Marie-Celeste was up betimes the next morning--that is, if betimes means bright and early, and, stopping for a few minutes on her way to indulge in a savory cup of arrowroot, which the stewardess had made ready for her, she passed on up the stairs and out on to the saloon deek, looking as fresh and sweet in her dress of sailor-blue as a fair little morning-glory. The pity was there was nobody there to see, for there's nothing like the bloom of the very early morning-glory.