THE LITTLE WAIF.
JACK and his brother were soon fast asleep, in spite of the noise made
by the wind. But the widow lay listening to its wild roar, and thinking
of that night when her husband was out in just such a storm as this,
that came on so suddenly that before he could reach the shore his
little fishing boat was dashed on the fatal rocks, and he and three
others perished in the eddying waves.
As the hours went on, the storm increased in violence, while ever
and anon between the lulls of the tempest the guns of a vessel in
distress could be plainly heard. At the earliest dawn, all the men in
the village were down upon the beach; some had been there all night
watching the ineffectual effort of the splendid vessel to gain the
harbor. It was all in vain, she was drifting fast to her doom on the
fatal reef of hidden rocks that made this coast so dangerous.
To describe the scene of agonizing excitement when she struck, would be
impossible. All hope was at an end then, and the passengers who crowded
her deck knew it. The storm, however, had begun to abate, and, as soon
as it was possible, boats put off from the shore to rescue the helpless
crew and passengers. But before half of them could be brought off, the
vessel had begun to break up.
Our two fisher-lads were among the earliest arrivals at the exciting
scene, and they had promised to run back with intelligence to their
mother.
"Now, Bob, you just run and tell mother how she is," said Jack, after
they had stood looking at the vessel for a minute or two; "and don't
come down here again. Stop up at Sandy Cove and watch; you can slip
back to mother then, and tell her how it's going on."
Bob did not much like the post assigned him, to be a lonely watcher in
a sheltered nook, instead of in the midst of the excitement. But when
his mother repeated the same request, he did not think of returning to
his elder brother. He was a meek, gentle lad, although a fisher-boy,
and quite accustomed to obey his mother, although he helped to support
her, and so he quietly took up his lonely position to watch the doomed
vessel.
She had struck during the time he had been running home, and when he
saw the boats put off shortly afterwards, it was a sore trial to him
to stay where he was, in obedience to his mother's wishes, instead of
remaining on the scene of action. But he did stay, watching with eager
interest the progress made by the boats, and occasionally shouting
cheering words to the rowers, as though the din of wind and waves would
carry them to the men.
Presently, as we have said, the vessel began to break up. One and
another was washed from the crowded deck into the eddying waves, some
flinging themselves in with life-preservers around them, and others
lashing themselves to spars, hoping that these would keep them above
water. One of these was quickly carried beyond the rocks and floated
towards where Bob was standing. He did not notice it at first, but as
it gradually drifted nearer, he saw that something was lashed to it.
It came nearer each moment, and, as it came on, all the boy's interest
centred in that one remnant of the wreck, and he prepared to plunge in
and drag it to the shore. But there was no occasion for this. A wave
caught it as he was dashing into the surf, and, whirling it past him,
dashed it high up on the sandy beach. Bob ran to it instantly, and then
saw that a child was securely lashed to it, but, to all appearance,
dead as the spar itself.
To take out his knife, however, and cut the cords that bound the little
creature was the work of a moment; and then taking it in his arms, with
the long fair hair dripping over his shoulders, he ran with all his
speed up the winding path towards home. But he halted before he had
gone far. What could his mother do for the child, and she unable to
turn herself in bed? And yet everybody else was down at the other part
of the beach.
Suddenly he remembered Dr. Mansfield's house stood close by, and
without a second thought about the matter, he ran there.
"I want the doctor!" he panted, when the startled housekeeper opened
the door in answer to his imperious ring.
The woman glanced at the child and then at him. "Dr. Mansfield sees
nobody, you know that," she said sternly. "You must take the child
somewhere else."
But at this moment Bob felt, or fancied he felt, a faint fluttering
in the little frame, while a door hastily opened on the opposite side
of the hall revealed the bent figure of the doctor. Bob knew him in
a moment, although he had not seen him above twice in his life, and
dashing past the astonished housekeeper, he entered the room before she
could prevent it.
"It ain't dead, doctor!" gasped Bob, holding out the still dripping
child.
The doctor stepped back a pace or two and stared at the intruder with
dilating eyes, bringing to the boy's recollection a rumor lately gone
abroad that the doctor was out of his mind. "Why, you are the boy that
came to my gardener yesterday with the sea-weed?" he said.
Bob nodded.
"Good. I like you, for you didn't get into a passion when the man swore
so. I'll look at your baby." And he took the little creature from Bob
as he spoke.
It was to all appearance dead, but the skilled hand of the physician
detected a faint fluttering at the heart, and the discovery seemed to
arouse him in a moment from the torpor and half insanity of his manner.
Ringing the bell, he ordered blankets to be brought, and then proceeded
to use other restoratives which he had close at hand.
For some time, however, it seemed that all their efforts were in vain,
and nearly an hour passed before there were any signs of life, but at
last there came a little faintly drawn breath, and the doctor redoubled
his exertions to fan the faint spark of life into a flame again.
The effect of these exertions was scarcely less marked upon himself
than upon the child, and Bob could only stare in blank amazement when
he saw the change in the gloomy, misanthropic doctor. Brisk, active,
energetic, decided, his bowed form stood erect, and the fire in his
dark eyes flashed back a denial of anything like insanity.
And when at last, the heavy blue eyes of the little girl slowly opened,
a smile broke over all the face of her deliverer. It was the first time
he had been known to smile for ten years.
"Now, boy," he said, addressing Bob, "your baby will live, but you had
better leave her here a bit, till she gets well."
"Yes, sir," answered the boy, pulling at his hair, but still staring
in amazement at the doctor, and the wonderful transformation that had
passed over him within the last hour.
"You can come and take her in a day or two, when she gets well,"
said the housekeeper as he was leaving, and the doctor nodded his
acquiescence in his housekeeper's suggestion.
Bob ran to tell his mother of his adventure, and from her heard that
most of the passengers and crew had been saved, but that the captain of
the vessel had been washed overboard and drowned.
A month passed; the rescued passengers and crew had all departed
from the lonely fishing village—all but the little waif, ill at Dr.
Mansfield's. No one had come to claim her, and no one could tell to
whom she belonged; the uncertainty which for some time hung over her,
as to whether she would live or die, made this of secondary importance.
But soon after the last of the passengers had departed, an improvement
took place in the child, the fever left her, and she was able to look
around and notice her strange nurses. And to her, they did appear very
strange, for she turned from every one but the doctor, refusing to
make friends with any but him. She appeared to be about two years old,
and could just lisp two words, "Milly" and "papa." By the former she
meant herself, and the latter she applied to Dr. Mansfield. There was a
little odd jargon of some foreign language that she babbled sometimes,
but nothing of her name or parentage could be discovered from it.