"Soon after the flapping of sails reached my ear, and I ran down to the beach. Sure enough, a white sail like a ghost was gliding rapidly toward the Island. It was a boat. On the deck was Mr. Brown, looking wild and ghastly,—quite unlike his usual jolly, comfortable self.
"'There isn't half a chance,' he muttered as he sprang ashore. He went questing up and down with a lantern. I followed, whispering comforting things in his ear; but he never listened. At last he lighted on Emmy's pocket-handkerchief lying beside the smashed box.
"'It's hers!' he cried, trembling with anxiety. 'Search for the boat, men.'
"But no boat could be found, and the Father groaned aloud.
"Meantime I was gently pulling Mr. Brown, now by the collar and now by the coat-tail, and trying to turn him in the right direction. He was frantic and obstinate, as men usually are; so he would not follow. At last, as hope grew
