“Where’s Peachy?” Julia asked casually the next afternoon.
“I’ve been wondering where she was, too,” Lulu answered. “I think she
must have slept late this morning. I haven’t seen her all day.”
“Is Angela with the children now?” Julia went on.
“I suppose so,” Lulu replied. She lifted herself from the couch. Shading
her hands, she studied the group at the water’s edge. Honey-Boy and
Peterkin were digging wells in the sand. Junior making futile imitative
movements, followed close at their heels. Near the group of women,
Honey-Bunch crept across the mat of pine-needles, chasing an elusive
sunbeam. “No, she’s not there.”
“Now that I think of it, Angela didn’t come to play with Peterkin this
morning,” said Clara. “Generally she comes flying over just after
breakfast.”
“You don’t suppose Peachy’s ill,” asked Chiquita, “or Angela.”
“Oh, no!” Lulu answered. “Ralph would have told one of us.”
“Here she comes up the trail now,” Chiquita exclaimed. “Angela’s with
her.”
“Yes - but what’s the matter?” Lulu cried.
“She’s all bent over and she’s staggering.”
“She’s crying,” said Clara, after a long, intent look.
“Yes,” said Lulu. “She’s crying hard. And look at Angela - the darling!
She’s trying to comfort her.”
Peachy was coming slowly towards them; slowly because, although both
hands were on the rail, she staggered and stumbled. At intervals, she
dropped and crawled on hands and knees. At intervals, convulsions of
sobbing shook her, but it was voiceless sobbing. And those silent
cataclysms, taken with her blind groping progress, had a sinister
quality. Lulu and Julia tottered to meet her. “What is it, oh, what is
it, Peachy?” they cried.
Peachy did not reply immediately. She fought to control herself. “Go
down to the beach, baby,” she said firmly to Angela. “Stay there until
mother calls you. Fly away!”
The little girl fluttered irresolutely. “Fly away, dear!” Peachy
repeated. Angela mounted a breeze and made off, whirling, circling,
dipping, and soaring, in the direction of the water. Once or twice, she
paused, dropped and, bounding from earth to air, turned her frightened
eyes back to her mother’s face. But each time, Peachy waved her on.
Angela joined Honey-Boy and Peterkin. For a moment she poised in the
air; then she sank and began languidly to dig in the sand.
“I couldn’t let her hear it,” Peachy said. “It’s about her. Ralph - .”
She lost control of herself for a moment; and now her sobs had voice. “I
asked him last night about Angela and her flying. I don’t exactly know
why I did. It was something you said to me yesterday, Julia, that put it
into my head. He said that when she was eighteen, he was going to cut
her wings just as he cut mine.”
There came clamor from her listeners. “Cut Angela’s wings!” “Why?” “What
for?”
Peachy shook her head. “I don’t know yet why, although he tried all
night, to make me understand. He said that he was going to cut them for
the same reason that he cut mine. He said that it was all right for her
to fly now when she was a baby and later when she was a very young girl,
that it was ‘girlish’ and ‘beautiful’ and ‘lovely’ and ‘charming’ and
‘fascinating’ and - and - a lot of things. He said that he could not
possibly let her fly when she became a woman, that then it would be
‘unwomanly’ and ‘unlovely’ and ‘uncharming’ and ‘unfascinating.’ He said
that even if he were weak enough to allow it, her husband never would. I
could not understand his argument. I could not. It was as if we were
talking two languages. Besides, I could scarcely talk, I cried so. I’ve
cried for hours and hours and hours.”
“Sit down, Peachy,” Julia advised gently. “Let us all sit down.” The
women sank to their couches. But they did not lounge; they continued to
sit rigidly upright. “What are you going to do, Peachy?”
“I don’t know. But I’ll throw myself into the ocean with Angela in my
arms before I’ll consent to have her wings cut. Why, the things he said.
Lulu, he said that Angela might marry Honey-Boy, as they were the
nearest of age. He said that Honey-Boy would certainly cut her wings,
that he, no more than Honey, could endure a wife who flew. He said that
all earth-men were like that. Lulu, would you let your child do - do -
that to my child?”
Lulu’s face had changed - almost horribly. Her eyes glittered between
narrowed lids. Her lips had pulled away from each other, baring her
teeth. “You tell Ralph he’s mistaken about my son,” she ground out.
“That’s what I told him,” Peachy went on in a breaking voice. “But he
said you wouldn’t have anything to do or say about it. He said that
Honey-Boy would be trained in these matters by his father, not by his
mother. I said that you would fight them both. He asked me what chance
you would have against your husband and your son. He - he - he always
spoke as if Honey-Boy were more Honey’s child than yours, and as though
Angela were more his child than mine. He said that he had talked this
question over with the other men when Angela’s wings first began to
grow. He said that they made up their minds then that her wings must be
cut when she became a woman. I besought him not to do it - I begged, I
entreated, I pleaded. He said that nothing I could say would change him.
I said that you would all stand by me in this, and he asked me what we
five could do against them. He, called us five tottering females. Oh, it
grew dreadful. I shrieked at him, finally. As he left, he said,
‘Remember your first day in the Clubhouse, my dear! That’s my answer.’”
She turned to Clara. “Clara, you are going to bear a child in the
spring. It may be a girl. Would you let son of mine or any of these
women clip her wings? Will you suffer Peterkin to clip Angela’s wings?”
Clara’s whole aspect had fired. Flame seemed burst from her gray-green
eyes, sparks to shoot to from her tawny head. “I would strike him dead
first.”
Peachy turned to Chiquita. The color had poured into Chiquita’s face
until her full brown eyes glared from a purple mask. “You, too,
Chiquita. You may bear girl-children. Oh, will you help me?”
“I’ll help you,” Chiquita said steadily. She added after a pause, “I
cannot believe that they’ll dare, though.”
“Oh, they’ll dare anything,” Peachy said bitterly. Earth-men are devils.
What shall we do, Julia? she asked wearily.
Julia had arisen. She stood upright. Curiously, she did not totter. And
despite her shorn pinions, she seemed more than ever to tower like some
Winged Victory of the air. Her face ace glowed with rage. As on that
fateful day at the Clubhouse, it was as though a fire had been built in
an alabaster vase. But as they looked at her, a rush of tears wiped the
flame from her eyes. She sank back again on the couch. She put her hands
over her face and sobbed. “At last,” she said strangely. “At last! At
last! At last!”
“What shall we do, Julia?” Peachy asked stonily.
“Rebel!” answered Julia.
“But how?”
“Refuse to let them cut Angela’s wings.”
“Oh, I would not dare open the subject with Ralph,” Peachy said in a
terror-stricken voice. “In the mood he’s in, he’d cut her wings
tonight.”
“I don’t mean to tell him anything about it,” Julia replied. “Rebel in
secret. I mean - they overcame us once by strategy. We must beat them
now by superior strategy.”
“You don’t really mean anything secret, do you, Julia?” Lulu
remonstrated. “That wouldn’t be quite fair, would it?”
And curiously enough, Julia answered in the exact words that Honey had
used once. “Anything’s fair in love or war - and this is both. We can’t
be fair. We can’t trust them. We trusted them once. Once is enough for
me.”
“But how, Julia?” Peachy asked. Her voice had now a note of
querulousness in it. “How are we going to rebel?”
Julia started to speak. Then she paused. “There’s something I must ask
you first. Tell me, all of you, what did you do with your wings when the
men cut them off?”
The rage faded out of the four faces. A strange reticence seemed to blot
out expression. The reticence changed to reminiscence, to a deep
sadness.
Lulu spoke first. “I thought I was going to keep my wings as long as I
lived. I always thought of them as something wonderful, left over from a
happier time. I put them away, done up in silk. And at first I used to
look at them every day. But I was always sad afterwards - and - and
gradually, I stopped doing it. Honey hates to come home and find me sad.
Months went by - I only looked at them occasionally. And after a while,
I did not look at them at all. Then, one day, after Honey built the
fireplace for me, I saw that we needed something - to - to - to sweep
the hearth with. I tried all kinds of things, but nothing was right.
Then, suddenly, I remembered my wings. It had been two years since I’d
looked at them. And after that long time, I found that I didn’t care so
much. And so - and so - one day I got them out and cut them into little
brooms for the hearth. Honey never said anything about it - but I knew
he knew. Somehow - .” A strange expression came into the face of the
unanalytic Lulu. “I always have a feeling that Honey enjoys using my
wings about the hearth.”
Julia hesitated. “What did you do, Chiquita?”
“Oh, I had all Lulu’s feeling at first, of course. But it died as hers
did. You see this fan. You have often commented on how well I’ve kept it
all these years - I’ve mended it from month to month with feathers from
my own wings. The color is becoming to me - and Frank likes me to carry
a fan. He says that it makes him think of a country called Spain that he
always wanted to visit when he was a youth.”
“And you, Clara?” Julia asked gently.
“Oh, I went through,” Clara replied, “just what Lulu and Chiquita did.
Then, one day, I said to myself, ‘What’s the use of weeping over a, dead
thing?’ I made my wings into wall-decorations. You’re right about Honey,
Lulu.” For a moment there was a shade of conscious coquetry in Clara’s
voice. “I know that it gives Pete a feeling of satisfaction - I don’t
exactly know why (unless it’s a sense of having conquered) - to see my
wings tacked up on his bedroom walls.”
Peachy did not wait for Julia to put the question to her. “As soon as I
could move, after they freed us from the Clubhouse, I threw mine into
the sea. I knew I should go mad if I kept them where I could see them
every day. Just to look at them was like a sharp knife going through my
heart. One night, while Ralph was asleep, I crawled out of the house on
my hands and knees, dragging them after me. I crept down to the beach
and threw them into the water. They did not sink - they floated. I
stayed until they drifted out of sight. The moon was up. It shone on
them. Oh, the glorious blue of them - and the glitter - the - the - .”
But Peachy could not go on.
“What did you do with yours, Julia?” Lulu asked at last.
“I kept them until last night,” Julia answered.
Among the ship’s stuff was a beautiful carved chest. It was packed with
linen. Billy said it was some earth-girl’s wedding outfit. I took
everything out of the chest and put my wings in it. Folded carefully,
they just fitted. I used to brood over them every night before I went to
bed. Oh, they were wonderful in the dark - as if the chest were full of
white fire. Many times I’ve waked up in the middle of the night and gone
to look at them. I don’t know why, but I had to do it. After a while, it
hurt me so much that I made up my mind to lock the chest forever; for I
always wept. I could not help it.”
Julia wept now. The tears poured down her cheeks. But she went on.
“After yesterday’s talk, I thought this situation over for a long time.
Then I went to the chest, took out my wings, brought them downstairs and
- and - and - .”
“What?” somebody whispered.
“Burned them!” Julia’s deep voice swelled on the word “burned” as though
she still felt the scorching agony of that moment.
For a long moment, nobody spoke.
Julia asked their question for them. “Do you want to know why I did it?”
And without waiting, she answered, “Because I wanted to mark in some way
the end of my desire to fly. We must stop wanting to fly, we women. We
must stop wasting our energy brooding over what’s past. We must stop it
at once. Not only that but - for Angela’s sake and for the sake of all
girl-children who will be born on this island - we must learn to walk.”
“Learn to walk!” Peachy repeated. “Julia, have you gone mad? We have
always held out against this degradation. We must continue to do so.”
Again came that proud lift of her shoulders, the vibrant stir of
wing-stumps. That would lower us to a level with men.”
“But are we lowering ourselves?” Julia asked. Are they really on a lower
level? Isn’t the earth as good as the air?”
“It’s better, Julia,” Lulu said unexpectedly. “The earth’s a fine place.
It’s warm and homelike. Things grow there. There’s nothing in the air.”
“There are the stars,” murmured Peachy.
“Yes,” said Julia with a soft tenderness, “but we never reached them.”
“The air-life may not have been better or finer,” Peachy continued,
“but, somehow, it seemed clearer and purer. The earth’s such a cluttered
place. It’s so full of things. You can hardly see it for the stuff
that’s on it. From above it seems beautiful, but near - .”
“Yet, it is on the earth that we must live - and that Angela must live,”
Julia interpolated gently.
“But what is the use of our learning to walk?” Peachy demanded.
“To teach Angela how to walk and all the other girl-children that are
coming to us.”
“But I am afraid,” Peachy said anxiously, that if Angela learned to
walk, she would forget how to fly.”
“On the contrary,” Julia declared, “she would fly better for knowing how
to walk, and walk better for knowing how to fly.”
“I don’t see it,” interposed Clara emphatically. “I don’t see what we
get out of walking or what Angela will get out of it. Suppose we learned
to walk? The men would stop helping us along. We’d lose the appeal of
helplessness.”
“But what is there about what you call ‘the appeal of helplessness’ that
makes it worth keeping?” Julia asked, smiling affectionately into
Clara’s eyes. “Why shouldn’t we lose it?”
“Why, because,” Clara exclaimed indignantly, “because - because - why,
because,” she ended lamely. Then, with one of her unexpected bursts of
mental candor, “I’m sure I don’t know why,” she admitted, “except that
we have always appealed to them for that reason. Then again,” she took
up her argument from another angle, “if we learn to walk, they won’t
wait on us any more. They may even stop giving us things. As it is now,
they’re really very generous to us.”
The others smiled with varying degrees of furtiveness. Pete, as they all
knew, could always placate an incensed Clara by offering her some loot
of the homeward way: a bunch of flowers, a handful of nuts, beautifully
colored pebbles, shells with the iridescence still wet on them. She soon
tired of these toys, but she liked the excitement of the surprise.
“Generous to us!” Chiquita burst out - and this was as unexpected as
Lulu’s face-about. “Well, when you come to that, they’re never generous
to us. They make us pay for all they give us. They seem generous - but
they aren’t really - any more than we are.”
“They are far from generous,” said Peachy. “They are ungenerous. They’re
tyrants. They’re despots. See how they took advantage of our innocence
and ignorance of earth-conditions.”
“I protest.” A note that they had never heard from Julia made steel of
the thrilling melody of her voice. “You must know that is not true!” she
said in an accusing voice. “Be fair to them! Tell the truth to
yourselves! If they took advantage of our innocence and ignorance, it
was we who tempted them to it in the first place. As for our innocence
and ignorance - you speak as, if they were beautiful or desirable. We
were innocent and ignorant of earth-conditions because we were too proud
to learn about them, because we always assumed that we lowered ourselves
by knowing anything about them. Our mistake was that we learned to fly
before we learned to walk.”
“But, Julia, what are we going to do about Angela?” Peachy asked
impatiently.
“I’m coming to that presently,” Julia answered. “But before - I want to
ask you a question. Do you remember the big cave in the northern reef -
the one we used to hide in?”
“Oh, I remember,” Lulu said, “perfectly.”
“Did you ever tell Honey about it?” Julia turned to her directly.
“No. Why, we promised never to tell, didn’t we? In case we ever needed a
place of refuge - .”
“Have any of you ever told about it?” Julia turned to the others. “Think
carefully! This is important.”
“I never have told,” Peachy said wearily. “But about Angela - .”
“Have you, Chiquita?” Julia interrupted with a strange insistence.
“I have never thought of it from that day to this,” Chiquita answered.
“Nor I,” replied Clara. “I’m not sure that I could go to it now. Could
you, Julia?”
“Oh, yes,” Julia answered eagerly, “I’ve - .” She stopped abruptly. “But
now I want to talk to you, and I want you to listen carefully. I am
going to tell you why I think we should learn to walk. It is, in brief,
for Angela’s sake and for the sake of every girl-child that is born on
this island. For a long time, you will think that I am talking about
other things. But you must be patient. I have seen this situation coming
ever since Angela’s wings began to grow. I could not hurry it - but I
knew it must come. Many nights I have lain awake, planning what I should
say to you when the time came. The time has come - and I am going to say
it. It is a long, long speech that I shall deliver; and I am going to
speak very plainly. But you must not get angry - for you know how much I
love you and how much I love your children.
“I’m going back to our young girlhood, to the time when our people were
debating the Great Flight. We thought that we were different from them
all, we five, that we were more original and able and courageous. And we
were different. For when our people decided to go south to the
Snowlands, the courage of rebellion grew in us and we deserted in the
night. Do you remember the wonderful sense of freedom that came to us,
and how the further north we flew, the stronger it became? When we found
these islands, it seemed to us that they must have been created
especially for us. Here, we said, we would live always, free from
earth-ties - five incorruptible air-women.
“Then the men came. I won’t go into all that. We’ve gone over it
hundreds and hundreds of times, just as we did this afternoon, playing
the most pathetic game we know - the do-you-remember game. But after
they came, we found that we were not free from earth-ties. For the Great
Doom overtook us and we fell in love. Then came the capture. And we lost
our wings.”
She paused a moment.
“Do you remember that awful day at the Clubhouse, how Chiquita,
comforted us? I - I failed you then; I fainted; I felt myself to blame
for your betrayal. But Chiquita kept saying, ‘Don’t be afraid. They
won’t hurt us. We are precious to them. They would rather die than lose
us. They need us more than we need them. They are bound to us by a chain
that they cannot break.’ And for a long time that seemed true. What we
had to learn was that we needed them just as much as they needed us,
that we were bound to them by a chain that we could not break.
“I often think” - Julia’s voice had become dreamy - “ now when it is so
different, of those first few months after the capture. How kind they
were to us, how gentle, how considerate, how delicate, how chivalrous!
Do you remember that they treated us as if we were children, how, for a
long time, they pretended to believe in fairies? Do you remember the
long fairy-hunts in the moonlit jungle, the long mermaid-hunts in the
moonlit ocean? Do you remember the fairy-tales by the fire? It seemed to
me then that life was one long fairy-tale. And how quickly we learned
their language! Has it ever occurred to you that no one of them has ever
bothered to learn ours - none except Frank, and he only because he was
mentally curious? Then came the long wooing. How we argued the marriage
question - discussed and debated - each knowing that the Great Doom was
on her and could not be gain-said.
“Then came the betrothal, the marriages, and suddenly all that wonderful
starlight and firelight life ended. For a while, the men seemed to drift
away from each other. For a while, we - the ‘devoted five,’ as our
people called us - seemed to drift away from each other. It was as
though they took back something they had freely given each other to give
to us. It was as though we took back something we had freely given each
other to give to them.
“Then, just as suddenly, they began to drift away from us and back to
each other. Some of the high, worshiping quality in their attitude
toward us disappeared. It was as though we had become less beautiful,
less interesting, less desirable - as if possession had killed some
precious, perishable quality.”
“What that quality is I do not know. We are not dumb like stones or
plants, we women. We are not dull like birds or beasts. We do not fade
in a day like flowers. We do not stop like music. We do not go out like
light. What it was that went, or when or how, I do not know. But it was
something that thrilled and enchanted them. It went - and it went
forever.”
“It was as though we were toys - new toys - with a secret spring. And if
one found and pressed that spring, something unexpected and something
unbelievably wonderful would happen. They hunted for that spring
untiringly - hunted - and hunted - and hunted. At last they found it.
And after they found it, we no longer interested them. The mystery and
fascination had gone. After all, a toy is only a toy.”
“Then came our great trouble - that terrible time of the illicit
hunting. Every man of them making love to some one of you. Every woman
of you making love to some one of them. That was a year of despair for
me. I could see no way out. It seemed to me that you were all drifting
to destruction and that I could not stay you. And then I began to
realize that the root of evil was only one thing idleness. Idle men!
Idle women! And as I wondered what we should do next, Nature took the
matter in her hands. She gave all you women work to do.”
Julia paused. Her still gray eyes fixed on faraway things.
“Honey-Boy was born, then Peterkin, then Angela, then Honey-Bunch. And
suddenly everything was right again. But, somehow, the men seemed soon
to exhaust the mystery and fascination of fatherhood just as they had
exhausted the mystery and fascination of husbandhood. They became
restless and irritable. It seemed to me that another danger beset us -
vague, monstrous, looming - but I did not know what. You see they have
the souls of discoverers and explorers and conquerors, these earth-men.
They are creators. Their souls are filled with an eternal unrest. Always
they must attempt one thing more; ever they seek something beyond. They
would stop the sun and the moon in their courses; they would harness the
hurricane; they would chain the everlasting stars. Sea, earth, sky are
but their playgrounds; past, present, future their servants; they lust
to conquer the unexplored areas of space and time. It came to me that
what they needed was work of another kind. One night, when I was lying
awake thinking it over, the idea of the New Camp burst on my mind. Do
you remember how delighted they were when I suggested it to them, how
delighted you were, how gay and jubilant we all were, how, for days and
days, we talked of nothing else? And we were as happy over the idea as
they. For a long time, we thought that we were going to help.
“We thought that we were going with them every day, not to work but to
sit in the nearby shade, to encourage them with our praise and
appreciation. And we did go for a month. But they had to carry us all
the way - or nearly carry us. Think of that - supporting a full-grown
woman all that weary road. I saw the feeling begin to grow in them that
we were burdens. I watched it develop. Understand me, a beautiful
burden, a beloved burden, but still a burden, a burden that it would be
good to slip off the back for the hours of the working day. I could not
blame them. For we were burdens. Then, under one pretext or another,
they began to suggest to us not to go daily to the New Camp with them.
The sun was too hot; we might fall; insects would sting us; the sudden
showers were too violent. Finally, that if we did not watch the New Camp
grow, it would be a glorious surprise to us when it was finished.
“At first, you were all touched and delighted with their gallantry - but
I - I knew what it meant.”
“I tried to stem the torrent of their strange, absorption, but I could
not. It grew and grew. And now you see what has happened. It has been
months since one of us has been to the New Camp and all of you, except
Peachy and myself, have entirely lost interest in it. It is not
surprising. It is natural. I, too, would lose interest if I did not
force myself to talk with Billy about it every night of my life. Lulu
said yesterday that it seemed strange to her that, after working
together all day, they should want to get together in the Clubhouse at
night. For a long time that seemed strange to me - until I discovered
that there is a chain binding them to each other even as there is a
chain binding them to us. And the Bond of Work is stronger than the Bond
of Sex because Work is a living, growing thing.”
“In the meantime, we have our work too - the five children. But it is a
little constructive work - not a great one. For in this beautiful, safe
island, there is not much that we can do besides feed them. And so, here
we sit day after day, five women who could once fly, big, strong,
full-bodied, teeming with various efficiencies and abilities - wasted.
If we had kept our wings, we could have been of incalculable assistance
to them. Or if we could walk - .”
“But I won’t go further into our situation. I want to consider
Angela’s.”
“You are wondering what all this has to do with the matter of Angela’s
flying. And now I am going to tell you. Don’t you see if they wait until
she is a woman before they cut her wings, she will be in the same case
that we are in, unable either to fly or to walk. Rather would I myself
cut her wings to-night and force her to walk. But on the other hand,
should she grow to womanhood with wings, she would be no true mate to a
wingless man unless she could also walk. No, we must see to it that she
both flies and walks. In that case, she will be a perfect mate to the
wingless man. Her strength will not be as great as his - but her
facility will be greater. She will walk well enough to keep by his side;
and her flying will supplement his powers.”
“And then - oh, don’t you see it - don’t you see why we must fight -
fight - fight for Angela, don’t you see why her wings are a sacred trust
with us? Sometime, there will be born here - - Clara,” she turned her
look on Clara’s excited face, “it may be the baby that’s coming to you
in the spring - sometime there will be born here a boy with wings. Then
more and more often they will come until there are as many winged men as
winged women. What will become of our girl-children then if their mates
fly as well as walk away from them. There is only one way out. And there
is only one duty before us - to learn to walk that we may teach our
daughters to walk - to preserve our daughter’s wings that they may teach
their sons to fly.”
“But, Julia,” Peachy exclaimed, after an instant of dead silence. There
was a stir of wonder, flutelike in her voice, a ripple of wonder,
flamelike on her face. “Our feet are too fine, too soft. Ralph says that
mine are only toy feet, that no creature could really get along on
them.”
She kicked the loose sandals off. Tiny, slim, delicately chiseled, her
feet were of a china whiteness, except where, at the tips, the toes
showed a rose-flush or where, over the instep, the veins meandered in a
blue network.
“Of course Peachy’s feet are smaller than mine,” Lulu said wistfully.
“But even my workaday little pads wouldn’t carry me many steps.” From
under her skirts appeared a pair of capable-looking, brown feet, square,
broad but little and satin-smooth.
“Mine are quite useless,” Chiquita sighed. “Oh, why did I let myself
grow so big?” There was a note of despair in her velvet voice. “It’s
almost as if there were no muscles in them.” She pulled aside her
scarlet draperies. In spite of her increasing size, her dusky feet had
kept their aristocratic Andalusian lines.
“And I’ve always done just the things that would make it impossible for
me to walk,” said Clara in a discouraged tone. “I’ve always taken as
much care of my feet as my hands - they’re like glass.” This was true.
In the pale-gold of her skin, the pink nails glittered brilliantly.
“And think of your own feet, Julia,” Lulu exclaimed. “They’re like
alabaster. Pete says that from the artist’s point of view, they’re
absolutely perfect. You don’t imagine for an instant that you could take
a step on them, unsupported?”
“No?” said Julia. “No?” With a swift leap of her body, she stood on the
feet in question. And as the other stared, stupefied, she walked with
the splendid, swinging gait of an Amazon once, twice, thrice around the
Playground.
“Come, Angela!” Peachy called. “Come, baby!”
Angela started to spread her pinions. “Don’t fly, baby,” Peachy called.
“Walk!”
Obediently, Angela dropped her wings, sank. Her feet, shell-like,
pinky-soft, padded the ground. She tried to balance, but she swayed and
fell.
“No matter, darling!” Peachy called cheerily, “Try again!”
Angela heroically pulled herself up. She made a few uncertain steps, but
she stumbled with every move.
Honey-Boy and Peterkin came running up to her side; Junior, grinning
happily, waddled behind a long way in the rear. “Angela’s trying to
walk!” the boys cried. “Angela’s trying to walk!” They capered with
amusement. “Oh, isn’t she funny? Look at the girl trying to walk!”
The tears spurted from Angela’s eyes. Her lips quivered. Her wings shot
up straight.
“Don’t mind what the boys say, Angela!” Peachy called. “Put your wings
down! Keep right on walking!”
Again Angela’s pinions dropped. Again she took a few steps. This time
she fell to her knees. But she pulled herself up, sped onward, fell
again, and again. She had reached the stones that bounded the sand. When
she arose this last time, her foot was, bleeding.
“Keep on walking, baby!” Peachy commanded inflexibly. But there was a
rain of tears on her check.
Angela staggered forward a rod or two; and now both feet left a trail of
blood. Then suddenly again she struggled for balance, fell headlong.
“Keep on walking, mother’s heart’s treasure,” Peachy commanded. She
dropped to her knees and held out her arms; her face worked
uncontrollably.
Angela pulled herself up with a determined settling of her little
rose-petal mouth. Swaying, stumbling, staggering, she ran on in one
final spurt until she collapsed in her mother’s arms.