The shipboard day passed, uneventful and pleasant. Anne had made for
herself an explanation of her uncle's absence, which no one had heart to
correct.
"He's nawful busy, Uncle Carey is," she explained. "I reckon he stayed
there talking to Roger--he always has so many things to tell Roger to
do!--and the boat was gone before he knew it. So he just had to wait. I
'spect he'll come on one of those other boats. Wouldn't it be funny if
one of them would come splashing along right now and Uncle Carey would
wave his hand at me and say 'Hello, Nancy pet! Here I am.'"
Mrs. Patterson put a caressing hand on the child's head but did not
speak. Lying back in her steamer chair, she looked across the
gray-green water and thought and wondered. Presently Anne crumpled her
steamer rug on the deck and nestled down in it. She chirped to
Honey-Sweet and wiggled her finger at the smiling red mouth, playing she
was a mother-bird bringing a fat worm to her nestling. Hour after hour,
while Miss Drayton and Mrs. Patterson read or talked together, Anne
would sit beside them, sometimes chattering and 'making believe' with
Honey-Sweet, sometimes prattling to her grown-up friends about her old
home in Virginia or her life in New York.
Mrs. Patterson petted her and made dainty frocks for Honey-Sweet. Brisk,
practical Miss Drayton gave Anne spelling lessons and set her problems
in number work, protesting that she was too large a girl to spend all
her time playing and looking at fairy-tale books, blue, red, and green.
Why, she did not even read them except by bits and snatches, but made up
tales to fit the pictures, and told over and over the stories that were
read to her.
She was always ready to drop a book for a romp with Pat Patterson.
Bounding about the deck together, they looked like a greyhound and a St.
Bernard--she slim and alert, he with his rough hair tumbling over his
merry, freckled face. Often their games ended by her stalking away with
Honey-Sweet, in offended dignity. Pat was such a tease!
"Isn't that a pretty doll?" he said one day, with suspicious
earnestness. "I say, lend her to me awhile, Anne."
Anne objected.
"Oh, you Anne! You wouldn't be selfish, would you?" wheedled Pat.
"Didn't I lend you my bow and arrows yesterday? And I always give you
half my macaroons. Just hand her over for a minute. Let me see the color
of her eyes."
"You know they are blue--like the story-book princess,--'her eyes were
as bright and as blue as the sky above the summer sea,'" quoted Anne,
reluctantly letting him take her pet.
"Blue they are. D'ye know, Anne, I think she'd make a capital William
Tell's child. Don't believe she'd be afraid for me to shoot the apple
off her head. Let's see."
Before Anne could interfere, Pat had suspended Honey-Sweet to a hook out
of her reach. A ball of string was fixed on her head by means of a wad
of chewing-gum.
Then Pat stepped back, drew his bow, and made a great show of aiming his
arrow at the pretended apple.
"How brave she is! She does not wink an eyelid," he said solemnly. "To
think! to think! If me aim be not true, I'll ki-ill me child," he
exclaimed, shaking with mock fear and dismay.
"Oh, Pat, Pat, don't!" implored Anne, grasping his arm.
"Away, away!" said Pat, drawing back. "Me heart failed but for a
moment. William Tell is himself once more. Behold!" And he took aim
again.
"Stop him! stop him! Don't let him shoot Honey-Sweet!" cried Anne.
Miss Drayton looked up quickly from her book.
"Patrick Henry Patterson!" she said severely. "Shame on you! Stop
teasing that child. Give her the doll this instant--this instant, sir!"
Anne hugged her regained pet and walked away, carefully avoiding Pat's
mischievous eyes. A few minutes later, a bag of macaroons slipped over
her shoulder, and a merry voice announced: "William Tell gives this to
his br-rave, beloved child." And before Anne could speak, Pat was gone
to join some other boys in a game of ring toss.
With a forgiving smile at him, she sauntered on and stood gazing over
the railing at the motley crowd in the steerage. She was looking for
the Irish mother with three curly-haired children. She wanted to share
her macaroons with them. They always looked hungry, and it was really as
much fun to throw them bonbons as to feed the greedy little squirrels in
Central Park. The children were not in sight, however, and Anne
loitered, leaning on the rail. She felt rather than saw some one
watching her. Looking down, she met for a fleeting second the dark,
intent eyes of a steerage passenger, a man in a coarse shirt and blue
overalls. His face--as much of it as she could see under the broad soft
hat pulled over the eyes--was covered with a dark scrubby beard.
On a sudden impulse, Anne leaned forward and called in her clear little
voice: "Here, you man in blue overalls! catch!"
The man started violently, and the macaroons rolled on the deck. He
leaned forward and seemed intent on picking up the fragments, but his
hand shook so that it was slow work. "Thank you, little lady," he said
after awhile, in a gruff voice. "I hope you have good friends."
"Indeed, I have. Have you?"
Perhaps he did not hear her. At all events, he moved quickly away,
without raising his head. Then Pat came, calling Anne. He wanted her to
hear what a man was telling about the headlands that were beginning to
take form on the horizon. Their voyage was almost over. In a few hours,
they would reach Liverpool.
The dock was entered at last and with as little delay as possible Mrs.
Patterson's party drove to the Roxton Hotel. No one noticed that the
carriage was followed closely by a shabby cab. Unseen, its passenger--a
man in blue overalls with a soft hat pulled over his eyes--watched the
little party enter the hotel. Then he alighted, paid his fare,
shouldered his canvas travelling bag, and disappeared down a dingy
street.