Elizabeth said. "Now my dear child you must have patience. Spring will
soon be here and we will take you home again. So now, have patience."
All day long after she talked to me I kept repeating every little while.
"Patience, patience; have patience." I did not know its meaning. At last
I asked her what it meant. She tried to explain to me it meant not to
worry, not to fret, to be quiet and wait, try to be happy, sing when I
wanted to cry, and be cheerful and not give up to sadness. I repeated
many times what she said to me and promised to do the best I could. How
much I needed that lesson before my face was again turned homeward! I
did not cry any more. I told Elizabeth my heart was getting too big and
I was sure it would burst. When I felt so bad and it was hard to keep
the tears back I took my doll Jane (I had named her after the dear, kind
cabin maid) in my arms, rocking and singing some of my old French songs
my mother had taught me. When Elizabeth looked at me I said, "Now I am
getting patience." Soon the captain came in, saying, "Is this the little
girl that is homesick?" I said, "Oh no, I'm not homesick any more. I
have got patience." He laughed heartily. Elizabeth explained to him what
I meant. He said, "No don't you get homesick any more. I will take you
home next April on this old steamboat of mine. So get all the patience
you can."