clad in a cotton shirt, duck trousers and a pair of slippers, Walter Dreer and Gritty Kestrell were coasting down the snowy hill past Miss Todd's, or skating figure eights on the marsh ponds under the railway trestle!
On and on—east of the sun and west of the moon. A man stumbled aft to relieve his mate at the wheel. At intervals came the ghostly call from the bows, "All's well," followed by a gruff acknowledgment.
At midnight the watch changed, but Paul merely snuggled to a more comfortable position on a thwart of the lifeboat. Despite his subdued excitement he was drowsy and thought of curling up in the hanging folds of a lowered staysail, when he was electrified by the cry, "Light ahead."
Feeling that circumstances justified a breach of the regulations, he scrambled down from the house and ran to see for himself. "Blimey!" exclaimed the lookout in a cautious whisper. "It's Gentleman Jim out of 'is bed. Smell the steak and kidney puddin', did 'e?"
"Where is it?" demanded Paul.
"First turnin' on the roight. Sign o' the crown and anchor. Wut you gunna 'ave?"
"Oh shut up, Shorty. Show me the light."
As a protest against the nickname, the lookout snatched Paul up, bore him to the rail, and pointed ahead. "Watch," he directed. In a few moments Paul detected a tiny point lower than the stars and more golden in lustre, which disappeared like some stealthy signal. After long seconds it flashed again—and again.
"At last!" he sighed, as the seaman put him down.
"Oho! Y'ain't old enough to 'ave a woman, you know."
"Is that so? And what could a little shorty like you do with one?"
The reply was entrusted to the toe of an agile boot, but Paul ducked, and from the safety of the iron ladder
