Chapter 28 ROUGH WEATHER.

I would be a mermaid fair,

I would sing to myself the whole of the day;

With a comb of pearl I would comb my hair,

And still as I comb'd, I would sing and say,

"Who is it loves me? who loves not me?"

Tennyson.

One day there was a gale. It came up suddenly, and some ladies sitting on a bench were swept off by a roll and sudden lurc