“OH, my,” thought Mary Frances; “oh, my, I hope he won’t forget!”
After a little while, she caught sight of the dolphin swimming around the little high peninsula on one side of the cove. He seemed to be piloting something, for every few seconds he would leap up and look around as if to make sure that everything was as it should be.
Soon Mary Frances saw a beautiful little sailboat rounding the point. Surely it was following the dolphin. As it drew nearer she could read the name in gold letters on the prow, The Good Ferry.
A brisk wind filled the white sails and brought the boat so swiftly up the river that the dolphin had to swim with all his might to keep ahead. As she came to anchor in the shallow water near the bank, the dolphin called out, “Have you your ticket?”
“Yes,” answered Mary Frances, holding it up to view.
“Then step on my back and jump aboard!” said the dolphin.
As Mary Frances placed her foot on the dolphin as on a bridge, he suddenly arched his back and tossed her aboard.
“Take plenty of time to look the ship over,” he called out; “and don’t lose your ticket!”
Then the dolphin, with The Good Ferry following in his wake, swam down the river and put out to sea.
The Good Ferry was a charming little boat, graceful in every line. It wasn’t any longer than a large rowboat, but it seemed to have every comfort provided. There was on deck a comfortable deck chair; upon it was spread a beautiful steamer rug.
“I’ll take a nice nap, after I look the boat over,” thought Mary Frances.
As she made her way into the cabin, she uttered a cry of delight—and no wonder. Any girl would have loved it. The walls and woodwork were ivory white. Soft pink and light blue hangings fluttered at the windows. A large bowl, filled with pink roses and turquoise blue larkspurs, stood on the little golden dressing table with its folding mirrors.
A little ivory-white princess dresser, with its full-length mirror, stood across one corner, and an ivory-white bed across the other corner. On the rocking-chair, and bed, and dresser were painted pink and blue flowers, and the covers of the table, bed and dresser were embroidered with the same designs.
There was a wardrobe in a corner, and in it Mary Frances found the loveliest dressing gown of pink crêpe de chine, embroidered with sprays of light blue forget-me-nots, and white daisies with yellow centers, and pink roses; and a pair of light blue bedroom slippers and silk stockings, and a boudoir cap and nightgown, and a big steamer coat and cap—all just the right size.
“Just like a grown-up young lady,” she thought.
There were two more doors; one led to a pretty white bathroom, and the other to a little dining-room, lined with mirrors.
“I can’t get lonesome,” thought Mary Frances, “with so many ‘me’s’ about me;” and she laughed, and, just as she laughed, food appeared on the table. There were chicken soup, and celery, and olives, and crackers.
“Oh, dear! How hungry I am!” she exclaimed. “I guess this is meant for me;” and she sat down on the one chair at the table and began to eat the soup.
“I feel lots better!” said she, finishing the last drop. “It’s not good table manners to tip this plate,” she thought; “but I guess my reflections will excuse me,” and she bowed to the pictures of herself in the mirrors, and laughed.
Then suddenly the soup course disappeared from the table, and in its place there were roast turkey and cranberry sauce, and roasted sweet potatoes and apple sauce, and the many other things which go to make an all-around feast.
“How wonderful!” exclaimed Mary Frances, helping herself to turkey. “But how stupid to eat by myself, with only myself for company.” Just then she looked out of the porthole window and saw the dolphin, swimming ahead of the little ship.
“I’ll go invite the dolphin to dinner,” she thought; and went on deck.
Imagine her surprise to find that there was no land in sight. Neither was there any ship. The only other thing than the dolphin was the sea-gulls flying overhead.
“Hallo! Hallo!” shouted Mary Frances, making a trumpet of her hands. “Mr. Dolphin, Mr. Dolphin, one moment, please!”
The dolphin turned and looked at her. “Yes?” he asked, raising one eyebrow.
“Please, Mr. Dolphin, do you ever eat? I am lonesome, eating all alone.”
“I eat only fish,” said the dolphin. “They are in my element, you see. I do not find my food out of my element.”
“Oh, as to that,” replied Mary Frances, “I will fill a bowl with your element, if you will only accept the invitation.”
“Agreed!” said the dolphin, swimming to the rope ladder hanging over the side of the ship. Mary Frances leaned down and caught hold of his fins, when within reach, and helped him up.
When the dolphin reached the deck, she picked up a fire-pail with a rope attached, threw it overside, and brought up a pail of water. Then she hastened to the dining-room and brought a bowl.
After that she helped the dolphin to the dining table. The only chair was clamped in place to the floor, just as on any steamer, and she could not move it. So she changed her place to the side of the table. As the chair was a revolving one, like a desk chair, she turned and turned it until it reached the right height for the dolphin. She placed the bowl of water, “element” she called it, at the dolphin’s place.
“Is there anything on the table, Mr. Dolphin,” she asked, “which you would like?”
“Yes,” sighed the dolphin, “I would like some more salt in my element soup.”
Mary Frances gravely shook the salt-shaker over the bowl for a full minute. The dolphin tasted the water. “A little more, please,” he said.
So Mary Frances emptied almost all the rest of the salt out of the shaker into the bowl. The dolphin dipped in his head. “That’s excellent,” he said, smacking his lips.
“Mercy,” thought Mary Frances, “I do hope he won’t turn into a salt mackerel.”
“Salt Smackerel is my pet name,” said the dolphin, smacking his lips again, and wiping them with his fin.
“I hardly dare think,” thought Mary Frances, “yet I can’t help thinking, can I? What queer table manners he has! I suppose his mother never taught him not to smack his lips when he eats—just to chew with the lips closed.”
“I chew all I choose!” exclaimed the dolphin. “My mother never sat at a table, you see.”
“Oh!” said Mary Frances, “did she stand?”
“Three feet high in her stocking feet,” solemnly declared the dolphin, which Mary Frances didn’t consider an answer at all; but was too polite to say anything that might be annoying to a guest.
“I wonder what I can give him for dessert?” she thought.
“If you please,” said the dolphin, and Mary Frances noticed that he was very pale, “if you please, I do not care for any. You see, I have deserted my post—that is enough dessert for me, and I shouldn’t wonder if I’d be punished enough for it in a minute—Oh! Oh! what is that! It’s the pirate’s cat!” and with a scream, he leaped out of the window into the water.