MOONLIGHT AND MIST ON THE SEA
However and despite her declaration to the contrary it was a most
welcome "toot" which sounded along the deck and announced to the hungry
voyagers that dinner was served; and Molly was among the first to spring
up and hurry her father tableward.
"Seems as if I'd never had anything to eat in all my life!" she
exclaimed. "Come on, Dolly Doodles, _you_ must be actually famished."
"I am pretty hungry," admitted Dorothy; but mindful now of her recent
resolve to do everything as Miss Greatorex would have her, she waited
until that lady rose from her steamer chair, gathered her wraps about
her, and anxiously inquired of Mrs. Hungerford:
"Will it be safe to leave my rug behind? or should I carry it with me to
table?"
"Oh! leave it, by all means. There's none too much room below and I
never worry about my things. Lay it on your chair and that will prove to
anybody who comes along that your especial seat is 'reserved.' I'm
leaving mine, you see;" answered the more experienced traveler,
wondering if Miss Isobel's nervousness would not prove a most unpleasant
factor in their vacation fun. Also thinking that she had too readily
given consent to Molly's written plea: that Dorothy and a teacher should
be invited to join them on this trip.
Because there had been some question as to where the girl should pass
the long vacation. Deerhurst would not be open, even if Mrs. Calvert had
expressed any desire for a visit from Dorothy, which she had not. The
old gentlewoman was to spend that season at the White Sulphur Springs,
whither she had been in the habit of going during many years; and where
among other old aristocrats she queened it at their own exclusive hotel.
The mountain cottage would, of course, be in the hands of the Martin
family, and Mother Martha had not approved Dorothy's coming to Baltimore
and passing the heated term there with herself. Indeed, deep in the
little woman's heart was a resentment against the unknown benefactor who
was now supporting her adopted child and sending her to such an
expensive school. As she complained to the aged relative with whom she
now lived:
"I feel, Aunt Chloe, that I've been meanly treated. I've had all the
care of Dorothy through her growing up and having the measles, scarlet
fever, whooping cough, and all the other children's diseases. I've sewed
for her, and washed and ironed for her, and taught her all the useful
things she knows; yet now, just as she is big enough to be some company
and comfort--off she's snatched and I not even told by whom. I doubt if
John knows, either, though he won't say one way or other, except that
'it's all right and he knows it.' So I say I shan't worry; and I
wouldn't think it right, anyway, for her to come down south if only this
far after being north for so long."
Seth Winters had not come back to his beloved mountain, so that she
could not go to him; and the only thing that was left was to go to her
father at his Sanitorium or remain with Miss Rhinelander.
Neither of these plans was satisfactory. Father John did not want her to
pass her holidays in an atmosphere of illness; and Miss Rhinelander
craved freedom and rest for herself. There were still extensive repairs
to be made to the Academy and she wished to superintend them.
Finally, Molly Breckenridge had taken the matter in hand with the result
related; and with the one unlooked for feature, the presence of Miss
Greatorex where Miss Penelope had been desired.
However, here they all were at last; a few hours outward bound on their
short ocean trip and looking forward to the most enjoyable of summers in
lovely Nova Scotia. They were to make a complete tour of the Province,
then settle down in some quiet place near the fishing and hunting
grounds where the Judge would go into camp.
Molly was thankful that her table-seat was well removed from that of
Captain Murray at its head. But she soon found that she need not have
worried, and that the closer she could be to him--when he was off
duty--the better she would like it. This wasn't the austere officer in
command! who told such amusing tales of life at sea, who kept his guests
so interested and absorbed, and who so solicitously watched his waiters
lest anybody's wants should be unsupplied! No, indeed. He was simply a
most courteous host and delightful talker, and before that first meal
was over she had forgotten her dislike of him, and, after her impulsive
manner had "fallen in love" with him.
Then back to the deck, to watch the moon rise and to settle themselves
comfortably for a long and happy evening; and after awhile, begged
Molly:
"Now, Papa darling, if your dinner's 'settled,' please to sing. Remember
I haven't heard you do so in almost a year."
"Now, my love, you don't expect me to make an orchestra of myself, I
hope? I notice they haven't one aboard this little steamship. Nobody but
Melvin to make music for us. I must tell you girls about that lad. He--"
"Never mind _him_ now, Papa. He will keep. He can wait. But I do want
you to sing! Dorothy, go take that chair on Papa's other side; and here
comes Number Eight with more rugs. Wouldn't think it could be so cool,
almost cold, would you, after that dreadful heat back there in New York?
Now, sir, begin!" and the Judge's adoring "domestic tyrant" patted his
hand with great impatience.
"Very well, Miss Tease. Only it must be softly, so as not to disturb
other people who may not have as great fancy for my warbling as you
have."
Mrs. Hungerford leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes in great
content. Like his daughter she thought there was no sweeter singer
anywhere than her beloved brother; but the too-correct Miss Isobel drew
herself stiffly erect with an unspoken protest against this odd
proceeding. She was quite sure that it wasn't good form for anybody to
sing in such a public place and under such circumstances. Least of all a
Judge. A Judge of the Supreme Court! More than ever was she amazed when
he began with a college song: "My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean," in which
Molly presently joined and, after a moment, Dorothy also.
But even her primness could not withstand the witchery of the
gentleman's superb tenor voice, with its high culture and feeling;
because even into that humdrum refrain he put a pathos and longing which
quite transformed it.
People sitting within hearing hitched their chairs nearer, but
softly--not to disturb the singers; who sang on quietly, unconsciously,
as if in their own private home. Drifting from one song to another, with
little pauses between and always beginning by a suggestive note from
Molly, the time passed unperceived.
Evidently, father and child had thus sung together during all their
lives; and long before her that "other Molly," her dead mother, of whom
his child was the very counterpart, had also joined her exquisite tones
to his. Into many melodies they passed, college songs left behind, and
deeper feelings stirred by the words they uttered; till finally
perceiving that his own mood was growing most un-holiday like, the Judge
suddenly burst forth with "John Brown's Body."
Then, indeed, did mirth and jollification begin. Far and near, all sorts
and conditions of voices caught up the old melody and added their quota
to the music; and when their leader began mischievously to alter the
refrain by dropping the last word, and shortening it each time by one
word less, delight was general and the fun waxed fast and furious.
The abrupt termination left many a singer in the lurch; and when the
last verse was sung and ended only with "John--," "John--," "John,"
there were still some who wandered on into "the grave" and had to join
in the laugh their want of observation had brought upon them.
By this time also Miss Isobel Greatorex had become quite resigned to a
proceeding which no other passenger had disapproved and which, she could
but confess, had added a charm to that never-to-be-forgotten evening.
Moonlight flooded the sea and the deck. The simplicity and
good-fellowship of Judge Breckenridge and his sister had brought all
these strangers into a harmony which bridged all distinctions of class
or interest and rendered that first night afloat a most happy one for
all.
Until--was the moonlight growing clouded? Did those six strokes of the
bell actually mean eleven o'clock? So late--and suddenly so--so--_so
queer_!
Even if the little concert had not already ended nobody could have sung
just then.
"I guess we've left the Sound and struck the ocean;" remarked one
gentleman, in a peculiar tone. "Good night all," and he disappeared.
A lady next Miss Greatorex made an effort to extricate herself from her
rugs and chair and observed:
"I've such a curious feeling. So--so dizzy. My head swims. Is--is there
a different--motion to the boat? Have you noticed?"
Yes, Miss Greatorex had noticed, but she couldn't reply just then. Nor
was this because of her "stiffness" toward a person who had not been
properly "introduced." It was simply that--that--dear, dear! She felt so
very queer herself. She would try and get to her stateroom. In any case
it was very late and everybody was moving.
A petulant cry from Molly expressed her own desires exactly.
"Papa, dear Papa! What makes the folks go wobbling around the way they
do? I wish they wouldn't! I wish they would--would keep
real--perfectly--still! I wish! Oh! dear!"
The Judge rose at once and, despite her size, caught up his daughter and
marched off with her toward Mrs. Hungerford's stateroom, whither that
experienced voyager had as suddenly preceded him. When he came back, a
few minutes later, he found that Miss Greatorex had vanished, and that
Dorothy sat alone on the deserted deck wondering what in the world was
the matter to make everybody rush off at once, or almost everybody.
Wondering whether she should follow, and if her guardian would return
and need her rugs again; yet placidly thinking over the delightful
evening she had spent and how strange it was for her, "just plain
Dorothy," to be having such a splendid trip in such charming company.
"Well, lassie, are you all right? Don't _you_ feel a 'little queer,'
too?"
"Yes, thank you, Judge Breckenridge. I'm right enough but I don't know
whether Miss Greatorex wants me to come to our room now or whether
she'll need her things again. She went away in a great hurry, seems if;
and so--so did 'most everybody else. Funny for them all to get sleepy
just in a minute so."
The old traveler laughed and patted Dorothy's shoulder.
"A 'fog swell' is what we've struck. That explains the darkness and the
hasty departure of our neighbors. Seasick, poor creatures! and no
suffering worse, while it lasts. Sure you aren't yourself, Dorothy?"
"No. I don't feel any different from ever, yet, Judge Breckenridge."
"Good enough. I'm mighty glad for you. Poor little Moll will be apt to
have a sorry time of it until we reach Yarmouth and land. By the way,
lassie, I observe that you've been well trained to give a person their
name and title when you speak to them. But we're on our holiday now, you
know, and mustn't work more than we can help. So, my dear, suppose you
call me Uncle Schuy, or simply Uncle, while we are together. 'Judge
Breckenridge' is considerable of a mouthful for a small maid who, I
hope, will have to address me a great many times. I shall find it
pleasant to be 'Uncled' for I greatly miss our boy, Tom."
He did not add, as he might, that some pity mingled in this desire.
Coming unobserved upon the little figure sitting alone in the
steamer-chair, amid a pile of rugs which almost hid her from sight,
deserted, and possibly also in the throes of illness, he had resolved to
make her time with him and his as happy as he could. He would have done
this under any circumstances; but Molly's fervid description of
Dorothy's orphanage and ignorance of her real parentage had touched him
profoundly.
Loving his own little daughter beyond all others in the world he loved
this deserted child for Molly's sake; and felt that he should promptly
love her for her own.
Sitting down again beside her he covered himself with rugs and begged
permission to smoke; remarking:
"It's a shame to keep you up longer but I fancy that your stateroom
wouldn't be very pleasant just now. It's next to my sister's, you know,
and I saw Number Eight coming out of it with considerable haste. Miss
Greatorex is probably ill, but should be better once she gets settled in
bed. Then you must go and also get to rest. Quite likely you'll be the
only little girl-companion I'll have for the rest of the trip. I was
afraid Molly would make a poor sailor, and she's proving me correct. My
sister, though, never suffers from seasickness and is a charming
traveling companion as you'll find."
He relapsed into silence and a great drowsiness began to overpower
Dorothy. Her day had been long and most eventful and the sea air was
strong. Presently, her head drooped against the back of her chair, the
Judge grew indistinct in her sight, and she fell asleep.
He considered then what was best to do; and presently decided that, if
she wasn't sent for, she might well and safely pass the night on deck as
he intended to do.
Indeed, so often had he voyaged on that ship that its employees had
learned his wishes without telling; and now there came to him one Number
Seven, his own room attendant, bringing a pillow and more rugs. He was
dispatched for another pillow and between them they gently lowered the
back of Dorothy's chair, placed a pillow under her unconscious head and
tucked her warmly in. Then he settled himself to rest and neither of
them knew distinctly anything more until the daylight came and the
sunshine struggled with the enwrapping fog.
She, indeed, had had vague dreams of what went on about her. Had heard
muffled bells and passing footsteps, but these had mingled only
pleasantly with her sense of rest and happiness; and it was a very
surprised young person who at last opened her eyes upon a gray expanse
of mist-covered ocean and a gray-haired man asleep on a chair beside
her.
Sitting up, she stared about her for a moment till she realized what had
happened; then smiled to think she had actually slept out of doors.
Afterward, she wondered with some anxiety if Miss Greatorex had sent for
her during the night, or if she were still too ill to care about anybody
save herself.
"Anyhow, I must go and see. My! how damp these rugs are and yet I am as
warm as can be. That's what dear Miss Penelope said she meant to
do--sleep on deck. But she didn't come and I've done it in her stead.
What a queer world it is and how things do get twisted round! Now I must
be still as still and not wake that dear Judge--'Uncle', who's so lovely
to me!"
With these thoughts she slipped softly out of her rugs and tiptoed away,
having some slight trouble to locate "Number Thirteen" stateroom; and,
having done so, discovered its door ajar, fastened against intrusion by
a chain.
She peeped through the opening. Miss Isobel lay with her eyes closed,
but whether asleep or not Dorothy couldn't decide. She was very pale and
perfectly motionless, and a too-suggestive tin basin was fastened to the
railing of her berth.
"Ugh! I can't go in there and wake her, if she's asleep; or to go any
way. I'll slip around to this other side the boat where there are such
heaps of chairs and nobody in them. My! It's cold and I haven't anything
to put over me here. Never mind, I'll stay. If I go back to where I was
I might wake Judge Breckenridge, and I shouldn't like to do that. I
don't wonder Molly called him a handsome man. He looked better than
handsome to me, sleeping there, he looked _noble_."
Thus reflecting she settled herself on a chair against the inner wall
and watched the men at work mopping the wet decks and putting the
steamer generally "ship-shape" against the day's voyage. It was a
forlorn outlook into the world of fog, through which the sound of the
bells rang strangely. Also, there was an almost continuous blowing of
whistles and a look of some anxiety on the faces of such of the crew as
passed by.
Finally, out of some far-off stairway, young bugler Melvin came tripping
and hurried along the deck in her direction. She fancied a look of
surprise in his eyes as he perceived her and that he would pass on
without further notice. Yet, just as he reached a point opposite her
chair, he flashed one glance toward her; and almost as quickly turned
about to retrace his steps. Shivering and rather miserable she watched
him idly, and now the surprise was her own.
He returned and still without speaking, yet with an almost painful flush
on his face, tossed two heavy rugs into her lap and instantly passed on.
She had no chance to thank him, but readily answered a laugh from a
deck-hand near by who had witnessed the little incident and enjoyed it.
The "Bashful Bugler" was Melvin's shipboard nickname and no lad ever
better deserved such. Yet he had been well "raised" and there was
something very appealing to the chivalry of any lad in the look of
Dorothy's just now sad eyes; though commonly their brown depths held
only sunshine.
The sweeper on the deck moved the chairs near her and even her own,
though without her leaving it, the better to clear off the moisture
which the fog had deposited. She had echoed his laugh and he remarked:
"Nice boy, 'Bashful' is; but no more fitted to go round 'mongst
strangers'n a picked chicken."
Both the sailor and Dorothy were glad to speak with anybody, and she
asked:
"Will this fog last long? Is it often so cold right in the summer time?"
"Cold enough to freeze the legs off an iron pot, slathers of times. This
is one of 'em! As for fogs lastin', I reckon, little Miss, there won't
be no more sunshine 'twixt here and Yarmouth harbor. If you're cold out
here though, and don't want to go to your room, you'll find things snug
down yonder in that music-room, or what you call it."
"Oh! is there a place? Under shelter? Will you show me?"
"Sure. If 'tis open yet. Sometimes it's shut overnight but likely not
now. I'll take them rugs for you, Sissy, if you like."
"Thank you. Thank you so much. How nice everybody is on a steamship! Is
it living all the time on the water makes you kind, I wonder?"
"Give it up!" answered this able seaman, not a little flattered by
Dorothy's appreciation of his service, and in Molly's own frequent
manner. With another smile at this memory, Dorothy followed as he walked
ahead, dragging his mop behind him and leaving a shining streak in his
wake.
They found the little saloon, music-room, writing-room, or "what you
call it," closed, but the door opened readily enough, and Dorothy was
delighted to creep within the warmth and comfort of the place. It was
dark inside but the man turned on the electric light, and, doffing his
cap, went out, shut the door behind him, and left her to her solitary
enjoyment.
"What a pretty room! How cozy and warm! I'm going to cuddle down in this
easy chair and take another nap. There's nobody stirring much and I
heard one man say to another that there were more folks sick this trip
than had been all summer. I wonder if poor Molly is yet! I'd go and see
only I don't want to disturb Mrs. Hungerford.
"Now, Dorothy girl, shut your eyes and don't open them again till
breakfast time. I am awfully disappointed. I'd counted upon watching the
sun rise over the ocean and was going to get up so early to do it: Huh!
I'm early enough, but the poor sun is taking a bath and can't be seen."
Artificial heat had been turned into the room which accounted for the
warmth she found so grateful. This, succeeding her shivering fit, made
her drowsy and she shut her eyes "just for forty winks." But a good many
times "forty" had passed before she opened them once more and found
herself still alone. She got up and looked about her, thinking that she
must go to "Number Thirteen" and bathe her face and hands, though not
much more than that could be accomplished in such limited quarters.
She'd go in just a minute. Meanwhile there was a piano. She'd like to
try it, though her lessons on that instrument had been but few.
However--
"Oh! joy! There's a violin case on the shelf yonder! I'm going to look
at it. If there's a violin inside--There is! I'd love, just love to try
that, far more than a jingling piano. I wonder would anybody hear me? I
don't believe so. It's so far away. I'm going to--I am!"
With a fiddle once more under her chin Dorothy forgot all but that happy
fact. Delicately and timidly at first, she drew her bow across the
strings, fearing an interruption; but when none came she gathered
boldness and played as she would have done in Herr von Peter's own
helpful presence.
How long she stood there, swaying to her own music, enwrapped in it and
no longer lonely, she didn't know; but after a time the minor chords of
her last and "loveliest lesson" were rudely broken in upon by other
strains which cut short her practicing and set her face toward the door.
There stood the "Bashful Bugler" tooting his "first call to breakfast"
directly toward her, and her response was a crash of discord from the
violin. The effect upon Melvin was to make him lower his bugle and flash
out of sight as if propelled by a hurricane.