oaned as he saw it; but drew further back, so that she should not
see him when she opened her eyes.

"Give me the sticking-plaster, Dick," said his mother, when Tiny had
somewhat revived. Mrs. Coomber was used to cuts and wounds, and could
strap them up as cleverly as a surgeon. It was not the sight of the ugly
cut that had frightened her, but the death-like swoon, which she did not
understand.

"How about the milk, mother?" Coomber ventured to ask, after Tiny's
forehead was strapped up and bandaged.

Again came that shudder of fear, and the little girl crept closer to the
sheltering arms. "Don't be frightened, deary; daddy won't hurt you now."

"Don't let him come," whispered Tiny; but Coomber heard the whisper, and
it cut him to the heart, although he kept carefully in the background as
he repeated his question.

"Would yer like a little milk, deary?" asked Mrs. Coomber.

"There ain't no money to buy milk," said Tiny, in a feeble, weary tone.

But Coomber crept round the back of the kitchen, so as to keep out of
sight, took up the bottle of whisky he had brought home, and went out.
He brought a jug of milk when he came back. "You can send for some more
to-morrow, and as long as she wants it," he said, as he stood the jug on
the table.

[Illustration]

CHAPTER VII.

A TEA MEETING.

Tiny was very ill the next day--too ill to get up, or to notice what was
passing around her. Mrs. Coomber, who had had very little experience of
sickness, was very anxious when she saw Tiny lying so quiet and
lifeless-looking, the white bandage on her forehead making her poor
little face look quite ghastly in its paleness. The fisherman had crept
into the room before he went out, to look at her while she was asleep,
and the sight had made his heart ache.

"I never thought I could ha' been such a brute as to hurt a little 'un
like that," he said, drawing his sleeve across his eyes, and speaking in
a whisper to his wife.

"It was the whisky," said his wife, by way of comforting him.

But Coomber would not accept even this poor comfort. "I was a fool to
take so much," he said. "Wus than a fool, for I knowed it made me savage
as a bear; and yet I let it get the mastery of me. But it's the last,
mother; I took the bottle to the farm last night, and they're going to
let me have the value of it in milk for the little 'un, and please God
she gets well again, it's no more whisky I'll touch."

It was not easy for a man like