THE UNCLAIMED SUNBEAM.

My grandfather and Jem Millar were sitting over the fire in the little
watchroom in the lighthouse tower, and I sat beside them with the child
on my knee. I had found an old picture-book for her, and she was turning
over the leaves, and making her funny little remarks on the pictures.

'Well, Sandy,' said Millar, 'what shall we do with her?'

'_Do_ with her?' said my grandfather stroking her little fair head.
'We'll keep her! Won't we, little lassie?'

'Yes,' said the child, looking up and nodding her head, as if she
understood all about it.

'We ought to look up some of her relations, it seems to me,' said Jem.
'She's sure to have some, somewhere.'

'And how are we to find them out?' asked my grandfather.

'Oh, the captain can soon make out for us what ship is missing, and we
can send a line to the owners; they'll know who the passengers was.'

'Well,' said my grandfather, 'maybe you're right, Jem; we'll see what
they say. But, for my part, if them that cares for the child is at the
bottom of that sea, I hope no one else will come and take her away from
us.'

'If I hadn't so many of them at home--'began Millar.

'Oh yes, my lad, I know that,' said my grandfather, interrupting him;
'but thy house is full enough already. Let the wee lassie come to Alick
and me. She'll be a nice little bit of company for us; and Mary will see
to her clothes and such like, I know.'

'Yes, that she will,' said her husband. 'I do declare she has been
crying about that child the best part of the day! She has indeed!'

My grandfather followed Jem's advice, and told Captain Sayers, when he
came in the steamer the next Monday, the whole story of the shipwreck,
and asked him to find out for him the name and address of the owners of
the vessel.

Oh, how I hoped that no one would come to claim my little darling. She
became dearer to me every day, and I felt as if it would break my heart
to part with her. Every night, when Mrs. Millar had undressed her, she
knelt beside me in her little white nightgown to 'talk to God,' as she
called praying. She had evidently learnt a little prayer from her
mother, for the first night she began of her own accord

'Jesus, Eppy, hear me.'

I could not think at first what it was that she was saying; but Mrs.
Millar said she had learnt the hymn when she was a little girl, and she
wrote out the first verse for me. And every night afterwards I let the
child repeat it after me,-