TINY'S TREASURE.

"Well, now, if you can make her out, it's more than I can," said Coomber, pausing in the doorway of Dame Peters' cottage, after he had seated Tiny by the old woman's fire.

"Oh, leave her here for half an hour; she'll be all right by the time you come back; there's no 'counting for children, and she may feel frightened a bit, for all she ain't cried till she got ashore."

"It's just that that beats me," said the fisherman; "she's as lively as you please in the boat, but as soon as she gets out, down she pops her head, and begins to pipe her eye."

"Well, there, you go and look after Perkins and the fish, and I'll see to her," said Dame Peters, a little impatiently; for she had some potatoes cooking for her husband's supper, and she knew they needed attention. After looking to these, she turned to Tiny, who had dried her tears by this time, and sat watching the old woman. "D'ye like to see pictures, deary?" she asked; and at the same time she opened the top drawer of an old-fashioned chest of drawers, and brought out a print, which she laid on the table, and lifted Tiny, chair and all, close up to look at it.

Pictures were not to be seen in every cottage a few years ago, as they may be now. The Band of Hope Review and British Workman had not been heard of in Fellness at the time of which we write, and so Dame Peters was very choice of her picture, although she knew nothing about the reading at the back of it.

Tiny brightened up wonderfully when her eyes fell upon this treasure; but after looking at it for some minutes, while Dame Peters turned out the potatoes, she ventured to lift it up and look at the other side, and she exclaimed joyfully: "Oh, it's a book! There's reading on it!"

"What, what!" exclaimed the old woman, turning from the fireplace to see what had happened. "What is it, child?"

"See, see, there's reading—GOD! What does that spell?" asked Tiny, looking up in the old woman's face, her finger still resting on the word she had picked out.

"Bless the child, how should I know? S'pose it is some sort of reading, as you say; but I never learned a letter in my life."

"And I've a'most forgot," said Tiny, sadly; and then her finger roved over the printed page, and she found that she could remember most of the letters now she saw them again; but how to put them together was the difficulty. She had forgotten how to do this entirely. GOD spelt a word familiar enough to her at one time, but which of all the words she used now those letters were intended to signify, she could not remember. Again and again her finger returned to the well-remembered letters, but beyond this her memory failed her; and she sat, with puckered brow and steadfast eyes, still looking at the printed page instead of the picture, when Coomber came back.

"Oh, daddy, daddy, look here!" exclaimed Tiny; "here's a book with reading!"

"She's just sat and looked at them letters, as she calls 'em, ever since you've been gone," said Dame Peters, in a half-offended tone; for her picture was not valued as much as it ought to be, she thought.

"Oh, she's a rum 'un," said Coomber. "Well, now, are you ready, little 'un?" he asked.

Tiny looked up wistfully in the old woman's face. "Couldn't I take this home, and show it to Dick?" she asked, timidly, laying her hand on the print.

"Take my picture home!" exclaimed the old woman.

Coomber turned the paper over, and looked at it contemptuously. "Peters got this when he went to Grimsby, I s'pose?" he said.

"Yes, he did."

"Well now, couldn't you let her have it, and let Peters bring you another?" said the fisherman, who was anxious that his darling should be gratified if possible.

But the old woman was little more than a child herself over this picture, and was unwilling to part with it at first. At last she agreed to sell it to Tiny for a basket of samphire, for this seaweed made a kind of pickle among the fisher-folk, and was of some marketable value, too, for it did not grow everywhere along the coast, although round Bermuda Point it flourished in great luxuriance.

Tiny was only too glad to obtain such a treasure on such easy terms, although she was paying about five times the value of it; and when it had been folded up and carefully stowed away in Coomber's pocket, she was quite ready to go to the boat, although Dame Peters pressed them to stay and have some of the hot potatoes for supper.

Tiny seemed brimful of joy that night; and when she was seated in the boat, and they were rowing over the placid water, she so far forgot her fears as to begin singing. Something in the surroundings had recalled to her mind the time when she used to sing nearly every night her mother's favourite hymn. It all came back to her as freshly as though she had sung it only last week; and her sweet young voice rang out bold and clear—

She paused there, not feeling quite sure of the next verse; but Coomber said quickly—

"Go on, deary, go on; don't you know the next bit?"

"I'll try," said Tiny; and again the voice rang out in its childish treble—

"Who told you that, deary?" asked the fisherman, eagerly, when she paused again.

"My mother used to sing it every night. She used to say it was meant for daddy. And she told me I must always sing it, too, only somehow I've forgot everything since I came here."

"Never mind the rest, deary; try and think about that. It's just the song for a sailor and a sailor's lass."

"That's just what my mother used to say—that I was a sailor's lass!" exclaimed Tiny.

"And she taught you just the right kind of a song. Now try a bit more, deary," he added, coaxingly.

"I don't think I know any more," said the child, as she finished this verse.

"Well, you've done first-rate, deary; and mind, you must sing that song to me every night," he added.

For a little while they went on in silence, and nothing could be heard but the gentle lap, lap of the waves at the side of the boat, until Coomber said: "Come, sing to us again about that sailor's star. Bob, you try and pick it up as she sings," he added.

So the verses were sung through again, and without a break this time; and Tiny was able to recall the last verse, too, and sang—

"Bravo, little 'un," exclaimed Bob, who was completely charmed out of his sulky mood by the singing.

"I say, Bob," suddenly exclaimed Coomber, "is the bottle up there?"

"I ain't seen the bottle," sulkily responded the lad, his ill-humour returning at once.

"I—I took it up, and told 'em to fill it," exclaimed Coomber; and as he spoke he drew in his oars, and felt under the seat, and all round the boat. "I must ha' forgot it, thinking about the little 'un and her picture," he said, after searching round the boat in vain.

"It's too late to go back," said Bob; "it'll be dark soon."

"Ye-es, it's too late to go back with the child," said Coomber, slowly and regretfully; though what he should do without his nightly dose of whisky he did not know.

"Sing again," whispered Bob to Tiny; and the next minute the little voice rang out once more its "Star of Peace."

It brought peace to the angry fisherman—the more angry, perhaps, because he had nobody but himself to blame that the bottle had been left behind. Before they landed the singing had worked its mysterious charm, and the fisherman had almost forgotten his anger, and his bottle, too.

"You tie up the boat, and make haste in, Bob," he said, as he took the little girl in his arms, and stepped out upon the shore. A light was shining in the window of the old boat-house, and Tiny was all impatience to get home and show her treasure to Dick.

"Take it out of your pocket, daddy, and give it to me," she said, as they were crossing the sands; and the moment the door was opened she ran in, exclaiming, "I've got it! I've got it, Dick!"

"Hush, hush, deary; Dick and Tom have gone to bed, and both are fast asleep. Come in and get your supper; it's been waiting ever so long for you." As she spoke, the poor woman cast several furtive glances at her husband, fearing that he was more than usually morose, as he had not spoken; but, to her surprise, he said, in a merry tone:

"Bless you, mother, the little 'un has got something better than supper. Dame Peters wanted her to stay and have some hot potatoes; but she was in such a hurry to be off with her prize that she wouldn't look at the potatoes."

"I've got some reading," said Tiny, in a delighted whisper, holding up her sheet of paper.

"Why, what's the good of that?" exclaimed Mrs. Coomber, in a disappointed tone. "Nobody at the Point can read, unless it's the Hayes' at the farm."

"And she'd better not let me catch her with any of them," put in Coomber, sharply.

"Dick and me are going to learn to read by ourselves," announced Tiny, spreading out her picture on the table. This would enhance its value to everybody, she thought, since Dame Peters set such store by it solely because of the picture. And so she did not venture to turn it over to con the letters on the other side until after Bob had come in, and they had all looked at it.

"What's it all about?" asked Bob, turning to the smoking plate of fish which his mother had just placed on the table.

"Don't you see it's a kind man putting his hand on the boys' heads?" said Tiny, rather scornfully.

"Oh, anybody can see that," said Bob. "But what does it mean? That's what I want to know."

But Tiny could only shake her head as she gazed earnestly at the print. "I dunno what it is," she said, with a sigh.

"Come, come, you must put that away for to-night," said Mrs. Coomber; "you ought to have been in bed an hour ago;" and she would have taken the picture away, but Tiny hastily snatched it up, and, carefully folding it, wrapped it in another piece of paper, and then begged that it might be put away in a drawer for fear it should be lost before the morning.

Mrs. Coomber smiled as she took it from her hand. "I'll take care of it," she said, "and you go and get your supper."

It was not often that the fisherman's family were up so late as this, but no one seemed in a hurry to go to bed. Coomber himself was so good-tempered that his wife and Bob forgot their habitual fear of him in listening to his account of how brave Tiny had been, and how Dame Peters thought she was growing very fast. Then Tiny had to sing one verse of "Star of Peace," after she had finished her supper—Mrs. Coomber would not let her sing more than that, for she was looking very sleepy and tired—and then they all went to bed, with a strange, new feeling of peace and content, Mrs. Coomber vaguely wondering what had become of the whisky bottle, and wishing every night could be like this.

As soon as her eyes were open the next morning Tiny thought of her treasure, and crept into the boys' room to tell Dick the wonderful news. But to her surprise she found the bed was empty; and, peeping into the kitchen, saw Mrs. Coomber washing up the breakfast things.

"Oh, mammy, what is the time?" she exclaimed, but yawning as she spoke.

"Oh, you're awake at last. Make haste and put your clothes on, and come and have your breakfast," said Mrs. Coomber.

"Where's Dick?" asked Tiny.

"He's helping daddy and Bob with the net; and you can go, too, when you've had your breakfast. Daddy wouldn't let the boys come and wake you 'cos you was so tired last night."

"What are they doing to the net?" asked Tiny, as she came to the table.

"Mending it, of course. Daddy's going shrimping to-day."

"What a bother that net is," said Tiny. "Daddy's always mending it."

"Yes, so he is, deary. It's old, you see, and we can't afford to get a new one."

"I've got to get a lot of samphire to-day, and I promised Dick I'd make some more letters for him in the sand," said Tiny, meditatively.

"But daddy wants you to help him with the net," suggested Mrs. Coomber. The little girl had always been so pliant, so amenable to control, that Mrs. Coomber was surprised to hear her say passionately—

"I won't do that nasty net. I must pick the samphire for Dame Peters, and show Dick my picture, first;" and then she snatched up a basket, and ran out, not to the sands, where the fisherman and his boys sat mending the torn net, but away to the salt-marsh, where the seaweed grew thickest, and she could fill her basket most quickly. In an hour or two she came home, looking tired and cross.

"Ain't Dick come home yet?" she asked, throwing herself on the floor.

"They ain't done the net yet. Tom came to fetch you a little while ago."

"I don't want Tom, I want Dick. We're going to make some letters, and learn to read," said Tiny.

"You'd better leave the reading alone, if it makes you so cross," said Mrs. Coomber.

"No, it don't make me cross; it's that nasty net."

"But you always liked to help daddy wind the string and mend the net before. Why don't you go to them now?"

But Tiny would not move. She lay on the floor, kicking and grumbling, because Dick could not leave the net and come and see her picture.

"You're a very naughty girl, Tiny," said Mrs. Coomber at last; "and I don't see how you can think God will love you if you don't try to be good."

The little girl sat up instantly, and looked earnestly into her face. "My other mammy used to say something like that," she said, slowly. And then she burst into tears, and ran and shut herself in the boys' bedroom.

What passed there, Mrs. Coomber did not know; but, half an hour afterwards, as she glanced out of the little kitchen window, she saw her running across the sands to where the group of boys sat mending the old net; and she smiled as she thought of what her words had done. She did not know what a hard fight Tiny had had with herself before she could make up her mind to give up her own way; she only thought how pleased her husband would be when he saw the child come running towards him, and that a fit of ill-humour, from which they would probably all have suffered, had been warded off by the little girl's conquest of herself.

But neither Tiny nor Mrs. Coomber ever forgot that day. A new element was introduced into the lives of the fisherman's family. The little girl learned her first lesson in self-control, and Dick and Tom began to master the difficulties of the alphabet; for, when the net was finished, and Bob and his father waded out into the sea on their shrimping expedition, Tiny ran and fetched her pretty picture to show the boys, and then they all set to work with bits of stick to make the letters in the sand.