tle roguish face looking at me--the merriest,
brightest little face you can imagine.

'Up, up, boy, please!' she said again, in a coaxing voice.

So I lifted up my head, and she climbed out of her little bed on the
sofa on to my knee.

'Put shoes on, boy,' she said, holding out her little bare toes.

I put on her shoes and stockings, and then Mrs. Millar came in and
dressed her.

It was a lovely afternoon; the storm had ceased whilst we had been
asleep, and the sun was shining brightly. I got the dinner ready, and
the child watched me, and ran backwards and forwards, up and down the
kitchen. She seemed quite at home now and very happy.

My grandfather was still asleep, so I did not wake him. Mrs. Millar
brought in some broth she had made for the child, and we dined together.
I wanted to feed her, as I had done the night before, but she said,--

'Timpey have 'poon, please!' and took the spoon from me, and fed herself
so prettily, I could not help watching her.

'God bless her, poor little thing!' said Mrs. Millar.

'God bless 'ou,' said the child. The words were evidently familiar to
her.

'She must have heard her mother say so,' said Mrs. Millar, in a choking
voice.

When we had finished dinner, the child slipped down from her stool, and
ran to the sofa. Here she found my grandfather's hat, which she put on
her head, and my scarf, which she hung round her neck. Then she marched
to the door, and said, 'Tatta, tatta; Timpey go tatta.'

'Take her out a bit, Alick,' said Mrs. Millar. 'Stop a minute, though;
I'll fetch her Polly's hood.' So, to her great delight, we dressed her
in Polly's hood, and put a warm shawl round her, and I took her out.

Oh! how she ran, and jumped, and played in the garden. I never saw such
a merry little thing. Now she was picking up stones, now she was
gathering daisies ('day days, she called them), now she was running down
the path and calling to me to catch her. She was never still a single
instant!

[Illustration: AFTER THE STORM.]

But every now and then, as I was playing with her, I looked across the
sea to Ainslie Crag. The sea had not gone down much, though the wind had
ceased, and I saw the waves still dashing wildly upon the rocks.

And I thought of what lay beneath them, of the shattered ship, and of
the child's mother. Oh! if she only knew, I thought, as I listened to
her merry laugh, which made me more ready to cry than her tears had
done.

CHAPTER V.