rag.
I could hardly breathe, so dreadful was the moment!

'Now back again for some more!' cried my grandfather, when the wave had
passed.

We looked round, but the ship was gone! It had disappeared like a dream
when one awakes, as if it had never been. That mighty wave had broken
its back, and shattered it into a thousand fragments. Nothing was to be
seen of the ship or its crew but a few floating pieces of timber.

My grandfather and Millar pulled hastily to the spot, but it was some
time before we could reach it, for we had been carried by the sea almost
a mile away, and the storm seemed to be increasing in violence.

When at last we reached that terrible Ainslie Crag, we were too late to
save a single life; we could not find one of those on board. The
greater number no doubt had been carried down in the vortex made by the
sinking ship, and the rest had risen and sunk again long before we
reached them.

For some time we battled with the waves, unwilling to relinquish all
hope of saving some of them. But we found at last that it was of no use,
and we were obliged to return.

All had perished, except the child lying at my feet. I stooped down to
it, and could hear that it was crying, but it was so tightly tied up in
a blanket that I could not see it nor release it.

We had to strain every nerve to reach the lighthouse. It was not so hard
returning as going, for the wind was in our favour, but the sea was
still strong, and we were often in great danger. I kept my eyes fixed
on the lighthouse lamps, and steered the boat as straight as I could.
Oh! how thankful we were to see those friendly lights growing nearer.
And at last the pier came in sight, and Mrs. Millar still standing there
watching us.

'Have you got none of them?' she said, as we came up the steps.

'Nothing but a child,' said my grandfather sadly. 'Only one small child,
that's all. Well, we did our very best, Jem, my lad.'

Jem was following my grandfather, with the oars over his shoulder. I
came last, with that little bundle in my arms.

The child had stopped crying now, and seemed to be asleep, it was so
still. Mrs. Millar wanted to take it from me, and to undo the blanket,
but my grandfather said 'Bide your time, Mary; bring the child into the
house, my lass; it's bitter cold out here.'

So we all went up through the field, and through our garden and the
court. The blanket was tightly fastened round the child, except at the
top, where room h