WAITING FOR THE BOAT.

Poor Mrs. Millar went out of her house, and followed my grandfather down
to the pier. I waited indoors with little Timpey, straining my ears to
listen for the sound of their footsteps coming back again.

But the clock struck half-past seven, and still no sound was to be
heard. I could wait no longer; I wrapped the child in a shawl, and
carried her into the Millars' house, and left her under the care of Mrs.
Millar's little servant. And then I ran down, through the thick,
smothering fog, to the pier.

My grandfather was standing there with Mrs. Millar. When I came close to
them he was saying, 'Cheer up, Mary, my lass; he's all right; he's only
waiting till this mist has cleared away a bit. You go home, and I'll
tell you as soon as ever I hear his boat coming. Why, you're wet
through, woman; you'll get your death of cold!'

Her thin calico dress was soaked with the damp in the air, and she was
shivering, and looked as white as a sheet. At first she would not be
persuaded to leave the pier; but, as time went on, and it grew darker
and colder, she consented to do as my grandfather told her, and he
promised he would send me up to the lighthouse to tell her as soon as
Jem arrived.

When she was gone, my grandfather said 'Alick, there's something wrong
with Jem, depend upon it! I didn't like to tell her so, poor soul! If we
only had the boat, I would go out a bit of way and see.'

We walked up and down the pier, and stopped every now and then to listen