hung the atmosphere. Madame Alvarez cast
an inquiring glance toward the sky. Grandpere Colomes chuckled. He
had not lived on the shores of the treacherous Lake Pontchartrain for
nothing. He knew its every mood, its petulances and passions; he knew
this glassy warmth and what it meant. Chuckling again and again, he
stepped to the gallery and looked out over the lake, and at the pier,
where lay the boats rocking and idly tugging at their moorings. La
Juanita in her rose-scented room tied the pink ribbons on her dainty
frock, and fastened cloth of gold roses at her lithe waist.

It was said that just before the crack of the pistol La Juanita's tiny
hand lay in Mercer's, and that he bent his head, and whispered softly,
so that the surrounding crowd could not hear,--

"Juanita mine, if I win, you will?"

"Oui, mon Mercere, eef you win."

In another instant the white wings were off scudding before the rising
breeze, dipping their glossy boat-sides into the clear water, straining
their cordage in their tense efforts to reach the stake boats.
Mandeville indiscriminately distributed itself on piers, large and
small, bath-house tops, trees, and craft of all kinds, from pirogue,
dory, and pine-raft to pretentious cat-boat and shell-schooner.
Mandeville cheered and strained its eyes after all the boats, but
chiefly was its attention directed to "La Juanita."

"Ah, voila, eet is ahead!"

"Mais non, c'est un autre!"

"La Juanita! La Juanita!"

"Regardez Grandpere Colomes!"

Old Colomes on the big pier with Madame Alvarez and his granddaughter
was intently straining his weather-beaten face in the direction of
Nott's Point, his back resolutely turned upon the scudding white wings.
A sudden chuckle of grim satisfaction caused La Petite's head to toss
petulantly.

But only for a minute, for Grandpere Colomes' chuckle was followed by a
shout of dismay from those whose glance had followed his. You must
know that it is around Nott's Point that the storm king shows his wings
first, for the little peninsula guards the entrance which leads into
the southeast waters of the stormy Rigolets and the blustering Gulf.
You would know, if you lived in Mandeville, that when the pines on
Nott's Point darken and when the water shows white beyond like the
teeth of a hungry wolf, it is time to steer your boat into the mouth of
some one of the many calm bayous which flow silently throughout St.
Tammany parish into the lake. Small wond