The others stopped, petrified. They scowled, bending an intent gaze
through the brilliant noon sunshine.
"Sure I get it!" Billy answered in a low tone. "There's something
there."
"I don't." Honey shaded his eyes.
"Nor I." Pete squinted.
"Well, I don't see anything," Ralph said impatiently. "But providing you
fellows aren't nuts, what the devil can it be?"
"It's - " Billy began. Then, "My God!" he ended.
Something white glimmered at the end of the trail. It grew larger,
bulked definitely, filled the opening.
"Julia!" Billy gasped.
"And she's - she's - ." Honey could not seem to go on.
"Walking," Billy concluded for him.
"And Peachy!" Ralph exclaimed.
"And why - and - and - - ." It was Pete who stopped for breath this time.
"And she's walking!" Ralph concluded for himself.
"And Clara! And Lulu! And Chiquita!" they greeted each one of the women
as fast as they appeared. And in between them came again and again their
astonished "And walking!"
The five women were walking, and walking with no appearance of effort,
swiftly, lightly, joyously. Julia, at the head, moved with the frank,
free, swinging gait of an Amazon. Peachy seemed to flit along the
ground; there was in her progress something of the dipping, curving
grace of her flight. Clara glided; her effect of motionless movement was
almost obsidian. Chiquita kept the slow, languid gait, both swaying and
pulsating, of a Spanish woman. Lulu trotted with the brisk, pleasing
activity of a Morgan pony.
Their skirts had been shortened; they rippled away from slim ankles. The
swathing, wing-like draperies had disappeared; their slit sleeves
fluttered away from bare shoulders. The women did not pause. They came
on steadily, their eyes fixed on the group of men.
The faces in that group had changed in expression. Ralph's became black
and lowering. Honey looked surprised but interested; his color did not
vary; Billy turned a deep brick-red. Pete went white. Frank Merrill
alone studied the phenomenon with the cool, critical eye of scientific
observation.
The women paused at a little distance where the path dipped to coil
around a little knoll. They abandoned the path to climb this knoll; they
climbed it with surprising ease; they almost flew up the sides. They
stood there silently grouped about Julia. For an instant the two parties
gazed at each other.
Then, "What does this mean, Peachy?" Ralph asked sternly.
Julia answered for Peachy.
"It means - rebellion," she said. " It means that we have decided among
ourselves that we will not permit you to cut Angela's wings. It means
that rather than have you do that, we will leave you, taking our
children with us. If you will promise us that you will not cut Angela's
wings nor the wings of any child born to us, we in our turn will promise
to return to our homes and take our lives up with you just where we left
off."