[Illustration: 9057]
HAT a queer sort of thing it is, this regularly going to sleep and waking
up again once in every twenty-four hours; but people who have had a
little experience in not going to sleep regularly, and in waking up at
most unheard-of and irregular hours, will tell you that that experience
is a deal queerer, and not so pleasant by half. Some of the little folk
who have need to be coaxed and urged to bed six nights out of the seven,
would hardly dare to fret, I imagine, if they only knew that to be
a sound sleeper is an accomplishment sorely envied by some of those
grown-up people who may sit up as late as they choose. And if one of
those wakeful, grown-up people should some day ask you, “What is the
secret of your sound sleeping, my little friend?” just tell them that
you think it is because you do not worry. Then if they say, “That's all
very well; children have no need to worry, they have fathers and mothers
to lean upon tell them that they, too, have a Father, One far more kind
and loving than any earthly father, and that they could lie down at
night as free from worry as any child if they would;” and who knows but
they will learn a blessed lesson from you that will be well worth the
learning.
Now this little reverie has all been suggested by the fact that the
Boniface household was waking up, all save old Dinah, the cook, for she
had been up for an hour or more. She had once been Hazel's nurse, and,
since the beginning of the war, was the only servant the Bonifaces could
afford to keep. How comfortable she made them, that faithful old Dinah,
so that all one had to do was to waken and wash, and brush and dress,
and then sit down to steaming coffee, delicate rolls, and the most
savory little rasher of bacon, which Dinah always added as a “relisher,”
as she called it, to the more substantial part of the breakfast. Yes,
they were waking, all of them, from anxious Captain Boniface to happy
little Flutters, for Dinah's vigorous ringing of the rising bell had
thoroughly done its work.
Each busy brain was taking up again the manifold threads of thought
which had slipped from its hold when sleep had stolen across it so
gently the night before. Captain Boniface instantly remembered the angry
letter, as, of course, did Mrs. Boniface and Josephine, and so their
waking was rather heavy hearted. Harry instantly remembered it too,
but his second thought was of the pretty sail-boat moored down at the
Boniface wharf, and of the plan for the day, and he was glad to open
his eyes on blue skies and the sunshine that flooded his eastward room.
Flutters woke with a smile. Indeed, he doubted if he should ever do
anything but smile again, so sure was he that he had turned a very
happy corner in his life. Starlight roomed with Flutters, and his first
thought when he opened his eyes was how they were to manage to return
those clothes of Hans Van Wyck's, that Flutters was getting into with
such an air of complacent ownership. Hazel's little mind took its first
morning flight in the same direction as Harry Avery's. The sail-boat,
the bay sparkling in the sunshine, the visit to the old prison-ship--it
all meant so much to her enthusiastic, pleasure-loving temperament. A
certain uncomfortable and premeditated call upon Colonel Hamilton
could easily be postponed to an indefinite future, with such delightful
anticipations in the definite present.
“It seems heartless to be going off for a day's jaunt, when father has
so much to trouble him,” Josephine said, when, soon after breakfast, the
little party of five, basketed and equipped, were starting down to the
wharf.
“Not at all, Josephine,” answered her sweet-faced mother, holding bonny
Kate by the hand as she spoke. “We will try and keep dear old papa
cheery, won't we, little daughter?” then, seeing that Josephine still
lingered, as though reluctant to go, she added, cheerily, “nothing would
be gained by your staying, Josephine. Your father has some office work
that will keep him in the house, so you can think of him as safe at home
all day, and we are both of us glad enough to have you enjoy a little
change.” So, somewhat relieved in her mind, Josephine hurried down and
joined the Others, and soon the “Gretchen,” with her white sail spread
to the crisp morning breeze, sped out on the river, fairly dancing along
the crests of the white caps that splashed against her prow with such a
continuous and merry little thump and splutter.
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Wind and tide favored them, and Harry was an excellent sailor, so that
in a comparatively short time they had left the waters of the Hudson
behind them, had rounded Fort George, the Battery of to-day, and were
headed up the East River, with New York on the one side, and the then
scattered town of Brooklyn on the other. Skilfully tacking in long
slants from shore to shore, the wharves and shipping were soon exchanged
for the sloping banks of Manhattan Island on the left, and of Long
Island on the right, and then suddenly the dismasted hulk of the old
“Jersey” loomed up before them.
She was a dreary enough looking object to any one, but if, like Harry,
you had been a prisoner aboard of her for eighteen long months, you
would, like him, no doubt, have shuddered at the sight of her. Josephine
shuddered too. “Oh, do not let us go any nearer!” she said.
“All right,” was Harry's quick response, for, in point of fact, nothing
pleased him better than to comply with Josephine's slightest wish, so
the “Gretchen” veered off again.
“Oh! can't we go aboard?” cried Flutters, with a world of disappointment
in his tone, for in imagination he had already scaled the gangway ladder
that hung at her larboard side, and turned more than one somersault on
the wide sweep of her upper deck.
“Why, no, child!” answered Hazel, who was fast assuming a most
patronizing air toward her little protégé; “no one would think of going
_aboard_ of her, would they, Cousin Harry?”
“Why, why not?” Flutters asked, half-impatiently, for Harry, giving his
attention for the moment to the management of the boat, did not at once
reply.
“Because,” he said, finally, “there has been far too much sickness in
that old hulk for any one to safely venture aboard of her; she has
been responsible for the lives of eleven thousand men. I doubt if the
strongest and longest of north winds could ever blow her free from the
fever that must be lurking in her rotten timbers.”
That was a new phase of the matter to Flutters, and he subsided at once
into thoughtful silence.
“I think this would be a good place to anchor,” suggested Harry, but
waited a moment till Josephine had given her consent before letting
the anchor run the length of its rope and bury itself in the mud bottom
beneath them.
As soon as the “Gretchen” had settled into the position determined for
her by the tide, the little party of five ranged themselves about the
boat, so as to be as comfortable as possible, for there they meant to
stay for the next hour, or two, or three, as the case might be. It had
been for some time a thoroughly understood matter between Hazel and
Harry Avery, that whenever the day should come for this trip to the
“Jersey,” they were to anchor their boat in _full sight_ of her, and
_then_ and _there_ he was to tell them the “whole story”--from the day
he volunteered till the day of his release in the previous summer.
Flutters, who had been made acquainted with the object of the
expedition, waited, with a charming native sense of the “fitness of
things,” until the others had chosen their places; then he threw himself
at Harry's feet, in one of the graceful positions so natural to him, and
which even Hans Van Wyck's rough, homespun clothes did not altogether
succeed in hiding. It was wonderful to look into Flutters's upturned
face--such complete satisfaction, such tranquil happiness shone out
of it. Even in those exciting moments when every nerve and tissue was
thrilling under Harry's narration of the dark features of his prison
life, a smile still seemed to be lurking in the corners of his
expressive mouth. Yesterday, a lonely little tumbler in a dreary, tawdry
circus company; to-day, one of a blessed circle of warm-hearted friends.
Whatever fears others might have as to the disposal to be made of him,
Flutters had none for himself. Of course he was to be Hazel's faithful
little servant from that day forward, and it was almost worth while, he
thought, to have “darkey blood” in one's veins for the sake of rendering
such happy service. Farther than that he did not trouble himself,
literally taking no thought for the morrow, nor for what he should put
on when his present habiliments should have found their way back to
their rightful owner. The “Gretchens” little company made a pretty
picture against the blue gray of the bay, and when at last there was no
more arranging to be done, and all had repeatedly declared themselves
“perfectly comfortable,” there was a breathless, momentous little pause,
as in the moment at a play between the significant and abrupt cessation
of the orchestra and the rolling back of the curtain. “_Please_ begin,”
said Hazel, with a great sigh, as though the intense anticipation of
that supreme moment was quite too heavy for child-nature to endure, and
Harry, looking sadly over to the old “Jersey,” commenced his story.