and down the vessel's deck with
piteous cries of impatience.

"Come hither, dear old Deb," said little Love Winslow, running up and
throwing her arms round the dog's rough neck; "thou must not take on so;
thy master will be back again; so be a good dog now, and lie down."

And the great rough mastiff quieted down under her caresses, and sitting
down by her she patted and played with her, with her little thin hands.

"See the darling," said Rose Standish, "what away that baby hath! In all
the roughness and the terrors of the sea she hath been like a little
sunbeam to us--yet she is so frail!"

"She hath been marked in the womb by the troubles her mother bore," said
old Margery, shaking her head. "She never had the ways of other babies,
but hath ever that wistful look--and her eyes are brighter than they
should be. Mistress Winslow will never raise that child--now mark me!"

"Take care!" said Rose, "let not her mother hear you."

"Why, look at her beside of Wrestling Brewster, or Faith Carver. They are
flesh and blood, and she looks as if she had been made out of sunshine.
'Tis a sweet babe as ever was; but fitter for the kingdom of heaven than
our rough life--deary me! a hard time we have had of it. I suppose it's
all best, but I don't know."

"Oh, never talk that way, Margery," said Rose Standish; "we must all keep
up heart, our own and one another's."

"Ah, well a day--I suppose so, but then I look at my good Master Brewster
and remember how, when I was a girl, he was at our good Queen Elizabeth's
court, ruffling it with the best, and everybody said that there wasn't a
young man that had good fortune to equal his. Why, Master Davidson, the
Queen's Secretary of State, thought all the world of him; and when he
went to Holland on the Queen's business, he must take him along; and when
he took the keys of the cities there, it was my master that he trusted
them to, who used to sleep with them under his pillow. I remember when he
came home to the Queen's court, wearing the great gold chain that the
States had given him. Ah me! I little thought he would ever come to a
poor man's coat, then!"

"Well, good Margery," said Rose, "it isn't the coat, but the heart under
it--that's the thing. Thou hast more cause of pride in thy master's
poverty than in his riches."

"Maybe so--I don't know," said Margery, "but he hath had many a sore
trouble in worldly things--driven and hunted from place to place in
England, clapt into