our," Jim said, as
they made their way along the pier. "He rescued a curly-haired kid from
a watery grave--at least, it would have been in if he hadn't caught it
by the hind leg--and after that the kid refused to let him go."

"He was quite a jolly kid," said Wally. "Only he seems to have
quicksilver in him, instead of blood. I'm sorry for his mother--she'll
have a packed time for the next five weeks." He sighed. "Hide me,
Norah--there he is now!"

The curly-haired one proved to be little Tim Burton, who detached
himself from his mother on catching sight of Wally, and trotted across
to him with a shrill cry of "There's mine officer!"--whereat Wally swung
him up on his shoulder, to his infinite delight. Mrs. Burton hurried up
to claim her offspring, and was made known to every one by Cecilia.

"It's such an awful wait," she said wearily. "We came here soon after
two o'clock, thinking we would get the children on board early for their
afternoon sleep; now it's after four, and we have stood here ever since.
It's too tantalizing with the ship looking at us, and the poor babies
are so tired. Still, I'm not the worst off. Look at that poor girl."

She pointed out a white-faced girl who was sitting in a drooping
attitude on a very dirty wooden case. She was dainty and refined in
appearance; and looking at her, one felt that the filthy case was the
most welcome thing she had found that afternoon. Her husband, an officer
scarcely more than a boy, stood beside, trying vainly to hush the cries
of a tiny baby. She put up her arms wearily as they looked at her.

"Oh, give her to me, Harry." She took the little bundle and crooned over
it; and the baby wailed on unceasingly.

"Oh!" said Norah Linton. She took a quick stride forward. They watched
her accost the young mother--saw the polite, yet stiff, refusal on the
English girl's face; saw Norah, with a swift decided movement stoop down
and take the baby from the reluctant arms, putting any protest aside
with a laugh. A laugh went round the Linton party also.

"I knew she'd get it," said Jim.

"Rather!" his friend echoed. "But she hasn't arms enough for all the
babies who want mothering here."

There were indeed plenty of them. Tired young mothers stood about
everywhere, with children ranging from a few months to three or four
years, all weary by this time, and most of them cross. Harassed young
husbands, unused to travelling with children--unused, indeed, to
anything but Wa