forces stirred up by her machinery. The whirlpool died away, the choking white foam vanished, and he was swimming at last on top of the chill, salt, green and glassy sea.
Off in the distance, perhaps fifty or sixty yards away, he saw a tiny pinpoint of an object moving in the water and tried to call out `Jennie! Don't be afraid! Hold out. It's me, Peter. I'm coming' but succeeded in getting only a mouthful of salt water which tasted horrible, and thereafter he decided to keep his mouth closed and concentrate on reaching her side. But he thought he heard a faint answering cry from her, and finding that he had no difficulty in staying up now and holding his head out of the water by lifting his chin, he swam as rapidly as his four legs would take him in her direction.
What would happen when he reached her, he did not know, or at least he was not minded to think about, since it was certain that the sailor was quite right and the last thing Captain Sourlies would do was put the Countess about and stop her, losing precious time for no better purpose than to snatch two vagrant cats, who were aboard quite uninvited, at that, from a watery grave. But at least, whatever happened, they would try together, he and the kind and gentle little cat who had first saved his life and then been so devoted to him. They would be together to swim to the mainland that glittered so green and enticing in the distance, and if they could not reach it—well, then, at least they could comfort one another in their last moments and would not be separated.
Now Peter had halved the distance between Jennie and himself and to his dismay saw that she was barely making headway in his direction. Her little head, with the ears thrown back, sleek and wet, was hardly borne above the surface, and she was swimming but weakly. Even then he heard her call to him, though it was barely audible— Peter, go back! You shouldn't have come. I can't hold out any longer. Good-bye, Peter dear-'
And with that, her head vanished beneath the water. It reappeared once more, and now Peter was close enough to see the despairing look in her eyes before she went down again she was gone. He redoubled his efforts, making his paws fairly foam through the water while his breastbone parted the sea in the shape of an arrow or an inverted `V' on either side of him, in a frantic effort to reach her in time, but now he could no longer see her or where she had been. Indeed, he would have lost her for ever, had not just at that moment the tip of her tail appeared above the surface like a buoy marking the spot. The next instant, more human than cat, he dived beneath the water, his eyes wide open, settled his teeth gently in Jennie's skin at the back of her neck, and quickly pulled himself and her with him back to the surface again.
By swimming slowly now, that is, just moving his feet, he was able to keep his head as well as hers above water, limp and apparently senseless as she was, but he knew that there was no longer any question of their reaching the mainland a good two or three miles away. Indeed, the immediate question was how long would his own strength hold out to enable him to keep them on top of the sea. For he just now realized that he had been severely strained by his fight with the giant rat, while the thumping and battering he had taken against the sides of the cases had bruised him and further drained his strength. For the first time he began to have serious doubts as to whether they could manage to save themselves, and he had a treacherous moment given over to wondering whether it would not be easier to give up and, side by side with Jennie Baldrin, to sink for ever beneath the waves, or whether it was worth the struggle to keep on swimming and trying to test out the old adage that while there was life there was yet hope.
Up to that moment, Peter had not even looked after the Countess of Greenock, for the sight of the ship diminishing in the distance and cruelly abandoning them to their fate would have been too painful to be endured, but now with the knowledge that it was only a matter of minutes before his own strength, taxed by the added difficulty of holding up Jennie, must give out, he began to swim in a small circle and permitted himself one despairing look to see just how far away it was she had sailed since he had leaped from her deck into the sea.
To his utter surprise and joy he saw her floating, stock still and motionless except for the black column of smoke pouring straight skyward from her funnel, not more than a hundred yards away. Turned broadside, her hull rising like a wall from the smooth surface of the water, she looked larger than pictures he had seen of the Queen Mary, and twice as handsome. And what was ten times more beautiful was the sight of the lifeboat manned by eight straining sailors, commanded by Angus the bos'n and with Mr. Strachan perched in the bow, already halfway between the rusted sides of the Countess and himself and Jennie. True, as a display of oarsmanship it was shocking, for no two of the blades dipped, pulled, or emerged from the water in the same time; the lifeboat rocked alarmingly on the dead-calm sea, threatening to pitch both Angus and Mr. Strachan over the side at any moment, and it resembled nothing so much as an inebriated porcupine trying to stagger along the roof of a glasshouse conservatory. Nevertheless, it was making definite headway and giving a convincing demonstration that the miracle had happened. The Countess of Greenock had gone about, circled and stopped, put forth a boat, and they were about to be rescued.
A few moments later, urged on by the shouts of Angus and the directions given by Mr. Strachan from the bow, the lifeboat drew alongside. Mr. Strachan was armed with a long pole, to the end of which was attached a dip-net. Leaning over the side, he thrust it through the water beneath Peter and Jennie, and with a triumphant cry of 'Hah! Got 'em!' swept them both out of the sea and into the bottom of the lifeboat, where Peter moved feebly, trying to disentangle his paws from the mesh of the net and feeling like crying from sheer relief and gratitude, and Jennie Baldrin moved not at all.
`Ready all!' bawled Angus-'Feather your oars! Port row, Starboard hold! Now then, DIP and PULL.'
All of the sailors put their oars in and out of the water exactly as they pleased, but somehow in spite of them the lifeboat managed to turn round after nearly upsetting in the process and forthwith set out upon its disorderly progress back to the waiting Countess of Greenock.
In the bow, Mr. Strachan squatted, fondly gazing upon Peter and the still limp and motionless Jennie, and murmured 'Tis a meeracle and an exomple of the wonders of nature. They'll nae be able to deny me the proof o' this tale in Glasgie at the Crown and Thustle,' and he began to rehearse-
`Unable to stond the sicht o' his little sweetheart droonin' in the cruel sea, yon braw and bonnie white tomcat, overcooming its notural aveersion to water, indoolged in a grand and flying leap over the side to swim to the rrrrrrescue o' his ain true love …'
Mr. Box, the carpenter, who was rowing stroke oar, sniggered and said: ''E won't arf catch it from the old man when he gets back. Wait until old Sourlies wakes up from his nap and finds out that Strachan has stopped 'is ship, wasted time, coal and money, and missed 'im the tide. Ow, 'e won't arf smash all 'is dishes, 'e won't.'
The sailor who had been a hermit said: `Aye, that he will, but 'twould have been bad luck to let the wee puss baldrin droon, and though I canna give Muster Strachan full marks for his motives and pairpose in effecting the rrrrrrescue. Yet the resoolts are what count, though I am afeered that the breath o' life has gone out o' the wee one.'
Peter was desperately afraid of the same thing, for Jennie lay there, soaked and limp like a wet dishcloth, and nothing whatsoever seemed to be stirring beneath her thin ribs.
Also it was apparent that Mr. Box had been right and their reception at the Countess of Greenock was not to be a happy one. For waiting at the gangway which had been lowered just beside the falls to enable the crew to make their way back on board from the lifeboat before it was drawn up out of the water via the davits, and looking like an enormous swollen thundercloud that was carrying just about as much thunder and lightning in its midst as it could without letting go, was Captain Sourlies. His pepper– and-salt tweed suit buttoned tightly about him, his purple necktie stood out belligerently from the narrow celluloid band that encircled his throat like the collar on a St. Bernard, and the mustard-coloured trilby hat was perched on top of his head in the exact centre. His little eyes were screwed up with rage, and his tiny mouth drawn together in the smallest possible `o' that could be imagined. All of his chins were quivering.
His temper was not improved by the fine mess the crew made of getting the lifeboat alongside, nearly ramming the Countess, and breaking an oar in the process, but with the aid of much shouting from Angus it was finally accomplished.
Peter found himself picked up by Mr. Strachan and held under one arm. Under the other the mate carried the unconscious form of Jennie, head down. A small stream of water ran out of her. Then he marched up the steps of the gangway and aboard the Countess of Greenock to face the Master.
Loaded though he was with pent-up ire, nevertheless, Captain Sourlies drew in a long, deep breath before he spoke. By all odds, the volume of angry sound that was about to pour forth ought to have rattled the funnel stays, collapsed the mizzen cargo boom, and blasted Mr. Strachan clear to the Cumbrian peaks that formed the distant background to this drama of the sea.
Instead, there emerged a thin, treble piping, a reedy, dulcet squeak-'Well, MUSTER Strachan! Would ye then
