LEARNING BY EXPERIENCE
Gretel sank down upon the bed beside Geraldine, and began to cry.
“The boat’s going,” she sobbed; “we can’t get off now. We’ve got to
go all the way to Baltimore, and it’s such a dreadful storm. Oh, it’s
awful! It’s awful!” And poor little Gretel lifted up her voice and
wailed.
Now, neither of the twins liked to see people cry. Mischievous and
troublesome as they frequently were, their hearts were anything but
hard, and at sight of their friend’s tears they both began to look
rather ashamed of themselves.
“Do stop being such a silly,” said Geraldine, crossly, but she slipped
an arm round Gretel’s waist as she spoke, and tried to draw her hands
down from her face.
“I don’t see what you came for if you’re such a scare-cat,” remarked
Jerry in his gruffest tones. “We came for an adventure, and you’re
going to spoil it; I think you’re real mean.”
“I didn’t come on purpose,” protested Gretel between her sobs; “I only
came to bring you home. I didn’t know the boat would go so soon. Oh, I
wish I hadn’t come. I don’t want to be shipwrecked and drowned just now
when Percy has come home, and everything is so lovely.”
Now, oddly enough, the prospect of being shipwrecked, which had struck
the twins as so alluring only a few minutes earlier, had suddenly lost
its charm, and both little faces began to look very grave.
“We’re not really going to be shipwrecked,” said Geraldine, uneasily;
“we only said so for fun. We’re not a bit afraid, and we’re going to
have a wonderful time. You’ll have a good time too if you’ll only stop
crying and making such a fuss. We don’t mind your coming with us, do
we, Jerry?”
“Of course we don’t,” said Jerry; “I wanted to tell her about it all
the time, but you said we mustn’t.”
“That was because I was afraid she’d tell,” explained Geraldine; “but
now you’re here, Gretel, and can’t go back, I don’t see why you won’t
have a good time. The boat won’t stop again till we get to Baltimore
to-morrow morning; we found that out before we started.”
But Gretel did not feel in the least like having a good time.
“Have you brought any money?” she inquired mournfully.
The twins shook their heads.
“Then how do you expect to get home again?” demanded Gretel, with a
fresh burst of tears.
“Oh, the passengers who make up the purse for us will send us home;
they always do,” Jerry assured her cheerfully. “Stowaways never take
any money with them. There was a little boy stowaway on the same ship
with our uncle, and the passengers got up a concert for him, and gave
him ’most a hundred dollars.”
“We didn’t bring any other things either,” added Geraldine, “not even
a tooth-brush. Jerry thought it would be more of an adventure to go to
bed without brushing our teeth, and with all our clothes on. Then of
course we won’t have to take a bath in the morning. You haven’t got any
night things either, have you?”
“Of course I haven’t--how could I have? I was just looking out of the
window at the storm, and I saw you getting on the boat. I knew you
were going to do something dreadful, so I ran after you just as fast
as I could. Nobody knows where I am. Oh, what will Percy and Higgins
think!”
“Oh, do stop howling,” exclaimed Jerry, at the end of his patience;
“we’ll tell them it wasn’t your fault, and I don’t believe you’ll be
punished.”
“Does your brother often punish you?” Geraldine asked a little
anxiously.
“He never has punished me, but I haven’t known him long. It isn’t the
being punished that I mind; it’s--it’s--oh, everything!” and Gretel
broke down once more and wailed.
But there was no use in crying over what could not be helped, and in
a little while Gretel dried her eyes, and began to wonder what was
going to happen next. The twins would not hear of her first suggestion
that they should come out of their hiding-place at once, and Jerry
positively refused to produce the key of the locked door.
“We came to be stowaways,” he maintained stubbornly, “and stowaways
never come out for a long time.”
On almost any other day they would probably have been discovered within
a very short time, as the stateroom would have been claimed, but owing
to the severity of the storm, very few of the cabins were occupied,
and so it was more than half an hour before the stewardess bethought
herself to knock gently at the door, to inquire if the inmate of number
fifty-two wanted anything. In the meantime the twins, who, having come
out for a good time, were determined to have one, had opened their
parcel, and spread out the refreshments, which consisted of cake,
bananas, and chocolate.
“We bought them this morning when we were out with Miss Heath,”
Geraldine told Gretel. “She didn’t know what we wanted them for, but
Jerry said we were going to have a feast, and she knows she isn’t to
interfere if it isn’t lesson time. Then we met your brother, and he
talked to Miss Heath, and I guess she forgot all about us. It’s pretty
early for supper, but I think we may as well begin, don’t you, Jerry?”
“Ye--es,” said Jerry, eying the array of good things rather dubiously;
“I’m not very hungry yet, though; suppose we wait a little longer. I
wonder what makes the boat swing so much.”
“It’s because it’s getting rough,” said Gretel. “I was on a boat once
with Father when it was very rough. We went down to Pleasure Bay on an
excursion, and before we got back a storm came up, and the boat rocked
dreadfully. Some of the people on board were seasick, but Father and I
liked it.”
At that moment the steamer gave a sudden plunge, which sent the
children nearly off their feet. Geraldine put down the piece of
chocolate she had just begun to eat, and turned rather pale.
“I guess we will wait a little while longer,” she agreed. “Don’t you
think it’s rather hot in here? Let’s open the window.”
But the opening of the window proved a more difficult task than the
children had expected, and while Jerry and Gretel were still struggling
with a refractory fastening, Geraldine suddenly rolled over in a little
heap on the bed, in the midst of the refreshments.
“What’s the matter?” demanded Jerry, looking a little frightened.
“I--I don’t know,” faltered Geraldine, with white lips; “I feel very
queer; I think I’m ill.”
“You’re seasick,” announced Gretel, who knew the signs; “I guess we’ll
have to call somebody. We can’t open the window, and you won’t feel any
better till you get some fresh air.”
It was at that moment that there came a tap at the stateroom door, and
Jerry, no longer refusing to produce the key, promptly unlocked it,
and admitted a colored stewardess who at sight of the three children,
and the feast, threw up her hands, with an exclamation of dismay. But
when she learned that the children were traveling alone, and had come
on board without any luggage, her astonishment and horror were almost
beyond the power of words to express. She kept repeating “fo’ de land’s
sake!” over and over again, and finally departed to tell the news to
the head steward, and as many of the passengers as cared to listen. By
the time she returned, accompanied by the purser and two stewards, poor
little Geraldine was really in a very bad way indeed.
“And no wonder,” remarked the purser, with a grin; “we haven’t had a
night like this in months. I’m afraid you’re in for it, little miss.
And how are you feeling?” he added, turning to the other two.
“I’m--I’m all right I guess,” said Jerry, trying to smile, though the
effort was rather a failure; “we won’t really be sick, you see, because
we’re Mind Cures. Mind Cures never have anything the matter with them.
We’ve only got to--” But at that moment the steamer gave a tremendous
roll, and Jerry never finished his sentence.
Half an hour later, two very limp little figures, with very white
faces, were stretched on the berths in number fifty-two, from which the
stewardess had charitably removed the “feast.” Both twins were very
sick--much too sick to care about feasts, adventures, or anything else.
“I want Mother, oh, I want Mother!” wailed Geraldine, between paroxysms
of seasickness; “she always takes care of us when we are ill. Oh, I
wish we hadn’t come; I do, I do!”
“I think I’m going to die,” announced Jerry, and his gruff little voice
was very shaky.
“Oh, no, you’re not,” Gretel reassured him. She was not at all sick
herself, but was helping the stewardess minister to her friends. “You
are only seasick, and people never die from seasickness.”
“I think I’d just as soon die as feel this way,” groaned Jerry, at
which the stewardess laughed in a way which seemed to the children
quite brutal.
But she was not by any means a brutal or heartless person, and was
really as kind as possible to the two little sufferers. She tried to
persuade Gretel to go down to the dining-saloon to have something to
eat, but although not sick, Gretel had no desire for food just then,
and much preferred remaining where she was.
As the evening advanced the storm seemed to grow worse, instead of
decreasing, as the passengers had hoped it might when leaving Old
Point, and the little steamer rolled and pitched in a manner calculated
to disturb even the best sailors.
“Do you think we are going to be shipwrecked?” Gretel whispered
anxiously to the stewardess. The twins were beyond caring whether they
were wrecked or not.
“Shipwrecked!” repeated the colored woman, scornfully; “no, indeed.
Don’t you be scared, Missie; dis yere boat’s all right. We’ll bring you
safe into Baltimore to-morrow mornin’, sure as Fate.”
But though the stewardess spoke so confidently, there were some people
on board who were not quite so sanguine, and when Gretel went out into
the saloon for a little air, she found several of the lady passengers
in tears.
“It’s the most terrible experience I’ve ever had in my life,” declared
one hysterical woman. “They had no right to start the boat in such a
gale.”
“If we ever see Baltimore I shall be very much surprised,” wailed
another. “Oh, why did I ever leave my husband and children!”
Gretel did not repeat these remarks to her companions when she went
back to the stateroom, but her heart was anything but light, and she
was growing more frightened every moment.
At ten o’clock the stewardess looked in for the last time before going
to bed. The twins were a little better, and had both fallen asleep.
“Dey’ll be all right now, I guess,” she told Gretel. “You’d better go
to sleep too. Dere ain’t any more beds in here, but I can put you in
another room. Dere’s plenty of empty ones dis trip.”
But Gretel would not leave her friends, and preferred curling up
on the sofa, where she lay, with wide-open eyes, listening to the
strange sounds of creaking and groaning, all quite familiar to
people accustomed to life on shipboard, but which seemed to her very
“frightening” indeed. She was sure they were going to be shipwrecked;
they would all be drowned, and she would never see Percy or Miss Heath
again. She wondered if Percy would be very sorry, and what Miss Heath
would say. They had neither of them known her very long, and of course
could not be expected to care as Mr. and Mrs. Barlow would care if the
twins were drowned, but they had seemed to be rather fond of her, and,
oh, how good and kind they both were. There was no use in trying to be
brave or cheerful any longer, and poor little Gretel let her feelings
have their way, and sobbed into the sofa cushion.
She cried herself to sleep, and had just fallen into a comfortable
doze, when the steamer gave a terrific roll, which sent her off the
sofa. Geraldine awoke with a shriek of terror as she struck the floor.
For a moment it really seemed as if something frightful had happened,
and the children clung to each other in helpless terror, but then the
steamer righted herself once more, and everything seemed quiet.
“Oh, I’m so frightened--I’m so frightened!” sobbed Geraldine, even
seasickness forgotten in this new alarm. “Gretel, do you think we’re
going to be drowned?”
“I guess it would serve us right if we were,” observed a hoarse little
voice from the upper berth. “It was a pretty awful thing to do, to run
away by ourselves, and frighten Mother.”
“Mother said we must learn things by experience,” said Geraldine, with
chattering teeth, “and I guess we are doing it, all right. It’s much
worse than being punished. I’d rather be whipped every day, and not
have any candy for a month, than be seasick.”
“Shut up about candy,” commanded Jerry, “I don’t ever want to see any
candy again, or cake, or bananas either. I don’t want ever to eat
anything, even meat or vegetables. I say, Geraldine, do you suppose
Mother’s awfully frightened about us?”
“I’m afraid she is,” said Geraldine, mournfully; “she gets scared
pretty quickly, even if she is a Mind Cure. I hope she won’t be ill,
like she was the time she thought Father had been in a railroad
accident. She’ll feel dreadfully if we’re drowned.”
“You won’t be drowned,” her brother assured her; “they always put the
women in the life boats first. I may be, because of course I shan’t go
till all the women and children are saved. Boys never do, you know.”
“Oh, Jerry, you are a brave boy!” exclaimed Geraldine, admiringly, “but
I wish you wouldn’t talk about it; it scares me so.”
But Jerry seemed to rather enjoy the subject.
“If I am drowned, you’ll tell Father and Mother how brave I was,
won’t you?” he said. “Father can have my Waterbury watch, and Mother
can keep my seal ring if she wants it. It’s too small for her to wear,
but she might like to have it to remember me by. I guess I’ll let you
have my magic lantern and the Punch and Judy show, Geraldine, but you
must be very careful of them, because, you know, I might not be dead,
after all. I might be rescued, and carried off on a ship, and sold
for a slave, like the boy in that book we read, and when I come back
of course I’d want my things, and--” Here another big wave sent the
steamer over on her side again, and brought Jerry’s remarks to a sudden
conclusion. Geraldine screamed, and clutched Gretel tight.
“I don’t want to be drowned--I don’t want to be drowned!” she wailed.
“We’ve been dreadfully naughty, and perhaps God won’t let us go to
Heaven.”
“Oh, yes, I’m sure He will,” soothed Gretel. “Let’s say our prayers. We
haven’t said them to-night. I’m sure God will take care of us if we ask
Him.”
“Yes, let’s say our prayers,” agreed Geraldine, eagerly. “I was so sick
I forgot all about saying them before, but I’ll do it now. You say
yours too, Jerry; we’ll all say them together.”
So the three children folded their hands, reverently, and repeated the
evening prayer they all knew:
“Jesus, tender Shepherd, hear me,
Bless thy little lamb to-night;
Through the darkness be Thou near me;
Keep me safe till morning light.”
And after that although the storm continued, and the little steamer
pitched and plunged as much as ever, things did not seem quite so
terrible as they had before. Gretel seemed so certain that God would
take care of them, and somehow the twins had come to have a great deal
of faith in Gretel.
“God always takes care of people when they ask Him to,” said Gretel,
confidently. “Father asked Him to take care of me when he was ill, and
He did. First Mrs. Marsh let me go and live with her, and afterwards
Percy came home. Father said I must always ask God to take care of me
every day.”
“I hope He’ll take care of Mother, too, and not let her be ill because
she’s so frightened about us,” said Geraldine, tremulously. “How do
you suppose we are ever going to get home, Jerry? We haven’t any
money, and nobody has said anything about making up a purse for us.”
Jerry had no suggestion to offer, but Gretel, who was nearly two years
older than the twins, and had had a good deal more experience, said she
was quite sure they would be taken care of.
“Perhaps they’ll let us stay on the boat till it goes back to-morrow
night,” she suggested, but Jerry and Geraldine did not take at all
kindly to that idea, and Jerry protested loudly that he would rather
walk all the way back to Old Point than spend another night on
that dreadful boat. The very thought caused Geraldine a return of
seasickness, and she was most unhappy for the next hour.
It was really a terrible night, and our three little friends were
not the only people on board who lay awake and trembled, but towards
morning the wind began to go down, and the sea grew calmer. By four
o’clock they were in comparatively quiet water, and Gretel as well as
the twins had fallen fast asleep.
They were still sleeping when the stewardess accompanied by the head
steward, came to have a look at them, but at the sound of voices, and
the sudden flood of light caused by the opening door, Jerry sat up and
rubbed his eyes.
“Good morning, young gentleman,” said the head steward, pleasantly;
“how are you feeling to-day?”
“I’m all right,” declared Jerry, stoutly; “is it breakfast time?”
“It will be pretty soon--are you hungry?”
“I guess I am,” said Jerry, a little doubtfully; “what did you do with
our feast?”
“I think the stewardess must have taken charge of it. You didn’t seem
particularly keen about eating it yourselves last night. You can have
anything you want for breakfast.”
Jerry began climbing down from his high bed.
“I’m ready,” he announced cheerfully; “it’s good I haven’t got to stop
to dress. I never went to bed with my clothes on before, but I like it;
it saves so much trouble. I don’t think I’ll stop to wash. I haven’t
had anything to eat since lunch time yesterday.”
Just then Gretel and Geraldine woke up, and the steward told them they
were already in Baltimore harbor, and the boat would be at her dock in
a few minutes.
It was more than half an hour later, however, before the three rather
bedraggled little figures made their appearance on deck. In the
meantime they had been provided with a bountiful breakfast, to which
they had all done justice, but notwithstanding that fact, and the
reassuring knowledge that they were actually in Baltimore, all three
faces were very grave and troubled. The stewardess had assured them
that they would be cared for, and their friends communicated with, but
that there was nothing for them to do but remain on board all day, and
go back to Old Point on the return trip that night.
“It isn’t always as bad as last night,” Gretel said, trying to speak
cheerfully. “It was really quite smooth the night Percy and I came.
Perhaps you won’t be sick going back.”
The twins shuddered.
“I think a boat is the most dreadful place in the world,” declared
Geraldine. “Oh, don’t you suppose we could get off, and go back by the
train?”
Gretel shook her head decidedly.
“And they never made up a purse for us, after all,” exclaimed Jerry, in
a tone of disgust, and he glanced about the almost deserted deck, for
the boat was now at her pier, and most of the passengers had already
gone on shore.
The rain had ceased, but it was still cool and cloudy, and the children
shivered a little as they stood leaning against the railing, and looked
down at the crowd of people and vehicles on the pier.
“It does feel sort of queer to be wearing the same clothes you’ve
had on all night,” Geraldine admitted, with a sigh. “Lots of things
aren’t as nice when they really happen as people think they’re going
to be beforehand. I wonder if that’s what Mother means by learning by
experience.”
Jerry nodded.
“I guess it is,” he said, “but I don’t think I like learning by
experience as much as being punished. I say, let’s ask Mother to go
back to the old way. I don’t care much about the Law of Love, anyway;
I’d rather have one good punishment, and get it over with; this
learning by experience business isn’t much fun.”
Just then there was an exclamation from Gretel.
“Look, oh, look; isn’t that your father on the pier?”
In another second the twins were literally hanging over the railing;
their hands waving, their voices raised in wild shouts of excitement.
“Father, Father, here we are,” they yelled, jumping up and down in
their sudden joy and relief. “Oh, Father dear, we’re so glad you’ve
come, too. Please, please take us back in the train.”
[Illustration: “ISN’T THAT YOUR FATHER ON THE PIER?”--_Page 195._]