length reluctantly turned
their boat towards the shore, and began to row back. But before they had
got far on their way, they descried the gleam of something white
floating in front of them.

"Only a bit of sail-cloth," said one, as they paused in their rowing to
concentrate all their attention upon the object.

"Let's make sure, mates," said Coomber. "Steady, now; mind your oars;
let her float; it's coming this way, and we'll pick it up;" and in
another minute Coomber had reached over and seized the white bundle,
which he found to be carefully lashed to a spar.

"It's a child!" he exclaimed. "Mates, we ain't come out for nothing,
after all. Now row for dear life," he said, as he carefully laid the
bundle in the bottom of the boat. They could do nothing for it here, not
even ascertain whether it was dead or alive; and they pulled for the
shore with even greater eagerness than they had left it.

The dawn was breaking before they got back, and they were welcomed with
a shout from their waiting comrades, who were watching anxiously for the
return of the boat. There was disappointment, however, in the little
crowd of watchers when they saw only the brave crew returning from the
perilous journey.

"What, nothing!" exclaimed one of the men, as the boat drew close in
shore.

"Only a child, and that may be dead," shouted one of the crew.

"But I think it's alive," said Coomber. "Run, Peters, and rouse up your
missus; the womenfolk are better hands at such jobs than we are;" and as
soon as he could leave the boat, he picked up the white bundle, and
hurried after Peters, leaving his companions to tell the story of their
disappointment.

Mrs. Peters was a motherly woman, and had already lighted a fire to
prepare some breakfast for her husband, in readiness for his return from
the beach, so the wet clothes were soon taken off the child, and they
saw it was a little girl about five years old, fair and
delicate-looking, decently, but not richly clad, with a small silver
medal hung round her neck by a black ribbon. At first they feared the
poor little thing was dead, for it was not until Mrs. Peters had
well-nigh exhausted all her best-known methods for restoring the
apparently drowned, that the little waif showed any sign of returning
life.

Coomber stood watching with silent but intense anxiety the efforts of
the dame to restore animation, not daring to join in the vigorous
chafings and slappings administered, for fear