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She was still puzzling over it when, late that evening, after darkness fell, she stole down from the big brooding bungalow to the tide’s edge, to say good-night to her harlequin dory, hauled up into the black pocket of a little sandy cove.

Sands and superstition go together. Suddenly Sara found herself shaking from head to foot in the dim, weird light of a clouded moon, with the full tide wailing like a bad ghost below her.

Somebody–somebody besides herself–had been at work upon her dory, that precious legacy!

Was it man or mocking sprite?

The dim little boat, its smears hidden, shone sprite-like now, as if a water-fairy had taken possession of it and infused into the wooden shell 佛山南海桑拿休闲会所 an elfin soul which defied the petrified girl-owner through two tiny luminous 佛山桑拿按摩全套图eyes, the whiteness of whose enchanted glare, at close quarters, made up for the pin-head nature of their size.

Lo and behold! The dory’s blunt, unromantic nose was bewitched into radiating light in the darkness, too. Down it shone a narrow streak, bright as a Milky Way!

“What is it? Who–who could have done it? Could–could it be the phosphorescent trail of some creature thrown up by the tide?”

But the high tide sobbed, “Not guilty!” as the girl–her flesh beginning to creep upon her bones–turned towards it with the question on her lips.

“No! It doesn’t look like any ordinary phosphorescent trail of a slimy thing!” So her chilling lips answered half aloud the question put by her quailing heart.

She retreated a long step–two–three! The luminous 佛山南海桑拿论坛交流 eyes, so whitely shining, faded out–were hidden–lost in a veil of darkness.

佛山桑拿论坛q群“Bah! What a goose–an utter goose–I am to feel creepy, even for an instant! If a spirit has got into my dory, it’s a mighty short-sighted one…. ’Twould be easy to dodge it!”

She broke into a low chuckle, sharpened by rising anger.

“It–it’s the work of somebody! That–that seal-hunter! Could he be the–Blighter?”

Strange how, out of the stirred waves of her subconscious self, the epithet used by her soldier-brother, when the gas, catching a disobedient “doughboy,” had temporarily withered a fiery officer’s holiday, sprang–a kindred flame now–to her parted, stiffening lips, as she turned to the night-breeze for an answer!

But the sea-wind replied, “Not guilty!” pleading an alibi for the seal-hunter

of the uneven blink, one of whose eyes 佛山桑拿全套 was just an iota quicker on the cool wink than the other–who had missed his shot at 佛山桑拿会所酒店 the big dog-seal, although he had made a traveling arsenal of himself to invade the bar.

For, as the temperate gust argued, what possible object could a grown-up man have in giving a harmless little merry-andrew of a dory a luminous figurehead, visible, with the naked eye, only for a few yards–even if his present place of sojourn had not, according to Captain Andy, been miles away, at a little town far up a tidal river, which rang with the noise of shipbuilders’ mallets–or launching axes–where Olive Deering’s rich boy-cousin was working as a draftee of labor, to replace the gaps made in shipping by raiding submarines, and apparently not in love with his chosen job.

“No! That hunter’s face haunts me, not–not with a ‘comfy’ sort of feeling either, though, for the life of me, I can’t tell why. But I don’t think he’s the blighter–in this case. And it was a good joke my camouflaging that little dory, if somebody hadn’t gone an’ spoiled it–turned her into–into a toothless bead-eye,”–with a raving chuckle–“into a miserable little guy of a dragon-dory!”

A gurgle faintly tickled the air, like water bubbling out of an over-full bottle.

Sara Davenport wheeled about, her flame suspended.

Forth from between two low sand-mounds near by shot an arm, a bare, round arm, scintillating with six tiny twinkling white stars–a mundane Milky Way!

The dory’s owner caught her breath. For a brief second the “creeps”–the goose-flesh–almost came back. Then she leaped and grasped it.

The air gurgled like a cataract–a foamy cataract–suddenly shot by a wail!

“Oh, don’t–don’t! You’re h-hurting me!” screamed Sybil Deering. “O dear! how mad you are! Ha! ha! ha! R-rough you are–uh-huh-huh!… Don’t! You’re–hurting!”

“Hurting! I mean to hurt you! What right–what business–had you to go meddling with my dory, at all? Just because you’re a rich girl you think you’re privileged! The little boat Iver gave me–t-turning her into a guy!”

“You made a freak of her yourself!”

“She was mine. I could do what I liked with her. You know how I hate people to–to fool with anything belonging to me!… And this—-”

The jealous speech snapped explosively.

“There–there’s somebody in that sand-pocket with you! Who is it?”

“Only–me!” clucked Little Owl very deprecatingly, thrusting a touzled head over the mound. “We–we didn’t think that you’d get mad, like this, fly up in the air–clap your wings an’ crow–hiss–positively hiss!” in a half-cowed whimper.

“Yes, and peck, too!” savagely. “I’ll get even with you both! I’ll punish–find some way of punishing you! I’ll leave camp to-morrow–if you don’t!”

The anger in the injured one’s breast–fed by the raveled fluff of weariness strewing the day’s end–now leaped to wild exaggeration, like the little boat’s disguise, which had passed from camouflage to caricature.

“If I could have my way—-” Sara fairly ground her teeth, confronting the wooden bead-eye. “If I could only have my way, I’d—-”

But what figure was rising from the dim, dark sands beyond the dory? What figure bestrode it, like Hercules mastering the many-headed water-monster?

Ah! that of a young officer coolly smiling from out a puffy storm of blue powder-blisters which rimmed his face, and covered his neck and wrists–with a powder-hole smoking upon his breast–holding out a right hand, humorously, to a paling private.

“Oh! if Iver–if Iver could squelch his powder-puff–the one exploding in him, I can…. There! There! Girls! I didn’t mean to take a joke so badly. I am a jealous cross-cat, especially where—-”

The faltering tongue refused to speak the brother’s name.

“And we didn’t mean to hurt you! We were–thoughtless.” Sybil’s penitent speech, still shooting a cataract of frothy gurgles, tumbled towards sobs. “But we–we found some of the luminous powder that Olive has in a tiny bottle–very little, it’s so fearfully expensive–powder that shines in the dark, which she mixes with a few drops of oil to make radio-paint. Of course it isn’t ra-radium–really, but—-”

Shooting rapids of laughter, between boulders of sobs, the explanations of Olive’s sister wavered towards collapse.

“You know, or I guess you 佛山桑拿飞机网0757d don’t know, for she has kept it secret–a secret that shines in the dark–that Olive is determined, when we get back to the city, to go to work at something–anything–to release a man–a man for the front! Any kind of work for Olive, so long’s it isn’t farming or gardening! So she has been learning how to paint dials for a?roplanes and submarines–radio-dials on which the arrows and figures shine like cat’s eyes at night; the darker it is, the more they shine! She means to practise the work down here, but hasn’t begun yet. She’s kept the paint and the secret hidden away. But I knew, and I—-”

“You thought of painting a luminous figurehead on my dory! The powder is composed of radio-active substances, I suppose.” Sara was laughing herself, now. “Well! it certainly does shine. No submarine officer could fail to see his depth-佛山桑拿那里的技师好 gauge, if he was diving by it, with lights out; or aviator—-”