Saved at Sea | Page 8

very solemn thought, and I cannot be too thankful to God for sparing us both a little longer. My grandfather was a kind-hearted, good-tempered, honest old man; but I know now that that is not enough to open the door of heaven. Jesus is the only way there, and my grandfather knew little of, and cared nothing for, Him.
Little Timpey became my constant companion, indoors and out of doors. She was rather shy of the little Millars, for they were noisy and rough in their play, but she clung to me, and never wanted to leave me. Day by day she learnt new words, and came out with such odd little remarks of her own, that she made us all laugh. Her great pleasure was to get hold of a book, and pick out the different letters of the alphabet, which, although she could hardly talk, she knew quite perfectly.
Dear little pet! I can see her now, sitting at my feet on a large flat rock by the seashore, and calling me every minute to look at A, or B, or D, or S. And so by her pretty ways she crept into all our hearts, and we quite dreaded the answer coming to the letter my grandfather had written to the owners of the Victory, which, we found, was the name of the lost ship.
It was a very wet day, the Monday that the answer came. I had been waiting some time on the pier, and was wet through before the steamer arrived. Captain Sayers handed me the letter before anything else, and I ran up with it to my grandfather at once. I could not wait until our provisions and supplies were brought on shore.
Little Timpey was sitting on a stool at my grandfather's feet, winding a long piece of tape round and round her little finger. She ran to meet me as I came in, and held up her face to be kissed.
What if this letter should say she was to leave us, and go back by the steamer! I drew a long breath as my grandfather opened it.
It was a very civil letter from the owners of the ship, thanking us for all we had done to save the unhappy crew and passengers, but saying they knew nothing of the child or her belongings, as no one of the name of Villiers had taken a cabin, and there was no sailor on board of that name. But they said they would make further inquiries in Calcutta, from which port the vessel had sailed. Meanwhile they begged my grandfather to take charge of the child, and assured him he should be handsomely rewarded for his trouble.
'That's right!' I said, when he had finished reading it. 'Then she hasn't to go yet!'
'No,' said my grandfather; 'poor wee lassie! we can't spare her yet. I don't want any of their rewards, Alick, not I! That's reward enough for me,' he said, as he lifted up the child to kiss his wrinkled forehead.
CHAPTER VI.
THE OLD GENTLEMAN'S QUESTION.
The next Monday morning Timpey and I went down together to the pier, to await the arrival of the steamer. She had brought a doll with her, which Mrs. Millar had given her, and of which she was very proud.
Captain Sayers sent for me, as soon as the steamer came up to the pier, to tell me that two gentlemen had come to see my grandfather. I held the child's hand very tightly in mine, for I had felt sure they had come for her.
The gentlemen came up the steps a minute or two afterwards. One of them was a middle-aged man, with a very clever face, I thought. He told me he had come to see Mr. Alexander Fergusson, and asked me if I could direct him which way to go to the house.
'Yes, sir,' I said; 'Mr. Fergusson is my grandfather.' So we went up towards the lighthouse, Timpey and I walking first to lead the way, and the gentlemen following. The other gentleman was quite old, and had white hair and gold spectacles, and a pleasant, kindly face.
Timpey could not walk very fast, and she kept running first to one side and then to another, to gather flowers or pick up stones, to I took her in my arms and carried her.
'Is that your little sister?' asked the old gentleman.
'No, sir,' I said; 'this is the little girl who was on board the Victory!
'Dear me! dear me!' said both gentlemen at once. 'Let me look at her,' said the old man, arranging his spectacles.
But Timpey was frightened, and clung to me, and began to cry. 'Never mind, never mind,' said the old gentleman kindly; 'we'll make friends with one another by-and-by.'
By this time we had reached the house, and the middle-aged