“Come to me, Jack, come to me,” he prayed, “for I cannot come to you.”
I had reason to remember these strange words in after life, as will be seen.
Chapter Three.
The Story of a Shipwreck—A Mystery—The Fate of Poor Joe.
We all went on that boat cruise—that is, auntie went, and Jill and I. Auntie appeared to take us with her but we were really taking her. That was fun.
There was nothing remarkable about the cruise, except that it was the first of many far more delightful, for Jill and me.
Auntie behaved like an angel all through, if one could conceive of an angel wearing two pairs of spectacles one on top of the other and long black mits. But auntie’s heart contained the angel, and to-day she never once looked over her glasses—always through them.
The fishermen, Bill and Joe, “ma’am”-ed her and “miss”-ed her, and she smiled a deal, and did not get even squeamish, for she was a sailor’s daughter, and knew all about boats and ships.