he went to Grimsby, I s'pose?" he said.

"Yes, he did."

"Well now, couldn't you let her have it, and let Peters bring you
another?" said the fisherman, who was anxious that his darling should be
gratified if possible.

But the old woman was little more than a child herself over this
picture, and was unwilling to part with it at first. At last she agreed
to sell it to Tiny for a basket of samphire, for this seaweed made a
kind of pickle among the fisher-folk, and was of some marketable value,
too, for it did not grow everywhere along the coast, although round
Bermuda Point it flourished in great luxuriance.

Tiny was only too glad to obtain such a treasure on such easy terms,
although she was paying about five times the value of it; and when it
had been folded up and carefully stowed away in Coomber's pocket, she
was quite ready to go to the boat, although Dame Peters pressed them to
stay and have some of the hot potatoes for supper.

Tiny seemed brimful of joy that night; and when she was seated in the
boat, and they were rowing over the placid water, she so far forgot her
fears as to begin singing. Something in the surroundings had recalled to
her mind the time when she used to sing nearly every night her mother's
favourite hymn. It all came back to her as freshly as though she had
sung it only last week; and her sweet young voice rang out bold and
clear--

"Star of Peace to wanderers weary,
Bright the beams that smile on me;
Cheer the pilot's vision dreary,
Far, far at sea."

She paused there, not feeling quite sure of the next verse; but Coomber
said quickly--

"Go on, deary, go on; don't you know the next bit?"

"I'll try," said Tiny; and again the voice rang out in its childish
treble--

"Star of Hope, gleam on the billow,
Bless the soul that sighs for Thee;
Bless the sailor's lonely pillow,
Far, far at sea."

"Who told you that, deary?" asked the fisherman, eagerly, when she
paused again.

"My mother used to sing it every night. She used to say it was meant for
daddy. And she told me I must always sing it, too, only somehow I've
forgot everything since I came here."

"Never mind the rest, deary; try and think about that. It's just the
song for a sailor and a sailor's lass."

"That's just what my mother used to say--that I was a sailor's lass!"
exclaimed Tiny.

"And she taught you just the right kind of a song. Now try a bit more,
deary," he added, c