, 1911-02-02

see the tops OF her small fur-trimmed
boots. Upon her head she wore q
little turban-like cap OF seal. The
smartly tailored lines of the coat en-
phasized her young slenderness. Her
bootmaker must have had a reputa-
ton upon some metropolitan boule-
ward. and her head-gear came clearly
under the category of what Is known
as modes. He eyer were YER blue
and her hair was golden, warmed, he
thought, as she stood there in h
orange twilight, with a CLINT of red.
Cayley gasped again. as he took in
the details of this vision. Then col
lected himself. II beg your pardon"
he stammered. 81 don't mean to be
rudely inquisitive, but what, In the
world, is a person like you doing in
this part Of it-that is, II you are real
at all? This is latitude rs, and no
photographer who ever lived has put
tina coast-line yonder into his maps.
Yet here. in this nameless bay. find
a yacht. and on this ice foe. in the
twilight, you"
She shook her head a little impa-
tiently. and blinked her eyes. as II to
clear them of a vision. "Of COURSE"
she said. "T know I've fallen asleep
and this Is a dream of mine. but even
for a dream. aren't you a little I'M
reasonable? Yachts are a natural
mode Of conveyance across the ocean.
You ind them in many bays-some-
times in nameless ones-and they al
ways ave people on them. But you
you come wheeling down, out of a
night sky, like some great nocturnal
bird, and alight here on the foe be-
side me. And then you change your-
self into a man and look at me in sur
prise, and ask me, in English, what
in the world I am doing here-I had
the yacht; and ask me II I'm real"
There was a moment of silence aft
err that. Unconsciously they drew a
little nearer together. Then Cayley
spoke. "Tm real. at any rate" he
said; at least I'm a tax payer, and !
weigh 100 pounds. and have a name
and address. It's Philip Cayley, II
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.
Mo- he said; IF either of us is
dreaming, it's not you. May furl 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 1t with an almost voice
l0au "van Than che aprrnaphod
half fearfully, the thing he called his
wings"
TT is made of quite commonplace
materials" he said with a smile
split bamboo and carbon and catgut
and a fabric of %bladders, cemented
with fish glue. And folding It up is
rather an ungainly Job. The birds still
AVE h advantage of mt 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.
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 m her
words confirmed 1t.
"You wanted mt to make sure. !
suppose. that 1t would not TURF into a
great roc when I touched 1t and fly
away with me to the Valley of Dia-
monds." She patted the furled wing
gently with both hands. 81 suppose"
she continued. "one 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 l hope ! an awake. And
ny name is Jeanne Fielding"
He had the hand In his, and noticed
haY.liye and strong and warm 1t