And as it proved, it wasn’t. For before nine the wind died down, the sun came out strongly, and the sea, while still choppy, calmed considerably. Nelson set the yachting ensign upside down as a signal of distress, and the Four kept a sharp watch for boats. Little by little the shoreline showed clear and sharp to the west, and sails and smoke showed here and there on the water. But it was all of an hour before any craft came near enough to see the _Vagabond’s_ dilemma. Then it was an ocean-going tug, which bore down on them from the north with a schooner in tow. The boys waved and used the megaphone, and the tug presently altered her course and ran up to them. “Broke down?” shouted a man from the door of the pilot house. “Yes,” answered Nelson. “We’re out of gasoline. Have you got any?” “No, we don’t use it,” laughed the other. “Can you give us a tow, then?” “Where do you want to go?” “Anywhere we can get more gasoline.” “Well, I’m bound for Sanstable. If you want to make fast to the stern of the schooner back there you can. But I cal’late if you wait awhile you’ll find some feller bound toward Boston.” There was a hurried conference. They were tired of lying there, and Sanstable sounded as good as any other place. “We’ll go with you,” answered Nelson. “All right. Get your mud hook up and be ready to throw a line to the schooner as she goes by.” The tug started on slowly, the boys pulled the anchor up, and Nelson found a sixty-foot rope which would serve as a towline. By good luck, the man on the schooner caught it at the first throw, ran aft with it, and made it fast, and in another moment the _Vagabond_ was sliding through the water once more at a seven-mile gait. The crew of the schooner, the _Lizzie and May of Rockport_, laden with big blocks of granite, came aft and smoked their pipes and observed the launch with phlegmatic interest. “When will you reach Sanstable?” shouted Nelson. One of the men took his pipe from his mouth, spat over the rail, and cocked an eye at the sun. “’Bout three o’clock,” he answered finally. “Thunder!” muttered Nelson. Then, “How far is it?” he asked. The pipe came forth again and the informant let his gaze travel around the horizon as though he were looking for a milestone. “’Bout thirty or forty miles,” he said. “Thanks!” shouted Nelson. There was no reply to this. Doubtless the sailor thought it a waste of time to remove his pipe for a mere polite formality. Presently he and his companions, all save the man at the wheel, disappeared.