Hagar came in, saying, "Ye'll hab yer supper here, in de kitchen, Mas'r Noll, 'cause it's warmer fur ye dan in de dinin'-room. Ye won't mind Hagar's ole kitchen jes' fur once, honey?"
"No," said Noll, sadly, "I won't mind at all, Hagar, and I'm not hungry—much."
Trafford went out to change his own wet clothing. The old housekeeper bustled between her cupboards and a little round table which she had drawn before the fire, casting wistful looks at Noll as he sat gravely gazing in the coals.
"Bress de Lord! bress de Lord fur savin' ye!" she ejaculated, fervently, as she bent down over her tea-pot which was spouting odorous jets of steam from its place on the hearth; "'pears like dar wouldn't be nuffin left in dis ole house ef de sea had swallered ye, Mas'r Noll. Don't ye t'ank de Lord?" she asked, peering up into the boy's sober face.
"Yes; I'm glad to live, and I thank God for saving me; but oh, Hagar," said Noll, almost with tears in his eyes, "there's somebody on this Rock to-night that's as sad as you or Uncle Richard would have been if the tide had swept me away!"
"Now!" said Hagar; "an' who is dem yer?"
"Dirk Sharp's little girl is sick with a fever, and I think she's going to die,—though of course I can't tell,—and they haven't a drop of medicine. Just think, Hagar,—dying, and nothing to save!"
Hagar thought, and sighed heavily over her tea-pot. "Don' know what's goin' to 'come o' them yer Culm folks!" she said.
"And," continued Noll, "I promised to bring Dirk some medicine,—I was going to get it of you; but I got into that fearful tide and was half drowned, and now—oh, what can I do?"
"Bress ye, honey, ye didn't 'spect to go back in de dark to Culm?" cried Hagar.