Angel Island

"Girls!" said Julia decisively. "A big family of girls."

"Then," Lulu began, and a question trembled in her bright eyes and on

her curved lips.

But, "Here's Peachy!" Julia exclaimed before she could go on.

Peachy came toiling up the path, pulling herself along, both hands on

the wooden rail. She tottered, but in spite of her snail-like progress,

it was evident that she hurried. A tiny bundle hung between her

shoulders. It oscillated gently with her haste.

"Let me take Angela," Julia said as Peachy struggled over the threshold.

"Wait!" Peachy panted. She sank on a couch.

There was a strange element in her look, an overpowering eagerness. This

eagerness had brimmed over into her manner; it vibrated in her trembling

voice, her fluttering hands. She sat down. She reached up and lifted the

baby from her shoulders to her lap. Angela still slept, a delicate bud

of a girl-being. But Peachy gave her audience no time to study the

sleeping face. She turned the baby over. She pulled the single light

garment off. Then she looked up at the other women.

The little naked figure lay in the golden sunlight, translucent, like an

angel carved in alabaster. But on the shoulder-blades lay shadow, deep

shadow - no, not shadow, a fluff of feathery down.

"Wings!" Peachy said. "My little girl is going to fly!"

"Wings!" the others repeated. "Wings!"

And then the room seemed to fill with tears that ended in laughter, and

laughter that ended in tears.