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After a few moments of much thinking, the lady rose, carefully adjusted her kimono, and stepped to Josephine’s berth. The child lay holding the curtains apart, much to the disgust of the person overhead, and gazing at the lamp above. Her cheeks were wet, her free hand clutched Rudanthy, and the expression of her face was one that no woman could see and not pity.

“My dear little girl, don’t cry. I’ve come to take off your cloak. Please sit up a minute.”

“Oh, that’s nice! Thank you. I—I—if mamma”—

“I’ll try to do what mamma would. There. It’s unfastened. Such a pretty coat it is, too. Haven’t you a little gown of some sort to put on?”

“All my things are in the satchel. Big Bridget put them there. She told me—I forget what she did tell me. Bob tucked the satchel away.”

“I’ll find it.”

By this time the upper berth lady was again looking over its edge and airing her views on the subject:

“The idea! If I’d known I was going to be pushed off up here and that chit of a child put in below I’d have made a row.”