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. 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.