ad been left for it to breathe, and I could just see a
little nose and two closed eyes, as I peeped in at the opening.

The bundle was a good weight, and before I reached the house I was glad
of Mrs. Millar's help to carry it. We came into our little kitchen, and
Mrs. Millar took the child on her knee and unfastened the blanket.

'Bless her,' she said, as her tears fell fast, 'it's a little girl!'

'Ay,' said my grandfather, 'so it is; it's a bonnie wee lassie!'

CHAPTER IV.

LITTLE TIMPEY.

I do not think I have ever seen a prettier face than that child's. She
had light brown hair, and round rosy cheeks, and the bluest of blue
eyes.

She awoke as we were looking at her, and seeing herself amongst
strangers, she cried bitterly.

'Poor little thing!' said Mrs. Millar. 'She wants her mother.'

'Mam--ma! Ma--ma!' cried the little girl, as she caught the word.

Mrs. Millar fairly broke down at this, and sobbed and cried as much as
the child.

'Come, my lass,' said her husband, 'cheer up! Thee'll make her worse, if
thee takes on so.'

But Mrs. Millar could do nothing but cry. 'Just think if it was our
Polly!' was all that she could say. 'Oh, Jem, just think if it was our
Polly that was calling for me!'

My grandfather took the child from her, and put her on my knee. 'Now,
Mary,' he said, 'get us a bit of fire and something to eat, there's a
good woman! The child's cold and hungered, and we're much about the same
ourselves.'

Mrs. Millar bustled about the house, and soon lighted a blazing fire;
then she ran in next door to see if her children, whom she had left with
a little servant girl, were all right, and she brought back with her
some cold meat for our breakfast.

I sat down on a stool before the fire, with the child on my knee. She
seemed to be about two years old, a strong, healthy little thing. She
had stopped crying now, and did not seem to be afraid of me; but
whenever any of the others came near she hid her face in my shoulder.

Mrs. Millar brought her a basin of bread and milk, and she let me feed
her.

She seemed very weary and sleepy, as if she could hardly keep her eyes
open. 'Poor wee lassie!' said my grandfather; 'I expect they pulled her
out of her bed to bring her on deck. Won't you put her to bed?'

'Yes,' said Mrs. Millar, 'I'll put her in our Polly's bed; she'll sleep
there quite nice, she will.'

But the child clung to me, and cried so loudly when Mrs. Millar tried
to tak