The Old Flute-Player | Page 8

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 interesting
animals), and made her way across the slowly heaving planks to
starboard. Glancing quickly upward as she went, she colored gloriously,
for looking down straight at her from behind the rail which edged the
elevated platform of the prosperous, stood the youth who had picked up
her father's bag as they had come on board, and whose eyes, since the
first day of the voyage, she had found it wise to dodge if she would
keep the crimson from her cheeks.
Not that there had been anything, at any time, in the youth's gaze which
could offend; rather had there been in it that which bewitched and
thrilled. There was not another girl upon that steerage-deck who would
not have been immensely pleased by and who would not have shyly
answered his admiring glances, had they turned toward her, although
there probably was not a girl there who was other than quite sweet and
pure. Purity and sweetness are no bars to answering a glance and
giggling. But he paid no heed, at all, to pretty emigrants who would
have been delighted by flirtatious glances. It may, in fact, have been
because of the shy fright, not in the least resentful, but sweetly,
girlishly embarrassed, with which Anna greeted his, whenever her eyes

caught them, that he turned them toward her so exclusively and
frequently. Admiring youth called to admiring youth in surreptitious
glances from the high deck to the lower, and, it may be, from the
steerage-deck up to the promenade.
But, although she found no slightest thing offensive in the young man's
veiled, approving surveillance, Anna felt almost as if she were in flight
from peril--some brand-new, delightful peril--as, now, she hurried out
of range of it and sought her father where, by the after-hatch, he
perched upon a great coiled cable staring, staring, staring out across the
sea toward Germany, the land to which, a few days since, although his
actual departure had been from English shores, his heart had said a
passionate farewell.
If Anna, with her graceful form, her delicately-colored, healthful
cheeks, her cleancut and dainty features, offered a strong contrast to the
buxom German maidens, dark, big-eyed Italian girls and others of the
many-nationed women-travelers upon that steerage-deck, her father
offered as strong contrast to the men. Among the swart Italians, blonde,
stupid-looking Swedes, Danes and Norwegians and fat, red-faced
Germans of the male steerage company, his finely-chiselled features,
pale and ascetic-looking in their frame of whitened hair, stood out with
accentuated testimony to high breeding, right living and exalted aims.
And there was another difference, but less pleasing. By this, the ninth
day out from port, grief, born of leaving friends and childhood scenes
had vanished from the faces of the other voyagers, and, under the
influence of a moderately smooth sea and splendid, sparkling weather,
their thoughts were busy with the new shores to which the voyagers
were journeying, with expectations of great days. But on his face no
glow of pleasant anticipation ever shone. The old man's eyes were
always turned toward that dear Germany which, first, he had been
forced to leave for London, and now