When, however, a little later, their father peered in with a laughing
face to rally them, and declared in cheery tones that they were "just
getting their sea-legs, and would be good sailors in a day or two,"
they took heart, and both soon drowsed off into hazy slumber. But
neither wanted any dinner that night, and did not attempt much exertion
until late the next day. Hope awoke, feeling much brighter, and felt
that the motion was not so distressing as yesterday. She looked across
at Faith, who lay with closed eyes, pale indeed, but peaceful.
"Are you awake?" she whispered.
"Yes," returned her sister, opening her eyes only to close them at
once. "I'm awake, but it's the queerest thing. So long as I keep my
eyes closed I'm quite comfortable, but when I open them I feel as if I
were in a high swing just ready to tumble out; and when Texas gets to
pitching around in his cage, and hanging fairly upside down, and
whirling around like a crazy thing, it makes me a great deal worse."
Hope laughed.
"Poor Texas! I don't think he's very happy himself. I wonder, are
birds ever seasick, really? I've heard they often mope and die on
shipboard, but is it seasickness?"
"I'm sure I don't know--but let's not talk about it! What time do you
suppose it is, Hope?"
"Oh, somewhere along in the afternoon. Somebody says there's no time
at sea--it's all now. Heigh-ho! I've half a mind to get up and
dress--why-y, what's that?"
Sure enough! Even Faith opened her eyes wide to stare upward, for
there was something sliding through one of the portholes above their
heads, and dropping softly downwards--a small package done up in
crinkly pink paper, and tied neatly about with blue lutestring.
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