The next day Tiny, as she had called herself, was decidedly better. A little bed had been made up for her in the family living-room, and she lay there, quiet but observant, while Mrs. Coomber went about her work—cooking and cleaning and mending, and occasionally stopping to kiss the little wistful face that watched her with such quiet curiosity.
"Am I in a s'ip now?" the child asked at length, when Mrs. Coomber had kissed her several times.
"You're in a boat, deary; but you needn't be afraid; our boat is safe enough."
"I ain't afraid; Dod is tatin' tare of me," said the child, with a little sigh.
Mrs. Coomber wondered whether she was thinking of the storm; whether she could tell them who she was, and where her friends might be found; and she ventured to ask her several questions about this, but failed to elicit any satisfactory answer. The child was sleepy, or had forgotten what Mrs. Coomber thought she would be sure to remember; but it was evident she had taken notice of her surroundings during the last few days, for after a little while she said, "Where's der boys—dat Dick and Tom?"
Mrs. Coomber was amused. "They're out in the boat looking after the nets," she said.
"When they toming home?" asked the little girl; "home to dis boat, I mean," she added.
"Oh, they'll come soon," replied Mrs. Coomber. "But, now, can't you tell me something about your mother and father, and where you lived, my deary?" she asked again.
"I tomed in a s'ip, and 'ou my mammy now," said the child, looking round the cosy room with perfect content.
"But where is your own mammy, who taught you to say your prayers?" asked Mrs. Coomber.