“Green,—­Mulligan!  Go back, some o’ ye, and git Archie.  He’s hurt bad.  Quick, now!  And one o’ ye bust in them doors.  And—­ Polhemus, pull some coats off that crowd and a shawl or two from them women if they can spare ’em, and find Doctor John, some o’ ye!  D’ye hear!  Doctor John!”

A dozen coats were stripped from as many backs, a shawl of Mrs. Fogarty’s handed to Polhemus, the doors burst in and Uncle Isaac lunging in tumbled the garments on the floor.  On these the captain laid the body of the rescued man, the slouch hat still clinging to his head.

While this was being done another procession was approaching the house.  Tod and Parks were carrying Archie’s unconscious form, the water dripping from his clothing.  Tod had his hands under the boy’s armpits and Parks carried his feet.  Behind the three walked Jane, half supported by the doctor.

“Dead!” she moaned.  “Oh, no—­no—­no, John; it cannot be!  Not my Archie! my brave Archie!”

The captain heard the tramp of the men’s feet on the board floor of the runway outside and rose to his feet.  He had been kneeling beside the form of the rescued man.  His face was knotted with the agony he had passed through, his voice still thick and hoarse from battling with the sea.

“What’s that she says?” he cried, straining his ears to catch Jane’s words.  “What’s that!  Archie dead!  No!  ’Tain’t so, is it, doctor?”

Doctor John, his arm still supporting Jane, shook his head gravely and pointed to his own forehead.

“It’s all over, captain,” he said in a broken voice.  “Skull fractured.”

“Hit with them logs!  Archie!  Oh, my God!  And this man ain’t much better off—­he ain’t hardly breathin’.  See for yerself, doctor.  Here, Tod, lay Archie on these coats.  Move back that boat, men, to give ’em room, and push them stools out of the way.  Oh, Miss Jane, maybe it ain’t true, maybe he’ll come round!  I’ve seen ’em this way more’n a dozen times.  Here, doctor let’s get these wet clo’es off ’em.”  He dropped between the two limp, soggy bodies and began tearing open the shirt from the man’s chest.  Jane, who had thrown herself in a passion of grief on the water-soaked floor beside Archie, commenced wiping the dead boy’s face with her handkerchief, smoothing the short wet curls from his forehead as she wept.

The man’s shirt and collar loosened, Captain Holt pulled the slouch hat from his head, wrenched the wet shoes loose, wrapped the cold feet in the dry shawl, and began tucking the pile of coats closer about the man’s shoulders that he might rest the easier.  For a moment he looked intently at the pallid face smeared with ooze and grime, and limp body that the doctor was working over, and then stepped to where Tod now crouched beside his friend, the one he had loved all his life.  The young surfman’s strong body was shaking with the sobs he could no longer restrain.