The Irish standard., 1911-07-29


little turban-like cap of seal. The
phasized her young slenderness. Her
bootmaker must have had a reputa-
tion upon some metropolitan boule-
ward, and her head-gear came clearly
under the category of what is known
as modes. Her eyes were very blue
and her hair, was golden, warmed, he
thought, as she stood there in the
orange twilight, with CLINT of red.
Cayley gasped again. as he took in
the details Of this vision. Then col
lected himself. Il beg your pardon"
he stammered. Il don't mean to be
rudely inquisitive, but what, in the
world, is person like you doing in
this part Of it-that is, II you are real
at all? This is latitude 76, and no
photographer who ever lived has put
that coast-line yonder into his maps.
Yet here, in this nameless bay, find
yacht, and on this ice foe, in the
twilight, YOU"
She shook her head a little impa.
tiently, and blinked her eyes, as if to
clear them of vision. "Of course"
she said, II know I've fallen asleep
and this is a dream of mine, but even
for dream, aren't you a little un-
reasonable? Yachts are a natural
mode Of conveyance across the ocean.
You find them in many bays-some-
times in nameless ones-and they al
ways have people on them. But you
urh re
night sky, like some great nocturnal
bird, and alight here on the foe be-
side me. And then you change your
self into man and look at me in sur
prise, and ask me, in English, what
In the world l am doing here-I had
the yacht; and ask me If I'm real"
There was moment of silence aft.
er that Unconsciously they drew
little nearer together. Then Cayley
spoke. I'm real, at any rate" he
said; Eat least I'm tax payer, and I
weigh 100 pounds, and I have name
and address. It's Philip Cayley, If
that will make me seem more natural,
and my headquarters this summer are
over on Point Barrow"
I'm not dreaming, them" she asked
obviously.
NO" he said; eff either Of us is
dreaming, It's not you May ! f,rl up
my wings and talk to you for awhile?"
Her eyes were on the broad-spread,
shimmering planes which lay on the
ice behind him. She seemed hardly
to have heard his question, though
she answered it with an almost voice.
less Eyes" Then she approached,
half fearfully, the thing he called his
wings"
ut is made Of quite commonplace
materials" he said with smile
"split bamboo and carbon and catgut
and fabric of bladders, cemented
with fish glue. And folding 1t up is
rather an ungainly job. The birds still
have the advantage of me there. In
a strong wind it's not very easy to do
without damaging something. Would
you mind slipping that joint for me-
that one right by your hand? It's just
like a fishing rod" 80, TO.
She did as he asked, and her smile
convinced him that she had at least
half-guessed his purpose in asking the
service of her. The next moment her
words confirmed it.
"You wanted me to make sure,
suppose, that it would not turn into a
great roc when l touched IT and fly
away with me to the Valley of Dia-
monds." She patted the furled wing
gently with both hands. II suppose"
she continued, zone could dream as
wildly as this, although never have
unless, Of course, this is a dream.
But" and now she held out her hand
to him, but hope I am awake. And
my name Is Jeanne Fielding"
He had the hand in his, and noticed
before she pronounced her name. At
the sound Of 1t, he glanced at her curl
ously; but all he said just then was,
"Thank you" and busted himself i'm
mediately with completing the process
of furling his wings.
When he had finished, he tossed the
sheep-skin down in little hollow in
the foe, and with gesture invited
her to be seated.
ooh, I've great pile Of bear skins
out here" she said. quite ridiculous
pile of them, considering it is not a
cold night; and we can make our
selves comfortable here, or go aboard
the yacht. just as you please"
They were seated side by side in
the little nest she had made for her
self, before he reverted to the idea
which had sprung up in his mind
upon hearing her name. There was
+ a Captain Fielding once" he said
slowly, "who set out from San Fran
+ cisco half dozen years ago, in the
hope Of discovering the pole by the
way of Behring strait. His ship was
; never seen again, nor was any word
received from him. Finding you here
and hearing your name, wondered"
YES" she said gravely, "he was my
father. We got news of him last win.
ter II you could call it news, for it
was four years old before It reached
us. A whaler in the arctic feet