“Diving again!” cried Mrs. Marston. 
“ Oh, Walter, I tremble lest you some time 
meet with an accident..” 
*“ Why, mother, it comes as natural to me 
as if 1 was a fish. I can boat any boy 
‘around’ at it l!’ he added, bluntly, “and 
that’s the reason 1 get so many jobs. You 
know I have earned fifteen dollars and twen¬ 
ty-five cents this summer, and my diving 
adventure to-day has brought me five dol¬ 
lars more.'' 
So saying he pulled a five dollar bill from 
his pocket and held it up exultiugly. 
“Tell us all about it,” said Cora. 
“ Well, you see l was with some other 
boys walking along shore near the hotel, 
when Captain Cole, who owns the big sloop 
anchored by the dork, sings out to us to 
come aboard and he’d give us a job at stow 
tiie rope from round her ankle-, but didn’t 
succeed. My head swam—1 felt, as if I 
would choke and must give up ' But 1 was 
determined to save her, and at last succeeded 
in getting tin* rope clear of her, wlieu I rose 
to the surface with my arm clasping her 
waist, and we were picked up by the cap¬ 
tain, who had jumped into his boat along¬ 
side ! 
“ 1 con tell you it was the hardest time 
under water 1 ever had, but didn’t I feel 
glad when the captain put his hand in his 
pocket and gave me five dollars !” 
“Why, Walter 1” gasped Mrs. Marston, 
CORA, The NET-WEAVER 
Walter, in about lialf-an-liour after de¬ 
parting, returned with the doctor who 
examined the injury, and pronounced it 
a flesh wound. 
lie gave his name as Albert Henry, saying 
he was the nephew of the wounded man, 
and had come with a carriage to take him to 
the hotel, meanwhile looking at Cora in a 
bold, scrutinizing manner, that culled a deep 
blush to her check. 
Leaving him with her mother, the young 
girl went up-stalrs to tell the patient who 
had called. 
“Very well—much obliged to you. 'Be 
so kind us to b*!l him 1 will be down in a 
minute.” As she was turning to leave, he 
said : “ Pardon me, but you arc a, nice young 
lady. What do you do to get along these 
hard times?” 
“ VVe—we get on pretty well,” she stam¬ 
mered. 
The old man, however, shook his head. 
“Be frank with me, young lady. You 
find it pretty difficult to meet expenses, eh 3” 
“ Well—yes, sir !” 
“ What do you do for a living 1” 
“ I weave fishing nets.” 
The old man pulled a card from his pocket, 
and presented it to the girl. The address on 
the card was: Anson Henry, No. — St. 
Mark’s Place. 
“Whenever you get into trouble drop me 
I a line. Should you lose your work, 1 can 
procure better for you.” 
Cora assented, then went dowu stairs to 
hear the nephew of the wounded man say to 
her mother; 
“ I would give a thousand dollars for the 
apprehension of the rascal who attacked my 
uncle 1” 
Soon after, the latter made liiB appearance. 
“ Oil, 1 am overjoyed to sec you doing so 
well !” exclaimed the young man, rushing 
forward and seizing the uninjured arm. 
“ You have had a narrow escape. But for 
the dark, the rascal’s bullet would, doubt¬ 
less, have gone through your heart 1” 
“Doubtless it would. Yes, I daresay it 
would. He couldn’t see to lire very straight 
in the dark. What’s that sticking out of 
your cout pocket, nephew /” 
“ That.” said the young man. ‘ Oil, that s 
the stock of a revolver—a good Colt’s re¬ 
volver, which l intend to carry hereafter so 
that 1 can pay oil in his own coin any do* 
perado, such as the one who attacked yon.” 
Walter stood looking up so earnestly into 
the face of the speaker that his mother was 
obliged to make him a sign to de.-ist. 
When the uncle and nephew were gone, 
she said to him : 
“ Walter, you should never stand and gape 
at a person in that way.” 
“I know it,” said Walter ; “but somehow 
I couldn’t help it. That nephew looked so 
The sharp report of a pistol—the stifled 
cry of murder 1 
These were the noises heard on a certain 
dark, stormy night by Mrs. Marston —a 
widow—and her daughter Cora, seated iu 
their humble cottage, within a stone’s 
throw of 8 ig Harbor. 
Cora, a beautiful girl of seventeen, who 
had just finished one of the fishing nets 
she had been weaving for a Fulton street 
firm that employed her, sprang to her 
feet, and ran to tiie window, while her 
mother sank back, nearly fainting in her 
chair. 
Raising the sash, the young girl, peering 
out into the darkness, could at first see 
nothing, but, as her eyes became accus¬ 
tomed to the gloom, she fancied she could 
discern the dim outlines of a retreating 
figure. 
She shut the window to return, pale and 
trembling to her mother’s side. 
“ Oh, dear I” gasped Mrs. Marston. “ I 
am afraid something terrible has happen¬ 
ed ! I heard the cry of murder, and it is 
plain a murder has been committed. 1 
do so wish your brother Walter were 
here, that he might take the lantern and 
go out and see. I cannot think what de¬ 
tains him 1” 
Ten minutes later, while the two women 
were still conversing on the subject, the 
door flow open and in came Walter, his 
face flushed and his eyes bright with ex¬ 
citement. 
He was a flne-looking lad of thirteen, 
tall and strongly built, with dark eyes 
and brown hair. 
“Here’s your milk, mother,” he said, 
putting a kettle on the table. “ I had to 
wait for it. And now, just listen. As I 
was coming along toward here. 1 heard 
the cry of murder, and a few minutes 
after, somebody ran against me hard 
enough to almost knock me down. Be¬ 
fore 1 could say a word to him, whoever 
he was, lie had passed me, and was out 
of sight in the dark. Therefore, I think 
somebody ain’t far from here with a bul¬ 
let hole through his body—murdered !” 
“ Did you see-” 
“ No,” interrupted Waiter, “ 1 didn’t 
see only what. I’ve told you, but I can 
imagine the rest, and 1 mean to take the 
lantern and look around for the dead 
body.” 
“ I will go with you,” said Cora. 
“All right,” answered Walter. “Come 
ahead !” 
He had soon procured and lighted the 
lantern, while Cora stood ready with her 
hat and shawl on. 
They left the house and commenced 
their search, which was not a long one. 
Soon they heard groans, and proceed¬ 
ing in the direction of the noise, they 
came upon an old man, bleeding from a 
wound m the shoulder. 
“ Who did this ?” inquired Walter, 
bluntly. , 
“ I cannot tell you ; it was too dark tor 
me to see,” the old man answered feebly; 
“ but I am faint from loss of blood, and if 
you can tell me where I can go to rest a 
little, and get a doctor, I’ll pay you for 
it.” 
“You can come to our house,” said 
Walter, kindly : it is the nearest—in fact 
wc wouldn’t let you go anywhere else iu 
such a state as you arc.” 
He took hold of the old man’s arm, on 
one side, and Cora, holding on the waist 
of his coat *m the other, they helped him 
into the house. 
Mrs. Mars ton, although in delicate 
health, was uot a woman to faint at sight 
of blood. , 
“The wound bleeds badly,” site said. 
“You must bathe it in water, Cora, and 
you, Walter, run for the doctor.” 
While Cora was bathing the wound, the 
old man said: 
“1 think that In the darkness I must 
have been mistaken for some other per 
son. T have no enemies that I know of.” 
“Are you stopping at Sag Harbor?” 
inquired Mrs. Marston. 
“ Yes, with my nephew By the way, 
he must be apprised of my condition the 
Swf Itilnn ... tl.i. ttiAmiintr 
think he admired you.” said Mrs. Marston. 
“ That young man will find an excuse to call 
again. Pray don’t discourage him, and 
don’t frown when lie looks at you.” 
“ He may look at me as he pleases—or at 
the wall! ” 
“Cora ! how you talk ! Would you not 
like to marry well ? ” 
“Oh, mother 1” exclaimed the girl, the 
tears suddenly rolling down her cheeks, 
“you know that can never be !” 
“Child, what do you mean 
“Mother, suy no more?” 
“ You and your lover, George Belton, have 
quarreled 3 ” 
“You are right, although 1 have never 
spoken of it to a living soul 1 ” 
“It Is most time he returned home, is it 
not ? ” 
“ Yes. llis vessel left Sag Harbor two 
years ago to be gone twenty-live months.” 
“Tell me all about your quarrel.” 
“It came about in this way,” answered 
Cora, sighing. “ Some person — l never 
could ascertain who—told him that Barnes, 
whom you know I cannot endure, had been 
permitted to escort me home. 1 told him 
it was not so, but lie seemed to doubt me. 
w Ue: i. 1 . ‘: ’• i used m.v pride, and I *aid 
1 was afraid we could never agree. He then 
replied that if 1 thought so in were best we 
should not keep company longer. He left 
me, and went away to sea without coming 
to say good-by.” ,, . 
Here the fair girl broke down, sobbing 
and weeping as If her heart would break. 
And where now was Belton 3 
Far aloft on the foretopsail yard of the 
storm-driven ship Triton, helping to furl 
the sail, which otherwise would be blown to 
tatters. . . 
Plunging, rolling and creaking, the stout 
ship was borne onward toward the South 
of the. boys sang out that there was a sail in 
sight in the. oiling, so 1 took oil' my shoes 
and jacket and ran up to the mainmast head 
to get a look at it. Just then, little Annie, 
the captain’s daughter, who was on deck, 
sitting on the after rail near the rope, hold¬ 
ing the kedge-anehor, caught at the phi to 
raise herself up on top of the bulwarks that 
she might see the sail. The pin gave way, 
down went the anchor, and trie coils of the 
ropes, as it ran, flying up from the deck, 
caught her round the ankles, jerking her 
overboard 1 t heard the splash, and her 
gurgling cries, as she struck the sea, but I 
only saw her a few seconds, for, us the rope 
tauteued she went under like a flash, dragged 
by the heavy anchor ! 
“Oh, mother, how horrible it looked to 
sec her white face turned up under the water, 
as she was drawn dowu ; it was more than 1 
could bear 1 T Just gave one look, then away 
1 went, cleaving the air like a shot, as 1 dove 
from THE MAINMAST HEAD ! 
“ I got hold of her and held on to her as 
she was drawn down, but when we got to 
“A narrow escape, though,” he added, 
“ a quarter of an inch lower and amputa¬ 
tion would have been necessary,” 
After the physician had dressed the 
wound the stranger said he was at pres¬ 
ent stopping at the — hotel with his 
nephew, and asked to be taken there in 
the doctor’s carriage. 
The medical man, however, advised 
him to remain wltere he was for a few 
days ; and Cora and her mother having 
kindly entreated him to do so, he con¬ 
sented. 
When the doctor had gone, and the 
E atient was put to lied, Walter informed 
is mother and sister that the wounded 
stranger, whoso name was Mr. Henry, 
was very wealthy—-that he had heard so 
from the hotel Keeper that very after¬ 
noon. 
“ The hotel V said his mother ; “ pray 
what wore you doing away olf there t” 
“ Oh, 1 often go near the hotel, and to¬ 
day I had an adventure near it—a diving 
adventure.” 
