I wonder if Jim is ever going to get back! My, isn't it an awful storm! Wilfred Grenfell, then a small boy, stood at the window of his home in Cheshire, England, looking out across the sea-wall at the raging, seething waters of the Irish Sea. The wind howled and the snowflakes beat against the window-panes as if they were tiny birds that wanted to get in. "Mother," he pleaded, "can I put on my sweater and my rubber boots and go down on the beach and see if I can find Jim?" "Yes," said his mother. "But wrap yourself up warmly, and don't stay long-and don't take any risks, will you, dear?" Almost before the words were out of her mouth, Wilf was down the stairs and out in the roadway, where fishermen watched their little boats as they tossed at anchor riding out the storm. Wilf stepped up to a big, grizzled mariner he knew, whom every one called Andy. "Andy, have you seen Jim?" "Jim who?" "Jim Anderson." "Was he the chap that went out in the Daisy Bell about four hours ago?" "Yes," said Wilf, trying to control himself, "and he wanted me to go with him, but--" His words were cut short by a great wave that hurled itself against the wall. The spray leapt high over the stones and drenched Andy and the boy.