“Thanks, Abe,” gasped Tom, when he could speak, for the fright and fear of again being flung into the ocean had taken his breath.
“That’s nothing, lad,” came the calm answer. “Are you all right?”
“Yes. But this is a terrible storm, isn’t it?”
“It might be worse. It was worse when the Silver Star foundered. We’ll weather it, I hope.”
A cry came from the interior of the shelter. It was Jackie.
“Tom! Tom! Where are you?” he called.
“Coming!” answered Tom, and he staggered into the place where his little charge was lying.
Tom, groping about in the dark, found Jackie. The little fellow had rolled from the hollow in the pile of sail cloth that made his bed.
“All right, Jackie, it’s all right,” spoke Tom soothingly. “We’re riding on top of the waves like a merry-go-’round. Go to sleep now.”
And, so tired was the little fellow, and such was his confidence in Tom, that he did slumber again.