“My head has did it too,” chimed in Katie, rolling herself into a ball; “it keeps yocking yound and yound.”

“I pitch about so in my berth,” said Octavia, who was Rollo, “that next thing I shall be out on the floor.  Hark!  How the water is pouring in!  I’m afraid the ship has sprung a leak; and if it has I must call the chambermaid.”

Mrs. Clifford, who stood looking on, was quite amused at the idea of calling the chambermaid to stop a leak in the ship.

“Man the pumps!” said the captain.  The girls tugged away at a pole in one end of the wagon, moving it up and down like a churn-dash.

“I do hope this wind will go down,” sighed Emily.

“Well, it will,” said simple Flyaway; “I hear it going.”

“It is head wind and a heavy sea,” remarked the captain; “but never fear; we shall weather the storm.  We are now on the southern coast of Ireland.  I don’t think,” added she, in a different tone, “it is best to be shipwrecked, children—­do you?  We will hurry into Liverpool, and then I think it likely your little visitors may enjoy keeping house with your dolls, or having a nice swing.”

“I wish I could eat something,” said Dotty, with a solemn face; “but I’m too sick.”

“So’m I,” groaned Flyaway.  “I couldn’t eat noffin’—­’cept cake.”

“If you are in such a condition as that,” said the captain, “it is certainly high time we landed.  And here comes a pilot boat with a signal flying.  We will take the pilot on board,” added she; drawing in another little girl.  “And look! here we are now in Liverpool.”

“We must go to the Adelphi,” said Octavia; “that is where Rollo went, and found his father, and mother, and Thannie.  But the kitten didn’t ever get there—­did it, Miss Percival?”

The voyage being ended, and with it the fearful seasickness, the children went to swinging, with their teacher to push them.

“Miss Percival,” said aunt Maria, shaking hands with that excellent young lady, “I wish you joy of your noble employment.  It is a blessed thing to be able to give so much pleasure to these dear little children.”

“So it seems to me,” replied Miss Percival.  “They are always grateful, too, for every little kindness.”

“They look very good and obedient,” said Mrs. Clifford, in a low voice.

“So they are.  Sometimes I think they are better than children who have eyes; perhaps because they cannot see to get into so much mischief,” added Miss Percival, pinching Emily’s cheek.

“Aunt ’Ria,” said Dotty, in raptures, “don’t they have good times here?”

“Yelly good times,” said little Flyaway, clutching at her mother’s dress.  “Mamma, I wish I was blind-eyed, too.”

“You, my darling baby!  Mother hopes that will never be.  But if you cannot be blind-eyed yourself, perhaps you may make some of these little ones happy.  Is there anything you would like to give away?”