"Me likes 'ou," she said, patting his cheek with her little white hand; and she ate the fish and bread as though she was quite used to such food.
CHAPTER III.
TINY'S HOPE.
The slant rays of the setting sun lay on the wide stretch of level sand surrounding Bermuda Point, for the tide was out, and had left it smooth, or slightly rippled as with tiny wavelets. Standing at the very edge of the sands, with her eyes shaded, and her clothes blowing round her bare legs, was a little fair-haired girl. She was slender and delicate-looking still, in spite of the sun-browned arms and face. Months had passed, but Tiny was still at the Point.
She stood gazing seawards for some minutes, and then turned and walked slowly across the rippled sand.
"I can't see him, Dick," she said, in a disappointed tone.
"Oh, well, never mind," said the boy, who sat scooping the loose sand up in a heap, beyond the reach of the present ordinary tides.
"Have you filled both the baskets?" asked the little girl, as she waded through the loose dry sand to where the boy was sitting.