fields that same Robber Baron whom the town feared drew near. And there came with him only his henchman, who loved him mightily, and a bowman of great skill; for he had left the others of his band to wait within a wood until he should spy out the land. And peering from a green copse on

the meadow's edge, the Robber Baron saw the dear maid, with her little page, and knew her who she was; for in truth, the fame of her great

loveliness had traveled far, and there was no other like her-no, not anywhere. And he bade his henchman take her captive; for said he:

"The king himself would fetch no greater ransom. She is dearer to her father than moneybags or lands, and should I ask even for the castle of his sires, it would be mine to set her free." But of her great danger Lady Cicely was un

And when the baron saw his plight he bade the bowman seize the Lady Cicely and the little page with her.

"I trow the pair are worth their weight in gold," said he; "and of that gold, ye too shall

aware.

Her hands were filled with blossoms which the little page had plucked, and as she saw their beauty she sang for very happiness:

"O little flowers of the spring,

'T is by God's grace ye bloom so fair.
He watches you, He watches me,
For He is everywhere."

And lo, as the henchman listened to her song and looked upon her he seemed to see not Lady Cicely in the fields with the little page beside her, but his own. young daughter who, he could have sworn, was many a mile away! And his feet were holden to the ground and he could not move, let who would bid him go.

benefit." And the bowman was nothing loath to do his bidding; but even as he started from his place the Lady Cicely raised her head, and, answering cuckoo as he called, sang sweet:

And as she sang, and as the bowman looked upon her, behold she appeared to him not Lady Cicely singing 'mid the flowers, but his sweet sister in whose company he oft had sought the May! And his feet were holden to the ground and he could not move, although his master raged. Then said the Robber Baron: "Witchery or no witchery, vision or no vision, yonder maid shall be my prize!" and he would have gone forth from the copse to make her prisoner had it not been that Lady Cicely and the little page, having plucked their flowers and woven their garlands, turned at the moment homeward. And their path led them close beside the little copse, the young green of which concealed their enemies. So closely did they pass, that by the stretching of a hand the Robber Baron could have hindered them.

OFF outside the harbor the wind still lashed the smashing seas to a lather. The gale had blown the worst of itself out, but everything was loose yet and the sky looked dirty.

In the harbor, though, all was snug, and The Charming Lass, comfortable at her moorings, courtesied daintily, bow into the wind, her long, keen cut-water slitting the in-swaying seas.

She was a sixty-five-ton schooner, fitting out now for the cod-grounds, as every one in Trinity Bay, Newfoundland, knew. But no one in all the bay knew it any better than Murdock Fraser.

The schooner had wintered at Trinity Bay. She 'd shot her big anchor down in the lee of the island and slept soundly there, frozen in, comfortable as an eel in the mud. And all through the long cold weeks Murdock had looked at her with admiration and longing.

For he came of a long line of fishermen. The sea and the lure of the rigors of a fisherman's life -they were what he dreamed of; he hungered to be about the work which had summoned his father and his grandfather and those of his kin before them; he burned to be off on the banks, fishing for cod in one of the dories of a trim schooner that never took in a sail for anything. That was why he watched The Charming Lass with such longing: he wanted to ship on her not as a cabin boy, but as a member of her crew. And word had gone about through Trinity Bay that the trig schooner was short-handed.

"It 's my chance," Murdock said to his mother. "I'm only fourteen, but," he stretched himself, "I'm bigger 'n one or two o' th' men on her. I'm goin' down an' try."

His mother smiled. He was good to her eyes: she knew that he was going to be big and brawny and powerful like his father. Murdock was her only son. She knew, too well, the dangers of a fisherman's life; and she winced at the thought of the boy's going. But she knew the call of the blue water. It was in her blood as in his. So she did not try to dissuade him.

"Try your luck, Murdock," she said, and touched his big-boned shoulder in veiled caress.

The boy laughed in his quiet way, and turned and walked down the path which led to the wharf. A dory was just putting out to the schooner, and Murdock jumped in, saying to the two men at the oars, "I want to see yer captain." "Don't know 's he 'll want to see you," said one of the men. But Murdock paid no attention.

A few moments later the dory made fast astern of the schooner, Murdock clambered over the rail, and stood on the deck. He was so dazed at finding himself here, where he 'd dreamed of being, that he hardly felt, for the first second, the heavy hand which fell on his shoulder.

"I'm Cap'n Peter Johnson," a big voice rumbled above him. "You want to see me?" "Yes," said the boy, "I hear you 're shorthanded," and he looked up confidently.

"Meanin'," the big voice rumbled with the laugh in it, "you want to help me out? I got a cabin-boy already."

"That 's good," Murdock said, giving the captain a straight look from a pair of frank blue eyes. "It's fillin' out yer crew I'm thinking of." Captain Peter Johnson smiled more than ever. "But you 're only half a man. You could cut bait, mebby, but "

"Yes, I kin cut bait as good as th' next," Murdock said, "but what I want is to do my trick at th' wheel, an' take my turn with th' oars in the dories, an' handle my lines after they 've been baited. Then when I'm through, I want my lay like the other men."

Captain Johnson stopped smiling. "How old are you?" He liked the boy 's confidence in himself, but half a man was n't a whole one, and no captain that ever sailed blue water was more painstaking than Captain Johnson in picking men for his crew.

"I'm fourteen," said Murdock, honestly, "but my name 's Murdock Fraser."

Captain Johnson nodded. He knew the Frasers of Trinity Bay. "You'll be a good man for me in four or five years, but now you could n't even haul up the jumbo."

The "jumbo" was the big jib. Murdock knew this, and looked forward eagerly. "Lemme have a try at her! No," he corrected, like the sailor he said he was, "you don't want her set while you 're fast to th' bottom."

Maybe Captain Johnson felt himself weakening; or it may be that he thought of the toll the sea already had taken of the Frasers. Be that as it may, he said sharply. "Into th' dory, boy! I'll have two o' th' men take you back to shore!" Murdock said nothing. A lump had risen unexpectedly in his throat. walked slowly astern, the captain following him.

Then, when the men started clambering over the side, the boy made one last appeal to Captain Johnson. "Mebby I am only half a man, like you say; but if you 'd let me ship, you 'd find I 'd work like a whole one."

"Cast off that line!" was the captain's only answer. The boy leaped into the stern of the dory. Then, humiliated, and heavy with disappointment, Murdock was rowed ashore.

"But I'll ship on her yet!" he told his mother that evening at supper. "She'll take me 'long with 'er when she clears," he said, as the night came down. "I'll work like a man and get my lay like the rest, and the money 'll help us here." The lay meant the individual share of each

member of the crew of the catch of cod. He was trying to reassure his mother and, understanding this, she nodded and said, "Yes, Murdock, it 'd help." But, like him, she knew he was answering the irresistible summons of the sea.

So she was not surprised when he kissed her and his sisters good night, and, instead of going to his room, walked forth into the darkness which had held the harbor like a cloud of ink.

But through this seemingly impenetrable gloom the boy walked swiftly with sure tread; off, out

"ON THROUGH THE THICK BLACKNESS HE ROWED." (SEE NEXT PAGE.)

there in the harbor, he could see the riding-lights of The Charming Lass as she swung: a red lantern to port and a green to starboard.

Half-way to the wharf he left the deeper path for one of his own making. A few moments later he was at the beach, where his own boat was moored. Easily she slid into the water, down the "slip" he 'd made of spruce sticks. The oars found the locks apparently of their own instinct. Then he headed the boat for the stern of The Charming Lass.

In the rush of the waves he might have rowed without regard to the sound he made, for the click of his oarlocks was drowned by the breakBut he rowed with his nicest pains. He

ers.