For a season or two, Bess was the delight of
the bathers. She had taken like a duck to the
water. She swam, floated, and played in it, like
a pretty mermaid. The merry little things
that crowded daily, spade in hand, to the
beach, waited patiently until Bess was at leisure
to plunge into the water with them, and would
plunge with no one else.

I linger, lovingly, over Bessie's brightest days.
I saw her often, that last summer, and always in
the water. Her hair was "goldy," as Nan said;
and, tucked up or floating over her shoulders,
it seemed like a glory about her. She never laid
her hands to any of the hard zoophyte work. To
Nan she was always the "little one," twice
born; for, from the day she took to the water,
she became a new child to her. Thus Bess
sported all the day— and at night, who ever met
with a zoophyte? And who knows half the
metamorphoses that go on in darkness, or
beneath the moon?

One only glimpse have we of the zoophyte
after dark. The night Nan and her daughter
were seeking driftwood on the stormy shore,
and found eight human lives!

In a retired sea-side village like Sandybay
we soon learn the history of its interest and
affections. The people are too simple to hide
their emotions. They wear their joys and
sorrows outside with their ribbons, and it is
impossible to withhold sympathy from either.
Thus the little town weeps or smiles as one
human creature.

There is only one race of beings who are not
hospitably received at Sandybay, and who are
altogether regarded as outsiders. These are
the coast-guard. They are invariably civil, and
helpful in times of need, but they never
obtain the sympathy of the inhabitants. There
was no smuggling at Sandybay, still the popular
feeling was constantly against them, and
they were never regarded as anything better
than "them spies." Alas! that one of those
pariahs, perhaps through his objectionable
"spy-glass," should have lost his heart to the pretty
Bess. I never knew her family name, neither
I think did he. Nan's husband was drowned
a week before Bess was born, and with him
appears to have been lost also the family
name! Neither does it appear to have been
known how or when Dick Harris prosecuted
his courtship. She had no telescope, and
apparently she was always in the water. However,
he found a way, and in or out of the water,
Dick proposed, and Bess accepted!

Then began poor Bess's sorrowful days.
The fine young sailor was a "spy," and Nan
and the zoophyte sister looked coldly on the
lovers. With her disappointed little favourites
Bess played no more. After dipping them with
a calm indifference, she would sit idly and
sorrowfully upon the rocks, sometimes waist-deep
in water, the poor zoophyte!

But Harris, watching her through his glass,
took a great resolve. He went in search of
Nan. Nan, much put out by his unwelcome
presence, prepared herself valiantly for the
fight. "Nan," said the young sailor, "give
me Bess, and I'll turn fisherman and live
amongst you."

Poor old Nan was taken aback. She was
prepared for war; but behold the enemy
surrendering at discretion! A bold son-in-law,
indeed, and one after her own heart! Nan
clasped her hands together, her hard face
softened, and her voice shook a little, as she
said, "Go and take her, Dick Harris, and the
blessing of the old mother be with ye!"

The eve of Dick's wedding was a wild
December night. He was to be married next morning;
but, in the mean time, he and the men
were all out upon the beach, drawing up their
boats, and talking of a ship seen before dark,
and holding, as they thought, a dangerous
course.

While they spoke of it, a flash, like lightning,
sprang out of the darkness, and in an instant
more a message of distress and danger boomed
across the sea. Another flash! and again the
imploring gun echoed, like a hundred waves in
one, among the rocks. The storm was increasing
fearfully. A rocket, fired from the coast-guard
station, rushed into the air, the strong
wind carrying it far inland, but it was answered
by the harsh quick tolling of the life-boat's bell,
calling the crew hastily together. Dick Harris
had left the service, but the man to replace him
had not arrived, and he remained on duty as
before. He was the first to spring into the
life-boat. She was quickly manned, and, in a
few minutes, was gliding down the beach, and
tossing like a cork upon the crest of the waves.
A long cheer broke from the assembled crowd
as the brave crew, bending to their oars, shot out
into the darkness on their perilous voyage.

For a long while the lantern on the stern
was seen at intervals above the waves, but at
last the keenest sight failed to detect it, and
silence and anxious waiting succeeded to the
noise and hurry of the launch.

Come out with the life-boat! Come away
into the storm and darkness. It is better than
gnawing one's heart ashore there with Bessie and
the rest. To be still is torture when dear lives
are staked. See how the muscles start from
the strong arms bared to the shoulder! The
parted lips and heaving chests have no breath
to spend in words. The strong excitement
gives unnatural strength, and the force of their
united will carries them, like an arrow, on their
dangerous way.

Brave hearts, thinking only of the perishing
ship. In their generous haste the men had
forgotten their life-belts. They didn't think they
would be drowned; or if they did, they would
not return.

The firing has ceased; the moon is up, misty
and pale, behind swift flying clouds; a dark
object, still far off, is discerned in the direction
of the dangerous reef. The life-boat is flying
on, often full of water, but as quickly emptying
again; the men, drenched to the skin, have
found breath enough to send a cheer forward
to the sinking ship, and a faint cry has come