"Heigho, young man, what would you have done if I hadn't been here?" he said, landing him dripping on the beach. "Let me alone, will you!" cried the sturdy fellow, showing his gratitude and his shocked nerves by kicking at his benefactor. He did not cry, but he swelled with his efforts to keep from it. "Of course I will," said his preserver mildly, looking down at him. "But I'd like to know what's become of your nurse. Where is she?" "None of you's business," returned this sweet child, putting down his head. He was a dear little fellow, sturdy and well built, with stout bare legs, and tawny hair, banged on the forehead, and long and wavy behind. He had clear blue eyes, and a very tanned skin and very irregular features. He spoke with an accent of mixed Irish and French. "I'm very sorry about it," said St. John, gently, "but I'm afraid you'll get cold. Better tell me where to find the nurse." "None of you's business," returned the boy. "There she is," said Missy in a low voice, "ever so far beyond the steamboat landing, with the waiter. See if you can make them hear." St. John put his hand to his mouth and called. But alas! they were too deeply engrossed for such a sound to reach them. "The child will get a horrid cold," said Missy, "it won't do to wait. I'll take him up to the house, and send one of the servants home with him." But Missy reckoned without her host; this latter declined to go to "her house," and planted his feet firmly in the sand. "You'll have to carry him," she intimated _sotto voce_ to her brother. Then he hit from the shoulder, and it was well seen that was not a thing that could be done. The shock to his nerves and the bath had already resulted in making his lips blue. The water was dripping from his hair to his neck, and it was fair to suppose he felt a little chilly, as the breeze was increasing a trifle. "I'll tell you," said Missy, cheerfully. "You shall take me to your house, if you won't go to mine. I don't know the way, but I suppose you do. Through the boat-house?" The boy lifted his eyes doubtfully to see if she were in good faith, glowered at St. John, and after a moment made a step towards the boat-house. "What a nice boat-house you've got," said Missy, walking on in front of him. "I wish we had as big a one." "Got my things in it," said the child, and then, frightened at his own part in the conversation, put down his head and was silent. "Do you keep your toys here? Why, how nice!" exclaimed Missy, pausing at the door. "Why, what a nice room, and here's a baby-house. Pray whose is that?" "That's Gabby's, and that's mine--and this is my wheelbarrow--and that's her hoop--" And so on, through a catalogue of playthings that would have set up a juvenile asylum. "I never saw so many playthings," said Missy, getting hold of his hand in a moment of enthusiasm over a new velocipede. "Have you got any more up at the house?" "Lots," said the boy, succinctly.