and two by two, in at the door and up close to her bedside. There they remained for several moments executing what looked like a dance; then the leading shoe turned on its heel as if giving a signal to the others, and they all hopped slowly again into the passage way and disappeared. It was exactly like one of Hans Christian Andersen's fairy tales, Katy wrote to Clover afterward. She heard them going down the cabin, but how it ended, or whether the owners of the boots and shoes ever got their own particular pairs again, she never knew.

Toward morning the gale abated, the sea became smoother, and she dropped asleep. When she woke the sun was struggling through the clouds, and she felt better.

The stewardess opened the port hole to freshen the air, and helped her to wash her face and smooth her tangled hair; then she produced a little basin of gruel and a triangular piece of toast, and Katy found that her appetite was come again and she could eat.

`And 'ere's a letter, ma'am, which has come for you by post this morning,' said the nice old stewardess, producing an envelope from her pocket, and eyeing her patient with great satisfaction.

`By post!' cried Katy in amazement, `why, how can that be?' Then, catching sight of Rose's handwriting on the envelope, she understood, and smiled at her own simplicity.

The stewardess beamed at her as she opened it, then said again, `Yes, m'm, by post, m'm,' withdrew, and left Katy to enjoy the little surprise.

The letter was not long, but it was very like its writer. Rose drew a picture of what Katy would probably be doing at the time it reached her - a picture so near the truth that Katy felt as if Rose must have the spirit of prophecy, especially as she kindly illustrated the situation with a series of pen-and-ink drawings, in which Katy was depicted as prone in her berth, refusing with horror to go to dinner, looking longingly backward to-ward the quarter where the United States was supposed to be, and fishing out of her port hole with a crooked pin in hopes of grappling the submarine cable and sending a message to her family to come out at once and take her home. It ended with this short `poem', over which Katy laughed till Mrs Ashe called feebly across the entry to ask what was the matter?

Break, break, break,
And misbehave, O sea,
And I wish that my tongue could utter
The hatred I feel for thee!

Oh, well for the fisherman's child
On the sandy beach at his play;
Oh, well for all sensible folk
Who are safe at home today!

But this horrible ship keeps on,
And is never a moment still,
And I yearn for the touch of the nice dry land,
Where I needn't feel so ill!

Break! break! break! There is no good left in me;
For the dinner I ate on the shore so late
Has vanished into the sea!

Laughter is very restorative after the forlornness of seasickness, and Katy was so stimulated by her letter that she managed to struggle into her dressing gown and slippers and across the entry to Mrs Ashes state room. Amy had fallen asleep at last and must not be woken up, so their interview was conducted in whispers. Mrs Ashe had by no means got to the tea-and-toast stage yet, and was feeling miserable enough.

`I have had the most dreadful time with Amy,' she said. `All day yesterday, when she wasn't sick, she was raging at me from the upper berth, and I too ill to say a word in reply. I never knew her so naughty! And it seemed very neglectful not to come to see after you, poor dear child, but really I couldn't raise my head!'

  By PanEris using Melati.

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