slowly sank on a coral reef, and then drifted about in an open boat
for days before they were rescued.

It is Mother, however, who meets with the oddest adventures
travelling. One day last summer I saw her off in the Scotch Express
from Euston, comfortably seated in a corner with books and papers,
expecting she would have a nice quiet day. The occupant of the other
corner was a Russian lady, and the friend who saw her off asked Mother
if she would see she had lunch all right, for she knew no English.
This Mother readily promised, and the train started. Mother tried
once or twice to speak to the creature, but, receiving only grunts in
reply, began a book. She hadn't read the first chapter when the old
gentleman opposite said sternly, "Your friend is fainting," and
turning, Mother was just in time to catch the Russian as she slid
to the floor. She wrestled with her for an hour, reviving her with
smelling-salts, and making her comfortable with her air-cushion and
rug, distracted all the time by the yelling of young infants somewhere
near. As soon as she could leave her she went to see what was wrong,
and found twin-babies making day hideous with their din, while their
poor mother lay stretched on a seat, too ill to cope with them.

She was a missionary's wife, it turned out, on her way home, with no
nurse and much malaria, so, of course, Mother had to stay and nurse
the twins until luncheon was ready, when another Good Samaritan came
and took a turn. While having luncheon she was hailed by a friend,
lately left a widow, who insisted on Mother accompanying her to her
compartment, where she wept on her shoulder while telling her all the
details of her husband's last illness; then back again to nurse the
Russian and the babies until the journey's end, when she emerged
almost as hot, and crumpled, and exhausted as if she had run behind