From the shadows of the night, a dripping figure scrambled over the bow of the ship. It was Mr. Quince returning from whence he had been hove. He reassumed command. "Stop the engine!" he squeaked, in a voice made husky by too much moisture. "Want to burn all the coal up for nothin'?" Obediently the engine slowed and stopped. Again the voice of the skipper sang out, "Better fix that old safety valve. I mought a shoved 'er too far in the dark." Suddenly a tremendous hissing of steam arose and then died softly away. Mr. Quince hurried to the engine room and addressed Sim at close quarters. "Yer dern fool, what made yer let all the steam outer the biler. We hain't got no power now. How're we goin' to git 'er off?" "You ain't goin' to git 'er off. She's stuck for good," prophesied Sim. It is not easy to discourage great spirits. "Ef I can't git 'er off now, I kin wait for high water. The old tub hain't hurt none," Mr. Quince made answer. Basing the duration of their experience as castaways upon these remarks, the mothers gave away to tears. Babies awakened and wept also. A chorus of woe swept shoreward. "Who knows how to swim?" Dr. Jackson asked in a sharp voice. The ladies construed this remark as implying an early necessity for this accomplishment. The resulting increase in grief was with difficulty subdued. From the information educed, it was clear that Sim was among the most experienced swimmer among those present. Being untrammeled by the mandates of fearful females, he had since his early youth spent much of the summer season in the water. "Sim, you swim ashore and get help," ordered the doctor. A difficulty arose, "I ain't a goin' to swim with my clothes on," objected Sim. "Maybe I only have to wade, but I might get into a hole and have to swim. Clothes drag a feller down." "Very sensible," agreed the physician. "Take them off." "I ain't no heathen. I ain't agoin' to take my clothes off before all of these womenfolks." "Don't be silly," urged the doctor. "We will turn our heads." "Take 'em off behind the biler," suggested Mr. Quince. "Yes, fry myself on the durned old thing." Additional complications struck the youth. "What am I goin' to wear when I git ashore. The cops will git me sure, if I run around town naked." At last, a compromise was reached. Sim, simply attired in trousers, disappeared towards the shore. Then followed a long period of silence in which the babies slept in comfort and only the sobbing mothers were unhappy. Voices sounded on the shore. Sim had carried the news of shipwreck to waiting husbands and succor drew near. They built a fire and shouted words of encouragement. A search was made for boats; but they were few in South Ridgefield and well protected from marauders. Even the only seaworthy skiff of Mr. Quince's fleet was securely locked, and the key in his pocket, as Sim reminded him from the shore.