The Errand Boy; Or, How Phil Brent Won Success

by Jr. Horatio Alger

  FRED SARGENT'S REVENGE.

  Fred Sargent, upon this day from which my story dates, went to the headof his Latin class, in the high school of Andrewsville. The school wasa fine one, the teachers strict, the classes large, the boys generallygentlemanly, and the moral tone pervading the whole, of the very bestcharacter.

  To lead a class in a school like this was an honor of which any boymight have been proud; and Fred, when he heard his name read off atthe head of the roll, could have thrown up his well-worn Latin grammar,which he happened to have in his hand just at that moment, and hurrahed.It was quite a wonder to him afterward that he did not.

  As a class, boys are supposed to be generous. I really don't knowwhether they deserve to be considered so or not, but some four or fiveonly in this large school envied Fred. The rest would probably havehurrahed with him; for Fred was a "capital good fellow," and quite afavorite.

  "Bully for you!" whispered Ned Brown, his right-hand neighbor; but Nedwas instantly disgraced, the eye of the teacher catching the words asthey dropped from his lips.

  When school was over several of the boys rushed to the spot whereFred--his cap in his hand, and his dark hair blowing about everyway--was standing.

  "I say," said James Duncan, "I thought you would get it. You've workedlike a Trojan and you deserve it."

  "It's as good as getting the valedictory," said Joe Stone.

  "And that is entering into any college in the land without anexamination," said Peter Crane.

  Now Peter had run shoulder to shoulder with Fred and it does him greatcredit that, being beaten, he was thoroughly good-natured about it.

  "I say, Fred, you ought to treat for this;" and Noah Holmes, standing ontiptoe, looked over the heads of the other boys significantly at Fred.

  "I wish I could; but here's all the money I've got," said Fred, takingabout twenty-five cents from his pocket--all that was left of hismonthly allowance.

  "That's better than nothing. It will buy an apple apiece. Come on! Let'sgo down to old Granger's. I saw some apples there big as your head; andbigger, too," said Noah, with a droll wink.

  "Well, come on, then;" and away went the boys at Fred's heels, pushingand shouting, laughing and frolicking, until they came to Abel Granger'slittle grocery.

  "Now hush up, you fellows," said Noah, turning round upon them. "LetFred go in by himself. Old Grange can't abide a crowd and noise. It willmake him cross, and all we shall get will be the specked and worm-eatenones. Come, fall back, there!"

  Very quietly and obediently the boys, who always knew their leader, fellback, and Fred went into the little dark grocery alone.

  He was so pleasant and gentlemanly that, let him go where he would anddo what he would, in some mysterious way he always found the right sideof people and got what he wanted, in the most satisfactory manner.

  Now Abel Granger was "as cross as a meat axe." Noah said, and all theboys were afraid of him. If the apples had been anywhere else they wouldhave been much surer of their treat; but in spite of their fears,back came Fred in a few moments, with a heaping measure of nice redapples--apples that made the boys' mouths water.

  Fred said that old Abel had given him as near a smile as could come tohis yellow, wrinkled face.

  "Treat 'em," he said, "treat 'em, eh? Wal, now, 'pears likely they'deat you out of house and home. I never see a boy yet that couldn't gothrough a tenpenny nail, easy as not."

  "We ARE always hungry, I believe," said Fred.

  "Allers, allers--that's a fact," picking out the best apples as he spokeand heaping up the measure. "There, now if you'll find a better lot thanthat, for the money, you are welcome to it, that's all."

  "Couldn't do it. Thank you very much," said Fred.

  As the boys took the apples eagerly and began to bite them, they saw theold face looking out of the dirty panes of window glass upon them.

  Fred loved to make everybody happy around him, and this treating wasonly second best to leading his class; so when, at the corner ofthe street turning to his father's house, he parted from his youngcompanions, I doubt whether there was a happier boy in all Andrewsville.

  I do not think we shall blame him very much if he unconsciously carriedhis head pretty high and looked proudly happy.

  Out from under the low archway leading to Bill Crandon's house a boyabout as tall as Fred, but stout and coarse, in ragged clothes, stoodstaring up and down the street as Fred came toward him.

  Something in Fred's looks and manner seemed especially to displease him.He moved directly into the middle of the sidewalk, and squared himselfas if for a fight.

  There was no other boy in town whom Fred disliked so much, and of whomhe felt so afraid.

  Sam Crandon, everybody knew, was a bully. He treated boys who werelarger and stronger than himself civilly, but was cruel and domineeringover the poor and weak.

  So far in his life, though they met often, Fred had avoided coming intocontact with Sam, and Sam had seemed to feel just a little awe of him;for Mr. Sargent was one of the wealthiest leading men in town, and Sam,in spite of himself, found something in the handsome, gentlemanly boythat held him in check; but to-day Sam's father had just beaten him, andthe boy was smarting from the blows.

  I dare say he was hungry, and uncomfortable from many other causes; buthowever this may have been, he felt in the mood for making trouble;for seeing somebody else unhappy beside himself. This prosperous,well-dressed boy, with his books under his arm, and his happy face, wasthe first person he had come across--and here then was his opportunity.

  Fred saw him assume the attitude of a prize fighter and knew what itmeant. Sam had a cut, red and swollen, across one cheek, and this helpedto make his unpleasant face more ugly and lowering than usual.

  What was to be done? To turn and run never occurred to Fred. To meet himand fight it out was equally impossible; so Fred stopped and looked athim irresolutely.

  "You're afraid of a licking?" asked Sam, grinning ominously.

  "I don't want to fight," said Fred, quietly.

  "No more you don't, but you've got to."

  Fred's blood began to rise. The words and looks of the rough boy were alittle too much for his temper.

  "Move out of the way," he said, walking directly up to him.

  Sam hesitated for a moment. The steady, honest, bold look in Fred's eyeswas far more effective than a blow would have been; but as soon as Fredhad passed him he turned and struck him a quick, stinging blow betweenhis shoulders.

  "That's mean," said Fred, wheeling round. "Strike fair and in front ifyou want to, but don't hit in the back--that's a coward's trick."

  "Take it there, then," said Sam, aiming a heavy blow at Fred's breast.But the latter skillfully raised his books, and Sam's knuckles were theworse for the encounter.

  "Hurt, did it?" said Fred, laughing.

  "What if it did?"

  "Say quits, then."

  "Not by a good deal;" and in spite of himself Fred was dragged into anignominious street fight.

  Oh, how grieved and mortified he was when his father, coming down thestreet, saw and called to him. Hearing his voice Sam ran away and Fred,bruised and smarting, with his books torn and his clothes, too, wentover to his father.

  Not a word did Mr. Sargent say. He took Fred's hand in his, and the twowalked silently to their home.

  I doubt whether Mr. Sargent was acting wisely. Fred never had toldhim an untruth in his life, and a few words now might have set mattersright. But to this roughness in boys Mr. Sargent had a special aversion.He had so often taken pains to instill its impropriety and vulgarityinto Fred's mind that he could not now imagine an excuse.

  "He should not have done so under any circumstances," said hisfather sternly, to himself. "I am both surprised and shocked, and thepunishment must be severe."

  Unfortunately for Fred, his mother was out of town for a few days--amother so much sooner than a father reaches the heart of her son--so nowhis father said:

  "You will keep your room for the next wee
k. I shall send your excuseto your teacher. Ellen will bring your meals to you. At the end of thattime I will see and talk with you."

  Without a word Fred hung his cap upon its nail, and went to his room.Such a sudden change from success and elation to shame and condignpunishment was too much for him.

  He felt confused and bewildered. Things looked dark around him, and thegreat boughs of the Norway spruce, close up by his window, nodded andwinked at him in a very odd way.

  He had been often reproved, and sometimes had received a slightpunishment, but never anything like this. And now he felt innocent, orrather at first he did not feel at all, everything was so strange andunreal.

  He heard Ellen come into his room after a few minutes with his dinner,but he did not turn.

  A cold numbing sense of disgrace crept over him. He felt as if, evenbefore this Irish girl, he could never hold up his head again.

  He did not wish to eat or do anything. What could it all mean?

  Slowly the whole position in which he was placed came to him. The boysgathering at school; the surprise with which his absence would benoted; the lost honor, so lately won; his father's sad, grave face; hissisters' unhappiness; his mother's sorrow; and even Sam's face, so uglyin its triumph, all were there.

  What an afternoon that was! How slowly the long hours dragged themselvesaway! And yet until dusk Fred bore up bravely. Then he leaned his headon his hands. Tired, hungry, worn out with sorrow, he burst into tearsand cried like a baby.

  Don't blame him. I think any one of us would have done the same.

  "Oh, mother! mother!" said Fred aloud, to himself, "do come home! docome home!"

  Ellen looked very sympathizing when she came in with his tea, and foundhis dinner untouched.

  "Eat your tea, Master Fred," she said, gently. "The like of ye can'tgo without your victuals, no way. I don't know what you've done, but Iain't afeared there is any great harm in it, though your collar is oncrooked and there's a tear in your jacket, to say nothing of a black andblue place under your left eye. But eat your tea. Here's some fruit cakeBiddy sent o' purpose."

  Somebody did think of and feel sorry for him! Fred felt comforted on theinstant by Ellen's kind words and Biddy's plum cake; and I must say, atea hearty, hungry boy's supper; then went to bed and slept soundly untillate the next morning.

  We have not space to follow Fred through the tediousness of thefollowing week. His father strictly carried out the punishment to theletter No one came near him but Ellen, though he heard the voices of hissisters and the usual happy home sounds constantly about him.

  Had Fred really been guilty, even in the matter of a street fight, hewould have been the unhappiest boy living during this time; but we knowhe was not, so we shall be glad to hear that with his books andthe usual medley of playthings with which a boy's room is piled, hecontrived to make the time pass without being very wretched. It was thedisgrace of being punished, the lost position in school, and above all,the triumph which it would be to Sam, which made him the most miserable.The very injustice of the thing was its balm in this case. May it be so,my young readers, with any punishment which may ever happen to you!

  All these things, however, were opening the way to make Fred's revenge,when it came, the more complete.

  *****

  Fred Sargent, of course, had lost his place, and was subjected to agreat many curious inquiries when he returned to school.

  He had done his best, in his room, to keep up with his class, but hisbooks, studied "in prison," as he had learned to call it, and in thesitting-room, with his sister Nellie and his mother to help him, werevery different things. Still, "doing your best" always brings itsreward; and let me say in passing, before the close of the month Fredhad won his place again.

  This was more easily done than satisfying the kind inquiries of theboys. So after trying the first day to evade them, Fred made a cleanbreast of it and told the whole story.

  I think, perhaps, Mr. Sargent's severe and unjust discipline had a farbetter effect upon the boys generally than upon Fred particularly. Theydid not know how entirely Fred had acted on the defensive, and so theyreceived a lesson which most of them never forgot on the importancewhich a kind, genial man, with a smile and a cheery word for every childin town, attached to brawling.

  After all, the worst effect of this punishment came upon Sam Crandonhimself. Very much disliked as his wicked ways had made him before, hewas now considered as a town nuisance. Everybody avoided him, and whenforced to speak to him did so in the coldest, and often in the mostunkind manner.

  Sam, not three weeks after his wanton assault upon Fred, was guilty ofhis first theft and of drinking his first glass of liquor. In short, hewas going headlong to destruction and no one seemed to think him worththe saving. Skulking by day, prowling by night--hungry, dirty,beaten and sworn at--no wonder that he seemed God-forsaken as well asman-forsaken.

  Mr. Sargent had a large store in Rutgers street. He was a wholesaledealer in iron ware, and Andrewsville was such an honest, quiet townordinary means were not taken to keep the goods from the hands ofthieves.

  Back doors, side doors and front doors stood open all the day, and noone went in or out but those who had dealings with the firm.

  Suddenly, however, articles began to be missed--a package of knives, abolt, a hatchet, an axe, a pair of skates, flat-irons, knives and forks,indeed hardly a day passed without a new thing being taken, and thoughevery clerk in the store was on the alert and very watchful, still thethief, or thieves remained undetected.

  At last matters grew very serious. It was not so much the pecuniaryvalue of the losses--that was never large--but the uncertainty intowhich it threw Mr. Sargent. The dishonest person might be one of his owntrusted clerks; such things had happened, and sad to say, probably wouldagain.

  "Fred," said his father, one Saturday afternoon, "I should like to haveyou come down to the store and watch in one of the rooms. There is agreat run of business to-day, and the clerks have their hands more thanfull. I must find out, if possible who it is that is stealing so freely.Yesterday I lost six pearl-handled knives worth two dollars apiece. Canyou come?"

  "Yes, sir," said Fred, promptly, "I will be there at one, to a minute;and if I catch him, let him look out sharp, that is all."

  This acting as police officer was new business to Fred and made himfeel very important, so when the town clock was on the stroke of one heentered the store and began his patrol.

  It was fun for the first hour, and he was so much on the alert that oldMr. Stone, from his high stool before the desk, had frequently to puthis pen behind his ear and watch him. It was quite a scene in a play tosee how Fred would start at the least sound. A mouse nibbling behinda box of iron chains made him beside himself until he had scared thelittle gray thing from its hole, and saw it scamper away out of theshop. But after the first hour the watching FOR NOTHING became a littletedious. There was a "splendid" game of base ball to come off on thepublic green that afternoon; and after that the boys were going to the"Shaw-seen" for a swim; then there was to be a picnic on the "IndianRidge," and--well, Fred had thought of all these losses when he sopleasantly assented to his father's request, and he was not going tocomplain now. He sat down on a box, and commenced drumming tunes withhis heels on its sides. This disturbed Mr. Stone. He looked at himsharply, so he stopped and sauntered out into a corner of the backstore, where there was a trap-door leading down into the water. A smallriver ran by under the end of the store, also by the depot, which wasnear at hand, and his father used to have some of his goods brought downin boats and hoisted up through this door.

  It was always one of the most interesting places in the store to Fred;he liked to sit with his feet hanging down over the water, watching itas it came in and dashed against the cellar walls.

  To-day it was high, and a smart breeze drove it in with unusual force.Bending down as far as he could safely to look under the store, Fredsaw the end of a hatchet sticking out from the corner of one of theabutments that projected f
rom the cellar, to support the end of thestore in which the trap-door was.

  "What a curious place this is for a hatchet!" thought Fred, as hestooped a little further, holding on very tight to the floor above.What he saw made him almost lose his hold and drop into the water below.There, stretched along on a beam was Sam Crandon, with some stolenpackages near him.

  For a moment Fred's astonishment was too great to allow him to speak;and Sam glared at him like a wild beast brought suddenly to bay.

  "Oh, Sam! Sam!" said Fred, at length, "how could you?"

  Sam caught up a hatchet and looked as if he was going to aim it at him,then suddenly dropped it into the water.

  Fred's heart beat fast, and the blood came and went from his cheeks; hecaught his breath heavily, and the water, the abutment and even Samwith his wicked ugly face were for a moment darkened. Then, recoveringhimself, he said:

  "Was it you, Sam? I'm sorry for you!"

  "Don't lie!" said Sam, glowering back, "you know you're glad!"

  "Glad? Why should I be glad to have you steal?"

  "Cause I licked you, and you caught it."

  "So I did; but I am sorry, for all that."

  "You lie!"

  Fred had thought very fast while this conversation was going on. Hehad only to lift his head and call his father, then the boat would beimmediately pushed in under the store, Sam secured and his punishmentcertain. There were stolen goods enough to convict him, and his mode ofingress into the store was now certain. This trap-door was neverlocked; very often it was left open--the water being considered the mosteffectual bolt and bar that could be used; but Sam, a good swimmer andclimber, had come in without difficulty and had quite a store of his ownhidden away there for future use. This course was very plain; but forsome reason, which Fred could not explain even to himself, he did notfeel inclined to take it; so he sat looking steadily in Sam's face untilhe said:

  "Look here, Sam, I want to show you I mean what I say. I'm sorry youhave turned thief and if I can help you to be a better boy, I should beglad to."

  Again Fred's honest kindly face had the same effect upon Sam that it hadat the commencement of their street fight; he respected and trusted itunconsciously.

  "Here!" said he, crawling along on the beam and handing back the packageof knives, the last theft of which his father had complained.

  "Yes, that is right," said Fred, leaning down and taking it, "give themall back, if you can; that is what my father calls 'making restitution,'and then you won't be a thief any longer."

  Something in the boy's tone touched Sam's heart still more; so hehanded back one thing after another as rapidly as he could until nearlyeverything was restored.

  "Bravo for you, Sam! I won't tell who took them, and there is a chancefor you. Here, give me your hand now, honor bright you'll never comehere again to steal, if I don't tell my father."

  Sam looked at him a moment, as if he would read his very soul; then hesaid sulkily:

  "You'll tell; I know you will, 'cause I licked you when you didn't wantme to; but you've got 'em all back, and I s'pose it won't go very hard."

  "What won't go very hard?"

  "The prison."

  "You sha'n't go to prison at all. Here, give me your hand; I promise notto tell if you will promise not to steal any more. Ain't that fair?"

  "Yes," said Sam, a sudden change coming over his face, "but you will!"

  "Try me and see."

  Sam slowly and really at a great deal of peril, considering hissituation, put his rough, grimed hand into Fred's--a dishonest hand itwas, and that more than the other thing made Fred recoil a little as hetouched it; but that clasp sealed the compact between these two boys. Itbegan Fred Sargent's revenge.

  "Now be off, will you, before the clerks come? They will see the thingsand catch you here. I'll be round to your house soon and we will see."

  Even in this short time Fred had formed a general plan for saving Sam.

  The boy, stretching himself out flat, slipped down the transverse beaminto the water, dived at once and came up under the bridge a few rodsdistant, then coolly passed down the river and swam to shore under abunch of alder-bushes, by which he was concealed from the sight of thepassers-by.

  Fred sought his father, told him the story, then brought him to thespot, showed the goods which the boy had returned, and begged as areward for the discovery to be allowed to conceal his name.

  His father of course hesitated at so unusual a proposition; but therewas something so very much in earnest in all Fred did and said that hebecame convinced it was best, for the present at least, to allow him tohave his own way; and this he was very glad he had done when a few daysafter Fred asked him to do something for Sam Crandon.

  "Sam Crandon?" he asked in surprise. "Is not that the very boy I foundyou fighting in the street with?"

  "Yes, sir," said Fred, hanging his head, "but he promises to do well,if he can only find work--HONEST work; you see, sir, he is so bad nobodyhelps him."

  Mr. Sargent smiled. "A strange recommendation, Fred," he said, "butI will try what can be done. A boy who wants to reform should have ahelping hand."

  "He does want to--he wants to heartily; he says he does. Father, if youonly will!"

  Fred, as he stood there, his whole face lit up with the glow of thisgenerous, noble emotion, never was dearer to his father's heart; indeedhis father's eyes were dim, and his voice a little husky, as he saidagain:

  "I will look after him, Fred, for your sake."

  And so he did; but where and how I have not space now to tell myreaders. Perhaps, at some future time, I may finish this story; forthe present let me say there is a new boy in Mr. Sargent's store, withrough, coarse face, voice and manners; everybody wonders at seeing himthere; everybody prophesies future trouble; but nobody knows that thisstep up in Sam Crandon's life is Fred Sargent's revenge.

  THE SMUGGLER'S TRAP.

  Hubert had accompanied his father on a visit to his uncle, who lived ina fine old country mansion, on the shore of Caermarthen Bay.

  In front of the house spread a long beach, which terminated inprecipitous cliffs and rocky ledges. On the afternoon of the dayfollowing his arrival, he declared his intention of exploring the beach.

  "Don't get caught in 'The Smuggler's Trap,'" said his uncle, as hementioned his plan.

  "'The Smuggler's Trap?'"

  "Yes. It's at the end of the beach where you see the cliffs. It's ahollow cave, which you can only walk at very low tide. You'd better notgo in there."

  "Oh, never fear," said Hubert carelessly, and in a few minutes he waswandering over the beach, and after walking about two miles reached theend of the beach at the base of the great cliffs.

  The precipice towered frowningly overhead, its base all worn andfurrowed by the furious surges that for ages had dashed against it. Allaround lay a chaos of huge boulders covered with seaweed. The tide wasnow at the lowest ebb. The surf here was moderate, for the seaweed onthe rocks interfered with the swell of the waters, and the waves brokeoutside at some distance.

  Between the base of the precipice and the edge of the water there wasa space left dry by the ebb tide about two yards in width; and Hubertwalked forward over the space thus uncovered to see what lay before him.

  He soon found himself in a place which seemed like a fissure rent in amountain side, by some extraordinary convulsion of nature. All aroundrose black, precipitous cliffs. On the side nearest was the precipiceby whose base he had passed; while over opposite was a gigantic wall ofdark rock, Which extended far out into the sea. Huge waves thundered atits feet and dashed their spray far upward into the air. The space wasabout fifty yards across.

  The fissure extended back for about two hundred yards, and thereterminated in a sharp angle formed by the abrupt walls of the cliffswhich enclosed it. All around there were caverns worn into the base ofthe precipices by the action of the sea.

  The floor of this place was gravelly, but near the water it was strewnwith large boulders. Further in there wer
e no boulders and it was easyto walk about.

  At the furthest extremity there was a flat rock that seemed to havefallen from the cliff above in some former age. The cliffs aroundwere about two hundred feet in height. They were perfectly bare, andintensely black. On their storm-riven summits not a sign of verdureappeared. Everything had the aspect of gloom, which was heightened bythe mournful monotone of the sea waves as they dashed against the rock.

  After the first feeling of awe had passed, Hubert ran forward, leapingfrom rock to rock, till he came to where the beach or floor of thefissure was gravelly. Over this he walked and hastened to the caverns,looking into them one after another.

  Then he busied himself by searching among the pebbles for curious stonesand shells. He found here numerous specimens of the rarest and finesttreasures of the sea--shells of a delicacy of tint and perfection ofoutline; seaweeds of new and exquisite forms with rich hues which he hadhitherto believed impossible.

  In the hollows of the rocks, where the water yet lay in pools, he foundlittle minnows; and delicate jelly fish, with their long slender fibers;and sea anemones; and sea urchins with their spires extended; andstar-fish moving about with their innumerable creepers. It was a newworld, a world which had thus far been only visible to him in theaquarium, and now as it stood before him he forgot all else.

  He did not feel the wind as it blew in fresh from the sea--the dread"sou'wester," the terror of fishermen. He did not notice the waves thatrolled in more furiously from without, and were now beginning to breakin wrath upon the rocky ledges and boulders. He did not see that thewater had crept on nearer to the cliff, and that a white line of foamnow lay on that narrow belt of beach which he had traversed at the footof the cliff.

  Suddenly a sound burst upon his ears that roused him, and sent all theblood back to his heart. It was his own name, called out in a voice ofanguish and almost of despair by his father.

  He sprang to his feet, started forward and rushed with the speed of thewind to the place by which he had entered the enclosure. But a barrierlay before him. The rolling waves were there, rushing in over the rocks,dashing against the cliff, tossing their white and quivering sprayexulting in the air.

  At once Hubert knew his danger.

  He was caught in the "Smuggler's Trap," and the full meaning of hisuncle's warning flashed upon his mind as in his terror he shrieked backto his father.

  Then there was silence for a time

  While Hubert had been in the "Trap," his father and uncle had beenwalking along the beach, and the former heard for the first time thenature and danger of the "Smuggler's Trap." He was at once filled withanxiety about his son, and had hurried to the place to call him back,when to his horror he found that the tide had already covered the onlyway by which the dangerous place might be approached.

  No sooner had he heard Hubert's answering cry than he rushed forward totry and save him. But the next moment a great wave came rolling in anddashed him upon the cliff. Terribly bruised, he clung to the cliff tillthe surf fell back, and then ran on again.

  He slipped over a rock and fell, but instantly regaining his feet headvanced further, and in his haste fell into a hollow which was filledwith water.

  Before he could emerge another wave was upon him. This one beat himdown, and it was only by clinging to the seaweed that he escaped beingsucked back by the retreating surge. Bold and frenzied though he was,he had to start back from the fury of such an assault as this. He rushedbackward and waited.

  His eyes searched wildly around. He noticed that the surf grew moreviolent every moment, and every moment took away hope. But he would notyield.

  Once more he rushed forward. The waves rolled in, but he grasped therocks and withstood the surf, and still advanced. Another followed.He bowed before it, and clinging to the rocks as before came forthtriumphant.

  Already he was nearly halfway. He sprang upon a rock that rose above thelevel of the seething flood, and stood for a moment panting and gasping.But now a great wave came rolling in upon him. He fell on his knees andclung to the seaweed.

  The wave struck. It hurled him from the rock. He rolled over and over.Blinded, bruised and half drowned, he felt himself dashed against thecliff. He threw his arms wildly about, but found nothing which he couldseize. The retreating wave sucked him back. But a rock stayed him. Thishe grasped and was saved.

  Then, hastily scrambling to his feet, he staggered back to the placefrom which he had started. Before he could get back another wave threwhim down, and this time he might have been drowned had not his brotherplunged in and dragged him out.

  Of all this Hubert had seen nothing, and known nothing. He waited forsome time in silence, and then called. There was no answer. He calledagain and again. But at that time his father was struggling with thewaves and did not hear him. At last, after what seemed an interminabletime, he heard once more his father's voice. He shouted back.

  "Don't be afraid!" cried the voice. "I'll get you out. Wait."

  And then there were no more voices.

  It was about two o'clock when Hubert had entered the gorge. It was afterthree when his father had roused him, and made his vain effort to savehim. Hubert was now left alone with the rising tide, whose waters rolledforward with fearful rapidity. The beach inside was nearly level and hesaw that in an hour or so it would be covered with the waters. He triedto trust to his father's promise, but the precious moments passed andhe began to look with terror upon the increasing storm; for every momentthe wind grew fiercer, and the surf rolled in with ever increasingimpetuosity.

  He looked all around for a place of refuge, and saw nothing exceptthe rock which arose at the extremity of the place, at the foot of theoverhanging cliffs. It was about five feet high, and was the only placethat afforded anything like safety.

  Up this he clambered, and from this he could survey the scene, but onlyto perceive the full extent of his danger. For the tide rushed in moreand more swiftly, the surf grew higher and higher and he saw plainlythat before long the water would reach the summit of the rock, and thateven before then the surf in its violence would sweep him away.

  The moments passed slowly. Minutes seemed in his suspense to betransformed to hours. The sky was overspread now with black clouds; andthe gloom increased. At length the waves rolled in until they coveredall the beach in front, and began to dash against the rock on which hehad taken refuge.

  The precious moments passed. Higher and higher grew the waters. Theycame rolling into the cave, urged on by the fury of the billows outside,and heaping themselves up as they were compressed into this narrowgorge. They dashed up around the rock. The spray was tossed in his face.Already he felt their inexorable grasp. Death seemed so near that hopeleft him. He fell upon his knees with his hands clasped, and his whiteface upturned. Just then a great wave rolled up and flung itself overthe rock, and over his knees as he knelt, and over his hands as heclasped them in prayer. A few more moments and all would be over.

  As hope left a calmness came--the calmness that is born of despair. Faceto face with death, he had tasted the bitterness of death, but now heflung aside the agony of his fear and rose to his feet, and his soulprepared itself for the end. Just then, in the midst of the uproarof wind and wave, there came a sudden sound, which roused to quick,feverish throbs the young lad's heart. It was a voice--and sounded justabove him:

  "HUBERT!"

  He looked up.

  There far above him, in the gloom, he saw faces projecting over the edgeof the cliff. The cry came again; he recognized the voice of his father.

  For a moment Hubert could not speak. Hope returned. He threw up his armswildly, and cried:

  "Make haste! Oh, make haste!"

  A rope was made fast about Hubert's father, and he was let down overthe edge of the cliff. He would allow no other than himself to undertakethis journey.

  He had hurried away and gathered a number of fishermen, whose stout armsand sinewy hands now held the rope by which he descended to save hisson.

  It was a
perilous journey. The wind blew and the rope swayed more andmore as it was let down, and sometimes he was dashed against the rockysides of the precipice; but still he descended, and at last stood on therock and clasped his son in his arms.

  But there was no time to lose. Hubert mounted on his father's shoulders,holding the rope while his father bound his boy close to him. Then theword was given, and they were slowly pulled up.

  They reached the summit in safety, and as they reached it those wholooked down through the gloom saw the white foam of the surf as itboiled in fury over the rock where Hubert had been standing.