LETTER No. 6 FROM BESSIE MAYNARD TO HER DOLL.
On Board Steamer "Main," October, 1880.
I like to think of you, my dear little Clytie, as safe at home in your own corner of the baby-house, instead of rolling about on the briny deep with me, though of course I felt awfully when I found that I couldn't take you abroad. 'Way out here on the ocean we do not call it the sad sea waves, but the briny deep. Isn't it a kind of an awful name? It made me shiver when I first heard it. It was Mr. Stevens said it when we were all going to our state-rooms that first night.
"Well," he said, "there's no doubt but we're launched, for good or bad, out on the briny deep."
You know how I hated to leave you at home, and how it seemed at the last minute as if I must take you! If you could have seen me the next morning you would have been as glad as I was that you had been left behind. I felt very queer even before I went to bed that first night, but when I woke up in the morning I felt queerer still. It was worse than mumps, and full as bad as measles. Poor mamma could not get up at all, and for a whole week had one of her awful sick-headaches. You know we sailed Saturday. Well, all day Sunday I had to lie still in my berth, and couldn't so much as peek over the edge at mamma without feeling as if my head was full of bees! Everything seemed perfectly terrible, and I almost wished I hadn't come.
Just after breakfast some one tapped at our state-room door, and I heard Randolph's voice saying: "Why don't you get up, Bess? Come out here in the saloon. You never saw such a boss place to play 'I spy'; and there's four children besides us, so hurry up."
I could hardly answer him, but managed to say: "Oh, Ranny, I can't come. I sha'n't ever play 'I spy' any more. I'm going to die, Ranny, and you'll play with that black-haired Nettie that sat next us at dinner last night, and you'll forget all about me. Oh, Ranny! Ranny!"
I couldn't keep the tears back any longer, but cried as hard as I could cry.
"Pooh!" he answered, "you ain't so bad as that. You're only seasick. Lots of 'em are, but they don't cry about it. I hope you ain't a-going to be a girl-baby, that cries at everything, 'cause if you are I shall have to play with Nettie, for I hate girl-babies! Nettie laughs all the time, and is awfully jolly. Good-by, Bess; get well as quick as you can, and for mercy's sake don't be a baby!"
Wasn't it cruel of him to speak so to me, Clytie? I was too missable to answer him, and he wouldn't have heard me if I had, for he ran away as fast as he could to play with Nettie. Mamma reached up her hand to me, and talked till I felt better. Dear mamma! she always makes me better.
In the evening I was lying there wide-awake, wondering what they were doing out in the saloon. I could hear some one playing on the piano, and I thought maybe they were dancing. I was getting real missable again, when I saw a card slipping in under our state-room door.
Mamma was asleep, so I slid down out of my berth as easy as I could, and picked it up. My head was so dizzy I had to lie still two or three minutes before I could make out a single word that was written on it, but at last this is what I read:
"Didn't mean to be cross. Hate girl-babies, that's all. Course you ain't one. Didn't mean you was. Get well quick. I've got a cocoa-nut cake in my pocket for you, and a fillupene. Hurry up!"
I didn't feel missable any more, Clytie; and the next morning papa wrapped me up in mamma's blue and white afghan, and carried me up stairs, and put me in his big sea chair on deck.
Then, my Clytie, I wished you were with me, for it was so lovely with the water all round us, and the sunshine, and the blue sky seeming to touch the ocean all round. Randolph and Nettie and two other boys came and sat on the floor by me, and talked so fast I couldn't understand a word they said. Ranny fillupened with me, and Nettie gave me a big bunch of grapes; and before I knew it almost I was as well as anybody.
This all happened a week ago, and now nobody is seasick, and we have perfectly elegant times every single minute. There is a band on board, and they play splendid things every day when we are at dinner, and every evening on deck; and sometimes we dance, and it is just like a garden party or a picnic all the time. To-morrow is the Captain's birthday, and we're going to have a real Thanksgiving dinner, and a concert in the evening, and a ball at the end of it, and we children are going to dance as well as the grown-up people. If I can, I will write you about it afterward, but must say good-by for to-day, my sweet child. It is such a comfort to me to be able to trust all the other dolls to you. I know you will take good care of them. Be sure to have an eye to Mopsy with her broken arm, and Jack with his cracked nose. Above all, don't let Leonora snub Chloe—poor little black Chloe, who is just as dear to me as Leonora with her lily-white hands and rosy cheeks. See that she lets her alone, won't you, Clytie? Give my love to them all.
Your affectionate and anxious mamma,
Bessie Maynard.
[PARLOR MAGIC.]
During the long winter evenings our readers may find some of these simple tricks amusing to themselves and their friends: