"She's to be ours now, mother. The doctor won't keep her any longer," said Jack, smoothing the child's fair hair, and looking at the lovely blue eyes, that were opened widely now in wondering surprise at the strange faces and still stranger place.
The widow looked as puzzled as Bob had done for a minute or two, but at length, to the great relief of the boys she said, "The Lord has sent her, and I doubt not but He'll provide for her. May be He has some work for her to do here, and so we'll just do the best we can for her."
It was an odd companionship—the bedridden widow and two rough lads for a little delicate girl. But Bob grew to be almost as gentle as a girl himself in attending to her wants—more gentle and yielding than was altogether good for the young lady, who soon ruled with despotic sway all the little household, and resented the smallest resistance to her wishes.
As the weeks and months went on, however, the widow noticed, with a growing anxiety, that Milly's uncontrolled temper was fast gaining the mastery of her. And at length, a simple incident convinced her that she must set about the work of correcting and subduing it without delay.
Bob frequently took the child down to the shore when he could spare the time, and helped her to gather shells and bits of rubbish cast up by the sea, but he had to keep a close watch over her lest she should get into danger, an interference Milly often resented. But one day her rescue seemed to make her more angry than ever; she kicked and struggled to get free from the protecting arms, and at last made a desperate plunge at Bob's face with the sharp edge of an oyster-shell that she happened to have in her hand. The blow might not have been so severe, but the boy happened to bend his head forward at the moment, and the shell entered his cheek, inflicting quite a deep wound.
Jack saw his brother's face covered with blood, and took the child from his arms, who ceased her kicking and struggling the moment she saw the mischief she had done.
"Run home as fast as you can, Bob, and get mother to tie it up," said Jack, seating Milly on the ground.
"Let me go, let me go!" cried Milly, running after Bob. "Me hurt poor Bob, let me kiss him and make him well."
And she escaped from Jack's detaining hold, and ran after his brother. Bob stopped and lifted her up in his arms, but the sight of the blood seemed to horrify her, and she burst into tears.
"Poor Bob! Poor Bob!" she said caressingly.