Part 54 (1/2)
She began with a light swaying motion, like a leaf stirred by a breeze.
Then, whipped into action, she ran before the pursuing elements. She cowered, and registered defiance. Her loosened hair hung heavy about her shoulders, then wound itself about her, as she whirled in a cyclone of movement. Beaten to the ground, she rose languidly, swayed again to that light step and stopped.
Then she came close to George. ”You see,” she said, ”I am not a pixie or a mermaid. I am the spirit of the storm.”
CHAPTER XV
THE TRUMPETER SWAN
I
The Admiral's rheumatism had taken Becky to Boston. ”There'll be treatments every morning,” he said, ”and we'll invite the Copes to visit us, and they will look after you while I am away.”
The Copes were delighted. ”Only it seems like an imposition----”
”The house is big enough for an army,” the Admiral told them; ”that's what we built houses for in the old days. To have our friends.
Charles, my butler, and his wife, Miriam, who cooks, stay in the house the year round, so it is always open and ready.”
”And you and I shall see Boston together,” Archibald told Becky, triumphantly. ”I wonder if you have ever seen Boston as I shall show it to you.”
”Well, I've been to all the historic places.”
”Bunker Hill and the embattled farmers, of course,” said Archibald; ”but have you seen them since the war?”
”No. Are they different?”
”They aren't, but you are. All of us are.”
Louise was not quite sure that her brother ought to leave the island.
”You are down here for the air, Arch, and the quiet.”
He was impatient. ”Do you think I am going to miss this?”
She frowned and shook her head. ”I don't want you to miss it. But it will be going against the doctor's orders.”
”Oh, hang the doctor, Louise. Being in Boston with Becky will be like--wine----”
But she was not satisfied. ”You always throw yourself into things so--desperately----”
”Well, when I lose my enthusiasm I want to--die.”
”No, you don't, Arch. Don't say things like that.” Her voice was sharp.
He patted her hand. ”I won't. But don't curb me too much, old girl.
Let me play--while I can----”
They arrived in Boston to find a city under martial law, a city whose streets were patrolled by khaki-clad figures with guns, whose traffic was regulated by soldierly semaph.o.r.es, who linked intelligence with military training, and picturesqueness with both.