"The Goodell children are pretty, I am sure, with their fine complexions. And the Bates girls. She has a furtive sort of look. Oh, I hope she isn't deceitful and untrue. Those heathen nations, I believe, are given largely to falsehood, and she has lived among them so long without any mother's care. It seems as if a pretty girl like Alletta Orne might have found some one at home to marry and reared her child in a Christian land."
"Do not let us begin by borrowing trouble. It always comes fast enough."
"And I can foresee that we shall have plenty of it. Well, I suppose it must be endured. There! my bread is light enough to go in the oven—running over, likely as not."
So, when they came downstairs, Miss Elizabeth was in the kitchen, immersed in her baking interest.
A large gray cat lay curled up on a cushion. Cynthia went straight over to it, but it glanced at her with wild eyes, jumped down, and disappeared through the doorway.
"Oh!" she exclaimed in accents of disappointment, glancing up at Chilian.
"Pussy is not used to children. He always runs away from them. But I think he will like you when he gets acquainted."
She turned to the window with a swelling heart. It seemed so cold and strange. It was better on shipboard, she thought. She had come to know the sailors quite well and Missy had grown to be a great favorite with them. There was always something cheerful going on. They sang songs in their loud clear voices, or whistled merry tunes. They danced as well. She was quite used to the dancing-girls at Calcutta, and when they were at Hong Kong or other ports. But the Indian girls pleased her best.
The sailors seemed always full of fun, even in the worst of times. During some fearful storms she was safely housed in the cabin, and it amused her to see the things pitch and roll as far as their chains would allow them. Sometimes, too, they had to hold the food in their hands, but she never knew the danger of the worst storms. Rachel would not admit that she was afraid, and the captain said, "Yes, we're having a stiff blow, but the Flying Star has weathered many a gale before." And here it was so very quiet. It looked dreary outside, with the leafless trees. She liked the toss and tumult of the waves with their snowy, jewelled crests, and the clouds scudding along the sky, which she imagined was another sea full of ships. Often they went in port and there was nothing left but the blue sky above—a great hollow vault. And when the sun shone the real sea and ocean was in flames of such splendid colors. There was no end of curious people at ports where they stopped for supplies, there was always something strange, even when they were days alone on the water. For the sunset and sunrise were never twice alike. Then the moon from its tiny crescent to the great round globe that illumined the world with her fairy richness and scattered jewels on every crested wave. She had watched it turn the other way and grow smaller and smaller until you saw it vaguely in the morning.
She was so interested in the stories they told about it, the signs and wonders they ascribed to it.