IT promised to be a rough night on the Scottish coast. All day long the wind had blown in fitful gusts; and now a furious north-west gale had set in from the sea. Down on the shore, the waves moaned and sighed uneasily, and out over the treacherous rocks the spray hung like a mist.

"I dinna like the look of the sea and the sky," little Jean Campbell said to herself, drawing closer under the shelter of the old boat, and pushing the curly yellow hair out of a pair of serious blue eyes. "I wish father was hame."

"Father" was Captain Campbell, of the " Eastern Star," which Jean firmly believed to be the largest and most beautiful vessel afloat. But now

he was away on a long voyage,- and Jean did miss him so!

From the shore, where Jean stood, she could see, beyond the strip of sand and rocks and the short brown meadows, the little house where she lived with her grandmother; for Captain Campbell's wife

had died when Jean was but a baby, and he had brought the little lassie home to his mother.

It was very lonely sometimes, Jean thought. The nearest neighbor lived two miles away, over the moor; and two miles along the shore in another direction was the life-saving station. Jean knew all the men attached to it, particularly the one whose duty it was to patrol the coast between the station and her grandmother's cottage. They all were fond of the little ten-year-old lassie, and told her marvelous stories of strange adventures at sea, promising to watch carefully for the "Eastern Star" whenever it should sail past to Glasgow.

Little Jean, wrapped in her plaid, sat under the lee of the big boat on the shore, wondering about father, and watching the figure of the coast-guard pacing slowly toward her. He nodded to Jean, as he approached, stopping to raise his glass and look keenly out to sea, and then stepped behind her shelter out of the wind.

"It's a rough night for ye to be oot, my lassie," he said, kindly. "Ye 'd best gang along hame before the storm comes."

"I'm no' afraid," Jean answered. "But I'll be gangin' hame now. Will it be an ower hard storm?"

"The Lord help the puir lads comin' on this coast the nicht," the coast-guard said. "It'll be the warst gale this year yet. Ye ken Donald Rae is sick, an' I maun take his watch as weel as my ane. So I'll no' be here but ance mair the nicht- at ten. Ye're aye thinkin' o' the Eastern Star," he added, seeing Jean look anxiously out at the tossing, furious sea. "Aweel, dinna worry your little head about her, my lassie. She 'll no' be in for a week yet, and ye can trust her captain to keep off the coast, and the Captain up above to watch over her."

Then he went on, with a pleasant "Gudenicht," and Jean hurried home just in time to es

with tears at the thought of the brave sailors exposed to so fearful a danger, remembering the words of the old coast-guard, "It 'll be the warst gale o' this year yet."

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May be the waves 'll roll high over the Devil's Head, as Grandmother says they did one time when she was a wee bit lassie," Jean thought. "I'd like to see sic a grand sight."

The tall clock was striking eleven that night when Jean awoke, aroused by some sound, she hardly knew what. Slipping softly out of bed, she pushed aside the curtain and looked out, and saw that the rain had ceased to fall, though the wind still blew furiously. And there beyond the moor the sea roared and raged, a great, heaving, black waste of water, tossing white sheets of spray high over the rocks.

"I doubt not it 's ower the Devil's Head," Jean said to herself, softly. "An' may be I'll never see it so again, if I dinna see it the nicht."

She listened to make sure that Grandmother Campbell was asleep; then hastily dressing herself, she wrapped her plaid tightly around her, halffrightened at the thought of the black night outside, and went softly downstairs and out-of-doors. It was not so dark but that she could find her way

across the strip of meadow, though the wind almost took her off her feet at times; and in a few minutes she was at the shore.

Never in her life had the little Scotch girl seen a more fearful sea than that which now tossed and roared at her feet. The moon was up and, though covered by flying, ragged clouds, gave light enough to show the water flung high over the great rock known as "The Devil's Head." And somewhere out on that treacherous sea, the "Eastern Star " was sailing. Jean shivered to think of it. And as she crouched under a rock, out of the wind, the sound that had awakened her came again, and then again and again. It was a signal-gun from some ship, perhaps even then crushing and grinding to pieces on the rocks.

Jean leaned forward, eagerly listening, as a blue light flashed up from the water directly before her, followed by another. Fixing her eyes on the place where the rocket came from, she could dimly see the outline of a vessel which had drifted broadside upon the reef, and was being swept continually by the furious sea.

"They 've run on the Siren! Jean said, in an awestruck whisper. "The vera worst rock on a' the coast, Father says. They'll sure hear the guns at the station, and be here soon," she added, and looked along the shore, half expecting to see the men dragging the great life-boat to the rescue; but as far as she could see, the beach was deserted. "The ship 'll break up, an they dinna hasten!" she exclaimed, with a pitiful little sob, which was answered by another gun from the doomed vessel. But the wind blew from the direction of the station, and carried the sound away from the men. Then gazing with wide, frightened eyes at the wreck, she remembered that the coast-guard had told her he would not be there again that night.

"He'll be takin' Donald Rae's watch along the other shore," she thought. "I canna let them a' droon. I maun go mysel'."

She fastened her plaid around her, and then with one look at the wrecked ship, where in imagination she could see the brave sailors waiting hopelessly for it to break up, she started along the shore toward the station. It was fully two miles of rough, sandy beach, a hard enough walk in the day-time, but terribly dismal on such a night. Brave little Jean, however, never thought of the danger and loneliness of her undertaking; only her loving little heart went out in pity for the poor fellows awaiting death out on the treacherous Siren. The wind was against her, and she struggled along through the wet, heavy sand, sometimes almost blinded by clouds of sand and water, and drenched by showers of spray that flew over her when she drew too near the boiling surf. Once a wave larger than the rest rushed up, curling

almost to her waist, and Jean, shrinking back, realized for the first time the danger of her position; but the thought of turning back never entered her brave little head.

"The captain may be has a little girl waitin' for him at hame. An' if I'm no' in time, he 'll never come back to her. Father wad think I was right, I know," she said as she hurried on.

It was a pathetic sight, this little lonely figure, wet and tired, with yellow hair blown into the frightened, tear-stained eyes, stumbling wearily along through the storm on her errand of mercy. How she found her way, bewildered by the roar of the sea and the darkness, was known only to Him in whom the dear little lassie trusted to "take care o' Father at sea."

The lights of the station were in sight now, and the men just off watch sprang to their feet as brave little Jean, dripping and exhausted, came in.

"There's a ship aground — on the Siren. I kenned ye did not hear, an'— I came,” she gasped breathlessly, then staggered and fell heavily forward, as the nearest man caught her in his arms.

"The brave, bonnie lassie !" the old coast-guards exclaimed, while they hurried to the boat. Then came the words: "Now, my lads!" and away they rushed to the rescue.

Jean was kindly cared for by the men, who could hardly have believed the story of her dangerous walk, had it been told by another than Captain Campbell's little lassie, and sitting wrapped in a warm coat by the fire, she was soon rested, and earnestly begged to return to the wreck.

"I dinna like to be awa' when they a' come ashore," she said, so great was her faith that they would be saved; and with two of the coast-guards, who carried lanterns and guided her carefully along the easiest way, carrying her over rough, dangerous places, Jean was speedily at the point where she had first seen the signal-lights.

A faint gray streak was beginning to show more distinctly, though the storm still raged furiously, and the Devil's Head was crested with foam. An eager crowd of villagers and coast-guards were watching a dancing black speck, now lifted high on an immense wave, then plunging down into a vast black chasm. "The

"It's the life-boat," they told Jean. Lord send them there in time, for the ship 's breakin' up fast.” ́

The sea had never seemed to little Jean so cruel and terrible as it did that early morning when she sat with her eyes fixed on the life-boat, which had appeared again, slowly making its way over the tossing, black waves.

"They 've saved them!" the man with the glass exclaimed, and then a dead silence fell upon the

crowd, while the great boat came nearer, the crew pulling with long, steady strokes, and a little knot of bareheaded, blue-jacketed men in the stern. A few minutes, and a dozen eager fellows had rushed into the breakers and dragged the boat ashore, almost lifting the rescued sailors from it, cramped and stiff from their desperate struggle for life.

The captain of the wrecked vessel was the last man to leave the boat, and as he reached the shore, an eager little figure came flying across the sand. "Father, Father!" Jean cried joyfully; then she was caught up in the arms of a tall, bronzed man, while a hearty cheer burst from the crowd, and proud voices told the story of little Jean's part in the rescue.

For, sure enough, it was Captain Campbell and his officers and crew; and the "Eastern Star" lay beating to pieces out on the rocks. They had arrived on the coast sooner than they were due, and

had hoped to reach Glasgow before the storm came on; but through an injury to the rudder, the ship had become unmanageable, and drifted hard and fast upon the Siren. It had been a bitter night for the captain as he stood helpless, expecting every moment to be drawn down into the angry black depths, while before his eyes was the cottage where, as he supposed, his little Jean was safely sleeping. "If it hadna been for my brave, bonnie lassie, we should a' be coming ashore like that," Captain Campbell said, recognizing in a great spar just flung on the sand the one to which he had clung till rescued by the life-boat.

Then they went home to tell the wonderful story to Grandmother Campbell and busy Margery.

Captain Campbell sailed away on his next voyage as captain of a much larger and finer ship than the poor old "Eastern Star"; and in gold letters on its side could be read the name,"The Bonnie Jean."