It was growing late in the afternoon, near her usual bedtime, but no going to bed was possible. The steamboat kept ploughing on through lonely seas, dotted with many islands, larger or smaller, with high mountains on every side, some of them sloping down almost to the water’s edge. Here and there was a solitary cottage or farmhouse, but nothing like a town or village. The steamboat seemed to have the whole world to itself,—sea, sky, mountains,—a magnificent range of mountains! behind which the sun set in such splendour that papa and mamma, watching it together, quite forgot for the time being the little person who was not old enough to care for sunsets.
When they looked up, catching the sound of her laughter, there she was, in a state of the highest enjoyment, having made friends, all of her own accord, with two gentlemen on board, who played with her and petted her extremely. One of them had just taken out of his pocket a wonderful bird, which jumped out of a box, shook itself, warbled a most beautiful tune, and then popped down in the box again; not exactly a toy for a child, as only about half a dozen have ever been made, and they generally cost about a hundred guineas apiece.
Of course Sunny was delighted. She listened intently to the warble, and whenever the bird popped down and hid itself again, she gave a scream of ecstasy. But she cannot enjoy things alone.
“May mamma come and see it? Mamma would like to see it, she would!” And, running back, Sunny drew her mamma, with all her little might, over to where the gentlemen were sitting.
They were very polite to the unknown lady, and went over the performance once again for her benefit. And they were exceedingly kind to her little girl, showing a patience quite wonderful, unless, indeed, they had little girls of their own. They tried pertinaciously to find out Sunny’s name, but she as persistently refused to disclose it,—that is, anything more than her Christian name, which is rather a peculiar one, and which she always gives with great dignity and accuracy, at full length. (Which, should they really have little girls of their own, and should they buy this book for them and read it, those two gentlemen will probably remember; nor think the worse of themselves that their kindness helped to while away what might otherwise have been rather dreary, the last hour of the voyage,—a very long voyage for such a small traveller.)
It was ended at last. The appointed pier, a solitary place where only one other passenger was landed, stood out distinct in the last rays of sunset. Once again the child was carried across one of those shaky gangways,—neither frightened nor cross and quite cheerful and wide awake still. Nay, she even stopped at the pier-head, her attention caught by some creatures more weary than herself.
Half a dozen forlorn sheep, their legs tied together, and their heads rolling about, with the most piteous expression in their open eyes, lay together, waiting to be put on board. The child went up to them and stroked their faces.
“Poor little baa-lambs, don’t be so frightened; you won’t be frightened, now Sunny has patted you,” said she, in her tenderest voice. And then, after having walked a few yards:
“Sunny must go back. Please, mamma, may Sunny go back to say good-bye to those poor little baa-lambs?”
But the baa-lambs had already been tossed on board, and the steamer was away with them into the dark.