That little brother of Hetty Dingford was the funniest baby on the
coast; and there were a good many of them, right around the river
mouth.
Flora thought so too, or rather she looked upon him in the light of a
puppy, as she had just raised a small family herself, and the baby had
associated so much with the little dogs, that she thought she owned
him too. She seemed to regard him as her especial charge, and used to
rush between him and cattle on the roads, and bark away strollers from
the door-yard; but she seemed to love it most on the beach.
Whenever she thought of it, she would leave the other children, in
whose charge the baby had been placed, and rush up to the little one,
and lick its face all over, and bark with a very funny sound. The baby
would pick up a handful of gravel and throw it at the dog, but it
never hit him, and then they would both laugh together.
One afternoon, Tony Dingford said he was going a crabbing, and then
Hetty and Polly and Janey and the baby all wanted to go and see him
off. Janey took a lovely little boat, that had been made for her by
her uncle, and Polly took her spade and pail to dig for shells. Hetty
took the baby, and she had to carry him every step of the way, and she
was only eight years old; he was a year and a half old and couldn't
walk very steady, but he could creep. Oh, how he could get over the
ground! He could go sidewise and backwards, like a crab, Tony said. He
thought he could talk, too, and such a lot of curious sounds as he
used to make. He looked very odd, winking his eyes and sticking his
tongue between his four little teeth, and he was up to all sorts of
tricks.
After awhile they came to the beach, right opposite the light-house--a
most delightful spot, and Hetty proceeded to deposit the baby on the
ground, when he came to the conclusion that he didn't want to be put
there, and he caught hold of her curly locks and held on for dear
life, and screamed like a sea-gull.
This made Hetty cry out, but nothing could induce that baby to let go,
until a pail with some shells changed the current of his thoughts.
Hetty jumped away, and ran with the children, a few steps, to see
Tony's boat.
He threw in his basket and crabbing net and then, getting in himself,
he pulled out into the bay. The children wandered along, watching Tony
as he grew a lessening speck out in the sunshine. It was such fun to
jump on the stones, over the water; the shells looked more beautiful
here, because they were wet.
They staid longer than they thought, and on going back, they found the
pail and the shells, but no baby! They called, they looked about, but
the baby was gone! Every one of them cried bitter tears; they searched
behind rocks and under bushes; his little pink, spotted cap could not
be seen, but the marks of his hands and feet showed plainly in the
sand, and they led down to the water!
"Oh, baby," said Hetty in her agony, "you may pull out all my hair if
you like--where are you?"
"Oo may whack my boat all to pieces, baby--come back to Janey!" said
her sister. No sound answered, and the gulls sailed over them, and the
blue waters lapped the stones. The tide was rising, as it was past the
middle of the afternoon. Nothing was to be done, but to carry the
dreadful news to mother.
As the children approached the cottage, they saw their father
returning with the dog, Flora, and as the father caught sight of them
he saw that something had happened. Hetty approached, and, with
heart-broken sobs, told her story. The mother cried and wrung her
hands.
"Husband, he's drowned! he's drowned!" she cried. The father brushed
his hand roughly across his eyes, for the tears would come; and the
dog staring from one to the other, looked painfully alert and
interested.
"I'll go to the beach and search all night; maybe he'll be washed up
at the bend," he said.
"Father," said the weeping wife, "maybe he has not been drowned; oh,
let us hope he has not! Let us take Flora; perhaps she will find the
baby."
The father looked at the dog, which seemed to understand every word,
and went into the house and picked up a little Indian moccasin that
the child had worn, and calling Flora, gave it to her. She looked at
it, smelled of it, and throwing her nose into the air, rushed toward
the beach.
The short, sharp barks of the dog guided them to the different spots
to which the child had crept. But he was not found. The dog bounded
away again, this time in the direction of some holes that had been
worn in the face of the rocks by the tides. The water was fast coming
up to them, and they would be entirely filled before the tide turned.
The despairing mother was about returning with her children when the
father caught a distant sound, a joyful barking that Flora always made
when she had been successful in a hunt. He bounded over the rocks that
were bathed in the red light of the setting sun. He found Flora
barking and wagging her tail, at the mouth of the first little cavern;
he stooped and looked in, and there on the white sand lay the baby,
asleep. Its little cap was gone, and it dress torn and soiled with
seaweed.
The father reached for his little treasure, and hugged him to his
heart. The baby laughed, and made most frantic efforts to talk, and
immediately twisted both hands tight in his father's hair. This was
the baby's way, you know, when he wanted to be carried. You would have
cried for joy, to have seen the baby's mother when she snatched him
from his father and covered him with kisses, and the little girls
clinging to their mother, trying to get a look at him.
They went home very happy, to find Tony with his basket full of crabs,
and when he heard the story, he said,--"Flora shall have a new brass
collar, if I have to earn it for her." There was one little girl that
learned a serious lesson. Hetty says,--"I never will neglect my duty
again."