on one side of the head and then on the other with a force that made his teeth chatter. "What do you mean by such actions? Answer me—what do you mean?"

"I don't mean anything," said the boy, piteously. "I was comin' in all right, when the boat tipped up, an' I slid right along. I was seasick, an' I couldn't help it."

"Then I'll help it for you," roared the Captain, and he flogged Tim until he thought he had been punished enough to cure him.

It seemed to Tim as if either the flogging or the sickness would have been sufficient alone, but to have both filled his heart with all the sadness and grief it could well contain.

[to be continued.]

THE LITTLE BOARDERS.

BY WILLIAM O. STODDARD.

"Clark," said Jim Ridgeway, "it's no use. We sha'n't board the Rip Van Winkle this morning."

"Why not?" exclaimed Barbie Kyle; but little Ben was reaching over too far after a stick in the water, and before she could pull him back a shrill, cracked voice came down from the bank above the beach:

"Look a-heah, you chil'en! wot you doin' wid my boat?"

"We're going to board the Rip Van Winkle," shouted Clark Ridgeway, and Willy Kyle added:

"Yes, Kisedek, and if we hadn't kept your boat off shore, she'd have been high and dry by this time."

"Dat's so. De tide's out, but it's a-comin' in agin. Jes' you fotch de boat right in."

"Are you going a-fishing?" asked little Ben Kyle.

"I's gwine foh some flounders 'way 'cross de bay. Jes' you chil'en let de Wip Van Rinkle alone. She ain't no wreck ob yourn."

"Now, Kisedek Pound," said Barbie Kyle, "she's right there, and she's been there ever so long."

"Dat's so. Dah she is. But she's gwine away, chil'en."

"Going away!" said Jim Ridgeway. "I'd like to see her do it. She's half full of water, and stuck in the mud."

"Dat's so, but den it ain't jes' so. Dar's been men a-nailin' up de holes in her so she'd float. Dey jes' druv away all de black-fish. De fish won't come no moah, now dey can't git inside."

"We want to board her anyhow," began Jim Ridgeway; but Willy Kyle interrupted him:

"Do you know what they're going to do with her when she's mended?"

"Wot'll dey do wid her? Wid dat ar ole wreck? Dat's de berry queshion yer fader said to yer uncle de Kernel yes'erday. An' de Kernel he said back to him dat she was mos' used up 'nuff to be builded over new foh to be a man-ob-wah."

"Did father say so too?"

"Wot did he say? No, sah; he tole de Kernel back not to 'buse a pore ole wreck dat away. She was good for sumfin yit. Come, chil'en, git outen de boat."

Kisedek Pound's deeply wrinkled and very black face, with its wide fringe of white whiskers, had been all one friendly grin as he came down to the water's edge. He had even grumbled to himself: "I'd take de hull lot ob 'em wid me ef dey wasn't done gone shuah to skeer de fish."

Now, however, all five of them began to beg, and they were too many for old Kisedek Pound. It was but a few minutes before he was pulling his boat, with the children in it, out toward the bar on which the Rip Van Winkle had been run ashore, nearly a year ago, with two large holes in her side, made there by the clumsy head of a raft of logs. There she had lain ever since, almost high and dry at low tides, but not one of the children had thought of boarding her until that morning.

"Put me up first," shouted Clark Ridgeway, as the boat's nose struck the wreck. "Now, Barbie, give me your hand. Boost her, Willy."

Jim Ridgeway came near getting a ducking, clambering up without any help, and little Ben Kyle, just as Kisedek Pound hoisted him within Clark Ridgeway's reach, gave a great squall.

"She's all alone! I'm afraid! Nobody's in her!"

"Ob course dah isn't," said Kisedek. "Not eben de black-fish. Dey was pumpin' ob her all day yes'erday."

Ben's fright was over in an instant, for the older children were already taking possession of the wreck, and were exploring it in all directions.

It was great fun, only there was very little to be discovered by the "boarders."

"She isn't so bad a wreck," said Jim Ridgeway. "Look at her masts."

Barbie Kyle was looking down the hatchway, and she almost shuddered as she exclaimed,

"Jim, would you dare to go down stairs, and see what's in the cellar?"

"Cellar! Why, Barbie, that's the hold. Maybe there is something down there somewhere."

"Away down there? Do you s'pose the folks ever lived there and kept house?"

"Of course they did. They cooked, and they had beds there. That's where the cargo was, till she got wrecked, and they ran her on the bar. Then it was full of water."

"There's water there now."

"Not much. Didn't you hear old Kisedek? He used to come and catch fish—"

"Come on, boys," shouted Clark Ridgeway, just then; "we can make this thing go round."

"That's the capstan," said his brother. "It lifted the anchor."

"Guess I know that. Only there isn't any anchor to lift."

"WIND HER UP! WIND HER UP!"

Barbie Kyle herself seized one of the capstan bars, while little Ben tugged away at the capstan itself, shouting, merrily,

"Wind her up! wind her up!"

Old Kisedek Pound had rowed away as soon as he delivered his passengers, and he had gone nearly half a mile before he suddenly poised his oars, and exclaimed, very dubiously:

"Dat's so. Dat's de one ting I nebber t'ought ob. How de nashin'll dem chil'en git ashoah time foh dinnah? I jes' don't want to see Missis Kyle 'bout dis time. Noh Missis Ridgeway. De chil'en's safe 'nuff. De ole Wip Van Rinkle won't sink wid 'em no deeper. I tell ye wot, ole man, ef you knows wot's good foh yourself you jes' go an' ketch youah flounders, an' den you go an' fotch dem chil'en ashoah. It's jes' like me. Dat's wot Missis Kyle'll say. An' Missis Ridgeway. I guess I jes' won't go home by de way ob her house."

He anchored his boat on his chosen fishing ground, and the flounders bit well, and all the while he was pulling them in the fun went forward merrily on board the Rip Van Winkle.

The tide had turned before the "little boarders" took possession of their prize, and now it was rippling strongly around her stern. The water on the bar was fast growing deeper, but none of it poured into the wreck, as it would have done before the holes in her side were mended.

"Hurrah!" shouted Clark Ridgeway. "Her stern's lifting up, and her deck's almost level."

So it was, and it made a better place to play on, but there had been yet another change in the situation. With the rising tide a breeze had risen, and with the breeze a thick white fog had drifted up the bay from the sea. Still, all the children knew something about tides and breezes and fogs, and they were not a bit scared when they found they could not see the shore.

"Barbie," said little Ben, at last, "I want to go home."

"Kisedek's coming."

"I want him to come now."

"Don't be afraid. He'll come.—Oh, boys, the wreck's moving!"

They all held their breath for a moment, and looked at each other, but Willy Kyle shouted, "Hurrah! We're afloat! We've got a ship of our own! Let's play sailor."

It was about the only thing they could do, and it helped them keep up their spirits, but there was no mistaking the fact that they were "afloat." That high tide had easily lifted the Rip Van Winkle's nose out of the mud, and it was now steadily bearing her along, up the bay. The fog was too thick to guess in what direction they were going, and