“He says in this letter that he is. Much better. But that was written a month ago. It was sent by the last mail steamer for the season. Father and Mr. Damon should have taken that steamer. But the legacy Mr. Damon went after had not then been put into his hands. Think, Tom! Thirty thousand dollars in Danish money that his old friend, Aman Dele, left to him. The priest had it hidden away in a vault under his little stone church at Rosestone. Father tells us all about it in this letter.” “Then they are only delayed up there in Iceland,” began Tom rather faintly. “Don’t!” exclaimed Mary. “I know more than that. Your father says they have been wrecked at sea. I must know all, Tom,” and Mary’s eyes filled with tears as she struggled courageously for self-control. “Oh, it may not be anywhere near as bad as it seems,” began Tom. “But—but they _are_ lost? Oh, Tom! What shall we do? And what would I ever do without you, Tom? It startles me sometimes when I realize how much I depend on you.” “I’m glad you do, Mary.” “But what shall we do? It was so like Mr. Damon to try to reach Greenland in a small boat!” “Not so small, I imagine. That _Kalrye_ carried a crew of ten. A good-sized schooner. She probably ran into a ledge of ice just as the _Titanic_ did, years ago. But the captain declares he saw his men and passengers safely on the iceberg.” “When was that?” Mary demanded, wiping her eyes and speaking more practically. “About ten days ago. The captain had to work his way back to Reykjavik under sail in a whale boat.” “Could they live so long on an iceberg?” “Why not if they had provisions? And the captain said the other boat carried both water and supplies.” “But they would have to remain on the ice until rescued!” “Looks so,” admitted Tom. “If we started at once for Iceland it would be two months before we could get to Reykjavik, wouldn’t it?” the girl asked. Tom said nothing. His father exclaimed: “My poor girl! Passenger service to the island is probably closed until spring.” “Then,” said Mary Nestor firmly, “there is only one hope for father.” She looked straight at Tom, and he nodded slowly. “Only one chance that I can see,” he said. It was the turn of Mr. Swift to be astonished. “What do you two young people mean?” he asked. Tom smiled slowly. “Mary gets the idea, dad,” he said cheerfully. “I shall start for Iceland just as soon as possible. We will pick up Captain Karofsen, if he will go with us, to point out the iceberg where he left a part of his crew and the passengers marooned, and——” “But how will you go? What route will you follow at this time of year?” Mr. Barton Swift demanded.