slid out of his hammock and scrambled over to the chest that had his initials on the lid. He opened it, and dug out a neatly tied package from a corner. It was addressed to him with his full title, and was inscribed "Not to be opened until Xmas day."

He crawled over to an open port, and sitting down on the deck, deftly undid the wrapping. But he paused for a minute before he looked to see what it contained, and his eyes took on the sightless expression of deep thoughts far away as he gazed out over the sea.

The sun was flaming above the tree-tops on the distant shore, and the warm morning breeze fluttered the hair of his tousled curly head.

But Bobby did not see the sun or feel the breeze. He saw a wide stretch of snow-covered lawn, with the pine branches that lined the driveway weighted down, and each elm and apple bough all a-sparkle in a case of ice, and the sleigh bells "jingle-jangling" everywhere. He knew how his skates looked, hanging up on the nail behind the door, and his hockey-stick, and his sled. He could smell the hot buckwheat cakes and hear his little sisters laughing.

"They'd just be taking down their stockings," he said, a quiver coming to his eyelid.

In truth, Midshipman Bobby Seymour was nothing but a boy, and not a very tall one. He looked even younger than he really was as he sat there on the deck hugging his bare knees up to his chin, the still unopened package held tightly under his arm, and if a tear did roll down his cheek, and all the way down his neck beneath his collar, it was nothing to be ashamed of.

"Mr. Seymour," broke in a voice that brought back the heat and the smell of the ship quite suddenly. "Mr. Jephson wishes to see you on deck as soon as possible, sir."

Bobby made a dash at his eyes with the back of his hand, and looked up at the big red-mustached orderly. "Very good; be up there right away," he answered.

Then he arose and hurried into his things, only glancing into the package, and catching sight of two or three letters and some mysterious objects done up in tissue-paper.

As he came on deck he walked quietly aft and touched his cap. Mr. Jephson, the executive officer, saw him.

"Ah, Mr. Seymour, merry Christmas!" he remarked, much as if it was the usual thing to say. "I have some work for your boat's crew, sir. Just step here a minute."

Bobby hastened to the quarter-deck.

"There, do you see that," said the Lieutenant, pointing towards the dark green line of coast—"that white thing floating there, a mile or more from shore?"

"Yes, sir," said Bobby, squinting his little sleepy eyes.

Mr. Jephson picked up his sea-glasses. "In my mind it will help clear up the meaning of that glare to the westward two nights ago," he said. "I think it's a bit of wreckage, or an overturned boat that is drifting in." The Lieutenant spoke slowly as he adjusted the binoculars. Then he turned, and added, quickly:

"Get your coffee; see that the men get theirs; lower away the cutter; pick that up or find out what it is, and come back to the ship. You will be here by breakfast-time."

"Aye, aye, sir," Bobby answered.

All hands were turning out as he entered the steerage, but he heard few "Merry Christmases," and the coffee tasted bitterer than ever. All at once an idea seized him, and he thrust the precious package into his jacket. He could read the letters anyhow as he rowed back to the ship. In another moment he was stepping through the gangway.

"Don't go too close to the white water, youngster," said one of the junior officers, who had come on deck, "or you'll be a Robinson Crusoe before you know it."

"Thank you, sir," replied Bobby, as he hastened down the companion ladder. He had to make a leap of it into the cutter, where the men were waiting for him, in no pleasant frame of mind at the prospect of a long pull so early. In another minute they were heading shorewards. On board the ship, so used had every one become to the slow rolling, that it was hard to believe that such a sea was running. But from the boat the ground-swells seemed great hills, so smooth that an oar left a swirl in the green water as a paddle might in a mill-pond.

They had rowed some distance, now climbing up slowly, then coasting down with a rush, before Bobby caught sight of the floating object gleaming on the top of a great lift of sea a mile nearer the shore; he pointed it out to the coxswain, and sat down to read his letters.

As he drew the package from his breast he became conscious that it would not be quite comfortable to open it with twelve pairs of curious eyes gazing at him, so he brought forth only two of the letters with an affectation of carelessness, tied up the rest of the little bundle, and thrust it back into his jacket again.

Sitting there in the stern-sheets of the cutter, with the scorching African sun overhead, and the "thrim-thrum" of oars in his ears, once more his thoughts jumped back to the snow and the sleigh-bells as he opened the first little note. It was written in lead-pencil on very fancy paper, all posies and forget-me-nots. Nor was it written exactly. Most of the words were printed in capital letters, the I's carefully dotted, and the T's laboriously crossed. The lump came into Bobby's throat as he read it slowly.

"Dear Brother Robert" [it began],—"I made this for you all myself. Merry Christmas. I have a kitten and its name is—"

The boat had given such a sickening downward swoop that Bobby looked up suddenly. Never had he seen such a wave in all his short experience. And the sensation! It reminded him of the time he was tossed in a blanket at Annapolis. Yet the water's surface was smooth and oily—not the sound of a ripple—dead silence.

The men slackened in their stroke as another came on astern and raised them upwards. When at its summit Bobby looked towards the shore.

Nothing but a succession of green ridges. But suddenly a line of white like a rip in a great cloth stretched along against the mass of foliage above the beach. Then down the cutter raced.

Midshipman Seymour felt that the eyes of his crew were all upon him; he had detected a frightened glance or two, and the bowmen were looking over their shoulders.

"Steady, there!" he said, crumpling the letters into his pocket as he stood up. Then his spirits rose. Only a few hundred feet further on floated the mysterious object, rising in plain sight; it was a heavy chest, with lettering of some sort on it.

"Oars!" he shouted, and the men rested, glancing uneasily at their companions on the thwarts. Bobby looked back at the ship.

It scorned incredible that they could have covered that distance in such a space of time.

"In bow there, with your boat-hooks!" he shouted. But before the men could get to their feet an expression of horror crossed every face. Three or four cried out in fear. Once more Bobby turned, and a sick feeling came all over him.

The coxswain leaned forward. "We're going to catch it, sir," he whispered, and he made as if to kick off his shoes.

Full half a mile seaward one of the tall waves had broken at its height, and widening and frothing, it spread out in a mass of glistening smother. The sight made the little midshipman think of an army of white horses rising at a great green hedge.

The water around the boat began to clop noisily against the gunwales, and the wave crests on either hand danced and tottered uneasily. Then, pitching down into a hollow, the white horses disappeared for an instant, and nothing could be seen but a green wall in front. But the charge was coming—nearing; they could hear the roaring of it now.

"Steady, men!" said Bobby. "Coxswain, it's too late to turn her; we'll have to ride it in." Even to himself his voice sounded strange and deep. He forgot he was a boy. Was not he responsible? Were not they all looking to him to bring them safely