him a black scowl and took the cup.

"By Jove," said the youth who had, upon the dock, picked up Herr
Kreutzer's bag. He was standing on the promenade-deck, above, beside
his very, very stately mother, who, over-dressed and full of scorn for
the whole world, was complaining because her doctor's orders had
suggested traveling upon so slow and old a ship. "There's that
stunning little German girl down there. Isn't she a picture? Gee! Her
old man wouldn't let her drink with that black dago--not that she
wanted to. But bully for Professor Pretzel!" "How very vulgar!" said
his mother, looking down at the small, animated scene before her with
disfavor. "Mere immigrants."

"I s'pose _our_ folks were, sometime," John Vanderlyn replied. "But
isn't she a corker, mother?"

"John, your language is too shocking! Please see about our
deck-chairs," Mrs. Vanderlyn replied.

CHAPTER II

Under a brilliant summer sky the ocean heaved in mighty swells. Anna,
on one of the most delightful mornings of this ideal voyage to
America, found the port side of the ship unpleasant, because of the
sun's brilliance. From every tiny facet of the water, which a brisk
breeze crinkled, the light flashed at her eyes with the quick
vividness of electric sparks, and almost blinded her. Not even her
graceful, slender, and (surprising on that steerage-deck) beautifully
white hand, now curved against her brow, could so shade her vision as
to enable her to look upon the sea in search of the far sail which the
lookout in the crow's nest had just reported to the bridge in a long,
droning hail. Her curiosity in the passing stranger had been aroused
by the keen interest which the more fortunately situated, on the
promenade-deck, above, had shown by crowding to their rail. They were,
as she could see from her humbler portion of the ship, talking of the
far craft interestedly; but from her station, owing either to its lack
of altitude or to the more dazzling glitter of the sea, due to the
differing angle of her vision, she failed to catch a glimpse of it.
The glare made her give up the search.

She shrugged her small, plaid shawl about her shoulders to meet the
wind's now freshening assaults, pulled her knitted hood a little
closer all about her face to hide it, through some sort of instinct
(the first-cabin folk, above, all through the voyage, had been wont to
gaze down on the steerage passengers as if they were a sort of
interesting animals), and ma