CHAPTER II


Under a brilliant summer sky the ocean heaved in mighty swells. Anna,
on one of the most delightful mornings of this ideal voyage to
America, found the port side of the ship unpleasant, because of the
sun's brilliance. From every tiny facet of the water, which a brisk
breeze crinkled, the light flashed at her eyes with the quick
vividness of electric sparks, and almost blinded her. Not even her
graceful, slender, and (surprising on that steerage-deck) beautifully
white hand, now curved against her brow, could so shade her vision as
to enable her to look upon the sea in search of the far sail which the
lookout in the crow's nest had just reported to the bridge in a long,
droning hail. Her curiosity in the passing stranger had been aroused
by the keen interest which the more fortunately situated, on the
promenade-deck, above, had shown by crowding to their rail. They were,
as she could see from her humbler portion of the ship, talking of the
far craft interestedly; but from her station, owing either to its lack
of altitude or to the more dazzling glitter of the sea, due to the
differing angle of her vision, she failed to catch a glimpse of it.
The glare made her give up the search.

She shrugged her small, plaid shawl about her shoulders to meet the
wind's now freshening assaults, pulled her knitted hood a little
closer all about her face to hide it, through some sort of instinct
(the first-cabin folk, above, all through the voyage, had been wont to
gaze down on the steerage passengers as if they were a sort of