Hearing a footstep, I peered through the curtains, and saw a lady and a little girl come in, carrying in their hands some things which they placed on the table.
“I think the poor boy is awake, auntie,” whispered the little girl. “I heard him move.”
“Perhaps he was only moving in his sleep, but I will see,” answered the lady, and she approached the bed.
I was looking all the time at the little girl, who seemed to me like an angel or a fairy, or some being altogether brighter than I had ever seen before—even than my sister Mary.
“Yes, marm, I am awake, thank you,” I said, as she opened the curtains, “and please, I want to get up and go aboard the brig to look after her and to see that our old captain is buried.”
“He was buried by the minister the day you came, and the brig is taken very good care of,” she answered. “My father, Mr Angus Troil, has written to the owners to inform them of what has happened to her and of your brave conduct. He hopes soon to hear from them.”
“Thank you, marm,” I again said, puzzled to know what the lady meant about hearing soon from Mr Gray, for I had supposed that Shetland was a long way from England. My first thought, however, had been about Jim.
“Please, marm, where is the other boy, my shipmate?” I asked.
“He was very ill only for three or four days, and is now well enough to go down to the brig with my father,” she replied. “But I must not let you talk too much. You were to have some food, the doctor said, when you came to yourself. Here, Maggie, bring the broth and toast.”
Thereon the little girl brought the tray to the bedside and gazed compassionately at me, while the lady put the food into my mouth, for I was too weak to do so myself.