My grandfather and Jem Millar were sitting over the fire in the little watchroom in the lighthouse tower, and I sat beside them with the child on my knee. I had found an old picture-book for her, and she was turning over the leaves, and making her funny little remarks on the pictures.
'Well, Sandy,' said Millar, 'what shall we do with her?'
'Do with her?' said my grandfather stroking her little fair head. 'We'll keep her! Won't we, little lassie?'
'Yes,' said the child, looking up and nodding her head, as if she understood all about it.
'We ought to look up some of her relations, it seems to me,' said Jem. 'She's sure to have some, somewhere.'
'And how are we to find them out?' asked my grandfather.
'Oh, the captain can soon make out for us what ship is missing, and we can send a line to the owners; they'll know who the passengers was.'
'Well,' said my grandfather, 'maybe you're right, Jem; we'll see what they say. But, for my part, if them that cares for the child is at the bottom of that sea, I hope no one else will come and take her away from us.'
'If I hadn't so many of them at home—'began Millar.
'Oh yes, my lad, I know that,' said my grandfather, interrupting him; 'but thy house is full enough already. Let the wee lassie come to Alick and me. She'll be a nice little bit of company for us; and Mary will see to her clothes and such like, I know.'