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A grum, melancholy note came floating over the long sea swells Oo-oo-oo-ooh! And again, Oo-oo-oo-ooh! "What's that!" exclaimed Percy. "Whistling buoy south of Roaring Bull Ledge. One of our nearest neighbors. We'll hear that voice pretty often, when the wind's from the north." They passed two miles east of the whistler, and gradually its warning blast grew fainter and fainter.
The dory's drift, if unchanged, would take her several yards west of the steel can crowned with its red whistle-cage. Its warning blast set the air vibrating, Oo-oo-oo-ooh! Jim snatched out his knife and sprang forward. "Oar in the scull-hole, Perce! Lively!" Driving the point of his blade into the side of the bow, he dragged the painter in until he reached the gasolene-can.
A second night was coming, and still the norther raged with undiminished violence. It was growing dark and the stars were already out when a new sound fell on Percy's ears. "What's that?" he exclaimed. Up from the south came a faint, long-drawn, mournful voice, Oo-oo-oo-ooh! They listened breathlessly. It sounded again, Oo-oo-oo-ooh! "Whistling buoy!" ejaculated Jim. He thought a moment.
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