CHAPTER XXI.
ARE THEY ALL SAFE?
PHRONSIE thought a moment, and then said to herself, “Yes, I think I better bring her here, and then we will all be together.” So slipping out of her stateroom, she went hurriedly, making her way with difficulty, as the distance was a good one, and the ship rolled badly, to old Mrs. Benson’s door. “Mrs. Benson,” she said, gently rapping, “it is I, Phronsie Pepper.”
“Yes, deary.” The little old lady was not asleep, but lay in a happy doze, in which she was living over again all the beautiful days in her little English cottage with her lads about her. “Yes, deary; I’ll be there in a minute.”
“Please hurry, Mrs. Benson,” begged Phronsie.
“And so I will,” said old Mrs. Benson; and presently she opened the door, and appeared before Phronsie in a short gown and petticoat, her white hair tucked under a frilled nightcap.
“Anything happened, deary?” she asked anxiously, looking up into Phronsie’s face.
Phronsie drew her in softly to the middle of the stateroom, and closed the door. “Dear Mrs. Benson,” she said, taking her hands,—“I want you to go with me to my stateroom, so that we can all be near each other.”
“And so I will, deary, if you want me to,” said the old woman obediently; “but what is the matter? Has anything happened?”
“Yes,” said Phronsie; “but don’t make a noise, for the men are working hard to save us all, and the people are not to know yet, for they would be so frightened we should all be lost.” She held her mouth close to the cap-frills. “The ship is on fire!”
Old Mrs. Benson broke away from her with a deep groan, and fell on her knees by the berth. “Oh, my pretty lads, my pretty lads!”