The lord of the manor built them a beautiful cottage by the sea, with long narrow windows and turrets, almost like a castle; and the Lord of lords blessed them and prospered them, and in due time gave them a little son, whom they called Brian Patrick Jenkins Jones O'Neill, and who was just the brightest, best, and most beautiful baby ever beheld,--at least Fanny thought so, and surely mothers are the best judges of babies. They lived a very happy life, that humble little family. Every morning early the young fisherman went out in his pretty boat, the "Fanny Jenkins," for his day's toil and adventure, leaving his cheerful little wife at her work--spinning, sewing, or caring for the child; and every night, when he returned tired and hungry, as fishermen often are, and found a tidy home, a smiling wife, a crowing baby and a hearty meal awaiting him, he thought and said, that he was just the happiest O'Neill in all the world. In tempestuous weather Fanny suffered a great deal from anxiety for her brave husband, who would always put out to sea, unless the storm was very serious indeed. At length, one lowering day in September, when he was far out of sight of home, a sudden squall came up, which deepened into a tempest as the day wore on. With anxious heart and tearful eyes poor Fanny watched through the gloomy sunset, for his coming,--half longing, half fearing to see his frail vessel driven toward the land on such an angry sea. But the day and night passed, and he did not come. The next four or five days were dark and stormy; there were several wrecks upon the coast, and Brian was given up for lost by all but his wife. She still kept up a good heart and would not despair. At last the storm ceased, the sea grew smooth, the skies smiled, and all looked cheerful again, save where along the wild shore fragments of wrecks came drifting in, and the people were burying the drowned. At the close of a beautiful day, a week from the time that Brian O'Neill left his home, his wife sat in front of the cottage, with her baby asleep upon her lap. Her brave heart was failing her now; she grew tired of her sad, vain gazing out toward the west, and bowing her head on her hands, wept till the tears trickled through her fingers and dropped on the sleeping face before her.