"We are a simple family—we are—we are—we are!"
And even as her pure young voice arose above the screams of the departure whistle, she threw a double back-somersault on the quarterdeck, cleverly alighting on the spikes of the wheel before the delighted captain.
"Jingle my electric bells," he said, looking at the bright young thing, "but you're a regular minx—"
"I beg your pardon," interrupted John Gale, with a quick flush.
"I mean a regular MANX," said the captain hurriedly.
A singular paleness crossed the deeply religious face of John. As the vessel rose on the waves, he passed his hand hurriedly first across his brows and then over his high-buttoned clerical waistcoat, that visible sign of a devoted ascetic life! Then murmuring in his low, deep voice, "Brandy, steward," he disappeared below.
BOOK II
Glorious as were Golly's spirits, exquisitely simple her worldly ignorance, and irresistible her powers of mimicry, strangely enough they were considered out of place in St. Barabbas' Hospital. A light-hearted disposition to mistake a blister for a poultice; that rare Manx conscientiousness which made her give double doses to the patients as a compensation when she had omitted to give them a single one, and the faculty of bursting into song at the bedside of a dying patient, produced some liveliness not unmixed with perplexity among the hospital staff. It is true, however, that her performance of clog-dancing during the night-watches drew a larger and more persistent attendance of students and young surgeons than ever was seen before. Yet everybody loved her! Even her patients! "If it amooses you, miss, to make me tyke the pills wot's meant for the lydy in the next ward, I ain't complyning," said an East End newsboy. "When ye tyke off the style of the doctor wot wisits me, miss, and imitates his wyes, Lawd! it does me as much good as his mixtures," said a consumptive charwoman. Even thus, old and young basked in the radiant youth of Golly. She found time to write to her family:—
DEAR OLD PALS! I'm here. J'y suis! bet your boots! While you're wondering what has become of the Bright Young Thing, the B. Y. T. is lookin' out of the winder of St. Barabbas' Hospital—just taking in all of dear, roaring, dirty London in one gulp! Such a place—Lordy! I've been waiting three hours to see the crowd go by, and they haven't gone yet! Such crowds, such busses,—all green and blue, only a penny fare, and you can ride on top if you want to! Think of that, you dear old Manx people! But there—"the bell goes a-ringing for Sarah!"—they're calling for Nurse! That's the worst of this job: they're always a-dyin' just as you're getting interested in something else! Ta-ta!
GOLLY!
Then her dear old grandfather wrote: