[133]
]But it turned out that the Isabella he was on was a schooner plying between Melbourne and the South Sea Islands. He rather fancied there was a brig of the same name that went to San Francisco or Boston, or “one of those places.”
Poppet’s face had fallen again.
“Do you know of any boats that go to America?” she said in a forlorn tone. “Oh, do please try and think if you know of any.”
Martha explained rapidly, sotto voce: “The young lady’s brother had run away, and was on that boat; she was fretting her little heart out to get a letter to him; couldn’t he pacify her some way? she herself knew it was impossible.”
The sailor looked kindly at the little sweet face under its broad-brimmed hat.
“I have a mate on the Jenny Lind, little miss,—how’d it be if I gave him the letter? He’s a good-hearted chap, and would try his best; he’d be sure to know where the Isabella is, and could easy send it.”
“That would be best, Miss Poppet dear,” said Martha; “give it to this nice kind man and he’ll send it.”
“Is he going to America soon? Do you think he would see the Isabella?” the little sad voice said.
And the sailor’s answer was certainly very [134] ]reassuring: the Jenny Lind sailed in two days, and was sure to meet the Isabella, in which case the letter would be delivered into Bunty’s hands.