The gale increased as the day wore on, and the vessel pitched
dreadfully. Twice Katy was thrown out of her berth on the floor; then
the stewardess came and fixed a sort of movable side to the berth, which
held her in, but made her feel like a child fastened into a railed crib.
At intervals she could still hear Amy crying and scolding her mother,
and conjectured that they were having a dreadful time of it in the other
stateroom. It was all like a bad dream. "And they call this travelling
for pleasure!" thought poor Katy.
One droll thing happened in the course of the second night,--at least it
seemed droll afterward; at the time Katy was too uncomfortable to enjoy
it. Amid the rush of the wind, the creaking of the ship's timbers, and
the shrill buzz of the screw, she heard a sound of queer little
footsteps in the entry outside of her open door, hopping and leaping
together in an odd irregular way, like a regiment of mice or toy
soldiers. Nearer and nearer they came; and Katy opening her eyes saw a
procession of boots and shoes of all sizes and shapes, which had
evidently been left on the floors or at the doors of various staterooms,
and which in obedience to the lurchings of the vessel had collected in
the cabin. They now seemed to be acting in concert with one another, and
really looked alive as they bumped and trotted side by side, and two by
two, in at the door and up close to her bedside. There they remained for
several moments executing what looked like a dance; then the leading
shoe turned on its heel as if giving a signal to the others, and they
all hopped slowly again into the passage-way and disappeared.
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