“And I was but telling her dying mother this day that I would care for her and see that her cousin did not harm her.” “Yes, I have an idea,” said Tom, as he was shivering with the cold, “that it was this same cousin who found out about the child and wanted her out of the way.” “That’s it, and now, lad,” and here Biddy looked at the sailor with pity in her eyes, “what are you going to do, go back to the Island?” “Not if I can help it. I was put in on a false charge, for a crime I never committed. Now then, what can you do for me?” “I can fix you up so that you won’t be known by your own mother if you had one a-living, but now you get into this old dress of mine and climb to the loft and sleep as long as you want to, and I will see to the child. I’ll throw these old clothes of yours into the river and let the stripes sink in the presence of the stars.” Biddy laughed and Tom re-echoed it, for indeed he had found a friend. He did as he was bidden, and the warm feathers felt sweet to the cold body, and the sun had been shining a long time before Tom Cooper opened his eyes to the light of day. When he did come down in the morning he found a large-eyed child looking into his face. She was fingering a little locket which Tom had seen Jim trying to wrench from the baby’s neck when he went after him, and he picked it up in his fingers and read: “To my darling Annie, from her father.” Then Tom Cooper knew that he stood in the presence of his benefactor’s grandchild. He took a solemn oath that he would watch over and care for her until some one had a better right. Biddy went to the city that day, leaving the boathouse closed, and purchased a suit, hat, shoes and other things needed by a man, and with the outfit she bought a wig and a set of whiskers. “You’ll wear these for a long time,” said she slowly, “for then you won’t give away your identity, for if you should do that you would be taken back to the Island.” * * * * * So they lived on and on for many a year. The little Standish child was no more than a baby when she was first brought to the boathouse, but upon this beautiful summer morning when this story again opens she is sitting upon a porch swinging in the hammock. Biddy had arranged the house so that now it comfortably held three, and Tom had a good position and came home every night. Often after the child went to bed the man and woman would gravely talk over the future of the little girl, whom they had both grown to love. She was humming softly to herself, when Biddy came out and spoke to her. “I suppose you are thinking about to-morrow, ain’t you, little one?” began she. “Just think, you are twenty years old--quite a young lady, I vow.” “Of course, I’m a young lady, auntie,” said the girl, “but I want Cousin Tom to treat me just the same. You know if he thought I was too big he might not take me on his lap.” Biddy laughed softly.