d her course to
the beach a few evenings before. She did not wish to encounter Joe, so
slipping behind the blue jacketed crowd, she walked quickly forwards,
but Joe followed her.

"Young lady," he said, "if you are looking for corallines, you can't do
better than ask your papa some fine afternoon, to drive you as far as
Sheldon, and you'll find a sight of fine weeds there, as I know, for my
boy, my poor boy I lost, I mean," said he, again touching the rusty
crape on his hat, "my boy was very curious in those things, and had
quite a museum of 'em at home." How could Edith stand against such an
attack? It was plain that the old man wanted to make peace with her,
and, cheerfully thanking him, she was moving on, but the old boots
grinding the shingle, were again heard behind her, and turning round,
she saw Joe at her heels.

"Miss, I don't know as I ought to have stopped you that night. I am a
poor old fisherman, and you are a young lady, but I meant no harm, and
for the moment only did it in a joke."

"Oh, dear," said Edith, "don't think any more about it, I was very
cross that night, and you were quite right, I should have got Miss
Schomberg into sad trouble if I had gone that way. As it was, I was out
too late. Have you lost a son lately, said Edith, I heard you say you
had just now? Was he drowned?" inquired the child, kindly looking up
into Joe's face.

"Yes Miss, he was drowned," said Joe, "he came by his death very sadly.
Will you please, Miss, to come home with me, and I will shew you his
curiosities, and if you please to take a fancy to any, I'm sure you are
very welcome. I don't know any good it does me to turn 'em over, and
look at them as I do times and often, but somehow when we lose them we
love, we hoard up all they loved. He had a little dog, poor Bob had, a
little yapping thing, and I never took to the animal, 'twas always
getting into mischief, and gnawing the nets, and stealing my fish, and I
used often to say, 'Bob, my boy, I love you but not your dog. No, that
saying won't hold good now. I can't love that dog of yours. Sell it,
boy--give it away--get rid of it some how.' All in good part, you know,
Miss, for I never had any words with him about it. And now Bob is
gone--do you know, Miss, I love that dumb thing with the sort of love I
should love his child, if he had left me one. If any one huffs Rover, (I
ain't a very huffish man,) but I can tell you I shew them I don't like
it, I let the creature