"Motor-boat on fire," answered the c.o.xswain, "an explosion, most likely.

I guess the boat's done for, but the Eel saw the trouble the minute it happened, so we oughtn't to have any trouble picking the people up. He said there were girls, though, and probably they can't swim."

As the life-saving boat cut through the water, it pa.s.sed three or four swimmers who had started out from the beach on seeing the accident.

There was a great deal of excitement on sh.o.r.e, as, being a fine Sunday morning, the beach was crowded.

"We'll be with you in a minute," shouted one of the intending rescuers as the boat swept by.

As usual, the Eel was the first man overboard, and his queer snake-like stroke showed to full effect. There had been five people in the boat, three men and two girls, one of them just a child. One of the men and one of the women couldn't swim a stroke. The woman had already given up and the Eel took care of her. Another of the life-savers tackled the struggling man.

It was evident that there was no need for more help there, so Eric swam to where the little girl was striking out bravely for the sh.o.r.e.

"Can I give you a hand?" he asked.

The child, though swimming pluckily, evidently was hampered by being fully dressed.

"Can't swim a bit with my boots on," she gurgled. The boy smiled with genuine appreciation of her grit.

"You're the real thing," he said. "But it is hard swimming with boots on. Suppose you let me take you to sh.o.r.e. It's just as easy!"

He swam in front of the child.

"Put your hands on my shoulders," he said, "and keep your feet well up.

Are you all right now?"

"Quite all right," she answered, dashing the water out of her eyes.

"I see they've put the fire out," said Eric, swimming quietly and easily, for the girl's touch was like a feather on his shoulder. "I don't believe the boat's much hurt."

"I'd be awfully glad if it wasn't," she answered, "because Jack just borrowed it for the day and I'm sure he's feeling terribly. We were just going to buy one this week."

"Perhaps this will scare him off."

In spite of her fatigue and fright the girl laughed brightly as Eric's feet touched bottom and he stood up.

"It might him, but it won't me," she said, with a joyous disregard of grammar. "And Jack's buying the boat mainly for me. I really can swim quite well, but I suppose the explosion scared me. I don't believe I'd have been frightened a bit if I had jumped in of my own accord. But it was all so sudden!"

"Well," said Eric, "it's a good thing for you it didn't happen a long way from sh.o.r.e. And I'm glad I was able to help a bit, too, because this is my last day on duty and having helped you is about the best way of celebrating it that could have happened."

"Your last day?" she said, with a note of regret in her voice. "You're going away?"

"Yes," Eric replied, as they came to the water's edge and the crowd began to congregate to meet them, "I'm just getting ready to join the Coast Guard!"

"Great!" she exclaimed, her eyes sparkling, as she shook back her wet hair. "But how can I thank you?"

"You have thanked me," the boy answered, as he took her to the beach where the lifeboat had landed and where her friends were anxiously awaiting her, "you've given me a chance to quit in a sort of 'blaze of glory.' Don't you think that's something?"

"But won't you tell me who you are?" she pleaded.

"United States Volunteer Life-Saving Corps," he answered with a smile, as he turned to go back to the station, "that's where the credit ought to go."

"So this is your last day, Eric," said the Eel, an hour or so later, as the boy stood on the platform of the life-saving station, looking regretfully at the strip of beach.

"Yes, Eel," Eric rejoined thoughtfully. "I hate to leave here, too."

"I always hate to go, of course," his chum agreed, "but then it's different with me. This is my vacation. When I quit here, it means that I've got to get back to work. You're only going back to school."

"Not my fault," was the half-rueful answer; "I'd a heap sooner be going into the Coast Guard right away. But I'm not ready yet."

"You will be, next year," said his friend, sympathetically.

"I know. But next year's a long way off and I wanted to stay here until I was sure of my appointment. If Father were only going to stay another year on the coast, I could finish my work here and then get ready for the exams in June."

"Is he leaving?"

"Of course. Don't you remember I told you before!"

"Yes, so you did. I'd forgotten."

"We're hiking off at the end of this month. Father's been put in charge of one of the districts on the Great Lakes."

"But I thought he was inspector here?"

"He's been acting-inspector for quite a while. But that was a temporary appointment, while the inspector was ill."

"And you're going home a couple of weeks ahead to help pack, eh?"

"Ye-es," Eric answered, "of course that's a part of it. But I'm going now because I want to see Uncle Eli before I go East. He's on Tillamook Rock, you know."

"I knew he used to be," the Eel said, "but I thought when he made that big real estate haul, he quit."

"He tried to," the boy agreed, "but he found he couldn't. Uncle Eli's an old-timer, Eel. I used to be jealous of the Tillamook Light. He's just as fond of it as he is of me, more, I think. I can quite see how he would feel that way. It's always been just like his child. He was there when the light was born."

"You mean its designing?"

"I mean its being born," Eric insisted. "Nearly all my people have been in the Lighthouse Service, you know. They all have that way of thinking of the lights as if they were real folks. It's something like a captain's idea about his ship. She's always alive. And lights are just as responsive. Some way, I've a bit of that same feeling myself."

"Yes," the Eel said thoughtfully, "I can see that, in a way. They do seem a bit human, don't they? And it must be deadly lonely for the keepers, out of reach of everybody, with nothing to do."

"What?" shouted Eric, so loudly that the Eel jumped. "With nothing to do?"

"Except just attend to the light," his chum said apologetically. "What else is there?"

"I suppose you think they just light the lantern when they have a mind to and then snore all night long?"

"N-no, of course they can't," the Eel replied, humbly, "I hadn't thought of that. I suppose they have to keep watch."

"You bet they do," Eric said emphatically, "and a mighty close watch at that. And when it comes to discipline--the Lighthouse Service has every civilian organization in America beaten to a frazzle."

"I didn't know it was so strict."