Grit, at his master's heels, growled ominously. The hair on his back stood up, as it only did when he saw some one whom he hated, and who disliked him.
"Quiet, Grit!" said Dick, in a low voice.
At the sound of the lad's words the man, who was covered with a blanket, arose unsteadily to his feet. Dick could scarcely believe his eyes.
"Ah—er—is it you. Nephew Richard?" asked the rescued one, slowly.
"Uncle—Ezra—Larabee!" gasped the young millionaire. "Is it possibly you?"
"What's left of me—yes—Nephew Richard. Oh, I've had a fearful time—I almost drowned, and those terrible men took all my money. Oh, it was awful! Never—never again will I undertake such a task, no matter who I try to save!"
"Did those pirates capture you, too, as well as my yacht, Uncle Ezra?" asked Dick.
"No—I—I captured your yacht, Nephew Richard," gasped Mr. Larabee, slowly. "But it's a long story, and I 'm too weak to tell it now. I—I fell overboard, trying to look and see how near you were to us! Oh, I thought I'd drown, but you saved me! I—I—thank you!" The words seemed to come unwillingly.
"You—captured—my—yacht?" asked Dick, slowly, wondering if he had heard aright.
"That's what I did—but it was for your own good, Nephew Richard. I'm too weak to talk more now. Please get me some medicine. I
