When the drifting boat was towed to the shore, there was found in it not only a boy, but a little girl, lying in the bottom of the boat,—a very pale little girl, who seemed too weak to do more than just open her brown eyes and gaze piteously about her. But when food and cordials had been given them, it was found that they could both talk, and that quite well.
Now this is the story the little boy told of himself and his little sister.
They belonged a great way up the river. A long time ago, he could not tell how long, there was famine in that country, and their mother sickened and died.
One day their father embraced them, with tears in his eyes, and said:—
“Farewell, farewell, my pretty dears. I am going now to seek employment in the kingdom of good King Brondé, where, as I am told, all may find work and bread.”
And they were left in the care of a woman who treated them ill. This woman was not only cruel, but a thief. She kept the gold their father sent, and would give them no news of him, except that he was a wood-cutter, in Long Forest.
One moonlight night the boy showed to his sister a bag of dry crusts, and said, “Let us go and seek our father.”
And she said, “O yes!”
Then they jumped into a little skiff, which had no oar. “No matter for that,” said the boy; “it will be sure to drift down.” For they knew that their father had sailed away down the river.
And a very long river the boy thought it must be. For they had drifted, night and day, through many a desolate plain and gloomy forest. And all the time he had kept shouting, loud and clear at first, but more feebly as his strength grew less, “Tirra, Tirra, Tirra, Tirra La! Tirra, Tirra, Tirra, Tirra La!”