She had not slept much in her unaccustomed bed on the sleeping-car, impeded by the heavy basket and her own hand-bag, and the fear of how Pluto might behave at the stops; so the boat ride seemed long, and it was with relief that she at last heard the summons:—
"Brewster's Island. Land from the lower deck."
"Praise be!" she thought. "I haven't got to lug my things upstairs."
There were but few passengers to get off at this island, and but few persons standing in the raw air on the wharf.
There was a lump in Eliza's throat as she carried her burdens up the gangplank, but through the mist in her eyes she saw a face she recognized. It was lean, and smooth-shaven, and had scarcely grown more lined in twenty years. The man met her gaze with alert scrutiny and then looked beyond her for some one. The gangplank was drawn in.
"James," said Eliza, when she had swallowed.
The alert, searching eyes returned to her, and looked, at first, without recognition.
"Don't tell me you don't know me, James," added the traveller, trying to laugh.
"Why, Eliza Brewster, I was runnin' over ye," said the captain in hasty amazement. "You—you've grown some spare, Eliza. Just at first I didn't see who't wuz." The kindly speaker endeavored to conceal his dismay. "Amazin' how a little flesh off or on'll change a body," he added. "Here, let me take your bundles. Carriage right up here waitin' for us. Mrs. Wright sent me down to meet ye. Kinder homely day, ain't it?"
"That's a cat, James," said Eliza as he seized the basket. "You see, I'm a real old maid, travellin' with a cat."