Fishing was continued for at least two hours. Teenie had ceased to sing and play, and the mandoline lay quietly on her breast, while with head thrown back and rosy parted lips, she had fallen fast asleep.
A beautiful child never looks more beautiful than in the innocence of healthful slumber.
Barclay was looking at her, and he suddenly made a discovery. It was this: he loved this little fisher lass. Only a boy’s love, we may grant, but it had raised a heaven in his heart that never was there before.
He could not help wondering to himself if, when older, she would retain her soft and marvellous beauty, and if she would continue to love him as he knew she did now. I cannot explain this, but tell you for a fact, that Barclay would rather have died with Teenie now, than live to see her grow up and, mayhap, confer her affections on another.
And still gazing on her, but turning his thoughts inwards, this strange boy began to pray. I wish every boy who reads my stories were like him, for he went to the Father with every trouble he had, no matter how trivial, and he never left without a feeling of hope and comfort.
To-day Barclay was still deep in thought, and the men were lying on their oars simply waiting for orders, when suddenly there came a bolt from the blue, as it were. High up in the air a shot seemed to have been fired that shook even the boat. One startled glance upwards revealed the terrible fact that the balloon had burst in mid air, and was all in rags and tatters, while with inconceivable swiftness downwards rushed the basket, with Antonio clinging to it.
The balloon must have been fully 1500 feet high in air when it burst, and it seemed that nothing could save poor Antonio.
No wonder that the men’s gaze was riveted to the swift-descending wreck.
Barclay clutched the side of the boat and held his breath as if spell-bound, while a strange kind of sickness, born perhaps of this new terror, came creeping over his heart.