“I—­I—­can’t find your uncle, miss,” she said.

Anne’s eyes filled with tears.  She swallowed a sob and steadied her voice to say:  “He—­must have forgotten—­’bout me.  I—­don’t have breakfast with him ’cept Sundays.”

“The captain said I’d better show you the way to the dining-room, miss.  A waiter will look after you.”

The shy child shrank back.  “I saw the dining-room yesterday,” she said.  “There—­there are such long tables and so many strange people.  I—­I don’t think I want any breakfast.  Couldn’t you bring me a mug of milk and one piece of bread?”

Miss Drayton came forward with a cordial smile.  “Come to breakfast with me, dear.  My sister is not well enough to leave her stateroom this morning, so there will be a vacant seat beside me.  I am Miss Drayton and this is my nephew, Patrick Patterson, who has such an appetite that it will make you hungry just to see him eat.  After breakfast we’ll find your uncle and scold him about forgetting you.  Or perhaps he didn’t forget.  He may have wanted you to have a morning nap to put roses in those pale cheeks.  Will you come with me?”

“If you would just take charge of her, ma’am,” exclaimed the stewardess.

Anne’s sober face had brightened while Miss Drayton was speaking.  Indeed, smiles came naturally in the presence of that cheery little lady.  With a murmured “Thank you,” the child slipped her hand in Miss Drayton’s and together they entered the dining-room.

While breakfast was being served, Pat Patterson gave and obtained a good deal of information.  He told Anne that he was from Washington, the finest city in the world.  He learned that she called Virginia home, though she lived now in New York.  Pat was going to spend a year in France with his mother and Aunt Sarah.  Uncle Carey, with whom Anne was travelling, had told her nothing of his plans except that he and she were going “abroad” and were to “have a grand time” on “the Continent.”  Pat’s father was to come over later for a few weeks; he was down south now, helping build the “big ditch”—­the Panama Canal.  “Where is your father?” he asked Anne.

“Dead.”

“Oh!” with awkward sympathy.

“Long time ago, when I was little.”

“Do you remember him?”

“If I shut my eyes tight.  It’s like he was walking to meet me, out of the big picture.”

“And your mother—­” Pat hesitated.

“I remember her real well.  I was seven then.  That was over a year ago.  Sometimes it seems such a little while since we were at home—­and then it seems a long, long, long time.”

“You’ve been living with your uncle since?” asked Miss Drayton, gently.

“Yes.  Uncle Carey.  Where is he?  I do want Uncle Carey so bad.”  The child’s voice trembled.

“Don’t worry, dear.  We’ll find him,” said Miss Drayton, as they left the dining-room.

The captain, who had kept his eyes on the little party, anticipated Miss Drayton’s questioning.  Drawing her aside, he explained the situation.  “The scoundrel is probably safe in Canada by this time,” he ended.  “He’ll take good care to lay low.  This child’s other relatives will have to be hunted up and informed.  I’ll send a wireless to New York.  The stewardess will take care of the little girl.”