But Mandy was off, running like a young fox along the edge of the wharf.

“Cap’n,” said Bub, “we’re much obliged to you, sir, and I guess I’ll go on too.  Mandy’s awful scared about the baby, and—­”

“Lord, what a fuss ’bout a baby!” the “Cap’n” broke in with his loud voice, “Babies aint so easy got rid of.  Wal, may be you’ll go rowin’ with the Cap’n again, some day.  Tell yer Ma I’ve got some first-class lemons, if she wants to make pies for Sunday.  Can’t get no such lemons at the store.”

But the “Cap’n’s” last words were wasted, for Bub was already speeding off after Mandy.

When he reached the fishing-dock, there she sat, a dismal little heap, on the ground between the net-poles.  She had lost her bonnet; she had fallen down and rubbed dust in her hair.  Now she sat rocking herself to and fro, and sobbing.

“Oh, Bub!  The baby!” was all she could say.

“Look here, Mandy!  Stop cryin’ a minute, will you?” said Bub.  “It’s after one o’clock; may be mother had only half a day at Hillard’s, and come home ‘n’ found the baby down here; she could see the shawl from the house.”

Mandy jumped up, “Let’s go see.  Quick!” she cried.  But the string of one shoe was broken, and the shoe slipped at every step.  She stooped to fasten it.  “Don’t wait, Bub.  Go on, please!” Then she felt so tired and breathless with running and crying, that she dropped down on the ground again to wait for Bub’s return.

She heard his feet running down the hill, and wondered if they brought good news.

No; the house was empty.  No baby or mother there!

“I must go to Hillard’s,” said Bub.  “You’d better stay, Mandy; you look ’most beat out.”

His voice was very gentle, and Mandy could not bear it.

“Oh, Bub! don’t be good to me.  I’m a horrid wicked girl!  What will mother say?  How can I tell her?” Then she broke into sobs again.

It was dreadful, sitting there alone, after Bub’s footsteps died away in the distance, thinking and wondering hopelessly about the baby.  Mandy remembered how his little head, heavy with sleep, had drooped lower and lower, and tired her arms.  How gladly would she feel that ache if she could only hold the warm little body in her arms again!

How still it was!  She could hear the children at McNeal’s, down the road, laughing and calling after their father as he went away to his work.  There was fresh trouble in the thought of her father coming home at night.  Would it not be better that she should go away and hide herself, where no reproachful eyes could reach her?  Would they miss her, and feel sorry for poor little Mandy?  Would her mother go about looking pale and quiet, thinking of her gently?

Hark!  What noise was that under the drooping curtain of nets?  Now she does not hear it; but presently it comes again—­a soft, happy little baby voice, cooing and talking to itself.