"Not more'n three hunder' yards out She'd break up soon, 'f there was no
one to hender. Wot a show we'd hev!"

"I reckon," growled the shorter man. "'S your name Peter?"

"Ay. I belong yer. Allers lived 'bout high-water mark. Whar'd ye come
from?"

The only answer was a sharp and excited exclamation. Neither of them had
been paying any attention to the bay side of the bar; and, while they
were gazing at the wreck, a very pretty little yacht had cast anchor,
close in shore; and then, with the help of a rowboat, quite a party of
ladies and gentlemen--the latter somewhat young-looking for the greater
part--had made their way to the land, and were now hurrying forward.
They did not pay the slightest attention to Peter and his companion, but
in a few minutes more they were trying to talk to those poor people on
the seaward beach. Trying, but not succeeding very well; for the wreck
had been a Bremen bark, with an assorted cargo and some fifty
passengers, all emigrants. German seemed to be their only tongue, and
none of Mrs. Kinzer's pleasure-party spoke German.

"Too bad," Ford Foster was saying about it, when there came a sort of
wail from a group at a little distance, and it seemed to close with,--

"_Pauvre enfant!_"

"French!" exclaimed Ford. "Why, they look as Dutch as any of the rest.
Come on, Annie, let's try and speak to them."

The rest followed, a good deal like a flock of sheep; and it was a sad