there was commotion in the harris household, notwithstanding the very early hour—the sort of commotion which means that somebody is off for europe, somebody who has preferred remaining at home, and rising as early as need he, to boarding the steamer the night before and spending it tied to a noisy dock. in this case there were three somebodies, and you can easily guess who; for there was that in harold’s letter that had made mr. and mis. harris feel they really ought to go if they could, and that moved marie-celeste to declare that go they must; that, in short, made the hearts of all three go out very warmly to the lonely little fellow across the water. and the best part of it all was that it had been the easiest thing in the world to arrange matters, and that a cable bore to harold the glad word that they would come, so that he had not even to wait for a letter. and now the one week of preparation was over, and the carriage was at the door, and mr. and mrs. harris were in it, and marie-celeste was taking effusive and affectionate leave of the maids, who were smiling and crying all in one, after the manner of an irish parting. and now even that is done with, and the carriage rolls off, and the wagon-load of steamer trunks and bags jogs after, and mary and bridget and norah dry their eyes on their respective aprons, and go back to a general cleaning up today, and like as not to coney island to-morrow. and what if they do, thinks their mistress. indeed, she is altogether willing that they should, for if there is ever a time when the contrasts in life will not be overlooked it is when you are on your way to the steamer. it seems so pitiful to see men and women on every hand plodding away at the same old, monotonous tasks, when ahead of you are all the delights of novelty, travel, and leisure. oh! if only every one might have “his turn” in this world of ours; but since that is out of the question, let there at least be as much coney island for housemaids as is consistent with good morals and faithful discharge of their duties; at least so thought one dear little mistress, with more heart, perhaps, than discretion, but a heart, all the same, that won every one to her and made life in her household move with infinite smoothness.
“i wonder, mamma, if harold will like us?” said marie-celeste, when the excitement of immediate departure had sufficiently subsided for her to find any words at all.
“it’s a little late in the day, dear, for you to do any wondering on that score.”
“somehow, i hadn’t thought until now how dreadful it would be if he didn’t. he knows about you, though, papa. he knows you’re all right—that’s one comfort.”
“and he takes my word for it that you are,” said mr. harris; “so be sure you don’t go back on me either of you. you will have to be on your good behavior every minute.”
marie-celeste gave her mother a little significant look, which her mother answered as significantly, and which gave mr. harris to understand that good behavior would depend altogether upon circumstances.
“it would be just as bad,” marie-celeste said thoughtfully, “if we didn’t like harold, wouldn’t it? and there’s ted; we don’t know much about him, do we?”
“excuse me, my little daughter,” said her father, laughing, “if i casually remark that young in years though you be, you are just like a woman. who has said a word until now about any ifs in connection with this trip of ours? but no sooner are we actually off, scarce ten minutes from home, in fact, than the great, uncomfortable, intimidating creatures come trooping in from every quarter, and the particular one that comes to me is this, if you find you don’t like it when you get there, don’t forget where the blarne lies. i remember a little maid who said that go to cousin harold she must, whether or no.”
“so do i,” with a little shrug of her shoulders; “but you can’t help thinking about things, all the same. what is ted like, papa?”
“well, ted’s a handsome, overgrown, headstrong boy, i should say—at least, he was when i was in windsor four years ago; but you see he’s a young man by this time and quite another fellow probably.”
“it is strange harold didn’t say anything about ted in his letter,” remarked mrs. harris.
“oh, that was pure accident, i imagine! ted must be all right, or harold would have said something about it which was rather wide of the mark in 'uncle fritz,’ as you and i happen to know.”
“overgrown and headstrong doesn’t sound very nice,” marie-celeste said slowly; “i’m really not a bit afraid about harold—i love him already, but i don’t feel sure about ted, somehow.” and if the truth be told, neither did mr. harris nor mrs. harris, nor anybody else, for that matter.
“well, there’s one thing, little girlie,” said her father; “there are wonderful places in england, which i mean you shall see; and how long we stay in windsor depends—”
“entirely upon how they treat us,” chimed in mrs. harris.
“exactly; so it becomes us not to worry about any foolish little ifs.” and worry they did not from that moment, not one of the happy trio, about anything under the sun, or over it, and they sailed away with bright and happy faces. tears were for eyes that left nearest and dearest behind, not for those who took them with them; and yet a wistful look, that was often to be seen on mrs. harris’s expressive face, deepened as the majestic steamed down the harbor. and when they reached the point where the white stones of greenwood look down on the water, she stole alone to the rail of the deck, and the wistfulness turned to a mist that hid everything for a moment.
“mamma is saying good-by to jack and louis,” said marie-celeste softly, and her father pressed the little hand that lay in his, but did not answer.
marie-celeste was up betimes the next morning—that is, if betimes means bright and early, and, stopping for a few minutes on her way to indulge in a savory cup of arrowroot, which the stewardess had made ready for her, she passed on up the stairs and out on to the saloon deek, looking as fresh and sweet in her dress of sailor-blue as a fair little morning-glory. the pity was there was nobody there to see, for there’s nothing like the bloom of the very early morning-glory.
the decks were still wet from their daily mopping, the folded steamer chairs were ranged five deep beneath the cabin windows, and nothing seemed to be quite in shape yet save her own tidy little self. she went forward as far as she could to the bow, and then turned her back toward everything, so as to see how it seemed to be way out at sea; and not being conscious of any remarkable sensations, was somewhat disappointed. “out of sight of land” had always stood with marie-celeste for such an awe-inspiring condition of affairs that she expected to feel all sorts of chilly and creepy feelings when she fairly faced the thought; and yet here she stood, alone to all intents and purposes, and no land anywhere, and yet not so much as the suggestion of a chill or a creep. she turned round and looked at the ship, and smiled at the man at the wheel, and guessed she knew what the trouble was, and guessed right. she wasn’t a bit afraid; that was the secret of her disappointment, if it could in truth be ealled a disappointment. it was sueh a beautiful, stanch, great ship, with its large masts and spars and network of interlacing halyards, that its wideness meant more to her just then than even the wideness of the sea; and she felt so safe and at home on it withal, that all the expected uncanny sensations had need to be postponed to some more favorable occasion. with this cherished illusion so soon disposed of, she decided to take a little turn on the deck. the steamer was pitching a good deal—“pitching horribly,” some of the passengers below would have told you, but all the more fun for marie-celeste; and plunging her hand deep in her reefer pocket, she set off at a swinging gait. now it was all up-hill, and the wind blowing such a gale that she had need to bend way over, holding firmly to her sailor hat the while, to make any headway whatever; and now in a trice it was very much down-hill indeed, and the little knees had to be stiffly braced to prevent her ladyship from bowling along at a dangerously rapid pace.
0029
but it was all fun. she didn’t see how people, inclusive of certain near relatives of her own, could be willing to keep their state-rooms after seven o’clock on such a glorious morning. she only wished she had some one to enjoy it with her; and a few minutes later the wish came true, and in such delightfully surprising fashion. just as she was nearing the break in the saloon deck that grants an open sky space to the steerage, she discovered some one coming toward her on the deck of the second-class cabin—some one who looked familiar, notwithstanding the absence of gray coat and brass buttons.
“why, chris hartley!” she cried, and standing stock-still from sheer surprise. at the sound of the cheery voice, a lady, who was so fortunate as to have a deck state-room, and so unfortunate as to sorely need it, peered out and tried to smile a good-morning to the happy little stranger outside her window. marie-celeste smiled back again, but at the sight of the white face realized in a flash why some people keep their state-rooms at sea in the early morning. but of course there was only the merest little suggestion of a sympathetic thought to spend on the poor, white lady, with chris hartley but just discovered, and after that one instant of transfixed surprise she sped toward him, both hands extended; and over the gate that divides the first from the second cabin they indulged in the heartiest shaking of hands possible, while hats for the moment were expected to look out for themselves. indeed, there is no telling how long the hand-shaking might have lasted but that the hats proved untrustworthy in the stiff northern wind that was blowing, chris catching his on the fly and marie-celeste’s saved almost as narrowly.
“did you know we were on board, chris?” were the first words that formed themselves into a sentence after the “well, well, well!” of their first meeting.
“of course i knew, and so i chose this steamer on purpose.”
“who told you, chris? you know i haven’t seen you since the day you brought the english letter.”
“bridget told me the next morning how that you had had a letter that was going to take you all to england, and then in a day or two i learned you were going on the majestic, and i hurried right over to the office and secured the last berth they had left in the second cabin. but now i’m here i’m thinking i’ll not see much of you, after all,” and chris looked decidedly crestfallen.
“why not, i should like to know?”
chris glanced significantly at the gate between them.
“oh!” beginning to understand; “don’t they allow that to be opened?”
“no, they don’t,” and chris colored up a little in spite of himself; “but of course it’s all right. i couldn’t afford to travel first class, and i don’t belong there anyway.”
“but you could easily get over that little gate,” said marie-celeste mischievously, and yet soberly too, for she foresaw what innumerable good times would be interfered with if chris must stay in one place and she in another.
“no,” said chris gravely, “that wouldn’t do; but—”
“but what, chris?”
“oh, never mind! i guess we’ll just have to have little talks right here when we can.”
“well, i guess we won’t just have to have anything of the sort,” making up her mind on the instant precisely what steps she would take. “i’ll manage that; and now tell me, chris, how you happen to be on this steamer at all. i thought you were going home this summer?”
“and where do you think home is?”
“where?” far too eager to waste any time in mere thinking.
“in england, of course.”
“why, then, i suppose you’re english,” she said, with surprise and unconcealed disappointment.
“why, then, i suppose i am,” chris answered; “but really, i don’t see why you should mind, marie-celeste.”
“oh, i expected they would be different, the real english people—different from us. i had heard they were, and it isn’t so interesting to have all the world alike.”
“well, i wouldn’t give up hope quite yet,” said chris, very much amused; “you see, i’m not exactly real english, i’ve been in the states so long;” and when marie-celeste came to think of it, there was some comfort in that.
meantime, a number of passengers had come on to the decks of both cabins, and a few moments later the little buglers appeared simultaneously on both sides of the saloon, and the call for breakfast rang out on the still sea air.
“there’s something english for you,” said chris.
“what do you mean?” with puzzled frown.
“why, that’s the english mess call,
‘officers’ wives eat puddings and pies,
soldiers’ wives eat skilly’
—those are the words that go to it.”
“why, so they do!” for the little buglers were obligingly repeating their strain, and marie-celeste discovered for herself that they fitted the notes exactly.
“what’s ‘skilly?’” she asked presently, as chris expected she would.
“well, it’s a kind of stew that the soldiers’ wives make. it’s cheap and nourishing. we don’t have anything just like it in america that i know of.”
“well, you are english, after all, chris,” with evident gratification; “there must be lots of more things you can tell me, and there’s no end to the good times we’ll have together; but i guess i’d better go now. i shouldn’t wonder if mamma felt rather ill this rough morning—she isn’t a very good sailor. good-by, chris; you’ll come to the gate after breakfast?”
chris promised, and watched the trim little figure till it disappeared; then he turned and paced the deck with a somewhat troubled look on his kind face. somehow he had not given much thought to this subject of first and second class till on that first morning out, when he found the low iron gate imposing itself so resolutely between himself and his little friend; but then he realized at a bound how much there was in it. it might well happen that the father and mother, who were quite willing that their little daughter should have an occasional chat with the postman at home, would prefer not to recognize him in the role of a second-cabin passenger; and good chris hartley felt inclined to call himself all manner of names for thoughtlessly allowing himself to be put in such a position. if mr. harris should forbid marie-celeste to see him, or should just calmly ignore the fact that he was on board at all, it would be pretty hard to bear. and so chris suddenly found himself face to face with the class distinctions that seem inevitable in this social world of ours, and in a way that might turn all the bright anticipations for this voyage into the reality of a most disagreeable experience. yes, there was no doubt about it, he had acted like a fool; and rather than run the chance of being “made to know his place,” as the phrase has it, he believed he would have kept out of the way of marie-celeste all the way over if he had thought of it in time; but we, of course, believe nothing of the sort. how could he ever have had the heart to carry out such a doleful resolution, and what a pity if he had tried to! the truth was, chris had too low an opinion of himself altogether. he had an idea, for instance, that he was a very plain-looking sort of a fellow, whereas there was something about him that made him distinctly noticeable everywhere he went. it was hard to tell just what it was—a brimming-over kindliness, i think, best describes it. it shone plain as day in his friendly eyes and hovered under his light mustache, and his head even seemed to be set on his shoulders in a most kindly fashion. but chris himself was oblivious to all his charms, personal or otherwise, and in this modesty of his, and in many other ways as well, proved himself the gentleman; and the beauty of it was that mr. harris, being a true gentleman himself, had long ago recognized the article in his postman. it was a pity chris should not have known this. it would have spared him a wretched hour or so that first morning at sea. indeed, this not knowing is responsible for a great deal of this world’s fret and worry, and yet too much knowing would be just as sorry a thing sometimes; so perhaps it would be as well for us to leave matters as they are for the present.
meantime, marie-celeste had made her way to the bow, and to the doorway of a room there, which she had chanced to notice the afternoon before.
“passengers are not allowed in here, are they?” she asked timidly.
0035
“not ordinarily,” said the captain, looking up from a chart spread out on a table before him.
marie-celeste could not possibly discover whether the tone was encouraging or no, but in any case she had no words with which to continue, so awe-inspiring proved the blue coat, gold braid, and the other insignia of the captain’s office. besides, it had taken so much courage to nerve herself up to the mere asking of the question, that she found she had none in reserve, and stood transfixed in the doorway, her little face aflame with embarrassment. now, if there is a class of men anywhere who believe in what we were speaking of a minute ago (that is, a man’s knowing his place), they are the captains of the ocean steamers. it is of course nothing but the enforcement of this very rule that renders ocean travel the safe and comfortable thing it is, and that assures you, even in case of accident, that the strictest discipline will be preserved. indeed, i have an idea that captain revell inclines to apply the same rule to every one aboard of his great steamer, to passengers as well as to officers and crew, and so perhaps regarded the advent of marie-celeste in the light of an intrusion. and when you come right down to it, there was that in his tone, when he answered her question, that made her feel that he thought she should not have ventured it.
“passengers having special business are admitted at any time, however,” added the captain, after what seemed an interminable silence, “and perhaps you have come on some special errand. if so, i should be glad to have you come in,” and the captain stood up and motioned marie-celeste to a seat on the other side of the table. i think he was beginning to discover what an unusually attractive little personage his visitor was, and to regret the moment’s discomfiture he had caused her.
marie-celeste gave a very audible sigh of relief as she stepped up the two steps into the room, but she refused the proffered seat with the dignity of a little princess.
“no, i only want to stay for a moment,” she said; “i am quite sure now i oughtn’t to have interrupted you, and i know papa will be angry; but i had a favor to ask, and—”
“and what, my little friend?” said the captain, quite won over to whatever the favor might be.
“and you looked so kind i dared to speak to you.”
“kind, did i?” laughed the captain, immensely pleased. “well, then, you must sit down, else, you see, you’ll keep me standing; too, and tell me right away what the favor is, and i’ll try to act up to the kindness for which you give me credit.”
“well, it’s just this, captain revell: first, could you let me sometimes go over into the second-class cabin?”
“certainly i could; but what for, may i ask?”
“to see chris hartley; he’s a second-class passenger, and he’s the postman in our street; but it wouldn’t do, would it, to undo the gate for me?”
“no, hardly, i think,”
“and it wouldn’t do any better for me to climb over it, would it? i could do it easily.”
“no, i’m afraid that wouldn’t answer.”
“then, what are we going to do? there isn’t any other way, i suppose,” with very evident despair.
“oh, yes, there is, and i’ll show it to you myself.”
whereupon marie-celeste laid one little brown hand upon the captain’s sleeve from an impulse of sheer gratitude, and the captain straightway laid a big brown hand atop of it.
“now, that is what you wanted to ask first,” he said; “i am anxious to know what comes second.”
“no, i guess i won’t bother you any more; i—”
“no, you shall not go till you have told me;” and the captain detained the little hand a prisoner beneath his own.
“well, i was going to ask—you see, it is very much more interesting up here near the bow and the bridge and the crow’s-nest—i was going to ask, if once in a while chris could come over to the first cabin. you see, chris doesn’t know any one on board, excepting just me, and we’re such good friends at home.”
“well, that’s a little different,” for the captain was puzzled to know how to answer, “and it’s against the regulations; but it’s very hard to refuse a little maid like you.”
mr. harris was on a search for marie-celeste, and chancing to pass the captain’s room, glanced in, and glancing in, beheld his little daughter, and heard these last words.
“excuse me, captain revell,” he said, touching his hat, and apparently much annoyed, “but i cannot imagine how my little daughter has found her way in here, or what favor she has made so bold as to ask. i trust you will not suspend any of the ship’s regulations on her account.”
“oh, that’s all right,” laughed the captain, “i shall be only too glad to do what i can.”
“oh, please don’t bother any more about it—please don’t,” entreated marie-celeste; “i was afraid papa would not like it. we’ll go now, won’t we?” looking up at her father with a most woful and beseeching little face.
“yes, we will; but don’t you think, marie-celeste, we would better ask the captain’s pardon for intruding?”
“not a bit of it,” answered captain revell; “there’s no pardon to be asked of anybody, and i shall hope to have a call from you both very soon again,” he added cordially as his two visitors took their departure, and he settled back to his inspection of the chart.
“don’t say a word, papa, please, i don’t want to cry here,” and marie-celeste held her father’s hand very tightly.
“but you want some breakfast, dear, don’t you?” marie-celeste shook her head, but as she seemed to know perfectly well what she did want, he suffered her to lead him over the high sill that keeps the water from rushing indoors in rough weather, and past the main stairway, and into a far corner of the library. there she pushed him gently into one of the corner sofas, and seating herself in his lap, looked straight into his eyes.
“papa,” she said, with a little sob in her voice, “you are angry.”
“i am annoyed, marie-celeste.”
“you spoke pretty cross, papa; if you hadn’t said ‘my little daughter,’ i should have cried right there—i know i should.”
“well, you are my little daughter always, you know, no matter what happens, and that’s one reason i cannot bear to have you do anything that seems the least mite bold.”
“yes, you said something like that to the captain;” and as though she would have given all the world if he hadn’t, “but i didn’t mean to be bold really, only i felt so sorry for chris;” and then she proceeded to tell, as coherently as her emotions would allow, of her unexpected encounter with her old friend, and how dreadful it would have been if they could not have seen anything of each other just because chris was a second-cabin passenger, and of how she had mustered all her courage and gone straight to the captain to see what could be done about it.
“and he said it would be quite against the regulations, did he?” said mr. harris, immediately becoming interested in the situation.
“oh, no; he said i could go to see chris in the second cabin—he’d easily manage that—and then he said he knew i had something more on my mind, and made me tell him, and that was whether chris could come to the first cabin sometimes, so as to look off at the bow. do you think it was so very, very bold to ask that when he said i could not go till i told him?”
“no; that puts it in a different light, marie-celeste.”
“but i think—i think (for whatever her faults marie-celeste was fastidiously honest) the captain himself did not quite like it when i first spoke to him.”
“he got over his not-liking very quickly, then,” said her father, glad to be able to give a grain of comfort to his troubled little daughter, “but it would have been better to come to me first. it’s one thing to be fearless and another thing to be—”
“i know, papa,” putting her finger to her father’s lips; “please don’t say that dreadful word again; i’ll remember;” and mr. harris, knowing that she would, gave the little girl on his knee a good, hard hug, and bundled her off for a word with her mamma, comfortably tucked up in a steamer-chair on deck, and then hurried her down to the saloon for the breakfast that she stood in sore need of after such an eventful morning.
