"You'd better go back to bed," said Ben soothingly. "There's no danger."
"No, I won't," said the old woman resolutely. "I'm not going to be drowned in my bed. I'll stay here till mornin'."
And she plumped down into an armchair, where she looked like an image of despair.
"Hadn't you better put on something more?" suggested Ben. "You may get cold."
"I'll put on my shawl and bunnit," said the old lady. "I can't sleep a wink. We shall be shipwrecked; I know we shall."
Whether the old lady kept her word, or not, Ben did not know. When he entered the saloon the next morning she was already up and dressed, looking haggard from want of sleep. Ben ascertained that the boat had started again about five o'clock, and would probably reach Fall River five or six hours late. This would make it necessary to take breakfast on board.
He imparted the news to the old lady.
"It's a shame," she said indignantly. "They did it a purpose to make us spend more money. I expected to eat breakfast at my son's house in Boston."
"We shall not probably reach Boston till noon, I hear."
"Then suppose I'll have to buy somethin' to stay my stomach. It's a shame. It costs a sight to travel."