nging group of
longshoremen. "Royal Navy" was written all over him--in his keen eyes,
his upright carriage, and his kindly, respectful manner. At the
confidence in his voice Mrs. Beauchamp's wavering hope steadied, but she
suddenly felt the strain of the anxiety and fatigue. As she turned she
stumbled over something small and black that the ebb-tide had left in the
ridge of damp seaweed on the beach. She slipped and recovered herself,
for the old man's hand was on her arm.

"Steady, ma'am," he said cheerfully; "it's only a bit of an old boot."

"A bit of a boot!" The object swam before Mrs. Beauchamp's eyes, her
hands trembled. "It is a child's," she said, and there was anguish in her
voice.

"Oh, well"--he picked it up and flung it on one side--"the sea don't give
up boots without the feet they held. Wherever the little girl is, ma'am,
she's gone without her boots. Carry on."

The Royal Navy, as the senior service, went first, and Mrs. Beauchamp
stumbled after him; but there was new hope springing in her heart. His
sturdy common-sense had infected her. Was it she only who doubted
Susie--who had no confidence in her common-sense? The sea gives back
only what it takes, and it had given back only Susie's empty boot.

Stumbling, dizzy, tired out, she still felt a divine peace at her heart
as she heard the comfortable, steady steps beside her, and saw the fine,
weather-beaten face, with its clear, keen eyes.

"You see, ma'am," he said, "longshoremen are good lads enough for
sunshine and fair weather, but it's the Royal Navy you look to when it
comes to foul weather and storm. That's where I got my training, and it
stands by you. Maybe you'd like to rest a bit and let me go on? I'll
knock at every door in the place before I give in, and I'll bring them
children with me."

"No, oh no," she said. Her voice was hoarse with fatigue, but was
undaunted. "I shall sail humbly in the wake of the Royal Navy. Only,
tell me what you mean to do."

He stood for a moment under a lamp, and his keen eyes seemed to see
through her. "I propose to begin with the first street out of the
Parade," he said, "and so on, by sections. I'll go first where I'm known.
There can't be such a rack of twins in the town that they can't be
traced. Trust me, lady."

"I _do_! I _do_!" she said; "but I feel frightened."

"Where's your faith, ma'am?" he said, rather sternly.

"I am sure I don't know," she said, with a faint smile. "It may be the
will