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“Hullo! I say, Bowler, look there!” exclaimed Braintree suddenly, pointing out to sea. “Wasn’t that a light? Blow your whistle, I say.”

Bowler obeyed, eagerly gazing in the direction indicated by Braintree. There was neither answer nor light.

“I’m certain I saw something!” exclaimed Braintree. “Blow again, old man.”

And once more the whistle sent forth a shrill cry seaward, accompanied by a loud shout from Braintree.

They waited in terrible suspense, but still no answer.

“You must be wrong,” said Bowler.

“No, I’m not; blow once more.”

And again Bowler obeyed.

This time, sure enough, he fancied he saw a glimmer on the water; but it might be only the lights on the mainland appearing through the lifting fog.

For ten minutes they kept up an incessant whistling and shouting, their hopes growing less and less as the time passed. At length, worn out and desperate, they had given it up, and were turning once more to prepare for their swim across. But as they did so the light suddenly reappeared, the time close to the shore.

Once more, with frantic energy, they raised their signal of distress, and after a moment’s terrible silence had the joy of hearing a faint shout across the water.

“It’s a boat!” cried Braintree. “Whistle again to show them where we are.”

Again and again they whistled, and again and again the responsive shout, growing ever nearer, came back. Presently they could even distinguish the sound of oars, and at length the dim outline of a boat loomed across the entrance of the gulf.

“Where are you?” shouted a voice in the familiar tones of the Raveling coastguard.

“Here. We can see you. We’re on the ledge here, Thomson!”

In a few seconds the boat was alongside, and the three boys were safely lifted into it.

“Where’s the rest of you?” asked Thomson, as coolly as if this sort of thing was an everyday occurrence with him. “We want seven of you.”

“I don’t know where they are,” said Bowler. “They were coming round this way to meet us. You’d better row round somewhere where we can land and look for them.”

“Give your orders,” said Thomson. “You’ve had your day’s fun, and seemingly you’re determined I should have my night’s. Row away, mate.” And he and his man turned the boat’s head and pulled out of the gulf.

“I say, Thomson, have you got any gwub or anything?” said Braintree faintly.

“Grub,” said the jocular coastguard. “What, harn’t you found grub enough on this here island? Anyhow, if you do want something you’d better open that there bag and see what you can find.”

Bowler was too anxious to discover the missing ones to feel much appetite for food, and kept blowing his whistle as the boat slowly coasted the island.

At length, to his unbounded joy, an answering shout was heard, and the shadowy forms of the four outcasts were seen standing on the pier from which they had started two hours before.

Jubilant were the welcomes exchanged as the heroes of New Swishford once more counted their full number, and ensconced themselves snugly in the stern of Thomson’s boat round his wonderful bag of food.

It did not take long to chronicle the doings of Gayford’s party. After about half an hour’s journey they had been pulled up by the same chasm which had nearly proved too much for poor Tubbs. Finding it impossible to cross it, they had turned inland, and for a cheerful hour lost their way completely in the fog. At length, by means of walking in a straight line, they had come again to the coast, and after much searching had found the pier. And having found it, they resolved to keep it until the other party completed the circuit and found them where it left them.

“And however did you find us out, Thomson?” inquired Gayford, after the repast had been done ample justice to. “Did your boat come ashore?”