"There, if we can't hold out much longer, we'll at least be on top of the water as long as this spar floats." There was silence for another half an hour and then Ande said wearily. "Dick, if you get back to land--and I don't,--you--remember me to mother and tell her I--died a Christian." "Aye, aye, old fellow, but cheer up!" But the tears in his own eyes indicated that he needed his own advice. "We must trust in God, Dick." "Aye," said the other, as he reached over and shook hands earnestly. "And Dick, remember me to her." "Aye," said Dick once more. He knew for quite a time Ande's interest in the squire's daughter, and that "her" could mean no one else. On they drifted, now on a swelling surge, then in a dark valley of water. Dawning light appeared in the east, but no land was visible. "Cheer up," said Dick, "day is coming," but there was no answer. Grim unconsciousness had come at last. Dick, for another hour, battled with the terrible faintness, then the sea seemed to fade from his vision and--the sun arose beaming brilliantly on the world of tossing waters. Nothing was visible but the circling gulls and a stick of timber, and two unconscious, half-drowned lads. CHAPTER XXI AROUND THE TAVERN'S FLAMING GRATE Around the tavern's flaming grate, The rafting done and the hour late, The raftsmen sit and laugh and sing, Or 'bove the conversation's din, Keep time with feet to violin, On which the lively strains are played, Of Devil's Dream or White Cockade. "Right--Right--t!--Halt! Left--Left! Halt!" Loud and clear rang out the voice of the raft pilot, so loud and prolonged that even the roar of rushing waters and the wild lashing of wind among the tree laden banks were not able to overcome the stentorian commands.