It was a windy day in November. The waves broke with a great noise on the shingly beach. Soon the wind rose higher: the sea rose too, and the rain fell fast. The children walked back to the village; and there the old men said, shaking their heads, "We shall have a storm."
That night, all the boats came safely back into the harbor, excepting the boat in which Rachel's grandfather had sailed. It was a long, sad night for poor Rachel. The next day and the next passed by; and no grandfather came back to take care of her, and find her in food and clothes, and carry her in his strong arms when she was tired out with walking.
Susan and Joe in their own house felt sad for the little orphan. One day their mother went to market. Baby was in the cradle, and Susan was rocking it, whilst Joe was cutting out a boat with an old jack-knife. The kettle on the stove began to sing; and Susan and Joe began to talk.
"Poor Rachel will have to be sent to the workhouse now," said Joe.
"I hope not," said Susan. "I hope father will give her a home in our own house."
"Why, he says he can hardly earn enough to feed his own family," said Joe.
"But can't we do something to help him?" asked Susan.
"I know of nothing children like us can do," said Joe.
When their mother came home, Susan begged so earnestly to have Rachel come and stay with them, that Mrs. Bourne at last replied, "Well, we will take her in for a week or two, and see; but mind, Susan, you must try and earn a little money somehow. You will now have less time to play on the sands, remember."