“What’s up, and what do you fellows want?” demanded the young man, looking down into the dory from over the canvas side of the bridge. “We are lost from an American fishing schooner,” replied Breeze, “and we are nearly starved, and we beg that you won’t go off and leave us.” “Leave you!” exclaimed the warm-hearted young Englishman--for such he was--“leave you here on this beastly coast! Of course we won’t. Come right aboard, both of you. Mr. Marlin, be so good as to have the side-ladder lowered, and get those poor fellows on board.” A minute later Breeze McCloud, once more rescued, in an almost miraculous manner, from a position of great peril, stood on the deck of the steel steam-yacht Saga, in which her owner was making a summer’s cruise in those far northern latitudes. Breeze had hardly reached the deck, and was about to speak to this gentleman, who was approaching him, when the gong in the engine-room clanged, and the vessel began once more to move ahead. Just then came a most distressed cry from the side-ladder, on the lower step of which Nimbus was still standing, holding the painter of the dory in his hand: “Oh, de amble grease! de amble grease!” “What does the fellow say?” asked the gentleman, in a perplexed tone, of Breeze. “Oh, sir, won’t you have the yacht stopped again, before she swamps our dory? It’s full of ambergris,” cried Breeze, who had entirely forgotten the precious cargo of the boat he had just left. “What! ambergris? You don’t say so! Yes, of course. Mr. Marlin, stop her at once, and get that queer-looking craft, with its cargo, on deck. Why, young man, if that stuff you’ve got in there is truly ambergris, you are carrying a small fortune about with you.” Acting under the orders of Mr. Marlin, the sailing-master of the yacht, half a dozen of her active, trimly dressed crew sprang to one of her quarter-boats, unhooked it from the davits, and took it in on deck. Then a couple of lines were passed entirely around the dory, which beside the dainty boats of the yacht looked to be a clumsy, ill-shaped craft, and it was lifted clear of the water, and swung up to the level of the rail. “There,” said the gentleman; “your boat and its contents will be safe enough for the present. What did you say your name was?” “I did not say,” replied Breeze, “but it is McCloud--Breeze McCloud.” “And mine,” said the other, “is Seabright.” “Thank you,” said Breeze, “and I’m very grateful to you for picking us up, Mr. Seabright.” The boy could not imagine why Lord Seabright stared at him for a moment, and then burst out laughing, at hearing himself thus addressed, for the first time in his life, as plain mister. CHAPTER XXII. THE STEAM-YACHT “SAGA.”