“My goodness, it’s getting rough,” complained Martha presently. “I’m going down to bed.”
“So am I,” said Jeanette.
They made their way to their respective staterooms as rapidly as possible.
“Will it be like this all the way, do you suppose?” asked Nancy anxiously.
“I doubt it. This is the wash from the Bay of Fundy that we're getting now. It will be calmer after a while,” replied Jim, slipping a big warm hand over her cold one under the edge of the steamer rug. “Go to your stateroom if you want to; but I think if you lie here, perfectly quiet, you will be quite all right.”
Presently the moon came up, and the ocean was a scene of fairyland. It was a couple of hours later when Nancy crept in beside Jeanette, who was sleeping soundly under heavy blankets in the big stateroom, filled with fresh salt air which was sweeping in through the open port hole.
Toward morning, the foghorn began to blow; and Nancy looked at her watch. Five o’clock. They were due to dock between seven and eight. Too early to get up; but, try as she would, she could not go to sleep again. So she lay, thinking over the things she and Jim had talked about the preceding evening on deck. At half-past five she rose, dressed, and began to pack.
“If I have all this done early, there will be more time to spend on deck. I'll do Janie’s too,” she decided, after finishing her own. “Dear, dear Janie!”
She had just closed her own suitcase, and had Jeanette’s all ready to slide in the last things, when a terrific jar threw her forward onto the floor.
“Oh, what is it?” cried Jeanette, who was instantly aroused by the unusual motion. “Nan dear, are you hurt?”