Cabot tried to speak, but something choked him so that he could not; and, noting this, the other said gently: "It is all over now, and you are as safe as though you stood on dry land; so don't try to say anything till we've made you comfortable, for I know you must have had an almighty hard time." "Yes," whispered Cabot.

"I've been hungry, and thirsty, and wet, and cold, and scared; but now I'm only grateful--more grateful than I can ever tell." A little later the life raft, its mission accomplished, was left to toss and drift at will, while the "Sea Bee," with everything set and drawing finely, was rapidly regaining her course, guided by the far-reaching flash of Cape Race light.

In her dingy little cabin, which seemed to our rescued lad the most delightfully snug, warm, and altogether comfortable place he had ever entered, Cabot lay in the skipper's own bunk, regarding with intense interest the movements of that busy youth.
The latter had lighted a swinging lamp, started a fire in a small and very rusty galley stove, set a tea kettle on to boil, and a pan of cold chowder to re-warm.

Having thus got supper well under way, he returned to the cabin, where he proceeded to set the table.

The worst of Cabot's distress had already been relieved by a cup of cold tea and a ship's biscuit.