his could avail anything, and that his only course would be to wait.  Besides, this shore, whatever it was, must be very different, he thought, from the banks of the Petitcodiac.  It was, as he thought, an iron-bound shore.  And the surf which he heard broke in thunder a mile away, at the foot of giant precipices, which could only offer death to the hapless wretch who might be thrown among them.  He lay, therefore, inactive, listening to this rolling surf for hours.  At first it grew gradually louder, as though he was approaching it; but afterwards it grew fainter quite as gradually, until at length it could no longer be heard.

During all these lonely hours, one thing afforded a certain consolation, and that was, the discovery that the sea did not grow rougher.  The wind that blew was the sou-wester, the dreaded wind of fog and, storm; but on this occasion its strength was not put forth; it blew but moderately, and the water was not very greatly disturbed.  The sea tossed the little boat, but was not high enough to dash over her, or to endanger her in any way.  None of its spray ever came upon the recumbent form in the boat, nor did any moisture come near him, save that which was deposited by the fog.  At first, in his terror, he had counted upon meeting a tempestuous sea; but, as the hours passed, he saw that thus far there had been nothing of the kind, and, if he were destined to be exposed to such a danger, it lay as yet in the future.  As long as the wind continued moderate, so long would he toss over the little waves without being endangered in any way.  And thus, with all these thoughts, sometimes depressing, at other times rather encouraging, he drifted on.

Hours passed away.

At length his fatigue overpowered him more and more, and as he sat there in the stern, his eyes closed, and his head fell heavily forward.  He laid it upon the sail which was in front of him, so as to get an easier position, and was just closing his eyes again, when a sound came to his ears which in an instant drove every thought of sleep and of fatigue away, and made him start up and listen with intense eagerness.

It was the sound of a fog horn, such as is used by coasting vessels, and blown during a fog, at intervals, to give warning of their presence.  The sound was a familiar one to a boy who had been brought up on the fog-encircled and fish-haunted shores of Newfoundland; and Tom’s hearing, which had been almost hushed in slumber, caught it at once.  It was like the voice of a friend calling to him.  But for a moment he thought it was only a fancy, or a dream, and he sat listening and quivering with excitement.  He waited and listened for some time, and was just about to conclude that it was a dream, when suddenly it came again.  There was no mistake this time.  It was a fog horn.  Some schooner was sailing these waters.  O for day-light, and O for clear weather, so that he might see it, and make himself