Jessie could not utter a word. She could only shiver. Mrs. Groates pulled her closer to the fire, and set a kettle on the glowing coals.
"I'll make you a cup of tea as sharp as can be. Just to think of you walking out in this bitter wind, and nothing on but a little thin shawl! You don't half take care of yourself, child."
She began rubbing the girl's chilled fingers between her own plump cushion-like palms; and Jessie had difficulty in checking a sob. It was dreadful to think of bringing a cloud upon that cheery face.
"I shouldn't wonder but Miss Perkins has been scolding her for something or other," thought Mrs. Groates. "It's too bad, though folks do say that her bark is worse than her bite; and she's really fond of Jessie." Aloud, Mrs. Groates asked, "Nothing gone wrong, I hope! Eh, dear?"
Jessie faltered and had a struggle to get out the words. "It's a barque," she said. "It's got dismasted; and its coming right upon the rocks."
"Dear, dear! That is bad! I don't wonder you're upset. And in this storm I s'pose there's scarce a chance for any of them. Poor things!"
"The lifeboat has been sent for; but they say it can't be here soon enough to do any good. And a boat's gone off from down at the point."
"Well, now, that's plucky, ain't it? Right enough, too! But it must be an uncommon rough sea. I hope no harm 'll come to any of them. You don't know which of the sailors is gone?"
"Adams—and Mr. Gilbert—and—"
Jessie turned her face away, and an anxious look crept into the other's eyes.