"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 ashore."

"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 Dick?" 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—

    "Star of Peace to wanderers weary,
      Bright the beams that smile on me;
    Cheer the pilot's vision dreary,
     Far, far at sea."

She paused there, not feeling quite sure of the next verse; but Coomber said quickly—

"Go on, deary, go on; don't you know the next bit?"

"I'll try," said Tiny; and again the voice rang out in its childish treble—

    "Star of Hope, gleam on the billow,
      Bless the soul that sighs for Thee;
    Bless the sailor's lonely pillow,
      Far, far at sea."

"Who told you that, deary?" asked the fisherman, eagerly, when she paused again.

"My mother used to sing it every night. She used to say it was meant for daddy. And she told me I must always sing it, too, only somehow I've forgot everything since I came here."

"Never mind the rest, deary; try and think about that. It's just the song for a sailor and a sailor's lass."

"That's just what my mother used to say—that I was a sailor's lass!" exclaimed Tiny.

"And she taught you just the right kind of a song. Now try a bit more, deary," he added, coaxingly.

    "Star of Faith, when winds are mocking
      All his toil, he flies to Thee;
     Save him, on the billows rocking,
    Far, far at sea."

"I don't think I know any more," said the child, as she finished this verse.

"Well, you've done first-rate, deary; and mind, you must sing that song to me every night," he added.

For a little while they went on in silence, and nothing could be heard but the gentle lap, lap of the waves at the side of the boat, until Coomber said: "Come, sing to us again about that sailor's star. Bob, you try and pick it up as she sings," he added.

So the verses were sung through again, and without a break this time; and Tiny was able to recall the last verse, too, and sang—

    "Star Divine, oh! safely guide him,
      Bring the wanderer back to Thee;
    Sore temptations long have tried him,
      Far, far at sea."

"Bravo, little 'un," exclaimed Bob, who was completely charmed out of his sulky mood by the singing.

"I say, Bob," suddenly exclaimed Coomber, "is the bottle up there?"

"I ain't seen the bottle," sulkily responded the lad, his ill-humour returning at once.

"I—I took it up, and told 'em to fill it," exclaimed Coomber; and as he spoke he drew in his oars, and felt under the seat, and all round the boat. "I must ha' forgot it, thinking about the little 'un and her picture," he said, after searching round the boat in vain.

"It's too late to go back," said Bob; "it'll ............