features from sight. "There!" Jennie
continued, as she contemplated the disfiguring head-gear with great
satisfaction, "them spalpeens can't see ye now, and if they heave you
down anything it's meself will heave it back, for what business have
they to be takin' things from the table without the captain's lave, and
throwin' 'em to us as if we was a lot of pigs. It's just stalin', and
nothin' else."

The fresh air and change did Bessie good, and, protected by the
sun-bonnet and Jennie, she sat outside until sunset, and was then
carried to her berth. That night the wind changed, causing the ship to
roll in a most unsatisfactory manner; and Bessie, who was exceedingly
sensitive to every motion, was not able to go outside again, but lay on
her bed, whiter a great deal than the pillow under her head, and with a
look of suffering on her face which touched the kind-hearted Jennie to
the quick.

"An' sure she'll be throwin' up ivery blessed thing she'll ate for the
next year," she said. "If I could only right side up her stomach. I
wonder if an orange would do it;" and counting her little stock of
money--six shillings in all--she took a few pennies, and going to the
stewardess, bade her buy two of the finest and swatest oranges in the
butler's pantry."

"Here, honey! Here's what will turn that nasty, creepin' sickness, an'
make ye feet like the top of the mornin'," she said to Bessie, as she
sat down beside her and held a piece of the juicy fruit to her lips.

And Bessie was trying to take it when a voice outside said to Mrs.
Goodnough:

"I heard there was some one very sick, and have come to see if I can do
anything for her."

The next moment a middle-aged lady, with grayish hair and a sweet, sad
face, came in, and going up to Jennie, said:

"Is this the sick girl?"

For a moment Bessie's face was scarlet, and there was a frightened look
in her blue eyes as she regarded her visitor, who continued, very
gently:

"I am sorry to find you suffering so much. My nephew Grey has been sick
all the voyage, or I should have been down here before. What can I do
for you?"

"Her nephew Grey!" Bessie repeated the words to herself, us she stared
in bewilderment at the face bending over her, recognizing in it, or
fancying that she did, a resemblance to the face which had looked so
pityingly at her by her dead father's bedside, and which, whether waking
or sleeping, haunted her continually. Was this woman Grey's Aunt Lucy,
of who