Noll looked up from his seat by the fire, where he sat dripping and shivering, and said,—
"But aren't you glad I'm safe, Uncle Richard?—aren't you thankful?"
Trafford answered this question with a look which made his nephew exclaim,—
"I know you are, Uncle Richard! Then why—why—aren't you thankful to God?"
"Don't, don't, Noll!" said his uncle. "Strip off those wet garments and make haste to get warm again. Culm Rock is no place for one to be sick in. Hurry, boy?"
Instead of hurrying, however, Noll suddenly grew very grave and exclaimed,—
"Oh, I've forgotten something, Uncle Richard! That tide drove it all out of my head. What can I do? Dirk Sharp's little girl is sick—dying, and I was to bring her some medicine, if Hagar had any!"
"What is Dirk or his to you?" exclaimed Trafford. "Was that what kept you so late? Is that how you came to be caught by the tide?"
"Yes," said Noll, "I—"
His uncle interrupted him with a stern, "Noll, you reckless lad! What are those Culm people to us,—to me? You put your life in peril—oh, I tremble to think what peril!—for Dirk's miserable child? What were you thinking of? Have you no regard for your life,—for my happiness?"