Bob frequently took the child down to the shore when he could spare the time, and helped her to gather shells and bits of rubbish cast up by the sea, but he had to keep a close watch over her lest she should get into danger, an interference Milly often resented. But one day her rescue seemed to make her more angry than ever; she kicked and struggled to get free from the protecting arms, and at last made a desperate plunge at Bob's face with the sharp edge of an oyster-shell that she happened to have in her hand. The blow might not have been so severe, but the boy happened to bend his head forward at the moment, and the shell entered his cheek, inflicting quite a deep wound. Jack saw his brother's face covered with blood, and took the child from his arms, who ceased her kicking and struggling the moment she saw the mischief she had done. "Run home as fast as you can, Bob, and get mother to tie it up," said Jack, seating Milly on the ground. "Let me go, let me go!" cried Milly, running after Bob. "Me hurt poor Bob, let me kiss him and make him well." And she escaped from Jack's detaining hold, and ran after his brother. Bob stopped and lifted her up in his arms, but the sight of the blood seemed to horrify her, and she burst into tears. "Poor Bob! Poor Bob!" she said caressingly. And, at the sight of her distress, the big, rough boy forgot the pain that had been inflicted by that little fat chubby hand, and only thought of soothing her. "Don't be frightened, mother, it ain't much more than a scratch," said Bob lightly, as he entered the cottage, and saw his mother start forward in alarm. "How did it happen? What have you done?" asked the widow, in a tone of alarm. "Milly did it; Milly hurt Bob," said the little girl, running forward to the bed. "Did she?" asked the widow. The boy nodded. "I was bringing her away from the rocks, and she did not want to come," he said; "and she had an oyster-shell in her hand." "And struck you with it? O, naughty girl, naughty Milly, to get angry and hurt poor Bob!" said the widow, speaking severely. "Milly kiss it and make it well," said the child, half penitently, half defiantly. Her kisses had been received as a recompense for all sorts of misdemeanors before, and she thought they would be quite enough now, and was evidently surprised when the widow said,— "No; Milly's kisses won't make it well. Poor Bob is hurt, and Milly hurt him." But Milly seemed determined to try the efficacy of kissing, and Bob stooped to let her try. "Won't it go away?" she said, when she found the blood did not disappear. "No, not for kissing," said Bob. "Milly hurt it, but Milly can't cure it." The words seemed to make a deep impression upon the child, and she walked sadly towards the bed. "Milly naughty, and hurt Bob," she said, and, hiding her head in the bedclothes, she burst into tears.