The sky overhead was clear and blue, but along the eastern and southern horizon was a gray bank of cloud, heaped in tumbled masses.

A sunburned lobsterman in rubber boots and a sou'wester was smoking on the wharf.

"What time you goin' to start for home, Is?" he asked.

"Oh, in an hour or so," was the absent-minded reply.

"Humph! You'd better cast off afore that or you'll be fog bound. It'll be thicker'n dock mud toward sundown, and you'll fetch up in Waptomac 'stead of East Harniss, 'thout you've got a good compass."

"Oh, my compass is all right," began Issy, and stopped short. The lobsterman made other attempts at conversation, but they were unproductive. McKay was gazing at the growing fog bank and thinking hard. To doctor an engine may be difficult, but to get lost in a fog-He took the compass from the glass-lidded binnacle by the wheel, and carrying it into the little cabin, placed it in the cuddy forward.

It was nearer five than four when the Lady May, her engine barking aggressively, moved out of Denboro Harbor. Mr. Bartlett, the passenger, had been on time and had fumed and fretted at the delay. But Issy was deliberation itself. He had forgotten his quahaug rake, and the lapse of memory entailed a trip to the blacksmith's. Then the gasoline tank needed filling and the battery had to be overhauled.

"Are you sure you can make it?" queried Sam anxiously. "It's important, I tell you. Mighty important."

The skipper snorted in disgust. "Make it?" he repeated. "If the Lady May can't make fourteen mile in two hours-let alone two'n a ha'f-then I don't know her. She's one of them boats you read about, she is."

The Cape makes a wide bend between Denboro and Trumet. The distance between these towns is twenty long, curved miles over the road; by water it is reduced to a straight fourteen. And midway between the two, at the center of the curve, is East Harniss.

The Lady May coughed briskly on. There was no sea, and she sent long, widening ripples from each side of her bow. Bartlett, leaning over the rail, gazed impatiently ahead. Issy, sprawled on the bench by the wheel, was muttering to himself. Occasionally he glanced toward the east. The gray fog bank was now half way to the zenith and approaching rapidly. The eastern shore had disappeared.

"Is! Hi, Is! What are you doing? Don't kill him before my eyes."

Issy came out of his trance with a start.

"What-what's that?" he asked. His passenger was grinning broadly.

"What? Kill who?"

"Why, the big chief, or whoever you had under your knee just then. You've been rolling your eyes and punching air with your fist for the last five minutes. I was getting scared. You're an unmerciful sinner when you get started, ain't you, Is? Who was the victim that time? 'Man Afraid of Hot Water'? or who?"

The skipper scowled. He shoved the fist into his pocket.

"Naw," he growled. "'Twa'n't."

"So? Not an Indian? Then it must have been a white man. Some fellow after your girl, perhaps. Hey?"

The disconcerted Issy was speechless. His companion's chance shot had scored a bull's-eye. Sam whooped.

"That's it!" he crowed. "Sure thing! Give it to him, Is! Don't spare him."

Mr. McKay chokingly admitted that he "wa'n't goin' to."

"Ho, ho! That's the stuff! But who's SHE, Is? When are you going to marry her?"

Issy grunted spitefully. "You ain't married yourself-not yit," he observed, with concealed sarcasm.

The unsuspecting Bartlett laughed in triumph. "No," he said. "I'm not, that's a fact; but maybe I'm going to be some of these days. It looked pretty dubious for a while, but now it's all right."

"'Tis, hey? You're sure about that, be you?"

"Guess I am. Great Scott! what's that? Fog?"

A damp breath blew across the boat. The clouds covered the sky overhead and the bay to port. The fog was pouring like smoke across the water.

"Fog, by thunder!" exclaimed Bartlett.

Issy smiled. "Hum! Yes, 'tis fog, ain't it?" he observed.

"But what'll we do? It'll be here in a minute, won't it?"

"Shouldn't be a mite surprised. Looks 's if twas here now."

The fog came on. It reached the Lady May, passed over her, and shut her within gray, wet walls. It was impossible to see a length from her side. Sam swore emphatically. The skipper was provokingly calm. He stepped to the engine, bent over it, and then returned to the wheel.

"What are you doing?" demanded Bartlett.

"Slowin' down, of course. Can't run more'n ha'f speed in a fog like this. 'Tain't safe."

"Safe! What do I care? I want to get to Trumet."

"Yes? Well, maybe we'll git there if we have luck."

"You idiot! We've GOT to get there. How can you tell which way to steer? Get your compass, man! get your compass!"

"Ain't got no compass," was the sulky answer. "Left it to home."

"Why, no, you didn't. I-"

"I tell you I did. 'Twas careless of me, I know, but-"

"But I say you didn't. When you went uptown after that quahaug rake I explored this craft of yours some. The compass is in that little closet at the end of the cabin. I'll get it."

He rose to his feet. Issy sprang forward and seized him by the arm.

"Set down!" he yelled. "Who's runnin' this boat, you or me?"

The astounded passenger stared at his companion.

"Why, you are," he replied. "But that's no reason-What's the matter with you, anyway? Have your dime novels driven you loony?"

Issy hesitated. For a moment chagrin and rage at this sudden upset of his schemes had gotten the better of his prudence. But Bartlett was taller than he and broad in proportion. And valor-except of the imaginative brand-was not Issy's strong point.

"There, there, Sam!" he explained, smiling crookedly. "You mustn't mind me. I'm sort of nervous, I guess. And you mustn't hop up and down in a boat that way. You set still and I'll fetch the compass."

He stumbled across the cockpit and disappeared in the dusk of the cabin. Finding that compass took a long time. Sam lost patience.

"What's the matter?" he demanded. "Can't you find it? Shall I come?"

"No, no!" screamed Issy vehemently. "Stay where you be. Catch a-holt of that wheel. We'll be spinnin' circles if you don't. I'm a-comin'."

But it was another five minutes before he emerged from the cabin, carrying the compass box very carefully with both hands. He placed it in the binnacle and closed the glass lid.

"'Twas catched in a bluefish line," he explained. "All snarled up, 'twas."

Sam peered through the glass at the compass.

"Thunder!" he exclaimed. "I should say we had spun around. Instead of north being off here where I thought it was, it's 'way out to the right. Queer how fog'll mix a fellow up. Trumet's about northeast, isn't it?"

"No'theast by no'th's the course. Keep her just there."

The Lady May, still at half speed, kept on through the mist. Time passed. The twilight, made darker still by the fog, deepened. They lit the lantern in order to see the compass card. Issy had the wheel now. Sam was forward, keeping a lookout and fretting at the delay.

"It's seven o'clock already," he cried. "For Heaven's sake, how late will you be? I've got to be there by quarter of eight. D'you hear? I've GOT to."

"Well, we're gittin' there. Can't expect to travel so fast with part of the power off. You'll be where you're goin' full as soon as you want to be, I cal'late."

And he chuckled.

Another half hour and, through the wet dimness, a light flashed, vanished, and flashed again. Issy saw it and smiled grimly. Bartlett saw it and shouted.

"'What's that light?" he cried. "Did you see it? There it is, off there."

"I see it. There's a light at Trumet Neck, ain't there?"

"Humph! It's been years since I was there, but I thought Trumet light was steady. However-"

"Ain't that the wharf ahead?"

Sure enough, out of the dark loomed the bulk of a small wharf, with catboats at anchor near it. Higher up, somewhere on the shore, were the lighted windows of a building.

"By thunder, we're here!" exclaimed Sam, and drew a long breath.

Issy shut off the power altogether, and the Lady May slid easily up to the wharf. Feverishly her skipper made her fast.

"Yes, sir!" he cried exultantly. "We're here. And no Black Rover nor anybody else ever done a better piece of steerin' than that, nuther."

He clambered over the stringpiece, right at the heels of his impatient but grateful passenger. Sam's thanks were profuse and sincere.

"I'll never forget it, Is," he declared. "I'll never forget it. And you'll have to let me pay you the-What makes you shake so?"

Issy pulled his arm away and stepped back.

"I'll never forget it, Is," continued Sam. "I-Why! What-?"

He was standing at the shore end of the wharf, gazing up at the lighted windows. They were those of a dwelling house-an old-fashioned house with a back yard sloping down to the landing.

And then Issy McKay leaned forward and spoke in his ear.

"You bet you won't forgit it, Sam Bartlett!" he crowed, in trembling but delicious triumph. "You bet you won't! I've fixed you just the same as the Black Rover fixed the mutineers. Run off with my girl, will ye? And marry her, will ye? I-"

Sam interrupted him. "Why! WHY!" he cried. "That's-that's Gertie's house! This isn't Trumet! IT'S EAST HARNISS!"

The next moment he was seized from behind. The skipper's arms were around his waist and the skipper's thin legs twisted about his own. They fell together upon the sand and, as they rolled and struggled, Issy's yells rose loud and high.

"Mr. Higgins!" he shrieked. "Mr. Higgins! Come on! I've got him! I've got the feller that's tryin' to steal your daughter! Come on! I've got him! I'm hangin' to him!"

A door banged open. Some one rushed down the walk. And then a girl's voice cried in alarm:

"What is it? Who is it? What IS the matter?"

And from the bundle of legs and arms on the ground two voices exclaimed: "GERTIE!"

"But where IS your father?" asked Sam. Issy asked nothing. He merely sat still and listened.

"Why, he's at Trumet. At least I suppose he is. Mrs. Jones-she's gone to telephone to him now-says that he came home this morning with one of those dreadful 'attacks' of his. And after dinner he seemed so sick that, when she went for the doctor, she wired me at Auntie's to come home. I didn't want to come-you know why-but I COULDN'T let him die alone. And so I caught the three o'clock train and came. I knew you'd forgive me. But it seems that when Mrs. Jones came back with the doctor they found father up and dressed and storming like a crazy man. He had received some sort of a letter; he wouldn't say what. And, in spite of all they could do, he insisted on going out. And Cap'n Berry-the depot master-says he went to Trumet on the afternoon freight. We must have passed each other on the way. And I'm so-But why are you HERE? And what were you and Issy doing? And-"

Her lover broke in eagerly. "Then you're alone now?" he asked.

"Yes, but-"

"Good! Your father can't get a train back from Trumet before to-morrow morning. I don't know what this letter was-but never mind. Perhaps friend McKay knows more about it. It may be that Mr. Higgins is waiting now outside the Baptist church. Gertie, now's our chance. You come with me right up to the minister's. He's a friend of mine. He understands. He'll marry us, I know. Come! We mustn't lose a minute. Your dad may take a notion to drive back."

He led her off up the lane, she protesting, he urging. At the corner of the house he turned.

"I say, Is!" he called. "Don't you want to come to the wedding? Seems to me we owe you that, considering all you've done to help it along. Or perhaps you want to stay and fix that compass of yours."

Issy didn't answer. Some time after they had gone he arose from the ground and stumbled home. That night he put a paper novel into the stove. Next morning, before going to the depot, he removed an iron spike from the Lady May's compass box. The needle swung back to its proper position.