the little frock in front, he
placed the child's breast against his own, and held it there, while with
his right hand he continued to chafe her limbs.

In a few minutes he felt a flutter of the heart, then a gentle sigh
escaped from the blue lips; the eyelids quivered, and finally the child
revived.

"D'ye feel gettin' better, Emmie?" said the man, in a low, soft voice.

A faint "yes" was all the reply.

The seaman continued his efforts to instil warmth into the little frame.
Presently the same question was repeated, and the child looking up,
said--

"Is that 'oo, Gaff?"

"Ay, dear, 'tis me."

"Where am I--where's mamma?" inquired Emmie, looking round in some
degree of alarm.

"Hush, dear; don't speak just now. I've just brought 'ee ashore fro'
the wreck, an' am goin' to tak 'ee home. Try to sleep, dear."

Gaff wrapped his jacket round the child, and hurried away in search of
the highroad. He knew the place well. He had been wrecked on a reef
within two miles of his native hamlet, and within three of the town of
Wreckumoft. He soon found the road, and broke from a fast walk into a
run. The child lay quietly in his arms, either being too much exhausted
to speak, or having fallen asleep.

The man muttered to himself as if in perplexity--

"It'll never do to tak 'er home wi' me. She'd remember us, and that
would let the secret out. No, I'll tak 'er straight there."

Gaff reached his native village as he came to this resolve. It was all
astir. Three ships had been cast on the rocks there within a hundred
yards of each other. The lifeboat was out; the rocket apparatus had
that moment arrived from the neighbouring town, and was being dragged on
its waggon through the village to the scene of danger. All the men, and
many of the women and children of the place, were on the beach, while
eager groups of those who could not face the storm were collected in
doorways and sheltered places, awaiting news from the shore. Many of
these had anxious faces, for they knew their kinsmen, the fishermen of
the place, to be bold, daring fellows, who would not hesitate to risk
life and limb to save a fellow-creature from death.

Stopping a moment at the outskirts of the village, Gaff laid down his
burden, and tied a large blue cotton kerchief round his neck, so as to
cover his mouth and chin. By pulling his sou'wester cap well over his
eyes, he concealed his face so effectually that little more than the
point of h