It was
exactly like one of Hans Christian Andersen's fairy-tales, Katy wrote to
Clover afterward. She heard them going down the cabin; but how it ended,
or whether the owners of the boots and shoes ever got their own
particular pairs again, she never knew.
Toward morning the gale abated, the sea became smoother, and she dropped
asleep. When she woke the sun was struggling through the clouds, and she
felt better.
The stewardess opened the port-hole to freshen the air, and helped her
to wash her face and smooth her tangled hair; then she produced a little
basin of gruel and a triangular bit of toast, and Katy found that her
appetite was come again and she could eat.
"And 'ere's a letter, ma'am, which has come for you by post this
morning," said the nice old stewardess, producing an envelope from her
pocket, and eying her patient with great satisfaction.
"By post!" cried Katy, in amazement; "why, how can that be?" Then
catching sight of Rose's handwriting on the envelope, she understood,
and smiled at her own simplicity.
The stewardess beamed at her as she opened it, then saying again, "Yes,
'm, by post, m'm," withdrew, and left Katy to enjoy the little surprise.
The letter was not long, but it was very like its writer. Rose drew a
picture of what Katy would probably be doing at the time it reached
her,--a picture so near the truth that Katy felt as if Rose must have
the spirit of prophecy, especially as she kindly illustrated the
situation with a series of pen-and-ink drawings, in which Katy was
depicted as prone in her berth, refusing with horror to go to dinner,
looking longingly backward toward the quarter where the United States
was supposed to be, and fishing out of her port-hole with a crooked pin
in hopes of grappling the submarine cable and sending a message to her
family to come out at once and take her home.
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