From the schooner’s deck old Mateo had watched the brave struggles of his boy, as he called him, in an agony of apprehension. Now, with senses quickened by affection, he was the first to comprehend the difficulty. Just as Breeze was about to relax his efforts, feeling that he could do no more, the old cook’s heavy jack-knife, with the end of a fishing-line attached to the ring in its horn handle, came flying across the dory, and dropped into the water beyond it. Breeze secured it, opened it, and with a last effort cut both ends of the dory’s life-line, as well as the becket to which he had fastened himself. Then the knife dropped from his nerveless fingers, and, as the dory drifted away, two senseless figures were drawn through the wild waters to the plunging schooner. With a final effort for their destruction, a huge billow hurled itself bodily upon them, and the lines had to be slackened for a few moments, or they would have parted. The limp forms were buried deep beneath the green waters; but again they were drawn to the surface, and this time they came within reach of the eagerly out-stretched arms waiting to grasp them. The unknown lad was carried into the cabin; while Breeze, claimed by Mateo, was tenderly taken into the forecastle. There, while two men stripped and rubbed him, the old cook heated blankets, and prepared hot stimulants, wailing as he bustled about, “Oh, Breeza! ma boy, ma boy! You no-a die; you must leeve!” It was half an hour before their efforts were rewarded by a faint sigh and a flush of returning color in the livid cheeks. Then the boy opened his eyes, and gazed about him wonderingly for an instant. A few minutes later, wrapped in hot blankets, he fell asleep and was breathing regularly. Almost the same scene was taking place in the cabin, only there it was so long before the patient showed the least sign of life that some of those who worked over him were several times ready to give up in despair. They were only kept at it by the skipper, who exclaimed, “Great Scott, men! it will be a shame if we cannot fetch him to, after that boy has nearly given his life to save him. I, for one, shall work over him from now till noon before I will give him up.” At last he, too, was brought back to the life from which he had so nearly departed, and by noon, when the sun came out, both patients were doing finely. Neither of them was allowed to leave his bunk until the next morning; but they were kept warm, and encouraged to sleep as much as possible. In their exhausted condition this was easy to do. So with only one or two awakenings to take the light nourishment that Mateo prepared for them, by the aid of his never-failing “lit tin cow,” they slept through the rest of the day and the whole of the night.