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Becca could say nothing to all this; but in the midst of her attempts to quiet the boy, some one tried the door, and she opened it. It was Rob's mother; she was come to tell Becca that she must go into the town to fetch a nurse; and when she had given the message, she turned to Matt, and gently and slowly told him that his aunt was gone.

Matt said nothing; he was looking at the flakes of snow as they fell from the gloomy heaven so thickly, and were whirled about by the winds, and heaped against the frozen threshold, or swallowed up in the gloomy sea.

"Matt, your poor aunt is gone to God," said the woman kindly, and she brought him near to the fire and chafed his cold hands; then, having left a good fire, she went away with little Becca, charging her boy, whom she left behind, to stay with Matt, and be good to him.

Poor Matt! Some dreamy hours passed between him and his rough guardian; but we do not know how they passed, we only know that the snow fell faster than ever, and the wind roared in the chimney, and the waves rose and thundered upon the dreary beach; and that when after several hours the brief winter day began to close, and poor little Becca came in again, tired and almost exhausted with the force of the wind, Matt had evidently been crying very bitterly, and Becca felt sure that Rob had beaten him.

Rob, as soon as Becca came in, got up, and said he supposed he need not stop there any more. If it had not been for his mother's telling him to stop with Matt, he might have gone out with his father in the boat, he said; and he now left the cottage in a very surly humor.

Becca crept upstairs to hear how her mother was, and saw her lying still, and evidently better; her sister, who was exhausted with many nights of watching, was sound asleep at the foot of the bed, and she and her patient had both slept through all the noise of the storm and of Matt's crying. Becca's mother woke as the child entered, and asked for a drink of cold tea, telling Becca to step quietly that she might not wake her sister. The little girl held the cup to her mother's lips. The fever had subsided, but the poor woman was very weak; and when a rush-candle had been lighted, and her medicine given to her, she said that she wished to be alone again that she might sleep.

So Becca went down and gave Matt his supper, and ate her own. It was now quite dark, and Becca strained her eyes in looking out to sea to try and discover whether the boats were coming home. The children had no candle, and the fire gave but little light; so Becca sat down and Matt beside her; and the little girl was so weary that at length she sunk on the floor, gathered the thin cloak about her that she had worn on her walk to the town, and fell into a weary sleep.

A glowing log in its fall upon the hearth, suddenly roused her after a short slumber, and she started upright. Matt was still sitting beside her, but frightened and trembling, for the noise of the wind and waves was fearful. She tried to cheer the poor boy, but he would not be comforted; and every time a louder gust than usual shook the cottage, he would start up and hurry to the door, trying the lock, and begging that he might go out "and talk to God." Becca gave him another piece of bread, and brought him back to the fire; but at length, finding that he could not rest, and feeling sure that the door was securely bolted, she lay down again and sank into a deep sleep, forgetting her troubles and fatigue, and dreaming that the wind went down, and that she saw her father stepping ashore from the boat, and telling her he had brought in a fine haul of mackerel.

From hour to hour the child slept on, and the roaring winds moaned without, and the clouds raced across the dreary heavens, and the desolate sea was rough with foam, and the snow fell and fell, and the wind blew it away from the cliffs and swept it into the tumbling waves. But poor little Becca did not dream of any of these things; she slept sweetly in the warmth and glow of the driftwood fire, with her little, weary head upon a furled-up sail, which she was reclining on by way of a pillow; and she dreamed that she and Matt were walking in a field, --a large field full of yellow buttercups, -- that the sun was shining pleasantly, and she was gathering handfuls of the buttercups for Matt to play with.

It was a very pretty field, she thought; and even in her dream she knew that she had been sadly tired, and that sitting in this quiet field was a very welcome rest.

What a long, sweet dream that was! -- the sweetest perhaps that little Becca had ever known, because it came after such great sorrow and such long wakefulness. At last, in the very dead of the night, she awoke, and the embers were just dying out on the hearth, and the room above was very still, and through the uncurtained casement the large white moon -- was shining above the edge of a black cloud; it shone upon the brick floor and upon the little stool upon which Matt had been sitting, but Matt was not there, -- Becca was alone.