Then we came to it ; a little dory had been beached on the pebbles and left there by the receding tide . There was a child in it -- a boy , of perhaps two years old , who crouched in the bottom of the dory in water to his waist , his big , blue eyes wild and wide with terror , his face white and tear-stained . He wailed again when he saw us , and held out his little hands . My horror fell away from me like a discarded garment . THIS child was living . How he had come there , whence and why , I did not know and , in my state of mind , did not question . It was no cry of parted spirit I had heard -- that was enough for me . `` Oh , the poor darling ! '' cried my wife . She stooped over the dory and lifted the baby in her arms . His long , fair curls fell on her shoulder ; she laid her face against his and wrapped her shawl around him . `` Let me carry him , dear , '' I said . `` He is very wet , and too heavy for you . '' `` No , no , I must carry him . My arms have been so empty -- they are full now . Oh , David , the pain at my heart has gone . He has come to me to take the place of my own . God has sent him to me out of the sea . He is wet and cold and tired . Hush , sweet one , we will go home . ''
Silently I followed her XXXXX .
God bottom child curls face home place shawl spirit water