st he should frighten her. So, with an earnest look and smile, he
said, "Come here, little one."

She answered the invitation by bounding towards our hero and clasping
him round the neck, causing him to sit down rather abruptly on a rock
which lay conveniently behind.

"Oh! I'm so glad you've come at last!" said the child, in English so
good that there could be no question as to her nationality. "I was
quite sure mamma would send to fetch me away from this tiresome place,
but you've been so long of coming--so very _very_ long."

The thought of this, and perhaps the joy of being "sent for" at last,
caused her to sob and bury her face in Robin's sympathetic bosom.

"Cheer up, little one, and don't cry," said Robin, passing his hand over
her sunny hair, "your Father, at all events, has sent for you, if not
your mother."

"I have no father," said the child, looking up quickly.

"Yes you have, little one; God is your father."

"Did _He_ send you to fetch me?" she asked in surprise.

"I have not the smallest doubt," answered Robin, "that He sent us to
take care of you, and take you to your mother if that be possible. But
tell me, little one, what is your name?"

"Letta."

"And your surname?"

"My what!" exclaimed Letta, opening her large eyes to their widest,
causing both Sam and Robin to laugh.

"Your other name, dear," said Sam.

"I have no other name. Mamma always called me Letta--nothing else."

"And what was mamma's name?" asked Robin.

"It was mamma, of course," replied Letta, with a look of wonder that so
silly a question should be asked.

Sam and Robin exchanged looks, and the former shook his head. "You'll
not get much information out of her, I fear. Ask her about the
pirates," he whispered.

"Letta," said Robin, settling the child more comfortably on his knee--an
attention which she received with a sigh of deep contentment,--"are the
people here kind to you?"

"Yes, very kind. Old Meerta is as kind to me almost as mamma used to
be, but I don't love her so much--not nearly so much,--and blind Bungo
is a dear old man."

"That's nice. And the others--are they kind to you?"

"What others? Oh, I suppose you mean the men who come and stay for a
time, and then go off again. O no! They are not kind. They are bad
men--very naughty; they often fight, and I think call each other bad
names, but I don't understand their language very well. They never hurt
me, but they are very rough, and I