We had to strain every nerve to reach the lighthouse. It was not so hard returning as going, for the wind was in our favour, but the sea was still strong, and we were often in great danger. I kept my eyes fixed on the lighthouse lamps, and steered the boat as straight as I could. Oh! how thankful we were to see those friendly lights growing nearer. And at last the pier came in sight, and Mrs. Millar still standing there watching us.
'Have you got none of them?' she said, as we came up the steps.
'Nothing but a child,' said my grandfather sadly. 'Only one small child, that's all. Well, we did our very best, Jem, my lad.'
Jem was following my grandfather, with the oars over his shoulder. I came last, with that little bundle in my arms.
The child had stopped crying now, and seemed to be asleep, it was so still. Mrs. Millar wanted to take it from me, and to undo the blanket, but my grandfather said 'Bide your time, Mary; bring the child into the house, my lass; it's bitter cold out here.'
So we all went up through the field, and through our garden and the court. The blanket was tightly fastened round the child, except at the top, where room had been left for it to breathe, and I could just see a little nose and two closed eyes, as I peeped in at the opening.
The bundle was a good weight, and before I reached the house I was glad of Mrs. Millar's help to carry it. We came into our little kitchen, and Mrs. Millar took the child on her knee and unfastened the blanket.
'Bless her,' she said, as her tears fell fast, 'it's a little girl!'
'Ay,' said my grandfather, 'so it is; it's a bonnie wee lassie!'