"It will be a broken spar," said the beche-de-mer captain. "I've been here fifteen years and there's never such a thing happened yet."

"I'm going out in one of the boats, mate," said the old sailor resolutely. "Who is coming with me?"

There were many volunteers at once, and the boat was launched.

Eustace remained as if frozen to the spot. He could just see the log-like thing lying upon the water, gently tossed by the tiny waves that were slowly, slowly bearing it to sh.o.r.e. It certainly looked no bigger than a broken spar, and very much that shape as, the boat drawn up alongside, two sailors leant over and lifted it in.

It was all Eustace could do to make himself stay until the boat's return, and he covered his face as the burden was gently lifted ash.o.r.e.

"It's all right, youngster," said a kindly voice at his elbow, one of the older sailors; "he is alive--only unconscious. It's a miracle; but there, miracles do happen, say what you will."

The news made all the difference to Eustace, and he pressed round with the rest.

"Here," said one of the _Cora's_ crew, catching sight of him suddenly, "make way for this laddie--it's his own brother."

In utter bewilderment Eustace felt himself forced to the centre of the crowd, and there, with a man kneeling beside him trying restoratives, lay Peter, with a life-belt round him, his face ashen, and his fair hair all sodden--but he was living. They said he was alive, but certainly he did not look it.

Eustace turned, fought his way madly through the press, and dashed up the beach straight to the trees where his mother sat bending over Becky.

"Hush," she said warningly; "I am just getting her off to sleep."

The quiet voice pulled the boy up just in time, before he had blurted out his news in all its crudeness.

"Mother," he said instead, "let me hold Becky--I can really. Peter will want you."

Mrs. Orban neither started nor changed colour; she just stared at Eustace curiously, and said inquiringly,--

"Peter?"

"Yes, mummie, Peter," Eustace said in a shaking voice. "He is unconscious, but he will want you when he opens his eyes."

He held out his arms for Becky; and Mrs. Orban rose and went as if she were dreaming, leaving him standing there with the baby.

It was a very long time before Peter knew that he wanted his mother. Terror and the exposure in the water for so many hours had done their work, and even when the little fellow recovered consciousness he was too ill to realize anything at all.

Every one was very kind to the Orbans. The poor lady who had lost her husband took entire charge of Becky; other fellow-pa.s.sengers offered to help with Peter, who needed nursing night and day. The survivors from the wreck clung together, and found some comfort in helping each other. The people of the station were very attentive and good; but the relief party from Cooktown was hailed with thankfulness, for there were of course many discomforts and unpleasantnesses. The blacks had a disagreeable habit of prowling about in the night and peeping at their guests as they tried to sleep in the impromptu hammocks. The food was coa.r.s.e and monotonous; the men rough, and uncouth in their ways.

When Eustace saw his father he felt a great burden lifted from his shoulders; his powerlessness to help his mother did not matter any more; no one could comfort her like his father. Then there was Bob; he would help the whole family to keep up in his usual splendid way!

Fortunately Mr. Orban and Bob had not yet left Cooktown when the news of the disaster arrived. They hastened to the beche-de-mer station on getting Mrs. Orban's message, without the least knowledge whom they would find of their own party; and after the first explanations were over, no one could speak of the cloud shadowing the joy of meeting. To Eustace's infinite surprise, Bob, to whom he had looked for so much, failed him utterly--he could not rouse himself, let alone other people.

The survivors of the wrecked _Cora_ were carried by steamer to Cooktown, and Mr. Orban took his family to the best hotel, for no plans could be made till Peter was better.

Alone with Eustace, Nesta gave vent to her feelings very often.

"Eustace," she said, "wasn't it queer Aunt Dorothy saying the very day before we left she didn't feel a bit as if we were going to England? Do you remember?"

Eustace replied with a kind of grunt. He had not words for every emotion as Nesta had.

"And it seems so horrid," she proceeded chokily, "to know nothing about what happened to her or even how it happened. If only some one could tell us!"

"What's the good of talking when no one can?" said Eustace gruffly. "I can't think why you do. You only make yourself cry."

The first person to speak of Miss Chase without tears was Peter. He was lying in their private sitting-room, and suddenly he said,--

"I say, where's Aunt Dorothy?"

He had asked before, but in his weakness the subject had easily been changed.

"She is not here, dear," said Mrs. Orban.

"That's funny," said Peter, in his old talkative way; "she distinctly said she was coming."

Bob got up from a deep chair and stood, with his back to the room, looking out of the window.

"Did she, Peter?" said Mr. Orban quickly. "When?"

"Why, on the boat," said Peter; "when she put the life-belt round me."

"Oh, she put the life-belt round you, did she?" said Mr. Orban.

"And what did she say?"

Every one leant forward eagerly. It was the first time Peter had shown any inclination to talk, and no one had guessed he could possibly know anything of Miss Chase.

"She said," was his clear reply, "'That's right, Peter Perky. Now mind you float; don't struggle, but lie on your back.'--Bob," he broke off, "lucky you taught me to float, wasn't it?"

"Yes, yes," said Bob; "never mind about that. Go on about Dorothy."

Eustace stared at his back in wonder. For the first time in his life he heard Bob irritable.

"She said," Peter went on obediently, "'Don't be frightened; I am coming too.'"

"Well?" prompted Mr. Orban.

"Then she took me up, and we jumped overboard. I don't know what happened next."

"Try to think," said Bob in a hard voice.

"I can't," said Peter; "everything was noise and blackness. Ask Aunt Dorothy; she'll tell you."

There was a solemn hush--so solemn that Peter stared round in amazement at the grave faces. Bob turned and walked heavily out of the room. Nesta buried her head in her hands.

"Why, what's the matter?" asked Peter sharply.

He had to be told then, and he wept as if his heart would break; but he could remember nothing after the jump into the sea. It appeared that he was all by himself at the other side of the ship, very unhappy because he thought it was all his fault Becky had been hurt. Then came the crash, and he was terrified. He was wondering what had happened, when Aunt Dorothy came running towards him, crying, "Peter, Peter, where are you?" And then followed the putting on of the life-belt. It was so easy to picture her talking to him all the time, to rea.s.sure him, in that quick, cheery way of hers.

"O Eustace," Nesta said afterwards, "wasn't she splendid? I guess Bob must be sorry he teased her so now."