The child opened her eyes in silent wonder. "Could madame be in earnest? Was it possible?"
Mrs. Coit explained, and in addition took out her pencil, and with rapidity wrote a note to madame.
The little Julie fairly wept with delight. To be in the country, with birds and bees and brooks—ah! it was too much felicity. Her mother would be wild with pleasure.
Then Mrs. Coit was going; but Julie could not let her depart without a taste of her pot au feu, which she was cooking for her dear pauvre petite maman—just one sip, if madame could take no more; and pushing a chair to the table, and hurriedly wiping off an old cracked faience bowl, pretty enough in its day, the little eager hands dipped out a ladleful of soup. Mrs. Coit found it delicious. Warm as was the room and the repast, it was yet refreshing; so thanking the child for her hospitality, she at last took her departure.
A week from this time behold an eager group of little ones on the deck of a Hudson River night boat kissing their hands to Mr. and Mrs. Coit on the wharf. Nurse is on guard, and counts the heads to see if all are with her. Quillie's yellow locks are beside Julie's dark tresses; Fred and Willie come next; and little Artie, who scorns being the baby, waves in great dignity, as color-bearer, a small American flag. Long before the stars are out they beg to go to their state-rooms. They creep into the little beds, and imagine themselves on the tossing ocean. Nurse hears them discussing who shall be in the upper and who in the lower berths, and whether they shall be able to remain in them at all, for the vessel may pitch them all out; then Julie silences all with a vivid account of her travels. She gesticulates as she talks, occasionally rolls those dark eyes of hers, speaks of the great steam-ships, the mighty waves, the roar of the wind, the scream of the fog-whistle, and the terrible mal de mer. Instinctively they yield to her vast experience, and offer no more remarks, but silently prepare for their slumbers.
Quite with the early dawn they awake again, refreshed, eager, and taking in long draughts of the pure air into which they have come. Where are the docks and wharves and shipping? where the scenes of the night before? In the rosy flush of the morning lie the green hills and meadows. The birds are straining their throats with melody, the cocks are crowing, the geese cackling, and they hear the lowing of cows and the bleating of sheep.
"Is it paradise?" asks Julie.
"No, it is only Catskill," responds Quillie, tossing back her yellow locks.
"Hallo! there is Mr. Brown's wagon," screams Fred; and Will shouts till the farmer responds with a smiling nod.
