oment speechless.
Billy sat down on the floor in that prompt manner which is peculiar to
young children when they lose their balance; simultaneously with the
shock of being seated the word "faither" burst from his lips. Mrs Gaff
uttered a suppressed cry, and ran into the wet man's arms. Tottie and
the Bu'ster each ran at a leg, and hugging it violently, squeezed a
cataract of salt water into their respective bosoms.

"Stephen, lad, is't you?" said the wife, raising her head for a moment
and looking up in the man's face.

"Ay, dear lass, wrecked again; but safe home, thank God."

Mrs Gaff was not wont to give way to the melting mood, but she could
not restrain a few tears of joy. Tottie, observing this, cried from
sympathy; and the Bu'ster, not to be outdone, willed, began, and carried
into execution, a series of true British cheers, that could not have
been surpassed, perhaps could not have been equalled, by any boy of his
age in or out of the Royal Navy.

CHAPTER TWO.

WRECKED, RESCUED, AND RESUSCITATED--MRS. NIVEN RECEIVES A SURPRISE, ALSO
THE GIFT OF A CHILD.

On the same dark tempestuous night of which I write, a little ship was
wrecked on the east coast of England.

She had sailed from the antipodes, had weathered many a gale, had
crossed the great ocean in safety, had sighted the lights and the cliffs
of "home," and was dashed to pieces at last on the rocks within two
hours' sail of the port to which she was bound.

Hundreds of ships, great and small, were wrecked on the coasts of
Britain during that memorable gale. The little ship to which I refer
was one of the many in regard to which the newspapers said, "she was
dashed to pieces, and all hands perished."

But in this particular case all hands had not perished: two lives had
been spared, unknown to journalists and coastguardsmen.

It was the dead of night when the vessel struck. The spot was lonely,
at least a mile distant from human habitations. No anxious eyes on
shore saw her quiver as each successive billow lifted her up and hurled
her cruelly down; no sorrowing ear heard the shriek of despair that rose
above the yelling storm, when, in little more than ten minutes, the
vessel broke up, and left the crew and passengers to perish within sight
of their native land.

There was one man among the number who did not shriek, who did not
despair. He was not a hero of romance whose soul raised him above the
fear of sudden death--no, he was o