"ON the first day of February we three will sail from Boston for Messina, in the little fruit ship 'Wasp.' We shall probably be a month going, unless we cross in a gale as I did, splitting sails every night, and standing on our heads most of the way," said Amanda, folding up her maps with an air of calm decision.
"Hurrah! what fun!" cried Matilda, waving a half-finished dressing-case over her head.
But Lavinia, with one sepulchral groan, fell flat upon her bed, and lay there, dumb with the horrors of such a voyage.
"Just the thing for you, my poor old dear. Think of the balmy airs of Sicily, the oranges, the flowers. Then a delicious month or two at Sorrento, with no east winds, no slosh, no spring cleaning. We shall