The Spanish Chest | Page 9

curtains with Sister. We thought
the drapers' shops quite excellent."
Fran's attention was held for an instant, but after all it seemed only
reasonable that draperies should be purchased at a draper's.
"Isn't the beach lovely?" she confided. "It would be fun to walk back."
"We might," said Edith. "Would Win care if we did? Or could he do it
too?"
"He couldn't walk so far," said Fran, "but he won't mind if we want to.
Win is angelic about not stopping us from doing things he can't do
himself."
"Has he always had to be so careful?" asked Edith. She and Frances sat
at a little distance from the boys. Roger was peering around into the cab
of the tiny engine; Win watched the water as it broke on the beach.
"Always," said Frances. "He was just a tiny baby when they knew
something was wrong with his heart. It isn't painful and may never be
any worse. Only he must take great care not to get over-tired. Ever so
many doctors have seen him and they all say the same thing,--that if he
is prudent and never does too much, he may outlive us all. Just now in
London, he and Mother went to a specialist but all he told Win was that
he must cultivate the art of being lazy. Mother says the worst was when

he was too little to realize that he mustn't do things. Now, of course, he
understands and takes care of himself. It's hard on Win but Mother says
it's good for Roger and me. It does make Roger more thoughtful. He
says anything he likes to Win and pretends to tease him, but if you
notice, you'll see that he does every single thing Win wants and always
looks to see if he's all right. It helps me too, for I'm ashamed to fuss
over trifles when Win has so much to bear."
The little tram was traveling at a moderate pace toward town, stopping
at several tiny stations where more and more people entered.
"I can't get used to hearing people talk French," said Frances. "It seems
so odd when Jersey is a part of England."
"The French spoken here isn't that of Paris," remarked her brother,
rising from his seat. "It's Norman French."
"I know I can't understand it easily," confessed Edith, "and Sister has
always taken pains to teach me. I'm glad it isn't all my fault."
The train came to a stand on the esplanade of St. Helier's. The four
stopped to look over the sea-wall, to the beach far below, across to the
long stone piers forming the artificial sea basin and up to Fort Regent
overhanging the town like a war-cloud.
"That fort looks stuck on the cliff like a swallow's nest," commented
Roger. "Look, there's a snow-white sea-gull!"
"There's another with a black tail," exclaimed Edith. "Oh, aren't they
beautiful!"
"In the United States is a city that put up a monument to the sea- gulls,"
said Win. "Salt Lake City, ever so far inland. A fearful plague of
grasshoppers ate everything green and turned the place into a desert.
They came the second summer, but something else came too. Over the
Rocky Mountains, away from the Pacific Ocean, flew a great flock of
gulls and ate the grasshoppers. Their coming seemed so like a miracle
that the city erected a beautiful monument to them."

"Did they ever come again?" asked Edith, greatly impressed.
"No," said Win. "Just that once."
"Without doubt it was a miracle," said Edith so reverently that the three
looked at her.
Roger gave a little snort, started to say something, looked again at
Edith's rapt face and changed his mind. "Boston ought to put up a
monument, too," he remarked at length. "Miracles happen every
summer in Boston. The city swelters with the mercury out of sight and
then along steps the east wind. In ten minutes, everybody puts on coats
and stops drinking ice-water. Some tidy miracle-worker, our east
wind."
"Especially in winter," said Win laughing. "I'm afraid a monument to
the east wind wouldn't be popular along in January. Shall we come on?
Let's go up this street. I've a map, but things look rather crooked, so
we'd better keep together."
The quartette started, Roger and Win leading the way. St. Helier's
streets are indeed crooked, and paved with cobble stones of alarming
size and sonorous qualities. Numerous men and boys tramped along in
wooden sabots which made a most unearthly clatter. Even little girls
wore them, though otherwise their dress was not unusual. Outside one
shop hung many of the clumsy foot- gear, the price explaining their
evident popularity.
Signs over shops were as often French as English and sometimes both.
At one corner, the party met a