At the Black Rocks (Musaicum Christmas Specials). Edward A. Rand

their "things." They did not want to forsake these.

      "Well, boys," said Dick, with a boastful air, "I'll get you out of the scrape somehow. We might go on deck again, and hold a council of war and talk the situation over."

      Any change was welcomed, and the boys scrambled on deck again. Dick was the last of the climbing column.

      "Hand that painter up here and I'll make it fast," said Dave. "Then come up and we will talk matters over."

      "Oh!" said Dick, who was half-way up the ladder, "I forgot to bring that rope up."

      He descended the ladder and reached out his foot to touch the boat, but he could not find it! When he had left the boat, a minute ago, he gave it unintentionally a parting kick, and--and--alas! The boat was now too far from the schooner's side to be reached by Dick's foot.

      "Get something!" he gasped. "Bring a--pole--and--get that boat!"

      The boys scattered in every direction to find a--they did not know what, that in some way they might reach after and capture that escaping boat. Their excitement was intense but fruitless. There were now two vessels adrift--a schooner and a dory--serenely floating in the still but strong current, steadily moving seaward, and the moonlight that had been welcomed only revealed to them more plainly the mortifying situation of the party.

      "Ridiculous!" exclaimed Dick.

      Most of the boys looked very sober. Dave put his hands in his pockets and whistled.

      "Well, boys, don't you worry! I'll get you out of this in good fashion yet," cried Dick. "We can't go far to sea, and then the tide will bring us back again in the morning."

      "Far to sea!" said Dab mockingly. "There's the lighthouse on the left, and it looks to me as if we should hit the bar!"

      The bar! The boys started. At the mouth of the river the sand brought down from the yielding shores would accumulate, and it formed a bar whose size and shape would annually change, but the obstacle itself never disappeared. There it stretched in the navigator's way, seriously narrowing the channel; and of how many catastrophes that "bar" had been the occasion! The breakers above were soft and white, and the sand below was yielding and crumbling; and yet just there how many vessels had been tripped up by that foot of sand thrust out into the harbour! The boys laughed and tried to be jolly, but no one liked the situation. It was a very picturesque scene,--the moonlight silvering the sea, the calmly-moving schooner and boat, that lighthouse like a tall, stately candlestick lifting its quiet light; but, for all that, there was the bar! Either the night-wind was growing very chilly, or the boys shivered for another reason.

      "Don't worry, fellows," said Dick, putting as much courage as possible into his voice. "When this old thing hits, you see, we shan't drift right on to the bar, but our anchor will catch somewhere on this side. That will hold us. I can swim, and I'll just drop into the sea and make for the light and get Toby Tolman's boat, and come and bring you off."

      He then proceeded to hum "Reuben Ranzo;" but nobody liked to sing it, and Dick executed a solo for this unappreciative audience.

      "How--how deep is the water inside the bar?" said chattering Jimmy Davis. He felt the cold night-air, and he shook as if he had an ague fit.

      "Pretty deep," solemnly remarked Dab Richards.

      The musical hum by the famous soloist, Dick Pray, ceased; only the breakers on the bar made their music.

      Dick began to doubt seriously the advisability of dropping into that deep gulf reputed to be inside the bar. It was now not very far to the lighthouse, and the surf on the bar whitened in the moonlight and fell in a hushed, drowsy monotone. People by the shore may be hushed by this lullaby of the ocean, but to those boys there was nothing drowsy in its sound; it was very startling.

      "I--I--I--" said Jimmy.

      "What is it, Jimmy?" asked Dave.

      Jimmy did feel like wishing aloud that he could be at home, but he concluded to say nothing about it. Steadily did the Relentless drift toward that snow-line in the dark sea.

      "Almost there!" cried Dave.

      "May strike any moment!" shouted Dab.

      Yes, nearer, nearer, nearer, came the Relentless to that foaming bar. The boat had already arrived there, and Dave saw it resting quietly on its sandy bed. Did he notice a glistening strip of sand beyond the surf? He had heard some one in Shipton say that at very low tide there was no water on portions of the bar. This fact set him to thinking about his possible action. It now seemed to him as if the distance between the stern of the vessel and the bar could not be more than a hundred feet. The bow of the vessel pointed up river. She was going "stern on." How would it strike--forcibly, easily?

      "Ninety feet now!" thought Dave. "Will the shock upset her, pitch us out, or what?"

      Sixty feet now!

      "The bar looks sort of ugly!" remarked Johnny Richards.

      Thirty feet now!

      "Wish I was in bed!" thought Jimmy Davis.

      Twenty feet now!

      Had the schooner halted? The boys clustered in the bow and looked anxiously over to the bar.

      "Boys, she holds, I do believe," said Dave.

      "All right!" shouted Dick--"all right! The anchor holds!"

      It did seem an innocent, all-right situation: just the quiet sea, the musically-rolling surf along the bar, the stately lighthouse at the left, and that schooner quietly halting in the harbour.

      "Now, boys," exclaimed Dick, "we can--"

      "I thought you were going to swim to the lighthouse?" observed Dab.

      "Oh, that won't be necessary now," replied Dick. "We are just masters of the situation. The moment the tide turns we can weigh anchor and drift back again just as easy! Be in our old quarters by morning, and nobody know the difference. Old Sylvester himself might come down the river, and he would find everything all right. Ha! ha!"

      Dick's confidence was contagious, and when he proposed "Haul the Bow-line," his companions sang with him, and sang with a will. How the notes echoed over the sea! Such a queer place to be singing in!

      "Mr. Toby Tolman," said Dick, facing the lighthouse, "we propose to wake you up! Let him have a rouser. Give him 'Reuben Ranzo!'"

      While they were administering a "rouser" to Mr. Toby Tolman, somebody at the stern was dropping into the sea. He had stripped himself for his swim, and now struck out boldly for the bar. Reaching its uncovered sands he ran along to the boat, lying on the channel side of the bar and not that of the lighthouse, leaped into the boat, and, shoving off, rowed round to the bow of the schooner. There was a pause in the singing, and Dick Pray was saying, "This place makes you think of mermen," when Dab Richards, looking over the vessel's side, said, "Ugh! if there isn't one now!"

      "Where--where?" asked Johnny.

      "Ship ahoy!" shouted Dave from the boat. "How many days out? Where you bound? Short of provisions?"

      "Three cheers for this shipwrecked mariner just arrived!" cried Dab. And the hurrahs went up triumphantly in the moonlight. Dave threw up to the boys the much-desired painter, and the runaway boat was securely fastened.

      "There, Dave!" said Dick, as he welcomed on deck the merman: "I was just going after that thing myself, just thinking of jumping into the water, but you got ahead of me. Somehow, I hate to leave this old craft."

      "I expect," said Dab Richards, a boy with short, stubby black hair and blue eyes, and lips that easily twisted in scorn, "we shall have such hard work to get Dick away from this concern that we shall have to bring a police-officer, arrest, and lug him off that way."

      "Shouldn't wonder," replied Dick. "Couldn't be persuaded to abandon this dear old tub."

      "Well, boys, I'm going to the lighthouse as soon as I'm dressed," said Dave.

      There was a hubbub of inquiries and comments.

      "What