The following morning the _Vagabond_, with the tender once more in place on the cabin roof, chugged past Long Point at twenty minutes past eight. The weather was bright, but somewhat chill, with a bank of haze hiding the horizon toward the east and south. But the weather signals were fluttering a prediction of good weather. Off Race Point Dan, who was acting as navigator, turned the launch northeast and held her so until off the life-saving station. Then it was due east for some three miles, followed by a gradual turn southward along the gently curving coast. For some time almost the only objects of interest in sight, aside from the few vessels which they saw, were the life-saving stations which dotted the sandy coast at about four-mile intervals. Tom found their names on the chart and called them off; Race Point, Peaked Hill Bar, High Head, Highland, and so on. They passed Highland Light at about ten o’clock, or, as Dan, who had at length mastered the science of telling time by the ship’s clock, would have had it, four bells. Then came more life-saving stations, and Tom, who was lolling in one of the chairs in the cockpit, with the chart spread out ont his knees, said: “This is almost as bad along here for life-saving stations as the south coast of Long Island. Remember how many we counted there that day we went over to Fire Island, Nel?” “Yes, twenty-three, weren’t there?” “No, that’s your number,” said Dan unkindly. “I remember perfectly that we counted twenty-nine.” “Well, if they don’t look out,” said Tom, as he cast his eye down the chart, “they’re going to run out of names pretty quick. Then what’ll they do?” “Number them, probably,” Bob suggested. “Well, I’d take mighty good care not to get wrecked off Number Thirteen if I was a captain,” said Dan. “Huh! Nobody would bother to rescue you, anyway,” remarked Tom. “The lookout would come in to the station and say, ‘There’s a two-master going to pieces on the bar.’ Then they’d get the telescope and look through it, and the—the captain would say, ‘Oh, it’s the _Mary Ann_, of Newark, Captain Dan Speede! Don’t you know better than to wake me out of a sound sleep for nothing?’ Then everybody would go back to bed.” When the laugh had subsided Dan said: “They might name the stations the way the folks named the streets of the town out West.” “How’s that?” Nelson asked. “Well, it’s a story dad used to tell. He said it happened in a place out in Illinois, I’ve forgotten the name of it.” “Huh!” grunted Tom. “Some folks from the East went out there and settled,” said Dan, “and after a while they decided that, as the town was growing fast, they’d plat it out.” “What’s that?” asked Tom. “Why, lay it out.” “Oh, was it dead? Thought you said it was growing?” “Shut up, Tommy, and let’s hear the worst,” said Nelson.