How long I thus lay I could not tell, when, on opening my eyes, I saw a face bending over me; it was that of my mother. I was sure that I was dreaming, and again closed my eyes. The next time I opened them, they fell on the sweet features of my young sister Edith. She stood by the side of the cot in which I lay. I gazed at her for some seconds. There she stood, watching me eagerly; yet I could not persuade myself that it was really her. I knew how very vividly I had often seen persons and objects in my dreams.
I was in a neatly furnished cabin; just before me was a picture of our house at Clifton, and near it were hanging a girl’s straw hat and mantle. Again I turned my eyes towards the figure at my side. “Edith,” I murmured, not expecting to receive a reply.
“Yes, yes, dear Godfrey, I am Edith! Oh, how thankful I am that you are getting better, and know me.”
The reply was very distinct, but so are often replies in dreams. Just then I heard a voice which came down the skylight, giving an order to the crew in an authoritative tone: it was that of my father, I was sure.
“Why, Edith, how has it all happened?” I asked; “is it a reality, or am I still dreaming?”
“It is all real, I assure you,” answered Edith. “I must call mamma. Oh, how thankful she will be! We were afraid sometimes that you would not get better, and poor Pierce has been so unhappy, and so have I; but papa said he knew that you would recover, and we ought to have remembered that he is always right. And now you must get well as fast as you can.”
As she said this, I began to be convinced that I was awake, and that Edith really stood by my side. I did not detain her; and in another minute my mother was bending over me, and folding me in her arms, just as she had done the night before I came to sea. In a short time Pierce made his appearance, but was only allowed to remain a few seconds. Then my father came down, and said a few words expressive of his happiness; and then Edith, who had gone away, returned with a cup of broth, with which my mother fed me just as she had done when I was a baby.
I wanted at once to know how it had all happened, and what had brought my family out into the Pacific.
“It is a long story, and you are not strong enough to listen to it now,” answered my mother; “we will tell you in good time. One thing I may say: we were providentially sent to rescue you and your companions.”
“Are they all right?” I asked. “Have Mudge, and Harry, and Tom, and Popo been saved?”