Honey-Sweet | Page 4

such long tables and so many strange people. I--I don't think I want any breakfast. Couldn't you bring me a mug of milk and one piece of bread?"
Miss Drayton came forward with a cordial smile. "Come to breakfast with me, dear. My sister is not well enough to leave her stateroom this morning, so there will be a vacant seat beside me. I am Miss Drayton and this is my nephew, Patrick Patterson, who has such an appetite that it will make you hungry just to see him eat. After breakfast we'll find your uncle and scold him about forgetting you. Or perhaps he didn't forget. He may have wanted you to have a morning nap to put roses in those pale cheeks. Will you come with me?"
"If you would just take charge of her, ma'am," exclaimed the stewardess.
Anne's sober face had brightened while Miss Drayton was speaking. Indeed, smiles came naturally in the presence of that cheery little lady. With a murmured "Thank you," the child slipped her hand in Miss Drayton's and together they entered the dining-room.
While breakfast was being served, Pat Patterson gave and obtained a good deal of information. He told Anne that he was from Washington, the finest city in the world. He learned that she called Virginia home, though she lived now in New York. Pat was going to spend a year in France with his mother and Aunt Sarah. Uncle Carey, with whom Anne was travelling, had told her nothing of his plans except that he and she were going "abroad" and were to "have a grand time" on "the Continent." Pat's father was to come over later for a few weeks; he was down south now, helping build the "big ditch"--the Panama Canal. "Where is your father?" he asked Anne.
"Dead."
"Oh!" with awkward sympathy.
"Long time ago, when I was little."
"Do you remember him?"
"If I shut my eyes tight. It's like he was walking to meet me, out of the big picture."
"And your mother--" Pat hesitated.
"I remember her real well. I was seven then. That was over a year ago. Sometimes it seems such a little while since we were at home--and then it seems a long, long, long time."
"You've been living with your uncle since?" asked Miss Drayton, gently.
"Yes. Uncle Carey. Where is he? I do want Uncle Carey so bad." The child's voice trembled.
"Don't worry, dear. We'll find him," said Miss Drayton, as they left the dining-room.
The captain, who had kept his eyes on the little party, anticipated Miss Drayton's questioning. Drawing her aside, he explained the situation. "The scoundrel is probably safe in Canada by this time," he ended. "He'll take good care to lay low. This child's other relatives will have to be hunted up and informed. I'll send a wireless to New York. The stewardess will take care of the little girl."
"Oh, as to that," Miss Drayton answered, "it will be only a pleasure to me. She's a dear, quaint little thing."
"That's good of you," said Captain Wards, heartily. "I was about to ask you--you're so kind and have made friends with her, you see--to tell her that her uncle isn't here."
"Oh!"--Miss Drayton shrank from that bearing of bad tidings. "How can I?"
The captain looked uncomfortable. "It is a good deal to ask," he admitted. "I suppose I--or the stewardess--"
"But no. Poor little one!" Miss Drayton took herself in hand as she thought of the shy, lonely child. "She must be told. And, as you say, I've made friends with her, so it may come less hard from me. Leave it to me, then, captain." And she went slowly back to Anne whose face clouded at seeing her new friend alone.
"I thought Uncle Carey would come back with you," she said. "Please--where is he?"
"Anne, when was the last time that you saw Uncle Carey?" inquired Miss Drayton.
"A little while before the steamer left New York," answered Anne. "He said he was going to walk around. And he was down there on the--the platform below."
"The dock? On shore, you mean, and not on the steamer?"
"Yes, on the dock; that's it. And Roger--Roger that stays in Uncle Carey's office--gave him a letter--a yellow envelope. Then some people got in the way. And I haven't seen him any more."
"Let's you and I sit down in this quiet corner, Anne," said Miss Drayton, "and I'll tell you what I think. That yellow letter was a telegram. It was about business, and it made your uncle go away in a hurry. Such a great hurry that he didn't have time to see you and tell you he was going."
"Didn't he come back? Isn't he on the steamer?" Anne asked anxiously.
Miss Drayton shook her head. "I think not, dear. They've looked everywhere."
Tears were trickling down the child's pale cheeks. "And he left me--all by myself?"
"No,