solemn kind of way,
occasionally addressing a word to the mother, who sat enveloped in the
smoke which poured into the room from the ill-constructed fireplace.
They regarded Noll with many curious glances as he passed through
after Dirk to the apartment where the child was laid, and one old
creature followed after them, apparently to ascertain the boy's
errand.

It was a bare room where Dirk's treasure was sleeping,--not a thing in
it save the two wooden stools and rough board which upheld their still
little burden. Pure and white the child lay,--a fair, delicate flower
when compared with the dinginess and squalor of everything about it;
and something of this contrast seemed to glimmer upon Dirk's rough
perceptions, for he said to Noll,--

"Ye wouldn't think she could be mine, lad! Ye don't wonder the little
gal couldn't come up like the rest o' the young uns?"

"It wur a fair gal, Lord knows," said the old fish-wife who had
followed them in; "it warn't black and freckly, never. Sich kinds
don't love this salt water, Dirk Sharp,--ye couldn't ha' raised her,
man!"

"Oh, my little gal!" murmured Dirk, smoothing a fleck of golden hair
with his great brawny hand.

"Ye be fair an' white," said the old fish-wife, touching Noll's cheek
with her skinny finger, "an' what be ye here on the Rock fur?"

"Sh!--ye let the lad alone, mother," said Dirk; "he be come here to
bring my little gal somethin', an' she be beyond eatin' an' drinkin'.
He be a good lad to do it!"

Noll looked upon the little sleeper's face, and then at the wretched
surroundings, and was glad for the child's sake that sleep and peace
had come at last. Yet his heart was heavy as he looked upon his basket
and its now useless contents, and he thought, "Oh, if I had only been
more careful last night!--perhaps--perhaps Hagar's medicines could
have helped it." He turned to Dirk, saying, quietly,--

"I must go now. I'm--I'm _so_ sorry I was too late!"

The fisherman followed Noll out on to the sand, and, as the boy was
about to turn away homeward, took both his hands in one of his own
great brown ones, saying,--

"Ye be kinder to me 'an I ken tell ye, lad. I thought yer kind had no
heart fur us folk. Bless ye, lad, bless ye!"

Noll's homeward walk seemed somewhat brighter to him, even though he
left the child dead behind him. Dirk's gratitude, a small matter
though it may have been, gave him a thrill of pleasure. It was
pleasant to t