"My deary, if I thought the wind 'ud be even a bit fresh to-night, I wouldn't take yer," said the fisherman, in an earnest tone.

He had never been so tender with one of his own children--unless it was to the little girl lying in the churchyard--as he was to this little waif of the sea; and now, as he pushed off from the sh.o.r.e, he was careful to keep the old boat as steady as possible, and sat watching her little frightened face as he plied his oars. He kept as close to the beach, too, as he well could, just skirting the sand-banks, so that she should have the comfort of seeing the land all the way along.

After a few minutes Tiny grew less frightened, and ventured to ask a question about where they were going.

"Oh, I'll take yer to see Dame Peters while Bob unloads the boat," said Coomber, nodding at her in an approving manner.

"And shall I see the shops?" asked Tiny; for she did not believe what d.i.c.k had told her.

"Shops, shops!" repeated the fisherman, resting on his oars for a minute to stare at the little girl. "Well, there's a shop," he said, slowly; "but I don't see what you can want there."

"Do they sell books?" asked Tiny, eagerly.

For answer the fisherman burst into a loud laugh. "What does a little 'un like you know about books?" he said. "But I know of something they do sell, as 'll suit you a deal better; they sell sweets, and almond rock, as well as 'bacca and bread, and you shall have some, my deary."

The fisherman expected a joyous outburst in antic.i.p.ation of these unwonted dainties, but the little girl said slowly--

"Don't they sell books, too, daddy? I'd rather have a book than almond rock," she added.

"Why, what do you want with a book, a little 'un like you?" said Coomber, impatiently.

"We both wants it, d.i.c.k and me; we wants to find out whether G.o.d loves boys as well as gals."

The fisherman looked at her serious little face for a minute, and then burst into a laugh again. "Well, you are a rum 'un as ever I came across. Did you hear that, Bob?" he asked, appealing to his elder son, who was steering. Bob turned his sulky face round.

"What's she saying now?" he asked.

"What was, it little 'un--whether G.o.d loved boys and gals, wasn't it?"

asked the fisherman, who was highly amused at the question.

"He don't love none of us, I can tell her that," said Bob, sharply. "He forgot us long ago, if ever He knowed anything about us."

"There, what d'ye think o' that, little 'un?" said the fisherman, pulling away at the oars.

Tiny looked perplexed for a minute or two, but at length she said: "I think G.o.d knows all about the Point, 'cos He loves me, and He listens when I say my prayers. But s'pose I tell him," she suddenly added, as though the thought had just occurred to her; "I can ask Him to bless you and mammy, and d.i.c.k and Bob. But I should like to get a book," she said, in conclusion.

"Oh, the sweets 'll do as well," said the fisherman, who saw little use in books. He might have humoured Tiny in what he looked upon as a most extraordinary whim, but he never remembered seeing such a thing as a book in Fellness all the years he had known the place. People might have books, some of them, at least, but they were not of much use to fisher-folks, and he rather despised them.

The sun had gone down before they landed; but the moon was rising; and so, between daylight and moonlight, they would be able to get back without any difficulty, when the fish and samphire were disposed of.

"Now, Bob, get her unloaded, while I take the little 'un up to see Dame Peters," said Coomber, as he lifted Tiny out of the boat.

She was looking round eagerly in search of the houses and shops, for in spite of what she had been told, she could not divest herself of the idea that Fellness was a grand, glorious place, where everything could be bought if people only had fish and seaweed enough; and surely two big baskets of samphire were sufficient to buy a book.

But to her disappointment she saw only a few lounging fishermen and children--like herself and d.i.c.k--instead of the crowds of people she had expected; and as for shops--well, she could see a row of stone cottages at a distance. There might be a dozen, perhaps, and a few sheds and outbuildings, but the rest of the landscape was flat and unoccupied as their own Point; and at the sight Tiny hid her face in the fisherman's neck and burst into tears.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

CHAPTER IV.

TINY'S TREASURE.

"Well, now, if you can make her out, it's more than I can," said Coomber, pausing in the doorway of Dame Peters' cottage, after he had seated Tiny by the old woman's fire.

"Oh, leave her here for half an hour; she'll be all right by the time you come back; there's no 'counting for children, and she may feel frightened a bit, for all she ain't cried till she got ash.o.r.e."

"It's just that that beats me," said the fisherman; "she's as lively as you please in the boat, but as soon as she gets out, down she pops her head, and begins to pipe her eye."

"Well, there, you go and look after Perkins and the fish, and I'll see to her," said Dame Peters, a little impatiently; for she had some potatoes cooking for her husband's supper, and she knew they needed attention. After looking to these, she turned to Tiny, who had dried her tears by this time, and sat watching the old woman. "D'ye like to see pictures, deary?" she asked; and at the same time she opened the top drawer of an old-fashioned chest of drawers, and brought out a print, which she laid on the table, and lifted Tiny, chair and all, close up to look at it.

Pictures were not to be seen in every cottage a few years ago, as they may be now. The _Band of Hope Review_ and _British Workman_ had not been heard of in Fellness at the time of which we write, and so Dame Peters was very choice of her picture, although she knew nothing about the reading at the back of it.

Tiny brightened up wonderfully when her eyes fell upon this treasure; but after looking at it for some minutes, while Dame Peters turned out the potatoes, she ventured to lift it up and look at the other side, and she exclaimed joyfully: "Oh, it's a book! There's reading on it!"

"What, what!" exclaimed the old woman, turning from the fireplace to see what had happened. "What is it, child?"

"See, see, there's reading--G O D! What does that spell?" asked Tiny, looking up in the old woman's face, her finger still resting on the word she had picked out.

"Bless the child, how should I know? S'pose it is some sort of reading, as you say; but I never learned a letter in my life."

"And I've a'most forgot," said Tiny, sadly; and then her finger roved over the printed page, and she found that she could remember most of the letters now she saw them again; but how to put them together was the difficulty. She had forgotten how to do this entirely. G O D spelt a word familiar enough to her at one time, but which of all the words she used now those letters were intended to signify, she could not remember.

Again and again her finger returned to the well-remembered letters, but beyond this her memory failed her; and she sat, with puckered brow and steadfast eyes, still looking at the printed page instead of the picture, when Coomber came back.

"Oh, daddy, daddy, look here!" exclaimed Tiny; "here's a book with reading!"

"She's just sat and looked at them letters, as she calls 'em, ever since you've been gone," said Dame Peters, in a half-offended tone; for her picture was not valued as much as it ought to be, she thought.

"Oh, she's a rum 'un," said Coomber. "Well, now, are you ready, little 'un?" he asked.

Tiny looked up wistfully in the old woman's face. "Couldn't I take this home, and show it to d.i.c.k?" she asked, timidly, laying her hand on the print.

"Take my picture home!" exclaimed the old woman.

Coomber turned the paper over, and looked at it contemptuously. "Peters got this when he went to Grimsby, I s'pose?" he said.

"Yes, he did."

"Well now, couldn't you let her have it, and let Peters bring you another?" said the fisherman, who was anxious that his darling should be gratified if possible.

But the old woman was little more than a child herself over this picture, and was unwilling to part with it at first. At last she agreed to sell it to Tiny for a basket of samphire, for this seaweed made a kind of pickle among the fisher-folk, and was of some marketable value, too, for it did not grow everywhere along the coast, although round Bermuda Point it flourished in great luxuriance.

Tiny was only too glad to obtain such a treasure on such easy terms, although she was paying about five times the value of it; and when it had been folded up and carefully stowed away in Coomber's pocket, she was quite ready to go to the boat, although Dame Peters pressed them to stay and have some of the hot potatoes for supper.

Tiny seemed brimful of joy that night; and when she was seated in the boat, and they were rowing over the placid water, she so far forgot her fears as to begin singing. Something in the surroundings had recalled to her mind the time when she used to sing nearly every night her mother's favourite hymn. It all came back to her as freshly as though she had sung it only last week; and her sweet young voice rang out bold and clear--