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"I know so many charming young girls," said Mrs. Hemingway,
musingly, as if she were speaking to herself.
"They don't come any prettier than they come in Riverton," Peter
parried. "And you're to remember I'm coming over here to _work_."
"I'll remember," said she, smiling. "But all the same, I mean you to
go about it the right way. I'm going to introduce you to some very
delightful people, Peter."
Then Peter took her to see Emma Campbell and the cat.
Emma would have crawled into her berth and stayed there until the
ship docked if it hadn't been for the cat. Satan had to be given a
daily airing; he had to be looked after by some one she could trust,
and Emma rose to the occasion. She crawled out of her berth and on
deck, where, steamer rug over her knees, her head tightly bound in a
spotless white head-handkerchief, she sat with her hand on the big
bird-cage set upon a camp-stool next her chair.
"I don' say one Gawd's word about _me_, dough I does feel lak I done
swallahed my own stummick.


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