"Well," he presently observed in a calmer tone, "I reckon I'll go round
an' waylay Willie."
Celestina, leaning against the door frame, watched the gaunt,
loose-jointed figure stride out into the sunshine and disappear behind
the corner of the house.
What a day it was! From beneath the lattice that arched the entrance
to the cottage and supported a rambler rose bursting into bloom she
could see the bay, blue as a sapphire and scintillating with ripples of
gold. A weather-stained scow was making its way out of the channel,
and above it circled a screaming cloud of tern that had been routed
from their nesting place on the margin of white sand that bordered the
path to the open sea. Mingling with their cries and the rhythmic
pulsing of the surf, the clear voices of the men aboard the tug reached
her ear. It was flood tide, and the water that surged over the bar
stained its reach of pearl to jade green and feathered its edges with
snowy foam.
It was no weather to be cooped up indoors doing housework.
Idly Celestina loitered, drinking in the beauty of the scene.
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