Indeed, so often had he voyaged on that ship that its employees had learned his wishes without telling; and now there came to him one Number Seven, his own room attendant, bringing a pillow and more rugs. He was dispatched for another pillow and between them they gently lowered the back of Dorothy’s chair, placed a pillow under her unconscious head and tucked her warmly in. Then he settled himself to rest and neither of them knew distinctly anything more until the daylight came and the sunshine struggled with the enwrapping fog.
She, indeed, had had vague dreams of what went on about her. Had heard muffled bells and passing footsteps, but these had mingled only pleasantly with her sense of rest and happiness; and it was a very surprised young person who at last opened her eyes upon a gray expanse of mist-covered ocean and a gray-haired man asleep on a chair beside her.
Sitting up, she stared about her for a moment till she realized what had happened; then smiled to think she had actually slept out of doors. Afterward, she wondered with some anxiety if Miss Greatorex had sent for her during the night, or if she were still too ill to care about anybody save herself.
“Anyhow, I must go and see. My! how damp these rugs are and yet I am as warm as can be. That’s what dear Miss Penelope said she meant to do—sleep on deck. But she didn’t come and I’ve done it in her stead. What a queer world it is and how things do get twisted round! Now I must be still as still and not wake that dear Judge—‘Uncle’, who’s so lovely to me!”
With these thoughts she slipped softly out of her rugs and tiptoed away, having some slight trouble to locate “Number Thirteen” stateroom; and, having done so, discovered its door ajar, fastened against intrusion by a chain.
She peeped through the opening. Miss Isobel lay with her eyes closed, but whether asleep or not Dorothy couldn’t decide. She was very pale and perfectly motionless, and a too-suggestive tin basin was fastened to the railing of her berth.
“Ugh! I can’t go in there and wake her, if she’s asleep; or to go any way. I’ll slip around to this other side the boat where there are such heaps of chairs and nobody in them. My! It’s cold and I haven’t anything to put over me here. Never mind, I’ll stay. If I go back to where I was I might wake Judge Breckenridge, and I shouldn’t like to do that. I don’t wonder Molly called him a handsome man. He looked better than handsome to me, sleeping there, he looked noble.”
Thus reflecting she settled herself on a chair against the inner wall and watched the men at work mopping the wet decks and putting the steamer generally “ship-shape” against the day’s voyage. It was a forlorn outlook into the world of fog, through which the sound of the bells rang strangely. Also, there was an almost continuous blowing of whistles and a look of some anxiety on the faces of such of the crew as passed by.
Finally, out of some far-off stairway, young bugler Melvin came tripping and hurried along the deck in her direction. She fancied a look of surprise in his eyes as he perceived her and that he would pass on without further notice. Yet, just as he reached a point opposite her chair, he flashed one glance toward her; and almost as quickly turned about to retrace his steps. Shivering and rather miserable she watched him idly, and now the surprise was her own.
He returned and still without speaking, yet with an almost painful flush on his face, tossed two heavy rugs into her lap and instantly passed on. She had no chance to thank him, but readily answered a laugh from a deck-hand near by who had witnessed the little incident and enjoyed it. The “Bashful Bugler” was Melvin’s shipboard nickname and no lad ever better deserved such. Yet he had been well “raised” and there was something very appealing to the chivalry of any lad in the look of Dorothy’s just now sad eyes; though commonly their brown depths held only sunshine.