"Come, quick!" said Charlie, grasping by the arm one of the women. It was the skipper's wife. She jumped up right willingly and went on deck. There she found her child already in the life-buoy, and was instantly lifted in beside it by her husband, who looked hastily round. "Come here, Dick," he said to a little cabin-boy who clung to a stanchion near by. "Get in." The boy looked surprised, and drew back. "Get in, I say," repeated the skipper sternly. "There's more women, sir," said the boy, still holding back. "True--brave lad! but you're wanted to keep these from getting washed out. I am too heavy, you know." The boy hesitated no longer. He squeezed himself into the machine beside the woman and child. Then up at arm's-length went the skipper's sou'-wester as a signal that all was ready, and the fishermen began to haul the life-buoy to the shore. It was an awful trip! Part of the distance, indeed, the trio were borne along well out of the sea, though the waves leaped hungrily up and sent spray over them, but as they drew near the shore they were dipped again and again into the foam, so that the little cabin boy needed all his energy and knowledge, as well as his bravery and strength, to prevent his charge being washed out. Amid ringing cheers from the fishermen-- and a treble echo from the women behind the wall--they were at last safely landed. "My lass, that friend o' your'n be a braave cheeld," said an old woman to May Leather, who crouched beside her. "Ay, _that_ he is!" exclaimed May, with a gush of enthusiasm in tone and eyes that made them all turn to look at her. "Your brother?" asked a handsome, strapping young woman. "No--I wish he was!" "Hm! ha!" exclaimed the strapping young woman--whereat there was exchanged a significant laugh; but May took no notice of it, being too deeply engrossed with the proceedings on shore and sea. Again the fishermen ran out the life-buoy and soon hauled it back with another woman; then a third. After that came the old gentleman, quite self-possessed and calm, though very pale and dishevelled; and, following him, the crew, one by one, were rescued. Then came the hero of the hour, and last of all, as in duty bound, the skipper--not much too soon, for he had barely reached the land when the brig was overwhelmed and engulfed in the raging sea. CHAPTER THREE. "IT'S AN ILL WIND THAT BLAWS NAEBODY GUID." That many if not most names have originated in the character or condition of individuals seems obvious, else why is it that so many people take after their names? We have no desire to argue the question, but hasten on to remark that old Jacob Crossley was said to be--observe, we do not say that he was--a notable illustration of what we refer to.