there was nothing else to save; for there was no mark on her garments, though on the child's white dress a delicate vine was woven into the shape of the letter W. She was taken to the light-house; and, because the inmates had no children of their own, and because she looked so bright and beautiful in their homely rooms, they adopted her as their own. For a long time they puzzled themselves over her name: the child could not tell it herself; and, finally, the old man said she should be called " Waif," because she had come into their possession, and there was no one to claim her. So the child was growing up in the lonely place, and bringing sunshine into the aged hearts, that somehow lightened and grew fresher for having a young thing like her to cheer them with her glad laughter. There were many ways in which she helped the old people with her light and busy fingers; but, when her tasks were over, she loved best to wander along the sea-shore, where she would rove for hours, gathering the bright pebbles and the beautiful shells, until her little apron would overflow with her treasures. Then, in the afternoon, she would sit out in the sunshine with the fishermen's wives, helping them to mend their husband's nets, disentangling their fishing lines, listening to their wild stories of shipwrecks, and drinking in their superstitious fictions with attentive ears. The light that shone out every evening from the tall tower was a wonderful thing to her, and, ever after she came to understand the danger that it warded off, she looked at its warning rays with the greatest awe. It was a sacred trust to her, when she was first permitted to clean and trim the lamp; and, although the night which followed was bright and cloudless, she lay awake until morning, fearing lest she had not attended to it properly, and that shipwrecks might ensue. But, after a while, she conquered this feeling, when she found that she was even more careful with it than the old people; and it was with a bounding step that she climbed the ladder, and with a glad heart that she saw that she could do everything with her own small hands. The keepers would never allow her to sit up at night, although she had often begged them to let her take her turn for an hour at least; but it so happened that, contrary to all her expectations, the whole responsibility of guarding the light once fell upon herself. The light-keeper and his wife were one day obliged, unexpectedly, to go to a neighbouring town; and, fearing lest a storm which seemed to be gathering, should detain them until the next day,the old man sent for his brother to come and take his place. The brother sent back word that he would be at the Neck by five o'clock; and, as he had never failed in keeping these appointments, the people went away from the cottage early, with no misgivings on their minds, leaving Waif in company with two fishermen's wives. As the hour of five approached, gusts of wind and rain began to beat against the house; and the child, seeing that her companions were uneasy about their husbands, who were still out in the boats, bade them to go to their homes, saying that in a quarter-of-an-hour Uncle Rollin would surely be with her. She spread the table, put fresh wood on the fire, and every minute or two looked at the old time-piece to see how the hands moved on; but five and six o'clock came without any Uncle Rollin; and, when the hour-hand at last pointed seven, Waif's heart more than trembled with anxiety lest he should disappoint her. She had lighted the lamp; but every moment the storm was growing fiercer; and she opened the door, and tried to make her voice reach one of the huts; but the strong wind sent her back again; and, after waiting another hour, she barred the doors, and went up into the lonely light-house to watch the lamp, if need be, until morning dawned. She was naturally courageous; but, when she found herself alone in that solitary place, with the wind whistling around her, and the waters surging madly below her, the terrible responsibility that rested upon her almost overcame her. The light-house seemed to be swaying to and fro; and the child could not help thinking of the wild stories that the fishermen's wives had told her, and of one in particular where a light-house had been taken from its foundation, and carried out to sea. O it was dreadful!] and the little hands shook, as they poured fresh oil into the lamps, and wiped the moisture from the glass, lest such a fate might be hers. She looked out from the window; but the sight appalled her: the bright light threw a broad glare on the water; but she could only see the white foam-caps leaping up below her, and hear the sea dashing against the stone walls of the tower; but, as she stood on the little platform beside the great glass lens, fearing and trembling lest every moment the floods should carry her away, there came as it were, a sweet voice into her ear, saying, "In thy need call to the Lord, And gracious aid he will afford." The words seemed strangely familiar; though she could not tell where she had heard them, and, yielding to the impulse, she obeyed the voice, and asked God not to forsake her. All of a sudden there came a tremendous sea, which swept completely over the light-house shattering the thick panes of glass, and pouring in a stream of water at her feet. She quailed and trembled, but only for a moment; for she felt that now or never she must be faithful to her lamp. What if the glass around that should be crushed also? And now the rain and the leaping spray came rushing in; but this time another sound came into her ears; and she trembled anew as she heard the boom of a gun, and knew it was a signal from some vessel in distress. She peered through the window, but could see nothing but the black night, and the dashing foam sent her back again. For weary hours she watched the lamp, never suffering its light to dim, while her form shivered with the cold, and her garments were drenched with the spray that still poured in. At length, and O how long the night had seemed! the grey morning dawned; the wind had subsided, and the rain came down more gently, when lifting up her tired head from the bench on which it had fallen, she caught a glimpse of a large ship riding at anchor not far from the shore, and, with one grateful cry for a sight that rewarded her for that long night of watching, she sank exhausted to the floor. A little later a boat was cutting through the waves. The captain of the ship determined to go ashore, and tell the people in the lighthouse that his passengers were indebted to their faithful care of the light for their deliverance from shipwreck. At first he could gain no admittance, for the door was barred; but the captain effected an entrance through the window, and still seeing no one, kept on up into the tower, where he found the little girl lying on the wet floor among the broken glass. She was fast asleep; but he lifted her up tenderly, and carrying her down stairs to her little bed, he called to his companions to look at their preserver. Every heart was touched ; and a strange and sudden yearning took possession of one of their number when he saw the fair-haired child; but, when in her sleep she murmured the first line of the little verse, "In thy need call to the Lord," he caught her to his heart, and wept over her. His companions wondered at his emotion, which he could only explain by telling them that his lost wife used to sing that verse long ago, when she rocked her infant to sleep with its lullaby. The old people soon returned, and they too wept over little Waif when they heard the story of the long night in the watch-tower. The stranger, who had grown deeply interested, asked if she was their grandchild; and the light-keeper, finding so willing a listener, told him the history of the little girl, and ended in showing him the long fair tresses and the muslin dress. Every moment he drew nearer the child; but when he saw these last tokens, he cried," She is mine, then, my own darling child, Winifred, who I thought was lost!" As soon as Winifred (now Waif no longer) awoke, and was told that her faith and courage had saved her own father, she was grateful beyond expression, and clung to her newlyfound parent with eager carressing fondness, while tears of both joy and grief rolled down the cheeks of the aged pair, who had loved her so dearly. Her father soon took her away from that house by the sea; but he would not separate her from the old couple, who had given her a home and all its comforts for so many years. Together they crossed the broad ocean, and went to live in a beautiful home, where Winifred still remained the light of the old people, and the crowning joy of her father's heart. Ragged School Magazine. THE "HIVE." * A letter from a little Bee in the "Gospel Hive," to all the little lovers of Honey, and the Honey-Comb. Y DEAR LITTLE FRIENDS,-It gives me 66 great pleasure to wisn you all a very 'Happy New Year," and to offer my services to you, with the rest of my brother and sister Bees, under the direction of our beloved Queen-to assist in gathering for you the choicest honey that the lovely spring and summer flowers of 1867 will afford; and in return we say to you, "Keep not all your sweet morsels to yourselves; let little friends, and acquaintances have a taste; invite them also to sip honey out of the same Hive; and when they have tasted how sweet it is, then tell them, how much of it may be had every month, only for one little penny! We cannot exactly offer our honey "without money, and without price;" for there are expenses incurred in gathering it together, and in sending it around; but then we sell a whole * This article should have appeared in our January Number, but came to hand too late. ED. |