"If you will come with me to the saloon," he said, "we can do our best for the children. They need our prayers."
The people flocked after him—card-playing men and half-grown girls, and women who sobbed as they went. There were sobs round the saloon as the Bishop prayed—simple, manly words that asked for help and mercy. He finished, and there was silence, and then a cheer from the deck and a steward burst in.
"Doctor says they're all right!"
In the sick bay, Mrs. Warner held Bobby to her like a baby—a bundle of hot blankets, in which his sleeping face nestled peacefully. Dick lay in a cot, also a mound of blankets. He opened his eyes and a smile flickered weakly on his lips as he saw his mother's face.
"Mother-est!" he whispered.
She put her head down beside him, trembling—one arm across him, holding him to her. He gave a half sigh of utter contentment, nestling to her, as he fell asleep.
CHAPTER VI.
WESTRALIA.
It was many hours later that Dick woke up, at an unfamiliar noise, feeling stiff and tired and extremely puzzled as to where he was. Bobby, who had awakened him with a dismal little howl, was sitting up in his cot. The two mothers had been dragged away to dinner by the doctor, who had brutally remarked that the boys would sleep just as well if they didn't sit and stare at them, with other wise observations as to the necessity of over-strained people taking nourishment. The steward, who had been left on guard at the hospital, was gossiping placidly outside on the deck.
Dick regarded Bobby sleepily.