Cecil, however, marvelled at her mother’s want of penetration and could not refrain from increased coolness to Bluebell.

White horses were curling the broad waters of Ontario, as the huge river-steamer “St. Michael” was getting up the steam for its run to Quebec; and, from the crowd on the wharf waiting to embark, it might be surmised that even the sofas in the saloon would be at a premium for sleeping berths.  The Rollestons were surrounded with acquaintances, either going themselves or seeing others off, till the bell rang, when there was a rush to the tug, and the big paddle-wheels got in motion.  The children ran up and down the long, narrow saloon on to the decks at each end, while Miss Prosody was vainly trying to wrest the key of a sleeping-berth from the purser, who, the supply not being equal to the demand, was having rather a hot time of it.

“Two double cabins,” cried Colonel Rolleston, presently; “the rest must have berths in the ladies’ cabin, and trouble enough to secure that.  However, here are the keys.  How shall we divide?”

“Shall Estelle and Lola sleep in the wide lower berth of one cabin, and I in the upper?” said Cecil.

“And we must take Freddy, I suppose?” said Mrs. Rolleston; “and Miss Prosody, Bluebell, and Fleda, go to the ladies’ cabin.”

“Oh, Cecil!” cried Lola, as they unlocked their domicile off the saloon, “what a little—­little bed!  If you turn, you’ll tumble into ours; and how will you get up?  Won’t I catch your foot!”

“No bath!” exclaimed Estelle; “only two small basins!  And what a looking-glass! it makes one squint!”

“It is better than the ladies’ cabin,” said Fleda, dolefully, “with the stewardess sitting there, and two or three sick-looking people, and the berths all open like the shelves of a bookcase.”

“It is only for one night,” said Cecil.  “We land at Cobourg to-morrow afternoon.  Look! the waiters are laying the long tables for luncheon, or dinner I suppose it is.  Come out on the deck till it is ready.  Oh, dear! there is not a patch of shade left for us.  How they over-crowd these boats!”

“There’s a gentleman holding his umbrella over Bluebell,” said Lola.

Cecil’s eyes opened in some amazement.  She would have thought it rather impertinent in a stranger offering such familiar accommodation, but Bluebell availed herself of it with the frankest nonchalance, and, in the conversation that ensued, lost her place in the first rush of diners, who, at the ringing of the bell, instantly occupied every vacant chair.

“They seem to be having a very good time,” observed Fleda, who had picked up some Americanisms.

Somewhat aghast at his daughter’s precocity, the Colonel stepped out on the deck, and, with grave dignity, offered Bluebell his arm to conduct her to his seat, which, quite unconscious of his disapprobation, she accepted with civil indifference.