One morning, that dawned bright and mild after a week of tempest, Clarice Briton went out with her coarse basket to gather the sea-weed tossed on the shore.  She was the first child out that morning, and on account of the late storm, which had prevented the usual daily work, the harvest was a rich one.

There was always need that Clarice should work with her might when she found work to do, and she now labored from dawn till sunrise, filling her basket many times over, until the boards where she spread the weed to dry were nearly covered.  Then she threw herself down to rest by her father’s door.  But when the sun was rising she went and sat among the rocks, and watched the changing of the sky and water, and the flocks of birds as they came screaming from their nests to dive among the waves and mount beyond her sight among the mists of morning.  She never tired of watching them, or of gazing on these scenes.  She knew the habits of the shore birds, understood their indications and devices, and whatever their movements foreboded concerning the weather.  Clarice was also versed in winds and clouds, and knew as well as the wise fishermen what the north-wind had in store, and what the south-wind would give them.

While she sat resting a few minutes, and wondering that the other children of the beach were so long in waking to the pleasant day, suddenly, as she looked down along the rocks that lay between her and the water, she saw lying near her feet, securely lodged by the waves among the stones, a basket.  It was a very different affair from that other, lying a few paces off, with which she went about gathering sea-weed.  It was small, and light, and delicately woven,—­embroidered, too, with floss.  When she bent forward and picked it up, long strings of shiny weed dangled dripping from the handles,—­and something beside; for, as she attempted to remove the traces of wild voyaging, something that was not weed resisted her efforts, and caused her to raise the lid.  As she did so, a chain, which had been partly secured by the closing of the lid, was disengaged, and fell into her lap.

“What’s that, Clarice?” said a voice just above her, as she in amazement lifted the chain, and endeavored to free it from the weed.

“Oh, Luke, there must have been a wreck!  See!  I found it just here at my feet,” said Clarice, sorrowfully,—­apparently not taken by surprise by the sudden coming and speaking of Luke Merlyn; she did not even lift her head, nor for an instant turn to him from what occupied her.

“There’s a ring, too, I declare!” said Luke, coming down to her side; and he took from her lap a small ring, in which was set a solitary pearl;—­the ring had dropped from the chain.  “What next?  Look in.”

Clarice opened the basket again, and turned out the white silk lining, which was soaking and stained with wild sea-travel.  “That is all,” said she.

“That chain is a gold one,” remarked Luke Merlyn.  “There must have been a wreck.  Who do you suppose these things belonged to?  Some lady?  Look at that basket now.  She kept her trinkets in it.  I suppose lots of ’em got shook out by the way.  I am glad it was you found it, Clarice.  Just try that ring on your finger now; I should think it might fit you.”