At the top of his speed James dashed across the road, sprang down the beach, and, rushing a few yards into the water, dived down.  He knew which way the tide was making, and allowed for the set.  A few vigorous strokes, and he reached something white on the surface.  It was the sunbonnet which had, in the child’s struggles, become unfastened.  He dived at once, and almost immediately saw a confused mass before him.  Another stroke, and he seized the child’s clothes, and, grasping her firmly, rose to the surface and swam towards shore.

Although the accident had not been perceived, his shout and sudden rush into the water had called the attention of some of the men, and two or three of them ran into the water, waist deep, to help him out with his little burden.

“Well done, Master Walsham!  The child would have been drowned if you had not seed it.  None of us noticed her fall over.  She was playing on the beach last time I seed her.”

“Is she dead?” James asked, breathless from his exertions.

“Not she,” the fisherman said.  “She could not have been under water a minute.  Take her into my cottage, it’s one of the nighest.  My wife will put her between the blankets, and will soon bring her round.”

The fisherman’s wife met them at the door, and, taking the child from the lad, carried it in, and soon had her wrapped up in blankets.  But before this was done she had opened her eyes, for she had scarcely lost consciousness when James had seized her.

The lad stood outside the door, waiting for the news, when the sergeant hurried up, one of the fishermen having gone to tell him what had happened, as soon as the child had been carried into the cottage—­assuring him, as he did so, that the little one would speedily come round.

Just as he came up the door of the cottage opened, and one of the women, who had run in to assist the fisherman’s wife, put her head out.

“She has opened her eyes,” she said.  “The little dear will soon be all right.”

“Thank God for His mercies!” the sergeant said, taking off his hat.  “What should I have done if I had lost her?

“And I have to thank you, next to God,” he said, seizing the boy’s hand.  “May God bless you, young gentleman! and reward you for having saved my darling.  They tell me she must have been drowned, but for you, for no one knew she had fallen in.  Had it not been for you, I should come round to look for her, and she would have been gone—­gone forever!” and the showman dashed the tears from his eyes with the back of his hand.

“I was only just in time,” the lad said.  “I did not see her fall out of the boat.  She was only a few yards away from it when she came up—­just as my eyes fell on the spot.  I am very glad to have saved her for you; but, of course, it was nothing of a swim.  She could not have been many yards out of my depth.  Now I will run home and change my things.”