Angel Island

She wore always what seemed to be gossamer, rose-color in one light,

sky-color in another; a flexible film that one moment defined the long

slim lines of her body and the next concealed them completely. Near, it

could be seen that this drapery was woven of tiny buds, pink and blue;

afar she seemed to float in a shimmering opalescent mist.

She teased them all, but it was evident from the beginning that she had

picked Ralph to tease most. After a long while, the others learned to

ignore, or to pretend to ignore, her tantalizing overtures. But Ralph

could look at nothing else while she was about. She loved to lead him in

a long, wild-goose chase across the island, dipping almost within reach

one moment, losing herself at the zenith in another, alighting here and

there with a will-o'-the-wisp capriciousness. Sometimes Ralph would

return in such an exhausted condition that he dropped to sleep while he

ate. At such times his mood was far from agreeable. His companions soon

learned not to address him after these expeditions.

One afternoon, exercising heroic resolution, Ralph allowed Peachy to

fly, apparently unnoticed, over his head, let her make an unaccompanied

way half across the island. But when she had passed out of earshot he

watched her carefully.

"Say, Honey," he said after half an hour's fidgeting, "Peachy's settled

down somewhere on the island. I should say on the near shore of the

lake. I don't know that anything's happened - probably nothing. But I

hope to God," he added savagely, "she's broken a wing. Come on and find

out what she's up to, will you?"

"Sure!" Honey agreed cheerfully. "All's fair in love and war. And this

seems to be both love and war."

They walked slowly, and without talking, across the beach. When they

reached the trail they dropped on all fours and pulled themselves

noiselessly along. The slightest sound, the snapping of a twig, the

flutter of a bird, brought them to quiet. An hour, they searched

profitlessly.

Then suddenly they got sound of her, the languid slap of great wings

opening and shutting. She had not gone to the lake. Instead, she had

chosen for her resting-place one of the tiny pools which, like pendants

of a necklace, partially encircled the main body. She was sitting on a

flat stone that projected into the water. Her drooped blue wings,

glittering with moisture, had finally come to rest; they trailed behind

her over the gray boulder and into a mass of vivid green water-grasses.

One bare shoulder had broken through her rose-and-blue drapery. The odor

of flowers, came from her. Her hair, a braid over each breast, oozed

like ropes of melted gold to her knees. A hand held each of these

braids. She was evidently preoccupied. Her eyelids were down. Absently

she dabbled her white feet in the water. The noise of her splashing

covered their approach. The two men signaled their plans, separated.