“He's deceaved,” said Grannie. “It was a boy he was wanting, poor fellow!” But Pete scoffed at the idea. “A boy? Never! No, no--a girl for your life. I'm all for girls myself, eh, Kitty? Always was, and now I've got two of them.” The child began to cry, and Grannie took it back and rocked it, face downwards, across her knees. “Goodness me, the voice at him!” said Pete. “It's a skipper he's born for--a harbour-master, anyway.” The child slept, and Grannie put it on the pillow turned lengthwise at Kate's side. “Quiet as a Jenny Wren, now,” said Pete. “Look at the bogh smiling in his sleep. Just like a baby mermaid on the egg of a dogfish. But where's the ould man at all? Has he seen it? We must have it in the papers. The _Times?_Yes, and the 'Tiser too. 'The beloved wife of Mr. Capt'n Peter Quilliam, of a boy--a girl,' I mane. Aw, the wonder there'll be all the island over--everybody getting to know. Newspapers are like women--ter'ble bad for keeping sacrets. What'll Philip say? But haven't you a toothful of anything, Grannie? Gin for the ladies, Nancy. Goodness me, the house is handy. What time was it? Wait, don't tell me! It was five o'clock this morning, wasn't it? Yes? Gough bless me, I knew it! High water to the very minute--aw, he'll rise in the world, and die at the top of the tide. How did I know when the child was born, ma'am? As aisy as aisy. We were lying adrift of Cronk ny Irrey Lhaa, looking up for daylight by the fisherman's clock. Only light enough to see the black of your nail, ma'am. All at once I heard a baby's cry on the waters. 'It's the nameless child of Earey Cushin,' sings out one of the boys. 'Up with the clout,' says I. And when we were hauling the nets and down on our knees saying a bit of a prayer, as usual, 'God bless my new-born child,' says I, 'and God bless my child's mother, too,' I says, and God love and protect them always, and keep and presarve myself as well.'” There was a low moaning from the bed. “Air! Give me air! Open the door!” Kate gasped. “The room is getting too hot for her,” said Grannie. “Come, there's one too many of us here,” said Nancy. “Out of it,” and she swept Pete from the bedroom with her apron as if he had been a drove of ducks. Pete glanced backward from the door, and a cloak that was hanging on the inside of it brushed his face. “God bless her!” he said in a low tone. “God bless and reward her for going through this for me!” Then he touched the cloak with his lips and disappeared. A moment later his curly black poll came stealing round the door jamb, half-way down, like the head of a big boy. “Nancy,” in a whisper, “put the tongs over the cradle; it's a pity to tempt the fairies. And, Grannie, I wouldn't lave it alone to go out to the cow-house--the lil people are shocking bad for changing.” Kate, with her face to the wall, listened to him with an aching heart. As Pete went down the doctor returned.