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VOLUME 48. Copyright, 1892, by Robert Bonner’s Sons. All Rights Reserved.
Cor. of William and Spruce Sts.
ROBERT BONNER S SONS: NEW YORK, SATURDAY, OCTOBER 29, 1892.
** PHIL BARTON, WITH A ROPE LASHED ABOUT HIS BREAST, DASHED INTO THE SURF.”
OFF SOUTHWEST SHOAL---PEQUONOGONG.,
BY LOUIS HARMAN PEET.
[This Story is Complete in This Number.)
CHAPTER I. “There, he’s turned the lightship, now he’s got a, _‘* Well, purty near,” answered the gitlywith a half-
£6 ATHER’S comin’! No, it’s a sloop, it’s Phil. | straight run in,” said the girl at the. window. | saucy toss of her head.
There’s his two green lights on the starb’rd, As she spoke, her glance rested thoughtfully fora mo-} Then with a laugh she joined her mother in arranging
one jest above t’other. Ain’t nobody else | ment on the two yellow beacons that rode so steadily be- | the table.
*round hyar kerries starb’rd lights like that’cept | yond the harbor’s entrance, warning all from the danger-| __ ‘* Yes, Mart Bedford's goin’ to be jest like his father,
Phil Barton. Wherever did he git that noshun ?” ous Southwest Shoal on one side and from the jagged | steady an’ hard-workin’,” said Mrs. Vincent, reflectively.
The words came briskly in clear accents from a young | rocks that sprang from the closely tangled islands on the | ‘‘It’s many a night yer father hev said how thankful he was
girl who stood before an open window looking out in the | southeast. From her childhood they had been to her the | old John Bedford had the watch on the lightship the night
deepening twilight upon the sea. The cool summer even- | symbols of truth, faithfulness and constancy, and night | he gotwrecked. He was drivin’ right onto Sou’west Shoal
ing breeze just stirred the crimson kerchief about her | after night, as she watched them strike their lights into the | when Mart’s father got sight o’ him fromthe lightship. It
throat. One of her strong brown hands leaned against | growing dark, she had woven about them many of her | was nigh along to winter, an’ the wind was dreadful. But
the window-frame while the other held to her quick, blue | most sacred thoughts and of her holiest feelings.. On| Mart’s father got the crew in the long boat from the light-
eyes a glass with which she swept the dark level of the | nights when the wind was high and the roar of the surf| ship an’ rescued yer father. And your father hain’t the
waters stretching below. heavy along the shore, she had often crept fearfully to} en’y man John Bedford’s saved in his twenty-three years
“How he’s comin’! Must hev the tide !” she exclaimed | her window, but found them shining through the dark- | o’ beatin’ weather on thatlightship. It’s an awful life, it
half turning to a hardy woman who stood trimming a| ness as steadily as ever. Then, reassured, she would | be, an’ I doan’t see how John ever stan’s it. On’y them
lamp she had just lighted and placed on a table set with steal back to her warm bed and with a thankful prayer as has took long v’y’ges, whalers, ever does. Ter be allus
heavy white dishes. fall fast asleep. . pitchin’ an’ tumblin’ an’ rollin’, an’ never sailin’ nowhere,
“Phil’s a smart un at the boats,” said the woman set-| — ‘‘ Father sez Phil’s boat’s the fastest fur her size, round | allus tied still, thumpin’ an’ frettin’, no home, no fam'ly,
ting a knife by a plate. hyar,” said the girl, turning and putting up the glass: ridin’ out gales on cables that be ready to snap any min-
“* He’s a likely feller,” said her mother. ‘‘ An’ most| nit—I’m never thankful enuff yer father hain’t tied ter
* Copyright, 1892, by RoBERT Bonnen’s Sons, All rights reserved. | as good as Mart, be n’t he?” eny sech life. The Lord knows a fisherman's life hev