So, having promised to be good, she gravely took her papa’s hand and walked with him down the long cabin to her place at the table. There she sat, quite quiet, and very proud of her position. She ate little, being too deeply occupied in observing everything around her. And she talked still less, only whispering mysteriously to her mamma once or twice.
“Sunny would like a potato, with butter on it.” “Might Sunny have one little biscuit—just one?”
But she troubled nobody, spilt nothing, not even her glass of water, though it was so big that with both her fat hands she could scarcely hold it; and said “Thank you” politely to a gentleman who handed her a piece of bread. In short, she did keep her promise, conducting herself throughout the meal with perfect decorum. But when it was over, I think she was rather glad.
“Sunny may get down now?” she whispered; adding, “Sunny was quite good, she was.” For the little woman always likes to have her virtues acknowledged.
And in remounting the companion-ladder, rather a trial for her small legs, she looked at the steward, who was taking his money, and observed to him, in a confidential tone, “Sunny has had a good dinner; Sunny liked it,”—at which the young man couldn’t help laughing.
But everybody laughs at Sunny, or with her,—she has such an endless fund of enjoyment in everything. The world to her is one perpetual kaleidoscope of ever changing delights.
Immediately after dinner she had a pleasure quite new. Playing about the deck, she suddenly stopped and listened.
“Mamma, hark! there’s music. May Sunny go after the music?” And her little feet began to dance rather than walk, as, pulling her mamma by the hand, she “went after” a German band that was playing at the other end of the vessel.
Little Sunshine had never before heard a band, and this was of wind instruments, played very well, as most German musicians can play. The music seemed to quiver all through her, down to her very toes. And when the dance-tune stopped, and her dancing feet likewise, and the band struck up the beautiful “Wacht am Rhein,”—the “Watch on the Rhine,”—(oh! if its singers had only stopped there, defending their fatherland, and not invaded the lands of other people!), this little girl, who knew nothing about French and Prussians, stood absorbed in solemn delight. Her hands were folded together (a trick she has), her face grew grave, and a soul far deeper than three years old looked out of her intent eyes. For when Sunny is earnest, she is very earnest; and when she turns furious, half a dozen tragedies seem written in her firm-set mouth, knitted brow, and flashing eyes.
She was disposed to be furious for a minute, when her Lizzie tried to get her away from the music. But her mamma let her stay, so she did stay close to the musicians, until the playing was all done.