“Yes,” I replied, in answer to their questions; “it is a big supper-room now, but by and by it will be a big bedroom, and people will be tucked away in these berths, just as if they were laid on shelves, one over the other.”

The abundant and delicious supper, in which steaks, not from cow-beef, were the chief feature, gave each one of us solid comfort and satisfaction.  Bobsey ate until the passengers around him were laughing, but he, with superb indifference, attended strictly to business.

My wife whispered, “You must all eat enough to last a week, for I sha’n’t have time to cook anything;” and I was much pleased at the good example which she and Mousie set us.

Both before and after supper I conducted Bobsey to the wash-room, and he made the people laugh as he stood on a chair and washed his face.  But he was a sturdy little fellow, and only laughed back when a man said he looked as though he was going to dive into the basin.

Mousie at last began to show signs of fatigue; and learning that it would be several hours still before we could hope to arrive, so severe was the storm, I procured the use of a state-room, and soon Bobsey was snoring in the upper berth, and my invalid girl smiling and talking in soft tones to her mother in the lower couch.  Winnie, Merton, and I prowled around, spending the time as best we could.  Occasionally we looked through the windows at the bow, and wondered how the pilot could find his way through the tempest.  I confess I had fears lest he might not do this, and felt that I should be grateful indeed when my little band was safe on shore.  The people in charge of the boat, however, knew their business.

CHAPTER XII

A MARCH EVENING IN EDEN

At length we were fast at the Maizeville Landing, although long after the usual hour of arrival.  I was anxious indeed to learn whether John Jones would meet us, or whether, believing that we would not come in such a storm, and tired of waiting, he had gone home and left us to find such shelter as we could.

But there he was, looking in the light of the lanterns as grizzled as old Time himself, with his eyebrows and beard full of snow-flakes.  He and I hastily carried the three younger children ashore through the driving snow, and put them in a corner of the storehouse, while Merton followed with his mother.

“Mr. Jones,” I exclaimed, “you are a neighbor to be proud of already.  Why didn’t you go home and leave us to our fate?”

“Well,” he replied, laughing, “’twouldn’t take you long to get snowed under to-night.  No, no; when I catch fish I mean to land ’em.  Didn’t know but what in such a buster of a storm you might be inclined to stay on the boat and go back to the city.  Then where would my bargain be?”

“No fear of that.  We’re in for it now—­have enlisted for the war.  What shall we do?”