"Davy, what was that?" Janet clung to the keeper, her eyes dark and fear-filled. "It sounded 'most like a human call, now didn't it?" said Davy, raising his head; "it's a gull, that's what it is, Janet. A more knowin' gull than the rest!" "Are you sure, Davy? It could not be--anybody calling, could it?" "Gosh! no, no. What do ye suppose any one would be callin' fur?" "Why, if he were in danger." "'T ain't anybody on the bay, Janet. City folks is gone, an' the Quintonites ain't chancin' a pleasure trip in this gale. Get downstairs, Janet; it's just possible some one's knockin' an' callin' below." Janet waited for no second bidding. Down the iron stairs she ran, and never paused until she reached the lower door. This she opened cautiously, and braced herself against it to keep out further entrance of the terrific wind. "Any one there?" she shouted. The noise of the storm alone replied. "Any one outside?" Again she called. A soft something fell at her feet with a dull thud. It was a gull, broken winged, its life beaten out against the glass of the Light! Once again she shouted, "Any one there?" On the wind came that strange, weird call that had frightened her in the tower. It rose and fell piteously, and passed on with the blast. "I never heard that before to-night!" Janet murmured, as she forced the door shut; "it is new and awful!" She went into the living room and lighted the fire. She would not try to sleep again. She made some coffee and carried it up to Davy; she dared not stay alone. For the first time in her life she was afraid and thoroughly unnerved. That morning, before Davy had come from the lamp, there was a knocking on the outer door, and a pushing as well. Janet, coming down the stairs with the empty tray, saw the door open, and in the light of the gray, still morn, for the storm was past, she recognized Mark in a yellow oiler with a sou'wester nearly hiding his wet and ashen face. "You found her?" The words broke from Janet like a sob. "Not yet." Mark's voice was slow and weak. "We want Davy t' come an' help, soon as he can. An' can you let me have a cup o' coffee, Janet? I'm most done up. The--the _Comrade_ is bottom up round by the P'int an' I--I guess she was bein' beaten toward home; but--but--" Janet dropped the tray and ran to Mark; she drew him into the room and pushed him toward a chair. "Sit down!" she said brokenly. "Sit down, you look as if you would drop. See, I have the coffee all ready; it will take but a minute." She hurried the preparation, and after she saw Mark gulp the strong, hot drink, she asked quietly, but with awe in her voice, "Can you tell me now, Mark?" "There ain't much t' tell. When a boat's bottom up in such a gale as was a-blowin' last night, an' only a poor, little frightened gal was at the tiller, why--why there ain't, what you might say, anythin' t' tell."