sort of books she liked. She seemed such a very nice girl, and Katy
thought she should like to know her.

The deck had dried fast in the fresh sea-wind, and the Captain had just
arranged Katy in her chair, and was wrapping the rug about her feet in a
fatherly way, when Mrs. Barrett, all smiles, appeared from below.

"Oh, 'ere you h'are, Miss. I couldn't think what 'ad come to you so
early; and you're looking ever so well again, I'm pleased to see; and
'ere's a bundle just arrived, Miss, by the Parcels Delivery."

"What!" cried simple Katy. Then she laughed at her own foolishness, and
took the "bundle," which was directed in Rose's unmistakable hand.

It contained a pretty little green-bound copy of Emerson's Poems, with
Katy's name and "To be read at sea," written on the flyleaf. Somehow the
little gift seemed to bridge the long misty distance which stretched
between the vessel's stern and Boston Bay, and to bring home and friends
a great deal nearer. With a half-happy, half-tearful pleasure Katy
recognized the fact that distance counts for little if people love one
another, and that hearts have a telegraph of their own whose messages
are as sure and swift as any of those sent over the material lines which
link continent to continent and shore with shore.

Later in the morning, Katy, going down to her stateroom for something,
came across a pallid, exhausted-looking lady, who lay stretched on one
of the long sofas in the cabin, with a baby in her arms and a little
girl sitting at her feet, quite still, with a pair of small hands folded
in her lap. The little girl did not seem to be more than four years old.
She had two pig-tails of thick flaxen hair hanging over her shoulders,