“Poor Lucy!” Cathy exclaimed as she rushed in the door, umbrella sheathed. She knew that in her new rôle she was as likely as not to be a rank failure. The emerald wings, slashed with scarlet and yellow, wheeling and swooping about her head, there among the wild plantain. She was the first to recover herself. " "It is," answered Wood. Yes, yes; that was all very well in ordinary cases; but yonder was a soul in travail, if ever she had seen one. She never had been much of a looker, but she had stopped worrying about such things long ago.
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