Monday, the day the Orotava started, came at last, and Meg awoke from the confused dream she had been in all the week to find herself on the Quay waving a wet handkerchief to a boat almost out of sight, and only refraining from more tears by a hastily got up argument between Peter and Essie.
“Ze tissed me last,” said Essie, trying to derive tearful superiority from the fact.
“The waved to me latht, tho there!” Peter said.
“Ze never!” said Essie.
“The did!” cried Peter.
Meg thought it time to put away her handkerchief and interpose herself between the two “grass orphans,” or the quarrel would end in Essie slapping Peter, and Peter growing red and pushing her down on the ground.
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]Every one was looking a little grave and upset. It is impossible to see a great ship bearing our dear ones move slowly away toward the wide, terrible ocean without quickened heart-beatings, and serious if not misty eyes, even if they are only going for a very little time, and accidents are unheard-of things with such splendid ships.
Meg proposed an adjournment.
“Let’s go and have tea and cakes or ice-creams at Quong Tart’s” she said.
“Who’ll pay?” asked Bunty the practical.