I shudder now whenever I think of that night, though at the time we did not know enough about the possibilities to be frightened.
How the little boat pitched and tossed! The waves washed its lower decks, again and again putting out the engine fires; we meanwhile rolling in the trough of the sea until they could be rekindled. We had expected to cross in about three-quarters of an hour, and return soon after midnight; but it was along towards the wee sma' hours when we reached the other shore. Then, when we heard the crew congratulating each other, exchanging experiences, and telling what they had expected to see happen to all concerned every time big waves had washed out the fire, we for the first time fully realized the risks we had taken in crossing.
We were weary enough not to be sorry that the ball was already over. We looked in at its departed glories for a few minutes; and then, finding it would be impossible to start back home before broad daylight, began to look for a lodging-place.
The town was filled with people who had driven in from the surrounding country for the ball, but we succeeded in getting two small top-story rooms in the hotel, which were vacated for us by some sort of "doubling-up" among the good-natured guests. The three men of our party took one, and we three women the other.
It was about three o'clock when we retired to our room, and while the other two slept on the one bed, I sat by the window trying to hurry the dawn; wondering what Bruno was thinking, and how we should look, a party of people clothed in evening array, returning home in broad daylight. As if we had made a night of it, surely! I chuckled to myself as I compared our plight with that of Cinderella.
We met at breakfast in the hotel dining-room, a queer-looking crowd. As we laughed at each other's appearance, it was hard for each to realize that he or she looked just as absurd; but an unprejudiced observer would have found little to choose between us. As soon as the meal was over, the three men started out to find a way to get us all home again. Everything seemed to conspire to delay us, and it was half-past twelve at noon when we entered our own gate, the click of the latch bringing Bruno's face to the window with a series of joyful barks.
Poor fellow! His long confinement to the house, his empty plate and bowl, his joyful reception of us, and then his springing out to dash round and round the lot, filled our hearts with compassion.
As soon as his first burst of enthusiasm was over, he came in, and crept up to me with dejected ears and tail, which in his language meant "mea culpa." I asked,—
"What is it, Boonie? What's Boonie been doing?"
Still lower sank head and tail, and his knees began to weaken. I made a hasty survey of the sitting-room, and then I understood. He had slept on the lounge, a thing he was strictly forbidden to do.