"How exciting," exclaimed Barbara Harding. "Of course it's

not a real shipwreck, but maybe it's the next thing to it. The

poor souls may have been drifting about here in the center of

the Pacific without food or water for goodness knows how

many weeks, and now just think how they must be lifting

their voices in thanks to God for his infinite mercy in guiding

us to them."

"If they've been drifting for any considerable number of

weeks without food or water," hazarded Billy Mallory, "about

the only things they'll need'll be what we didn't have the

foresight to bring along--an undertaker and a preacher."

"Don't be horrid, Billy," returned Miss Harding. "You

know perfectly well that I didn't mean weeks--I meant days;

and anyway they'll be grateful to us for what we can do for

them. I can scarcely wait to hear their story."

Billy Mallory was inspecting the stranger through Mr.

Harding's glass. Suddenly he gave an exclamation of dismay.

"By George!" he cried. "It is serious after all. That ship's

afire. Look, Mr. Harding," and he passed the glass over to his

host.

And sure enough, as the owner of the Lotus found the

brigantine again in the center of his lens he saw a thin column

of black smoke rising amidships; but what he did not see was

Mr. Ward upon the opposite side of the Halfmoon's cabin

superintending the burning by the black cook of a bundle of

oily rags in an iron boiler.

"By Jove!" exclaimed Mr. Harding. "This is terrible. The

poor devils are panic-stricken. Look at 'em making for the

boats!" and with that he dashed back to the bridge to confer

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