Page:Aunt Jo's Scrap-Bag, Volume 2.djvu/27

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hair-brush, and all the boots and shoes had a grand promenade round the room.

"Don't speak to me; don't look at me; don't even think of me for three days at least. Go and enjoy yourself, and leave us to our doom," with which tragical remark Lavinia drew her curtains and was seen no more.

Great heavens, what a week that was! Rain, wind, fog; creak, pitch, toss; noise, smells, cold. Broken sleep by day, woe in every variety by night, food and drink a delusion and a snare, society an affliction, life a burden, death a far-off blessing not to be had at any price. Slowly, slowly the victims emerge from the lower depths of gloom, feebly smile, faintly joke, pick fearfully but Wistfully at oncerejected dishes; talk about getting up, but don't do it; read a little, look at their sallow countenances in hand-glasses, and speculate upon the good effects of travel upon the constitution. Then they suddenly become daring, gay, and social; rise, adorn themselves, pervade the cabins, sniff the odors of engine and kitchen without qualms, play games, go to table, and just as the voyage is over begin to enjoy it.

Alas for poor Lavinia! no such resurrection was