They piled into a big car and went threading through the heavy morning traffic, under elevated railway tracks, past tall white buildings, through narrow crowded streets, around big double decker busses, and finally rolled to a stop at the wharves.
There ship after ship was lying in the docks. There were great big ones, bigger than any hotel they had ever seen; little fishing schooners with loose sails flapping in the breeze; busy tugs nosing around; and off in the distance, a gray United States battleship was lying at anchor.
Everyone was hustling about. The place seemed one mad scramble of porters, sailors, travellers, trunks, luggage carts, and taxis depositing more and more people all the time. It seemed as though the whole United States was sailing off for foreign ports. Unconsciously, the girls huddled together. Dr. Prescott looked anxiously down at her brood and realized for the first time what a task she had undertaken. Then Nan touched her arm.
“There, Dr. Prescott,” she said, “there it is, our ship.”
Sure enough, there ahead of them, riding proudly in the dock was their boat, the S. S. Lincoln. But before they could reach it, before Bess could place her foot on the gang-plank as she had been seeing herself do for weeks past, in imagination a familiar voice cried excitedly, “Here they are! Here they all are!” and they looked up into the faces of mothers and fathers and friends who had come to see them off.
Immediately the whole rush of the outside world was forgotten. Nan was in Momsy Sherwood’s arms. Rhoda was kissing her father. Amelia was assuring hers that her watch was running perfectly. Laura was off to one side talking to her mother. Grace was telling her folks all about the trip from Lakeview. Bess was declaring to her mother that she had her keys—safe. There were introductions all round and then the group made its way up the gang plank, proudly and happily and a little bit tearfully.
“Nan Sherwood—Miss Nan Sherwood——Nan Sherwood—” Gradually the fact that Nan’s name was being called sifted through the minds of the happy crowd. It was Bess who noticed it first.
“Nan, why, Nan, they’re calling your name,” she tried to get her friend’s attention. At last Nan looked up.
“A telegram for Miss Nan Sherwood,” the boy called again. Nan reached through the crowd for it.
“Miss Elizabeth Harley—Miss Harley,” the boy began calling again. So, one by one, the girls received letters and telegrams, cards and flowers and books, candy and fruit, gifts and messages from friends in Florida and Chicago and Michigan and the West where Rhoda lived, wishing them “A Safe Journey and a Happy Landing!”