Phronsie moved off after the steward, and held out her hand to Joel. “You can wait for me outside.”
The stateroom, small and uncomfortable, into which she was ushered, while Joel paced up and down outside, was so dark, that at first Phronsie could not see distinctly its occupant.
“O miss!” cried an old lady, trying to rise in her berth, and brushing away the straying white hair from her cheek, “you don’t remember me. But I’ll never forget you nor your face.” It was Phronsie’s little old woman of the Berton electric car.
“What can I do for you?” asked Phronsie gently, and standing by the berth she smoothed the straying hair.
“O miss, I’m afraid I’m going to die, and I can’t when I’m just going home.”
“I don’t think you will die,” said Phronsie, “and I am sorry you feel ill.”
“It is just this way, miss. I’m all worn out with gladness to get home and put my feet on English ground,” said the little old woman hungrily. “But I must tell you about it; because if I should die, I want you to know all about it. You see, my husband and I came over because he didn’t want to live on his sons, and he fancied America, and being independent there in a new country. And so we came a good many years ago; and our sons felt dreadfully, for they wanted us to stay with them. But John, he’s my husband, said ‘no,’ and you couldn’t move him. Well, we were very happy living in a little home of our own, and my husband worked the ground to suit himself as best he could; and though I worried some, and I know he did, only he was always still like, to see the grandchildren, they were so cunning when we came away, we did pretty well. Only English ways of farming are different from yours, and John was too old to learn new ways, and so we began to get behind. And we didn’t care to make new friends, and we didn’t know how, and so when John was taken away there wasn’t any one to advise me, and the property was sold off for almost nothing. And after I’d got a letter, I had it in my pocket the day you were kind to me in the car, I was all so in a tremble I hadn’t read it, I just sat down and answered it when I got home. It was from one of my sons; and I told him the whole truth, and he sent me the money, and told me to come on this boat. But I’m trembling so, miss,” she held up her thin arm that shook like a leaf, “that I’m afraid I won’t last till I get there. And I want you to see my boy, who’ll be there to meet me, and tell him for me that his father said he was sorry we came away, before he died, and he sent his love to both of ’em, and he blessed all the grandchildren, and so do I;” and her voice sank to a whisper.
Phronsie knelt down by the berth, and put her face very near to the troubled one. “Don’t be worried,” she said, as if to a child. “You are lonely, I think, but not very ill.”
“Ain’t I ill, miss?” cried the little old woman pleadingly. “Oh, I’m so glad! I thought I was going to be most dreadfully sick, and I was afraid to call the doctor to hear him say so;” and she gave a sigh of relief.
“No,” said Phronsie; “I do not really think you are very ill, but I do believe you want something to eat. Now, I am going to tell you what I think you had better do, if you want to have me.”