Just then, too, her father entered, bringing a great gust
of cold air with him as he opened the door.
"Up yet?" he asked in his big, cheery voice, as he unwound the gorgeous
worsted comforter from about his throat, and shook off the sleety rain
from his tarpaulin. "Waal, this fire's a purty sight, I vum, for it's a
dirty night out, an' no mistake. But we'd better all turn in naow, for
we must be stirrin' early to-morrer; we've got our orders, an' I'm
second mate o' the Nautilus."
"O father, the Nautilus? That old tub? I thought you said she wasn't
sea-worthy."
"Oh, waal, not so bad as thet, quite. To be shore she's old, an' she's
clumsy, but I guess she's got a good many knots o' sailin' in her yet,
Sairay. I guess so. Leastwise thet's whar I'm to go, so it can't be
helped, thet's sartin. Now, wife, ef you'll git out my kit," and he
turned with some directions concerning his departure, while Sara,
feeling she was not needed, crept silently up to bed, her soul
distracted between gloomy forebodings, and the effort to trust in God
and hope for the best.
The next morning, however, broke clear and fine, which was a great
comfort; for whatever storms and dangers her father and friends must and
would, doubtless, meet on the great ocean, it was something to have them
start with fair winds and sunny skies.
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