“Pray stop!” I interrupted. “You are under the greatest misapprehension if you suppose your presence on board the Water Lily is any other than a source of the most unqualified gratification to her crew. You are evidently quite ignorant of the beneficent influences of your presence here, or you would never have spoken of it as an inconvenience. Your departure will occasion us the keenest regret whenever it takes place, and were it not that our cramped accommodations must occasion you very considerable discomfort, I should rejoice at almost any circumstance which would necessitate your remaining with us for the rest of the voyage.”
“Do you really mean it?” she exclaimed, her sweet face brightening up at once. “Oh, I am so glad! Do you know I have thought your anxiety to meet with a ship arose from my being in your way, and troublesome. And you are really willing to let me remain, and go home with you? How very kind it is of you! I will be quite good, and do whatever you tell me; and, indeed, I will not cause you the least bit of trouble. And,”—her face clouding over again for a moment—“I so dread arriving in England an utter stranger, and having to search, quite unassisted, for grandpapa; and it would be so dreadful if he were to turn me away from his doors. And I should feel, oh! miserably friendless and lonely if I had really to go about from place to place seeking for a situation, or trying to get pupils. But if you will let me stay here and go home with you, I shall not feel it so much, for I am sure you will help me in my search for my friends; and it is so delightful,”—brightening up again—“to be dancing over this bright, sparkling sea day after day, in this dear little yacht, and to see the kind faces of that darling old original Bob and—and—and—the kitten.”
“And the fowls,” I suggested demurely. “But, in electing to remain on board the Water Lily, you must bear in mind, my dear Miss Brand, that it is not always with us as it is at present. Just now we are fortunate in the enjoyment of a fair wind and smooth sea, but we have been exposed to many dangers since we left England, and it is only reasonable to suppose we shall have to encounter many more before we return; and if you went home in a larger vessel, if you did not escape them altogether, they would probably bring less discomfort in their train than they will here.”
“What would you advise me to do?” she asked, looking ruefully up into my face.
“Well,” I replied, “since you ask me, my advice is this. If we fall in with a comfortable ship, bound to England, or to any port whence you can trans-ship for England, go in her; if the ship is not comfortable, and it comes to a choice of inconveniences, you can be guided by your own judgment, but do not leave us until you are sure of gaining some advantage by the change.”
So it was settled. That same afternoon, as I was lying down on the lockers in our little cabin aft, I overheard the following conversation on deck, between Bob and Ella.
“Bob,” said Ella (she soon dropped the Mr in his case, but it was still “Mr Collingwood” to me)—“Bob, are we likely to meet any ships very soon, do you think?”
“Ships!” echoed Bob, in consternation; “no, missie, I hopes not. You surely ain’t tired of the little Lily yet, are ye?”
“No, indeed,” replied Ella; “and I hope you are not tired of me. Tell me, Bob, am I very much trouble here, or very much in the way?”
“Trouble! in the way!!” repeated Bob; “Well, I’m—”—then a strong inspiration between the teeth, as though to draw back the forcible expression quivering on his lips—“but there, it’s because you don’t know what you’re sayin’ of, that you talks that a-way. What put that notion into your pretty little head?”