She seemed very weary and sleepy, as if she could hardly keep her eyes
open. 'Poor wee lassie!' said my grandfather; 'I expect they pulled her
out of her bed to bring her on deck. Won't you put her to bed?'

'Yes,' said Mrs. Millar, 'I'll put her in our Polly's bed; she'll sleep
there quite nice, she will.'

But the child clung to me, and cried so loudly when Mrs. Millar tried
to take her, that my grandfather said,--

'I wouldn't take her away, poor motherless lamb; she takes kindly to
Alick; let her bide here.'

So we made up a little bed for her on the sofa; and Mrs. Millar brought
one of little Polly's nightgowns, and undressed and washed her, and put
her to bed.

The child was still very shy of all of them but me. She seemed to have
taken to me from the first, and when she was put into her little bed she
held out her tiny hand to me, and said, 'Handie, Timpey's handie.'

'What does she say? bless her!' said Mrs. Millar, for it was almost the
first time that the child had spoken.

'She wants me to hold her little hand,' I said, 'Timpey's little hand.
Timpey must be her name!'

'I never heard of such a name,' said Mrs. Millar. 'Timpey, did you say?
What do they call you, darling?' she said to the child.