Ready for the Voyage
"Like unto ships far off at sea,
Outward or homeward bound, are we.
Ah! if our souls but poise and swing
Like the compass in its brazen ring,
Ever level and ever true
To the toil and task we have to do
We shall sail securely, and safely reach
The Fortunate Isles with their shining beach."
--_Longfellow._
The crystalline air, sparkling with the salt of the Atlantic, swept up
the bay and stirred the waters of the North River into restlessness,
causing the great steamer to tug impatiently at her moorings as though
anxious to begin the voyage. Upon the promenade deck of the vessel stood
Mr. and Mrs. Henry Raymond, Doctor Raymond, and the two cousins, Adele
and Beatrice; for the time of departure had come.
It still lacked some time of the hour for sailing, and Adele called
excited directions to Bee as they waited, or made hurried little
excursions to the other side of the boat to see what was taking place
there.
"You must keep my roses until the very last, Bee," she said. "And there
is a box of chocolates in the top of your steamer trunk. I put them
there myself. Be sure you think of me when you eat them. Don't you want
to try your new rug? I don't believe that it will be half warm enough.
And, oh, Bee! do write every day, and tell me everything. Everything! Do
you hear? I wish I were going."
"Well, you will have a nice time in New York anyway," consoled Bee, who
was trying very hard not to be excited. "Doesn't the city look
beautiful?"
"It's wonderful!" agreed Adele ecstatically. "Next to going to Egypt I
would rather be here than anywhere. How tall the buildings are!"
"Aren't they?" answered Bee with enthusiasm. "They seem just like cliffs
with swallows nests in them. The buildings, the crowds, the shops, and
now this great steamer, and all the other vessels seem marvelous to me.
Just look what a picture it makes, Adele."
Adele leaned over the railing of the iron-girted steamer, and looked
long and earnestly at the wondrous city lying under the flicker of
Liberty's torch.
The rugged sky line along the western shore of the city was indeed
picturesque under the afternoon sun. The sky was of deepest blue with
not a cloud to mar its brilliancy. The silver and gray waters of the bay
were dotted with crafts of every description. Saucy tugs darted hither
and thither watching for opportunities to offer their services to some
great liner to put out from its dock; ferry boats plied unceasingly
between the New York and the Jersey shores; excursion steamers crowded
with pleasure seekers passed and repassed until one would suppose the
entire population of the city was on merrymaking bent. Sail boats, and
great steamers like their own filled the docks, or dotted the waters.
All West Street was crowded with people come to see the departure of the
liners. Across the broad plaza of the street came hansom cabs,
automobiles, coaches, and vehicles bristling with trunks and other
baggage; fruiterers' wagons scraped wheels with florists' vehicles, and
venders of every sort with their wares filled the spaces between in
search of possible purchasers.
Inside the pier the cabs threaded their way through freight piled
mountains high to canvas covered gangways leading to the first saloon.
The promenade deck was crowded with those who were to sail, and those
who had come to see them off. Some were walking up and down the deck
excitedly, others were standing about in groups. It was a busy, exciting
scene. One so new to the girls that they found the pain of parting
swallowed up in the excitement of the event. The older people, too, were
strangely silent, and seemed influenced by the bustle about them.
"You will come back so learned there will be no living with you,"
declared Adele presently, turning her back upon the confusion of the
wharf, and with a half envious note in her voice. "And a beauty, too, I
expect. You are almost that now, Bee, with your eyes shining so, and
that uplifted look on your face."
Bee gazed at her thoughtfully.
"Do you know, Adele," she said at length, "that I don't believe that I
shall ever want to be a beauty again. It is all true, just as everybody
told me; it doesn't matter in the least about looks, after all. When I
was thinking about that and nothing else, everything went wrong. But
when I thought about other people and giving them pleasure they tried to
do the same by me. Now that Butterfly Dinner: I didn't think of anything
in the world but giving those scientists a nice dinner, and a little
fun. Just see what it did for me! They have made me father's secretary.
Oh, I am going to try to be so good and so sweet that I will deserve all
this honor that has come to me!"
"And, and old Rachel's sickness when you helped her," supplemented
Adele, a slight flush stealing over her face at the recollection. "If
you hadn't gone in there to carry that basket your father would not have
wished you to go with him. Maybe, maybe, I will try to be less selfish
too, Bee. I haven't always been as nice to you as I ought to have been."
"Don't say a word about it," exclaimed Bee bending forward to kiss her.
"Everything has all turned out for the best. You have been just lovely
about my going, and helping, and all. If it were not for being with
father I should be very unhappy over leaving you; but so long as I am
with him I can't help but feel happy."
"What are our Bee and Butterfly conversing so earnestly about?" asked
Mrs. Raymond suddenly. "Adele, do you know that you must begin to say
good-bye to your cousin? By the time you girls have finished the whistle
will have blown. You know how long it takes you."
Adele looked up with eyes that swam with tears.
"And it will be two years," she murmured, giving Bee a big hug. "I do
hope that you will have a good time, Bee. If you see a pretty fan you
might send it to me. I just love those Egyptian things, and it will be
nice to show the girls. To think of your going so far! Be sure to write
me long letters. I don't believe that there will be another girl in
school who will have a correspondent in foreign parts. It is nice in
some ways, but I shall miss you."
"I'll send you just as many pretty things as I can," promised Bee. "I'll
never see anything that is real pretty that I won't think of you. You
must write long letters too, Adele, and tell me all about the girls, and
the school, and everything that happens. Oh, there is the warning!"
Adele clung to her for a moment, then as her father and mother hastily
exchanged good-byes with Bee she flung her arms about her uncle.
"You must be awfully good to Bee," she sobbed. "And bring her home safe.
Oh, I do wish you were not going!"
Doctor Raymond kissed her gently without replying, and the three left
the boat.
The big vessel stirred sluggishly, and then with a hip! hip! hurrah!
from the sailors swung out from the pier, backed into midstream and
headed for the bay and the ocean.
Bee drew near her father and slipped her hand into his. Together they
bent over the rail and waved their handkerchiefs at the little group on
the wharf. Adele was sobbing convulsively.
"I did not think she would mind so much," said Bee. "It is nice to be
loved like that, isn't it, father?"
"Yes;" he said, passing his arm about her. "She has just begun to
realize your worth. I think the knowledge of how dear you are to us has
just come to us all."
"Father," she cried, looking up at him lovingly, "you really like me a
great deal, I do believe."
"I should have been very unhappy had I been obliged to leave you,
Beatrice. It is not given to many men to have a dear little companion
who embodies so much wit and cleverness. I am proud of my little
daughter."
Bee was silent through sheer delight. And so they stood. The ship swept
through the narrows and into the lower bay. America was getting farther
and farther away, but she was too happy to care. The Summer had passed.
The cool breezes of Autumn blew refreshingly. Like the ocean the future
stretched before them, and they were sailing toward the unknown. But Bee
glanced at the tender, earnest face of her father, and felt no fear.
Whatever came she was his companion and helper, and she was content.
End of Project Gutenberg's Bee and Butterfly, by Lucy Foster Madison