For some time we battled with the waves, unwilling to relinquish all
hope of saving some of them. But we found at last that it was of no use,
and we were obliged to return.

All had perished, except the child lying at my feet. I stooped down to
it, and could hear that it was crying, but it was so tightly tied up in
a blanket that I could not see it nor release it.

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.'