She paused there, not feeling quite sure of the next verse; but Coomber said quickly—
"Go on, deary, go on; don't you know the next bit?"
"I'll try," said Tiny; and again the voice rang out in its childish treble—
"Star of Hope, gleam on the billow,
Bless the soul that sighs for Thee;
Bless the sailor's lonely pillow,
Far, far at sea."
"Who told you that, deary?" asked the fisherman, eagerly, when she paused again.
"My mother used to sing it every night. She used to say it was meant for daddy. And she told me I must always sing it, too, only somehow I've forgot everything since I came here."
"Never mind the rest, deary; try and think about that. It's just the song for a sailor and a sailor's lass."
"That's just what my mother used to say—that I was a sailor's lass!" exclaimed Tiny.
"And she taught you just the right kind of a song. Now try a bit more, deary," he added, coaxingly.
"Star of Faith, when winds are mocking
All his toil, he flies to Thee;
Save him, on the billows rocking,
Far, far at sea."