THE FLARE AT SEA.
My grandfather and I were sitting at tea one dark November evening. We
had been digging in the garden the whole morning, but in the afternoon
it had become so wet and stormy that we had remained indoors.
We were sitting quietly at our tea, planning what we would do the next
day, when the door suddenly opened and Mr. Millar put his head in.
'Sandy, quick!' he said. 'Look here!' My grandfather and I ran to the
door, and looked out over the sea. There, about three miles to the
north of us, we saw a bright flare of light. It blazed up for a moment
or two, lighting up the wild and stormy sky, and then it went out, and
all was darkness again.
'What is it, grandfather?' I asked. But he did not answer me.
'There's no time to lose, Jem,' he said; "out with the boat, my man!"
'It's an awful sea,' said Millar, looking at the waves beating fiercely
against the rocks.
'Never mind, Jem,' said my grandfather; 'we must do our best.' So the
two men went down to the shore, and I followed them.
'What is it, grandfather?' I asked again.
'There's something wrong out there,' said he, pointing to the place
where we had seen the light. 'That's the flare they always make when
they're in danger and want help at once.'
'Are you going to them, grandfather?' I said.
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