The pure sea-air was so fresh and restful that when three bells or 5:30 o’clock in the morning was heard, the Harris party were easily awakened and they hastily prepared to witness at sea the sunrise on June 21st.

Leo and Alfonso were first on deck.  Mrs. Harris, Lucille, and the Judge, an acquaintance made on the ship, soon joined them.  Their watches agreed that it was ten minutes to six o ’clock.  The decks had been washed and put in order, engines were running at full speed, the eastern sky was flushed with crimson and golden bands that shot out of the horizon, and fan-like in shape faded up in the zenith.  With watches in hand, all eyes were fixed on a pathway of intensely lighted sea and sky in the east.  Suddenly, as the sailor rung out “four bells,” or 6 o’clock, Lucille shouted, “There!  See that drop of molten gold floating on the horizon.  Captain Morgan was right as to time.  See, judge, how the gold glows with heat and light as the globe turns to receive the sun’s blessings!”

“Yes,” said the judge who now for the first time since the storm became really enthusiastic, “another page of the record book is turned, and the good and bad deeds of humanity will be entered by the recording angel.  The mighty sun, around which we revolve at fabulous speed is, in its relations to us mortals, the most important material fact in the universe.  If I ever change my religion I shall become a sun-worshiper.  The Turk in his prayers, five times a day, faces the sun.”

An early brisk walk on the deck sharpened appetites, and our sun-worshipers were among the first at breakfast.  Gradually others entered, and again the dining room was cheerful with sunny faces.  After breakfast the decks were astir with pretty women, children, and gentlemen lifting their hats.  The promenade was as gay as on Fifth Avenue.  Doctor Argyle gave his arm to Mrs. Harris, Lucille walked between Alfonso and Leo, and doctors of divinity and men of repute in other professions kept faithful step.  Actors and actresses moved as gracefully as before the footlights.  A famous actor carried on his shoulders a tiny girl who had bits of sky for eyes, a fair face, and fleecy hair that floated in the sea breeze, making a pretty picture.

Business men with fragrant cigars indulged in the latest story or joke.  By degrees the promenade disappeared as passengers selected steamer chairs, library, or smoking room, and congenial souls formed interesting and picturesque groups.  At the outset of the voyage you wonder at the lack of fine dress, and hastily judge the modest men and women about you to be somewhat commonplace, but after days at sea and many acquaintances made, you discover your mistake and learn that your companions are thoroughly cosmopolitan.  In fair weather the decks are playgrounds where children at games enliven the scene, and sailors’ songs are heard.