The scouts had been at their room one bleak raw night, and had just left, except Rod, who had gone with the captain into the Anchorage for a parcel Mrs. Britt wished to send to the rectory.  He had been there only a few minutes when several loud thumps sounded upon the door.  Quickly opening it, the captain was surprised to see Tom Dunker standing before him.  This was something most unusual, for since his defeat several years ago Tom had shunned both the captain and the Anchorage as if they were plague-infested.

Stepping quickly into the kitchen, the visitor stood there with face white and haggard, and his whole body trembling.

“What’s wrong, Tom?” the captain asked.  “Ye look most scared to death.”

“S-S-Sammy’s hurt,” was the gasping reply.  “He f-fell and broke his l-leg, and I’m afraid his n-neck, too.”

“Why don’t ye go fer the doctor, then?” the captain queried.

“I c-can’t.  He’s over the r-river, down at Marshal’s.  He was sent fer to-day.  Oh, my poor Sammy!” and the distressed man gave a loud wail of despair.

“What d’ye want me to do, man?” the captain demanded.

“Go fer the doctor.  I c-can’t git anybody else.”

“H’m, is that so?  I thought it must be something pretty desperate which would send ye to me.”

“So ye won’t go?” and Tom raised his eyes appealingly to the captain’s face.  “Fer God’s sake, do, or my Sammy’ll die.”

“Certainly I’ll go, Tom, jist as soon as I git ready.  You call at the rectory on yer way back, and tell the Royals that Rod won’t be home to-night, fer I must have him with me.  It’ll take two to handle the Roarin’ Bess.  I know they won’t mind so long’s the boy’s with me.”

“It’s good of ye, and I shan’t soon——­”

“There, keep that fer some other time, Tom Dunker,” the captain interrupted.  “I can’t be bothered with sich nonsense now.  Where’s my oil-skins, Betsey?” and he turned to his wife.  “Better let Rod have that old suit of mine; he might need it before we git back.”

Rod was delighted with the idea of a run on the river on such a night.  He had often imagined what it would be like to be out there in the Roaring Bess with a strong wind blowing.  To him, fear was unknown when on the water, especially when the captain was along.  And so as the yacht left her mooring, and headed down-stream, he sat in the cock-pit and peered ahead into the darkness, pleased that he was on watch to give warning of any approaching vessel.

A strong wind was racing in from the east, giving the captain a busy time in handling the boat.  This was still more difficult when they reached the channel, and the Roaring Bess drove into the rougher water which is always found there.  The white-caps leaped high, and drenched both man and boy.

“Lucky we brought our oil-skins,” the captain remarked.  “We’ll have to beat back, and then there’ll be some fun.  I wonder if the doctor is a good sailor.  My, that was a whopper!” he exclaimed, as a larger wave than usual struck the yacht.  “Guess it’ll be rougher before mornin’.”