"
"We must have our trunk," I interposed. "Can't we move her
carefully over to the wool sacks, and won't you stay with her until
her friends come?"
"She has no friends in this country, ma'am. She's just travelling
for pleasure like."
"Good gracious! what a position for her to be in," said Salemina.
"Can't you take her back to the steamer and put her to bed?"
"I could ask the captain, certainly, miss, though of course it's
something we never do, and besides we have to set the ship to rights
and go across again this evening."
"Ask her what hotel she is going to, Salemina," we suggested, "and
let us drop her there, and put her in charge of the housekeeper; of
course if it is only sea-sickness she will be all right in the
morning."
The girl's eyes were closed, but she opened them languidly as
Salemina chafed her cold hands, and asked gently if we could not
drive her to an hotel.
"Is--this--your--baggage?" she whispered.
"It is," Salemina answered, somewhat puzzled.
"Then don't--leave me here, I am from Salem--myself," whereupon
without any more warning she promptly fainted away on the trunk.
The situation was becoming embarrassing. The assemblage grew
larger, and a more interesting and sympathetic audience I never saw.
To an Irish crowd, always warm-hearted and kindly, willing to take
any trouble for friend or stranger, and with a positive terror of
loneliness, or separation from kith and kin, the helpless creature
appealed in every way.
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