"A goodish few," said the seaman; "but one doesn't look for them this kind of weather."
"No, of course not," said Eustace, with a great show of certainty, for he did not want the man to imagine he was scaring him.
Peter had been fairly irrepressible all day. He was always a fidget—made on springs, his father said—and the excitement carried him away entirely. He talked to every one indiscriminately, especially if they happened to be in uniform, and had no shyness in asking questions. He had a dozen friends in a very few hours. Afraid lest he should weary people, Mrs. Orban tried to keep him with her, and towards evening she said,—
"You might play with poor Becky a little, Peter. She will have to go to bed very soon, and I think it has been a duller day for her than for any one else."
Which was probably true, as Becky was too tiny to have the sustained interest in things the others had.
So Peter began a game of romps with Becky, which at first consisted of careering round and round and in and out between their mother's and aunt's chairs, Peter making the reiterated assertion, "I'll catch you, I'll catch you," Becky retorting with delighted chuckles, "Oo can't, oo can't!"
Mrs. Orban was just congratulating herself that Becky would be delightfully sleepy after the exercise, when the child made a sudden dive away from the chairs in her excitement, Peter behind her. The next minute she was rolling head over heels down the companion-ladder, down which it had evidently been her intention to go right side up, for a joke.
The yells that proceeded from the passage below assured every one that Becky was not killed; but when she was picked up it was discovered that one poor little wrist was terribly sprained. She must have fallen with it doubled under her. To put her to bed in such pain was out of the question; her mother's arms was the only place in which she could find any rest. So Mrs. Orban remained on deck in the cool with Miss Chase near her. The children's bedtime was quite forgotten; in fact, after the doctor had examined Becky and reported on her injuries, Nesta, Eustace, and Peter had disappeared—probably out of range of orders to go to bed. Their mother, when she gave them a thought, supposed them to be all together, and in her anxiety over Becky never realized how late it was getting.
It was quite dark. All the other children had disappeared. Most of the grown-ups who had begun the voyage together, and were friendly by now, were in the music-room below having a concert. The ship was utterly still but for the throb of the engines and the "swish" of the water as the bows cut through it. They were running at full speed, without a pitch or a roll, the sea as clear as glass, when all of a sudden there was an awful crash, and the boat shuddered from bow to stern.
In an instant the peaceful scene was changed to one of wildest confusion. There were cries of terror, hurried questions, rapid orders, the crew dashing hither and thither, and a stream of horror-stricken people began swarming up from below. It was awful, the intense darkness of the night adding to the confusion immeasurably.