And now he came down the companion ladder, and inquired:
“Are you ready to return, sister?”
“Quite,” answered Miss Conyers. Then turning to her companion, she said: “Come, Judith, my good girl, compose yourself, and make your bundle. We have got to go on shore.”
“Is the gintleman ready?” inquired Judith, dropping her apron from her head and revealing a red, swollen, tear-stained face.
“Yes, Judith, and waiting. Let me help you up.”
“Thankey, ma’am! Sure, I wouldn’t throuble ye, only me limbs bend under me wid the graif I’m failing for the poor young crayture who has left me her clothes!” said Judith, trying hard to feel as badly as she said she did.
Nevertheless, she was very particular in making up her bundle of finery, which was so large that she could afford Mr. Rosenthal but little assistance in conveying a part of the stores that he had gathered together. But at length she managed to tie her bundle on her back and take a box of tea on her head. And so she followed Mr. Rosenthal and Miss Conyers, who were both laden with as much as they could carry.
CHAPTER XVII.
MYSTERY.
We must leave our three shipwrecked voyagers on the desert island, and return on the wings of thought to look after their friends left behind at home.
While the missionary ship had been sailing toward the sun and toward the reef, our ship of state, our beloved nation, was also sailing toward the sun and toward the reef—toward the glorious sun of emancipation, toward the fatal reef of disunion. I shall not burden this light and simple story with the politics of the Civil War. I shall only allude to it where it immediately concerns the people of whom I am writing.