"And did she have dark hair?"
"Yes!" exclaimed Russ eagerly. "Oh, have you seen her? She's my sister Margy."
"Well, I just happened to pass a stateroom, where I chance to know no little girl belongs on this trip. The door was open, and I looked in," went on the mate. "On the bunk, which is what we call the beds on a steamer," he told Russ, "I saw a little girl with dark hair curled up in a heap. She seemed to be asleep, and there was a little white poodle dog with her."
"A little white poodle dog!" exclaimed Mr. Bunker. "Then I'm afraid it can't be my little girl. We have no white poodle dog."
"Maybe Margy found one, Daddy, and that's why she didn't come with us," said Russ.
"Better take a look at this little girl," went on the mate. "She seems to be all alone in this stateroom, and she may be yours."
"We'll look," said Mr. Bunker. "But I hardly think it can be Margy."
He followed the mate, holding Russ by the hand so the little boy would not get lost, though Russ was almost too big for this.
"Here she is," said the mate, as he came to a stop at an open door of a stateroom. And there, on the clean, white bunk, curled up with one arm around a white poodle dog was a little girl, whose dark hair mingled with the white coat of the poodle.
"Oh, it is Margy!" exclaimed Russ.