"Oh—oh, nothin'!" he answered. "Good-night!"
"G'-night," she murmured, sleepily.
"She prayed for a doll carriage and she got a cradle," mused Rick. "I—I wonder if—if I prayed for a dog—if I'd get—a cat?"
He listened to the distant booming of the surf.
"I—I guess I'll take a chance," he whispered in the dark.
CHAPTER II
RUDDY WANTS A HOME
Straight out of the north-east blew the wind. It whipped its way across three thousand miles of open, salty water, growing stronger and fiercer every mile it traveled, until, when it reached the beach at Belemere, it was blowing a gale. The ocean waves, which had been small at first, grew larger and larger, and their white, foamy crests were whipped into spray that mingled with the whirling sand and made the beach guard shut his eyes when he felt the stinging in his face.
"This is a regular rip-snorter of a north-easter!" he muttered to himself as he pulled his oilskin cap closer down over his head. "A regular rip-snorter, and I can't see a hundred fathoms out!"
He strained his eyes, trying to pierce the rainy, wind-swept and spume-filled darkness that hovered over the heaving ocean. He wanted to see—if it were there to be seen—the flickering signal-light of a vessel in distress.
That is, it was his duty to see it, if such a signal were flashed, and to hurry to the nearest station and spread the alarm. And yet he hoped there would be no need of that.