"Where's Peachy?" Julia asked casually the next afternoon.
"I've been wondering where she was, too," Lulu answered. "I think she
must have slept late this morning. I haven't seen her all day."
"Is Angela with the children now?" Julia went on.
"I suppose so," Lulu replied. She lifted herself from the couch. Shading
her hands, she studied the group at the water's edge. Honey-Boy and
Peterkin were digging wells in the sand. Junior making futile imitative
movements, followed close at their heels. Near the group of women,
Honey-Bunch crept across the mat of pine-needles, chasing an elusive
sunbeam. "No, she's not there."
"Now that I think of it, Angela didn't come to play with Peterkin this
morning," said Clara. "Generally she comes flying over just after
breakfast."
"You don't suppose Peachy's ill," asked Chiquita, "or Angela."
"Oh, no!" Lulu answered. "Ralph would have told one of us."
"Here she comes up the trail now," Chiquita exclaimed. "Angela's with
her."
"Yes - but what's the matter?" Lulu cried.
"She's all bent over and she's staggering."
"She's crying," said Clara, after a long, intent look.
"Yes," said Lulu. "She's crying hard. And look at Angela - the darling!
She's trying to comfort her."
Peachy was coming slowly towards them; slowly because, although both
hands were on the rail, she staggered and stumbled. At intervals, she
dropped and crawled on hands and knees. At intervals, convulsions of
sobbing shook her, but it was voiceless sobbing. And those silent
cataclysms, taken with her blind groping progress, had a sinister
quality. Lulu and Julia tottered to meet her. "What is it, oh, what is
it, Peachy?" they cried.
Peachy did not reply immediately. She fought to control herself. "Go
down to the beach, baby," she said firmly to Angela. "Stay there until
mother calls you. Fly away!"
The little girl fluttered irresolutely. "Fly away, dear!" Peachy
repeated. Angela mounted a breeze and made off, whirling, circling,
dipping, and soaring, in the direction of the water. Once or twice, she
paused, dropped and, bounding from earth to air, turned her frightened
eyes back to her mother's face. But each time, Peachy waved her on.
Angela joined Honey-Boy and Peterkin. For a moment she poised in the
air; then she sank and began languidly to dig in the sand.
"I couldn't let her hear it," Peachy said. "It's about her. Ralph - ."
She lost control of herself for a moment; and now her sobs had voice. "I
asked him last night about Angela and her flying. I don't exactly know
why I did. It was something you said to me yesterday, Julia, that put it
into my head. He said that when she was eighteen, he was going to cut
her wings just as he cut mine."