around.
There was not a sail in sight, and not a sound came to his ears over
the low murmur of the sea's gentle swell. "Now is the time," he
thought. He put in his oars and the boat began to drift.

But no, he could not look into the child's eyes and do it. The little
one would sleep soon and then it would be easier done. So he took him
in his arms and wrapped him in a piece of sail-cloth.

"Shut your eyes and sleep, little Sunlocks."

"I'm not sleepy, I'm not."

Yet soon the little lids fell, opened again and fell once more, and
then suddenly the child started up.

"But I haven't said my p'ayers."

"Say them now, little Sunlocks."

"Gentle Jesus, meek and mild, Look upon a little child, Guard me
while in sleep I lie, Take me to Thy home on--on--"

"Would you like to go to heaven, little Sunlocks?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I want to keep with--with--my fath----"

The little eyes were closed by this time, and the child was asleep on
Stephen's knees. Now was the time--now--now. But no, it was harder
now than ever.

The little face--so silent, so peaceful--how formidable it was! The
little soft hand in his own big hard palm--how strong and terrible!

Stephen looked down at the child and his bowels yearned over it. It
cost him a struggle not to kiss it; but no, that would only make the
task harder.

Suddenly a new thought smote him. What had this child done that he
should take its life? Who was he that he should rob it of what he
could never give it again? By what right did he dare to come between
this living soul and heaven? When did the Almighty God tell _him_
what the after life of this babe was to be? Stephen trembled at the
thought. It was like a voice from the skies calling on him to stop,
and a hand reaching out of them to snatch the child from his grasp.

What he had intended to do was not to be! Heaven had set its face
against it! Little Sunlocks was not to die! Little Sunlocks was to
live! Thank God! Oh! Thank God!

But late that night a group of people standing at their doors on the
beach at Port Lague saw a tall man in his shirt sleeves go by in the
darkness, with a sleeping child in his arms. The man was Stephen
Orry, and he was sobbing like a woman whose heart is broken. The
child was little Sunlocks, and he was being carried back to his
mother's home.

The people hailed Stephen and told him that a foreigner from a ship
in the bay had been asking for him that evening. They had sent the
m