beach.

One afternoon they went off as usual. The day was bright and cloudless,
with a stiff breeze. Lyndsay was reading aloud to Flora, as she sat at
work at the open window which commanded a view of the whole bay.

"There's Davy Jarvis and his comrade, putting off their boat, for a
swim. They must mind what they are about," said Lyndsay; "the wind is
rather too blustering for their water frolic to-day."

He put down his book, and continued to watch the lads with some
interest. The boys reached their accustomed track among the waves; and,
leaving their boat as usual, seemed to enjoy their sport with more zest
than ever. Whilst in the water, the breeze freshened, and it was with
great difficulty, and not without hard swimming, that the lads regained
their boat, which driven before the wind, seemed determined to reach the
shore without them. They succeeded at last, dressed themselves, and
stood in for the land. A long line of heavy surf was beating violently
against the beach, and by some mismanagement, the boat got capsized
among the breakers. One lad was thrown on shore, but Davy Jarvis got
entangled in the surf, which beat continually over him, and rendered
all the efforts of himself and his comrade fruitless; and the brave boy
was drowned before the sailors who hurried to his assistance could
rescue him from his perilous situation.

Flora had watched the scene with a degree of excitement so intense, that
it almost deprived her of breath. She could not believe that the lad
could perish within the reach of help, and so near the shore. The
shrieks of the mother, and the mute despair of the old fisherman, who
had been summoned to the spot, too clearly corroborated the report of
Lyndsay, that the lad was indeed dead.

After this fresh calamity old Jarvis appeared an altered man. His sinewy
frame became bent and attenuated, his step fell feebler, his hair was
bleached to snowy whiteness, and his homely, tanned features assumed an
expression of stern and patient endurance. It was evident to Flora that
his heart was breaking for the loss of his children.

Neptune seemed to understand it all--to comprehend in the fullest sense
his master's loss and his present sufferings. He would walk slowly by
the fisherman's side, and whenever he paused in his unsteady aimless
ramble along the beach, Nep would thrust his nose into his hard brown
hand, or, rearing on his hind legs, embrace him with his shaggy
fore-paws, fawning and wh