point of swinging broadside to the waves (in which case she would have capsized in a twinkling), he threw the whole arrangement over the weather bow.

The resistance of this temporary drag in the water brought the dory head on to the terrible sea, but Ben saw at a glance that she did not ride easy.

"Too much dead weight amidships," he said. And with a sigh he launched the big halibut over the rail, following it with the twenty or more large cod and pollock that he had also taken. This had the desired effect, and now the buoyant craft began to ride the great rollers, scarcely taking any water on board, except the spray blown from the wave crests by the force of the wind, which was now coming in heavy gusts from the northwest.

As Ben sat huddled in the dory's stern, his thoughts were not particularly cheerful. Not that he was utterly cast down, or had given up all hope of being saved—oh no, Ben Buttles was more than ordinarily courageous, or, as his mother used to say, "He was dretful ventur'some."

But he knew the chances were against him. He had forgotten it, but it suddenly occurred to him that it was the 18th of October, and this storm, therefore, was undoubtedly the "line gale." He was drifting seaward before it on the ebb tide, about three knots an hour. Even if the dory lived through the night, the prospect of being picked up next day in such a gale was very small. If anything happened to him, the two-hundred-dollar mortgage on the little brown house would never be paid, interest or principal.

"And mother would have to go," thought Ben, swallowing violently at a hard lump in his throat. For Mr. Travis, who held the mortgage, wanted to get their little house into his possession, and tear it down, that he might build a summer hotel on its site. Mrs. Buttles would have no one but God to look to if Benjie should be taken away. Husband and three sons were all sleeping under the billows. No wonder, then, that while her storm-tossed boy, recalling these things, was praying in his heart, "Lord, comfort and care for mother," she, kneeling by the bed-side at home, was crying out in agony, "Lord, save my boy."

Blacker grew the night, wilder the billows, and louder the voice of the storm. No boat that was ever built could live much longer in such a sea. The wave crests were constantly breaking over the dory's gunwale, forcing Ben to bail continually.

"She can't stand this much longer," said Ben, despairingly, as the dory rose on an awful sea, and he felt for a moment the full force of the gale. But what was the ghostly red glare which suddenly shone into Ben's white face through the gloom? What but the side-light of the brig Calypso, hove to on the starboard tack! And as a wild cry rose to the boy's lips, the dory was swept with terrible force against the black hull of the vessel itself, shattering the frail craft as though it had been made of egg-shell china.

Clutching frantically at the brig's smooth slippery sides as he was swept past, Ben's fingers grasped one of the iron chain-plates of the main-channel, as the brig sank in the trough of the sea. Seizing its fellow with his other hand, he clung to it with a death-grasp. As the brig began slowly to rise on the great slope of black water towering above her, Ben summoned all his remaining strength. Half scrambling, half climbing, he pulled himself up on the weather-rail; from thence he was thrown inboard by a lurch of the brig, at the very feet of Captain Bob Adams. Captain Bob, who had been reared in the navy, was not only a cool man, but also a thorough disciplinarian. Ben's appearance was so sudden, and unexpected that Captain Adams took him for one of his own crew who had violated the rules of sea etiquette in coming aft on the weather-quarter, which is sacred to ship's officers alone. And as the boy scrambled to his feet, Captain Bob's energetic words surprised him even more than the fact of his own strange deliverance.

"But I couldn't help it, sir," shouted the bewildered Ben (for between the roar of wind and sea, one could hardly hear himself think), wiping the spray from his eyes; "I was laying to in my dory by a drag, and she drifted foul of the brig."

"Oh," replied Captain Bob, who was never known to express surprise at anything, "that was it, eh? Well, go below, and the steward will give you some hot coffee. Go to loo'ard, too," he roared, as Ben proceeded to obey.

The steward, who was a colored gentleman, grumbled at the order, but of course dared not refuse. And after Ben had swallowed a pint or so of the invigorating fluid, and got into a dry shirt and trousers furnished by the second mate, he began to feel perfectly at home. He found that the brig was from Bangor, Maine, bound to Savannah, in ballast.

"And likely enough it will moderate by to-morrow, so I can put you on board some in-bound fisherman," said Captain Bob, who, despite his gruff voice, was one of the kindest-hearted men in the world. But the mercury kept falling in the barometer, and the wind, suddenly veering round into the northeast, blew harder than ever before morning, and by daybreak there was nothing left but to "scud" before the heaviest gale that had visited our coast for years. Under a fore storm-stay-sail, close-reefed foretopsail and main stay-sail, the Calypso sped over and through the storm-tossed sea at a rate which made Ben hold his breath.

"You'll, have to make the voyage with us, youngster, whether or no," said the Captain, grimly, and Ben only nodded.

If his mother could have known of his safety, he would rather have enjoyed the novelty of the situation, for Ben was a born sailor. But there was no help for it, and he accepted the situation with the best possible grace. It is an ill wind that blows nobody good, and the equinoctial gale blew them clear by stormy Cape Hatteras before it was fairly exhausted. Then came the strong but steady breathings of the trade-wind to fill the Calypso's every sail. And ten days later, as Mrs. Buttles was dropping hot tears on some rusty bits of crape with which she was trimming her Sunday bonnet, she was nearly thrown into convulsions of joy by the receipt of a telegram reading thus:

"Savannah, October 28, 187-.

"Picked up by brig Calypso. Will write soon.

"Benjamin J. Buttles."

"For this an' all other mercies, thank the Lord!" reverently exclaimed the good woman, wiping her glasses. "But I do hope," she added, a moment later, "that Ben won't go to gettin' into no scrapes down to Savannah, for he's sech a dretful ventur'some creeter." Whether he did, and if so, how he did it, remains to be told in the next number.

[to be continued.]

THE HOME OF THE REINDEER.

BY JOHN HABBERTON.

Fully a million American boys have read one or more of Paul Du Chaillu's stories of African travel, and then, like Oliver Twist, demanded more; for the first civilized discoverer of the gorilla seemed to have a peculiar faculty for writing about just those things that boys enjoy. The wishes of these youthful readers are about to be gratified, and in very generous measure, for the author is soon to publish a book of nearly a thousand pages about a country almost as distant and little known by Americans as Equatorial Africa. The title of the work is The Land of the Midnight Sun, and from the numerous pictures it contains we have selected the two illustrations given on the next page.

The people of this wonderful land, which consists of Norway, Sweden, Lapland, and Finland, have comfortable homes, wear good clothes, and always have enough to eat; but between the climate, the shape of the land, and the fact that they see but little of either