He pointed, and she turned away.
The ship was deserted, practically; everyone had gone ashore. She went
disconsolately towards the stairway. On the bottom step sat Jimmy
sobbing dismally.
"There they are!" he said, rubbing his eyes with one hand and pointing
to a little boat out on the blue water. "I did so want to go with them."
Mrs. Hetherington in a white frock and blue sash was waving her hand
gaily from the little boat. Marcella suddenly felt indignant with her,
and took Jimmy's tear-stained hand.
"There they are!" she said, smiling. "And here are we! We're both in the
same boat, old man. Come down to my little house. I've something nice
there."
She broke off a big bunch of grapes for him and, taking pencils, books
and writing-paper, went back on deck. Two Italians were just going off
with a stock of postcards. She bought a dozen for Jimmy, and a little
basket of strawberries.
"Now you're going to be a big man, Jimmy. We're going right up on the
roof of the ship, and you're having a chair all to yourself so that you
can write postcards to Gran."
His face cleared immediately, though as they got settled in the shadow
of one of the lifeboats and he saw Mrs. Hetherington's white figure
walking along the quay he gave a little sigh. She addressed his
postcards as far as his remembered stock of addresses would go.
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