. "But it didn't."

"Maybe you know some more, now," hazarded Tilly.

"Certainly. After we strike Jupiter Light, we veer off into the Atlantic
out of sight of land."

"I thought lighthouses were put up so you wouldn't 'strike' them,"
observed Tilly, with smooth politeness; "but then, of course if you do
strike them, it is quite to be expected that you veer off into the
Atlantic, and never see land again. Besides, I found all those
lighthouses and things on a paper last night, but it was the southern
trip that did all that. Maybe we, going north, don't do the same things
at all. I sha'n't swallow all you say, anyhow, till I know for sure."

"Children, stop your quarreling," commanded Bertha Brown, sternly. "Now
I've been learning something worth while. _I_ know the saloon deck from
the promenade deck, and I can rattle off 'fore' and 'aft' and 'port' and
'starboard' as if I'd been born on shipboard!"

"Pooh! You wait," teased Tilly. "There'll come a time when you won't
think you're born on shipboard, and you won't know or care which is
fore or aft--any of you. And it will come soon, too. Those were
porpoises playing this morning--when Cordelia thought she saw the sea
serpent, you know. I heard a man say he thought it meant a storm was
coming. And if it does--you just wait," she finished laughingly.

"Oh, I'm waiting," retorted Bertha. "I like waiting. Besides, I don't
think it's coming, anyhow!"

But it did come. Off the coast of South Carolina they ran into a heavy
storm, and the great ship creaked and groaned as it buffeted wind and
wave.

In the little parlor of the suite the entire party, banished from wet,
slippery decks, made merry together, and declared it was all fun,
anyway. But gradually the ranks thinned. First Mrs. Kennedy asked to be
excused, and went into the bedroom. Alma Lane went away next. She said
she wanted a drink of water--but she did not return, and very soon Elsie
Martin, looking suspiciously white about the lips, said she guessed she
would go and find Alma. She, too, did not return.

Tilly went next. Tilly, naturally, had not been her usual self since the
accident, in spite of her brave attempts to hide her suffering. She
slipped away now without a word; though just before she had made them
all laugh by saying a little shakily:

"I declare, I wish Reddy were here! He'd think he was riding his
broncho, sure."

Just when Mr. Hartley disappeared, no one seemed to know. One moment he
had