CHAPTER XIX

LAND IS SIGHTED

The next morning all the cabins on the boat looked as though a cyclone had struck them. The cabins belonging to the girls from Lakeview Hall were no exception.

"Bess, if we go on collecting things at this rate," Nan protested to her friend, "we'll have to buy new luggage. Nothing short of a huge trunk will hold everything."

"I know it," Bess laughed. "And it's so hard to throw anything away." She was holding favors from the costume ball of the night before in her hand. "I simply can't part with these."

The two girls were packing. It was very early in the morning, but the boat was due to make its first stop shortly, and they wanted to be on deck when land was sighted. "I can't part with these either," Nan held up the limp bags of a half dozen balloons. "A handsome army officer got them for me last night, by climbing up on a chair and pulling them by their strings down from the ceiling."

"Wasn't the ballroom lovely, though?" Bess paused in her packing, while she remembered the lights and the palms and the balloons and the other decorations. Then she recalled all the people in fancy costume marching around, dancing and singing.

"The nicest thing of all," Nan paused in her packing too, "was that glass promenade through which you could see the stars and the sky overhead. The moon was so big and full that no other lights were needed. I shall never forget it--nor that quartet of sailors that sang all those funny old sea ballads and then danced the hornpipe."

The girls laughed together at the recollection, and then busied themselves in earnest. Nan kept the balloons for a couple of children back in Tillbury whose idol she was. Bess kept the favors, because she couldn't bear to throw them away.

Again and again, the ship's foghorn blasted the early morning quietness. "I'm sure we must be almost in sight of land." Bess hurried faster.

"But the steward promised," Nan protested, "that he would tell us so that we would be up on deck when land was sighted."

"You don't suppose he has forgotten?" Bess questioned.

"I don't think so," Nan was a little worried too. "But let's hurry and get out of here. I wouldn't miss seeing Maureen off for anything."

"Oh, is she getting off here?" Bess took one last look around the cabin to see whether she had all her belongings.

"Sure an' she's headed right for Dublin." Nan tried to give an Irish turn to her sentence.

"You'll never see her again?" Bess was wide-eyed as it suddenly dawned on her that they were saying good-by, perhaps forever, to their shipboard acquaintances.

"Never say that," Nan unconsciously interpreted the lesson Hetty's grandmother had taught so sweetly several days before. "You never know when or where you will meet these people again. Have you kept many addresses?"

"Oh, just dozens," Bess answered. "If I ever hear from a third of them again, I'll be happy."

"I feel the same way," Nan agreed. "Only Maureen, Hetty and Jeanie have all agreed to have tea with us in London. I knew you would all approve." She looked up at Bess.

"Approve? Of course," Bess agreed. "Tea in London with Maureen, Hetty, and Jeanie. Oh, I hope they won't forget."

"They won't," Nan said confidently, as she got up from her place on the floor by her bags. "There, I'm all packed and ready for the steward to come and put the tags on them. Are you?"

"Just a second--yes, I'm all ready, too, now." Bess closed hers. "Let's go up on deck." So they went up and out, and saw, for the first time while on the boat, the sunrise. The sky was full of promise for a bright day.

Even as they watched the light breaking brighter and brighter, the ship's whistle gave three loud blasts. There were three more from shore, and Nan clutched Bess's arm. "See, there it is--Ireland, the coast of Ireland. See the lights?"

"Sure an' 'tis me home," Maureen had come up behind them, "the grandest place in all the world."

"What county is that?" Nan looked to Maureen for information.

"I'm not so certain," Maureen replied, "but I'm after thinking that that's the coast of Donegal, and a lovelier spot you'll not find for many miles. Beyond lies Londonderry and after that you'll be seeing Portrush and then at last Belfast! It's beauty, beauty all the way.

"Your America, it's fine and grand with all its tall buildings and great cities, but me heart is warm for Ireland. There me mother and father and little brothers and sisters will be waiting. Oh, it's good to be back." Maureen wiped tears from her eyes.

"Come, Maureen," Nan and Bess were close to tears too, for her pang of homesickness had turned their own thoughts back to America. "Come, let's go down into the dining room. Let's see if we can find one big table so that we can all have this last breakfast together." As she finished speaking, Nan tucked Maureen's arm through hers and started.

It was a merry breakfast and a sad one in the weird light of the dining room, half daylight, half electricity. There were people glad to be home and people sad to be parting from newfound friends. Breakfast was eaten hastily, so that everyone was up on deck waving goodbyes, calling last minute messages, urging care, and trying to joke, all in one breath, as the great steamer settled to anchor and a small tender nestled up to it.

Maureen's dad, a burly looking Irishman with eyes of the deepest blue and lashes long and heavy, came aboard and took her in his arms. "Sure and 'tis good to have me baby home agin," he said. "And it's mighty fine you're looking in that perky new bonnet." He pushed her straw hat up and looked into her eyes. "And it's not changed a bit you are after all that long journey," he added.

He turned to her friends, "And you'll not be comin' to Ireland this trip?" He sounded genuinely disappointed. "But you'll be comin' back." He smiled kindly down upon them all. "And then you'll be stoppin' here and we'll be meetin' you and you'll be off to Dublin Town with the likes of us."

Nan liked Maureen's father. So did her friends. As he and Maureen went across the gang-plank to the tender, they all hung over the rail and waved. "We'll be seeing you in London," Nan called.

"Don't forget," Bess followed suit, "it's tea in London in coronation week."