She was a much more valuable craft than Mr. Pratt had ever seen ashore on Scarborough beach, and yet he failed to calculate her value immediately, because as the bow grated on the sand the misshapen boy, from whose white lips not a word had escaped during all this time, suddenly lifted what at first appeared to be a bundle of cloth.
This act in itself would not have caused any surprise, but at the same moment a familiar noise was heard from beneath the coverings.
Farmer Pratt stepped back quickly in genuine alarm and wiped his face with the sleeve of his shirt as he exclaimed,—
"Well, this beats anything I ever seen!"
"It's a baby, father!" Tom cried, starting forward to take the burden from the crooked little sailor's arms; but the latter retreated as if afraid the child was to be carried away, and the farmer replied testily,—
"Of course it's a baby. Haven't I heard you cry often enough to know that?"
"But how did it come here?"
"That's what beats me"; and then, as if suddenly realizing that the apparent mystery might be readily solved, he asked the stranger, "Where did you come from, sonny?"
"From Savannah."
"Sho! Why, that's way down in Georgy. You didn't sail them many miles in this 'ere little boat?"