CHAPTER II.

THE LITTLE WAIF.

JACK and his brother were soon fast asleep, in spite of the noise made by the wind. But the widow lay listening to its wild roar, and thinking of that night when her husband was out in just such a storm as this, that came on so suddenly that before he could reach the shore his little fishing boat was dashed on the fatal rocks, and he and three others perished in the eddying waves.

As the hours went on, the storm increased in violence, while ever and anon between the lulls of the tempest the guns of a vessel in distress could be plainly heard. At the earliest dawn, all the men in the village were down upon the beach; some had been there all night watching the ineffectual effort of the splendid vessel to gain the harbor. It was all in vain, she was drifting fast to her doom on the fatal reef of hidden rocks that made this coast so dangerous.

To describe the scene of agonizing excitement when she struck, would be impossible. All hope was at an end then, and the passengers who crowded her deck knew it. The storm, however, had begun to abate, and, as soon as it was possible, boats put off from the shore to rescue the helpless crew and passengers. But before half of them could be brought off, the vessel had begun to break up.

Our two fisher-lads were among the earliest arrivals at the exciting scene, and they had promised to run back with intelligence to their mother.

"Now, Bob, you just run and tell mother how she is," said Jack, after they had stood looking at the vessel for a minute or two; "and don't come down here again. Stop up at Sandy Cove and watch; you can slip back to mother then, and tell her how it's going on."

Bob did not much like the post assigned him, to be a lonely watcher in a sheltered nook, instead of in the midst of the excitement. But when his mother repeated the same request, he did not think of returning to his elder brother. He was a meek, gentle lad, although a fisher-boy, and quite accustomed to obey his mother, although he helped to support her, and so he quietly took up his lonely position to watch the doomed vessel.

She had struck during the time he had been running home, and when he saw the boats put off shortly afterwards, it was a sore trial to him to stay where he was, in obedience to his mother's wishes, instead of remaining on the scene of action. But he did stay, watching with eager interest the progress made by the boats, and occasionally shouting cheering words to the rowers, as though the din of wind and waves would carry them to the men.

Presently, as we have said, the vessel began to break up. One and another was washed from the crowded deck into the eddying waves, some flinging themselves in with life-preservers around them, and others lashing themselves to spars, hoping that these would keep them above water. One of these was quickly carried beyond the rocks and floated towards where Bob was standing. He did not notice it at first, but as it gradually drifted nearer, he saw that something was lashed to it. It came nearer each moment, and, as it came on, all the boy's interest centred in that one remnant of the wreck, and he prepared to plunge in and drag it to the shore. But there was no occasion for this. A wave caught it as he was dashing into the surf, and, whirling it past him, dashed it high up on the sandy beach. Bob ran to it instantly, and then saw that a child was securely lashed to it, but, to all appearance, dead as the spar itself.

To take out his knife, however, and cut the cords that bound the little creature was the work of a moment; and then taking it in his arms, with the long fair hair dripping over his shoulders, he ran with all his speed up the winding path towards home. But he halted before he had gone far. What could his mother do for the child, and she unable to turn herself in bed? And yet everybody else was down at the other part of the beach.

Suddenly he remembered Dr. Mansfield's house stood close by, and without a second thought about the matter, he ran there.

"I want the doctor!" he panted, when the startled housekeeper opened the door in answer to his imperious ring.

The woman glanced at the child and then at him. "Dr. Mansfield sees nobody, you know that," she said sternly. "You must take the child somewhere else."

But at this moment Bob felt, or fancied he felt, a faint fluttering in the little frame, while a door hastily opened on the opposite side of the hall revealed the bent figure of the doctor. Bob knew him in a moment, although he had not seen him above twice in his life, and dashing past the astonished housekeeper, he entered the room before she could prevent it.

"It ain't dead, doctor!" gasped Bob, holding out the still dripping child.

The doctor stepped back a pace or two and stared at the intruder with dilating eyes, bringing to the boy's recollection a rumor lately gone abroad that the doctor was out of his mind. "Why, you are the boy that came to my gardener yesterday with the sea-weed?" he said.

Bob nodded.

"Good. I like you, for you didn't get into a passion when the man swore so. I'll look at your baby." And he took the little creature from Bob as he spoke.

It was to all appearance dead, but the skilled hand of the physician detected a faint fluttering at the heart, and the discovery seemed to arouse him in a moment from the torpor and half insanity of his manner. Ringing the bell, he ordered blankets to be brought, and then proceeded to use other restoratives which he had close at hand.

For some time, however, it seemed that all their efforts were in vain, and nearly an hour passed before there were any signs of life, but at last there came a little faintly drawn breath, and the doctor redoubled his exertions to fan the faint spark of life into a flame again.

The effect of these exertions was scarcely less marked upon himself than upon the child, and Bob could only stare in blank amazement when he saw the change in the gloomy, misanthropic doctor. Brisk, active, energetic, decided, his bowed form stood erect, and the fire in his dark eyes flashed back a denial of anything like insanity.

And when at last, the heavy blue eyes of the little girl slowly opened, a smile broke over all the face of her deliverer. It was the first time he had been known to smile for ten years.

"Now, boy," he said, addressing Bob, "your baby will live, but you had better leave her here a bit, till she gets well."

"Yes, sir," answered the boy, pulling at his hair, but still staring in amazement at the doctor, and the wonderful transformation that had passed over him within the last hour.

"You can come and take her in a day or two, when she gets well," said the housekeeper as he was leaving, and the doctor nodded his acquiescence in his housekeeper's suggestion.

Bob ran to tell his mother of his adventure, and from her heard that most of the passengers and crew had been saved, but that the captain of the vessel had been washed overboard and drowned.

A month passed; the rescued passengers and crew had all departed from the lonely fishing village—all but the little waif, ill at Dr. Mansfield's. No one had come to claim her, and no one could tell to whom she belonged; the uncertainty which for some time hung over her, as to whether she would live or die, made this of secondary importance.

But soon after the last of the passengers had departed, an improvement took place in the child, the fever left her, and she was able to look around and notice her strange nurses. And to her, they did appear very strange, for she turned from every one but the doctor, refusing to make friends with any but him. She appeared to be about two years old, and could just lisp two words, "Milly" and "papa." By the former she meant herself, and the latter she applied to Dr. Mansfield. There was a little odd jargon of some foreign language that she babbled sometimes, but nothing of her name or parentage could be discovered from it.