“I wish you would, miss,” said the little old woman gratefully, and clinging to her.
“A cup of beef tea is the first thing,” said Phronsie cheerfully; and getting to her feet she touched the electric button, and on the appearance of the deck-steward, ordered it; “and then I will brush your hair, and you shall sit up in bed, and I will talk to you.”
“O miss, how good you are!” exclaimed the little old woman, leaning back against her pillows, while two tears coursed down her cheeks.
“Joey, dear,” said Phronsie, going to the door of the stateroom, “I am going to stay here now a little while. It is all right, dear,” as Joel took a look within. The next moment he marched in, and up to the side of the berth, and put out his hand.
“Well, my good Mrs. Benson, how did you get here?”
The little old woman gave a scream of delight. “O Mr. Pepper!” she exclaimed, seizing his hand.
“It’s one of my good parishioners, Phronsie,” said Joel, taking both of the thin little hands in his big strong one; “but I lost sight of her, and nobody could tell me where she went.”
“I didn’t want to let you know,” said Mrs. Benson shamefacedly; “so I was going to write you as soon as I got to England, and my son was going to write too, and thank you for all your kindness to me.”
“Ah, but you don’t know how I looked for you,” said Joel, shaking his crop of short black curls, that was a dreadful cross for him to carry, as he admired straight hair intensely, especially “in the ministry,” as he said.
“Well, I went up to Berton,” said little Mrs. Benson, “because folks said that there I could get a place as matron in an orphan asylum. But I didn’t—and then came my son’s letter.”