"Wind hasn't been just right to hear it loud. I have caught it since you came; but then I am used to its sound, and can tell it easily."
"I must see it."
"Oh, we shall have a chance, I guess."
The fog-signal had been shrieking away an hour, and Dave heard another sound.
"That isn't a bell I hear now," he said.
"Well, no; that's a hollering."
Was it a cry from the lighthouse tower or a cry outside of it? a cry from what quarter? Dave looked out of a window near him. He could see only fog above and waves below.
"I will go down to the door and try to see who or what it is," said Dave, "for there is that cry again."
He descended to the door of the tower and looked down through the hole in the platform. Then he saw a dory tossing in the water that now flowed all about the tower, swashing against its iron walls. There was a boy in the boat. He was not looking up, but clinging to a rope stretched for purposes of mooring from the tower to a sunken rock forty feet away. Steadying his boat by this rope, he was waiting for some response to his repeated calls.
"Hullo, there!" shouted Dave.