Oh, such a sad, pleading look as the poor mother lifted to the moist eyes of Mrs.
Kinzer, when the portly widow pushed forward and bent over the silent boy! Such a pretty child he must have been, and not over two years old; but the salt water was in his tangled curls now, and his poor lips were parted in a weak, sick way, that told of utter exhaustion.
"Can any thing be done, mother ?" "Yes, Dabney, there can.

You and Ham and Ford and Frank go to the yacht, quick as you can, and bring the spirit-heater, lamp and all, and bread and milk, and every dry napkin and towel you can find.

Bring Keziah's shawl." Such quick time they made across that sand-bar! They were none too soon, either; for, as they came running down to their boat a mean-looking, slouching sort of fellow walked rapidly away from it.
"He was going to steal it!" "Can't go for him now, Dab; but you'll have to mount guard here, while we go back with the things." There was a good deal of the "guard mounted" look in Dab's face, when they left him, a few minutes later, standing there by the boat, and he had one of the oars in his hand.

An oar is almost as good a club as the lower joint of a fishing-rod, and that was exactly the thought in Dab's mind.
Ham and Frank and Ford hurried back to the other beach, to find that Mrs.Kinzer had taken complete possession of that baby.

Every rag of his damp things was already stripped off; and now, while Miranda lighted the "heater," and made some milk hot in a minute, the good lady began to rub the little sufferer as only an experienced mother knows how.
Then there was a warm wrapping-up in cloths and shawls, and better success than anybody had dreamed of in making the seemingly half-dead child eat something.
"That was about all the matter with him," said Mrs.Kinzer.