Sprite bent over a fascinating book of fairy tales. The pictures were charming, the stories held her captive.
Usually she enjoyed playing with puss in front of the fire, saving her book for stormy days, but she had opened the book to look at the softly tinted pictures, and the first story that held her attention was the "Tale of the Gold Children," and she became so interested in their travels in search of their fortunes and of each other, that she could not put the book aside.
Her waving hair fell about her shoulders as she read, and the light from the big lamp shimmered upon it.
Mrs. Seaford, busy with her sewing, paused at times to look at the child absorbed in her book.
Captain Seaford, in a big arm chair, reading the "Cliffmore News," looked exceedingly comfortable, but his wife knew that while he held the paper before him, he was merely glancing at the reading matter, while his mind was elsewhere.
Often he put the paper down, laying it across his knees as if he were done reading. For a few moments he would sit thus, then again he would lift the paper as if he were endeavoring to keep his mind upon it, but finding it a difficult task.
A heavy gust of wind made the windows rattle, and shook the door as if clamoring for admittance. A second later, something was hurled against the side of the house, as if the gale were using small pieces of driftwood for missiles.
The Captain arose, dropped his paper in his chair, and strode to the door.
He seemed to be trying to scan the horizon, as if looking for a sail, but no object, far or near could possibly be distinguished in the utter darkness that hung over land and sea.
He turned about, closed the door, and picking up the paper, seated himself once more before the fire, but he did not read, allowing the paper to lie idly on his knees.