la's wings must be a comfort to you.
You must live it all over again in her."

"I do!" answered Peachy. "I do." There was tremendous conviction in her
voice, as though she were defending herself from some silent accusation.
"But it isn't the same. It isn't. It can't be. Besides, I want to fly
with her."

The ripples in the cove grew to little waves, to big waves, to combers.
The women talked and the children played. Honey-Boy and Peterkin waded
out to their shoulders, dipped, and pretended to swim back. Angela flew
out to meet a wave bigger than the others, balanced on its crest. Wings
outspread, she fluttered back, descended when the crash came in a shower
of rainbow drops. She dipped and rose, her feathers dripping molten
silver, flew on to the advancing crest.

"Oh," Lulu sighed, "I do want a little girl. I threatened if this one
was a boy to drown it." "This one" proved to be a bundle lying on the
pine-needles at her side. The bundle stirred and emitted a querulous
protest. She picked it up and it proved to be a baby, just such another
sturdy little dark creature as Honey-Boy must have been. "Your mother
wouldn't exchange you for a million girls now," Lulu addressed him
fondly. "I pray every night, though, that the next one will be a girl."

"I want a girl, too," Clara remarked. "Well, we'll see next spring."
Clara had not been happy at the prospect of her first maternity, but she
was jubilant over her second.

"It will be nice for Angela, too," Peachy said, "to have some little girl
to play with. Come, baby!" she called in a sudden access of tenderness.

Angela flew down from the tip of a billow, came fluttering and flying up
the beach. Once or twice, for no apparent reason, her wings fell dead,
sagged for a few moments; then her little pink, shell-like feet would
pad helplessly on the sand. Twice she dropped her pinions deliberately;
once to climb over a big root, once to mount a boulder that lay in her
path. "Don't walk, Angela!" Peachy called sharply at these times. "Fly!
Fly!" And obediently, Angela stopped, waited until the strength flowed
into her wings, started again. She reached the group of mothers, not by
direct flight, but a complicated method of curving, arching, dipping,
and circling. Peachy arose, balanced herself, caught her little daughter
in midair, kissed her. The women handed her from one to the other,
petting and caressing her.

Julia received her last. She sat with Angela in the curve of