the

fog-signal tower was about twenty feet above the summit of the ledge,

and from the door dropped a ladder closely fastened to the tower's red

wall. Around the door was a railed platform of iron, and through a hole

in the platform a person stepped down upon the rounds of the ladder.

Toby Tolman seized a lantern, and crossing the passage-way connecting

the two towers, entered the fog-signal tower, and so gained the

entrance. Just above the threshold of the door he saw the head and

shoulders of a boy standing on the ladder.

"Why! who's this, at this time of night?" said Toby.

"Good-evening, sir. Excuse me, but I wanted to ask you something."

It was Dave Fletcher.

"Any trouble?"

"Well, yes."

"Come in, come in! Don't be bashful. Lighthouses are for folks in

trouble."

"Thank you."

When Dave had climbed into the tower Dick Fray's curly head appeared.

"Oh, any more of you?" asked the keeper. "Bring him along."

"Good-evening," said Dick.

Then Jimmy Davis thrust up his head.

"Oh, another?" asked Toby. "How many?"

"Not through yet, Mr. Tolman," said Dave, laughing.

Johnny Richards stuck up his grinning face above the threshold.

"Any more?" said the light-keeper.

And this inquiry Dab Richards answered in person, relieving the ladder

of its last load.

"Why, why! wasn't expecting this! All castaways?"

"Pretty near it, Mr. Tolman," said Dick.

"Come up into the kitchen, and then let us have your story, boys."

They followed the light-keeper into the kitchen, so warm, so cheerfully

lighted.

In the boat Dick Pray had been very bold, and said he would go ahead and

"beard the lion in his den;" but when at the foot of the lighthouse, he

concluded he would silently allow Dave to precede him. The warmth of the

kitchen thawed out Dick's tongue, and now that he was inside he kept a

part of his word, and made an explanation to the light-keeper. He stated

that they had had permission to "picnic" on the schooner, had--had--"got

adrift"--somehow--and were caught on the bar, and the question was what

to do.

"Perhaps you can advise us still further," explained Dave. "One

suggestion is that when the tide turns we pull up anchor and drift back

with the tide."

"Anchor?" asked Mr. Toby Tolman. "I thought you went on because you

couldn't help it. Didn't know you dropped anchor there."

Dick blushed and cleared his throat.

"The schooner was anchored, but," said Dick, choking a little,

"we--we--got--got--into water too deep for our anchor, and kept on

drifting till the anchor caught in the bar."

"Oh!" said the light-keeper, who now saw a little deeper into the

mystery, though all was not clear to him yet. "What will you do now?

It is a good rule generally, when you don't know which way to move, not

to move. Now, if you pull up anchor and let the next tide take you

back, there is no telling where it will take you. Some bad rocks in our

harbour as well as a lot of sand. 'Sharks' Fins' you know about. An

ugly place. Now let me think a moment."

The light-keeper in deep thought walked up and down the floor, while the

five boys clustered about the stove like bees flocking to a flaming

hollyhock.

"See here: I advise this. Don't trouble that anchor to-night. The sea

is quiet. No harm will be done the schooner, and her anchor has

probably got a good grip on some rocks down below, and the tide won't

start her. A tug will bring down a new schooner from Shipton to-morrow,

and I will signal to the cap'n, and you can get him to tow you back.

What say?" asked the keeper. "'Twill cost something."

"That plan looks sensible," said Dave. "I will give my share of the

expense."

Dick looked down in silence. He wanted to get back without any exposure

of his fault. The tug meant exposure, for the world outside would know

it. The tide as motive power, drifting the schooner back, would tell no

tales if the schooner went to the right place. There would, however, be

danger of collision with rocks, and then the bill of expense would be

greater and the exposure more mortifying. He scratched his head and

hesitated, but finally assented to the tug-boat plan, and so did the

other boys.

"Very well, then," said the keeper, "make yourselves at home, and I'll

do all I can to make you comfortable."

What, stay there? Did he mean it? He meant a night of comfort in the

lighthouse.

What a night that was!

"I wouldn't have missed it for twenty pounds," Johnny Richards said to

those at home.

And the breakfast! It was without parallel. The schooner was held by

its anchor inside the bar, and the boys in the morning visited their

provision-baskets, and brought off such a heap of delicacies that the

light-keeper declared it to be the "most satisfyin' meal" he had ever

had inside those stone walls.

About nine o'clock he said, "Now, boys, I expect the tug-boat will be

down with that schooner. When the cap'n of the tug-boat has carried her

through the channel, I will signal to him--he and I have an

understanding about it--and he will come round and tow you up, I don't

doubt. You might be a-watching for her smoke."

Soon Dab Richards, looking up the harbour, cried out, "Smoke! she's

coming!"

Yes, there was the tug-boat, throwing up a column of black smoke from

her chimney, and behind her were the freshly-painted hull, and new,

clean rigging of the lately launched schooner. The boys, save Dave,

went to the _Relentless_, as the light-keeper said he would fix

everything with the tug-boat, "make a bargain, and so on," and Dave

could hear the terms and accept them for the party if he wished. The

light-keeper had also promised in his own boat to put Dave aboard the

tug.

But what other tug-boat was it the boys on the _Relentless_ saw steaming

down the harbour? They stood in the bow and watched her approach.

"She looks as if she were going to run into us," declared Dick.

"She certainly is pointing this way," thought Johnny.

"Our friends may be alarmed for us," was Dab's suggestion.

This could not be, the other boys thought, and they dismissed it as a

teasing remark by Dab. And yet the tug-boat was coming toward them like

an arrow feathered with black smoke and shot out by a strong arm.

"It is certainly coming toward us," cried Dick in alarm. Who was it his

black eyes detected among the people leaning over the rail of the

nearing tug-boat?

He looked again.

He took a third look.

"Boys," he shouted, "put!"

How rapidly he rushed for a hatchway, descending an old ladder still in

place and leading into the schooner's hold! Fear is catching. Had Dick

seen a policeman sent out in a special tug to hunt up the boys and

secure the vessel? Johnny Richards flew after Dick. Jimmy Davis

followed Johnny. Dab was quickly at the heels of Jimmy. Down into the

dark, smelling hold, stumbling over the keelson, splashing into the

bilge water, and frightening the rats, hurried the still more frightened

boys.

"Who was it, Dick?" asked Dab.

"Keep still boys; don't say anything."

"Can't you tell his name?" whispered Johnny.

There it was, down in the dark, that Dick whispered the fearful name.

When the tug-boat, the _Leopard_, carrying Dave neared the schooner, the

captain said, "You have another tug there. It is the _Panther_."

The _Leopard_ hated the _Panther_, and would gladly have clawed it out

of shape and sunk it.

"I don't understand why the _Panther_ is there," said Dave; "I really

don't know what it means."

"You see," said the master of the _Leopard_ fiercely, "if that other

boat is a-goin' to do the job, let her do it (he will probably cheat

you). I can't fool away my time. The _Sally Jane_ is waitin' up stream

to be towed down, and I would like to get the job."

"We will soon find out what it means, sir. Just put me alongside the

schooner."

"I will put my boat there, and you can jump out."

Who was it that Dave saw on the schooner's deck? Dave trembled at the

prospect. He could imagine what was coming, and it came.

"Here, young man, what have you been up to? A precious set of young

rascals to be running off with my property. I thought you said you

would be particular. The state prison is none too good for you," said

this unexpected and gruff personage.

"Squire Sylvester," replied Dave with dignity, "just wait before you

condemn after that fashion; wait till you get the facts. I did try to

be particular. I don't think it was intended when it was done; boys

don't think, you know--"

"When what was done?"

"Why, the anchor lifted--weighed--"

"Anchor lifted!" growled Squire Sylvester. "What for?"

"Just to see it move, and have a little ride, I think."

"Have a little sail! Didn't you know, sir, it was exposing property to

have a little sail?"

Here the squire silently levelled a stout red forefinger at this

opprobrious wretch, this villain, this thief, this robber on the high

seas, this--with what else did that finger mean to label David Fletcher?

"But the anchor was dropped again, and it was thought, sir, that

it--that it would stop--"

"And the vessel did not stop! Might have guessed that, I should say.

You got into deep water."

"We were going to hire the _Leopard_ to tow it back, and any damages

would have been paid. I am very sorry--"

"No apologies, young man. What's done is done. I have got a tug-boat to

take the vessel back."

"And you don't want me?" here shouted the captain of the _Leopard_.

"Of course not," muttered the captain of the _Panther_, showing some

white teeth in derision.

"I don't know anything about you," said Squire Sylvester to the captain

of the _Leopard_; "this other party may settle with you."

"I'll pay any bill," said Dave to the _Leopard_, whose steam was

escaping in a low growl.

"Can't waste any more time," snarled the _Leopard_. He rang the

signal-bell to the engineer, and off went his tug.

"Well, where are your companions?" said Squire Sylvester to Dave.--"O

Giles," he added to the _Panther_, "you may start up your boat if you

have made fast to the schooner."

"Weigh the anchor fust, sir."

"Oh yes, Giles."

The anchor weighed, the _Panther_ then sneezed, splashed, frothed, and

the _Relentless_ followed it. Squire Sylvester declared that he must

find the other runaways; that they must be on board the schooner, and he

would hunt for them. He discovered them down in the hold, and out of

the shadows crawled four sheepish, mortified hide-aways.

And so back to its moorings went the old schooner.

Back to his office went Squire Sylvester, mad with others, and mad with

himself because mad with others.

Back to their homes went a shabby picnic party, and after them came a

bill for the expense of the _Relentless's_ return trip. It costs

something in this life to find out that the thing easily started may not

be the thing easily stopped.