I saw a little girl, oh, a fair little creature, with fluffy, golden hair shading her babyish face, who was on her knees beside a white and gilded berth.
A berth, you know, is a small bed built right against the wall in any kind of a vessel, be it sailer, steamship, or yacht. I think this was some rich man's yacht.
The fair little lady, then, was on her knees beside her gilded berth, her elbows resting on the pretty white bed, eyes closed, tiny white hands clasped, and lips moving. She surely was talking to some One, but Who I cannot even guess.
But this much was certain: that child was not afraid. Not in the least! She must have wakened from sleep, else she would not have been alone. And hearing the wild storm, she had slipped from her little bed, put herself on her knees, and raised her dear, fearless little hands and heart—where?
Oh, surely that child had a Friend somewhere whom she trusted. How beautiful!
They say that fishes and some other creatures are cold of blood and have but little feeling. But I have gone far enough to think out one thing, and it all comes of that child on her knees: if a dear mite of a woman like that had a great, powerful Friend she could talk to in the dark, and feel safe with in such a tempest, just as true as I am a living Dolphin, I believe it must be some One strong enough and good enough to care for all kinds of creatures. I do, indeed! Do you wonder it comforts me?
It was strange that after awhile the moon came struggling through the black and angry sky. She rode high, did Luna,—that is the moon's name,—and was at the full, and wherever the clouds parted for a moment, a broad streak of luminous light shone down on great mountains of water, leaping up and up, as if eager to crush everything before them.
The wind did not soon go down, it could not; neither could I with my utmost strength dive downwards through the piled-up, violent waves that still rushed and roared, bounded and snapped with wild force.
Luna had sailed toward the west, and a gleam of daylight was streaking the sky at the east, before the churning, choppy waters began leaping less high, and once again I was tossed crest-high, where I was glad to catch sight of a sailing-vessel that was steadying herself in the distance, and a white yacht was skipping like a frightened but rescued bird afar off.
I do not know whether I had been terribly afraid or not. I was not afraid of the sea itself, it was what Folks call my "native element," the place in which I was born, was natural to me, and I was native to it.