"The yellow-fever." I knew it was in the harbor, shut up there by the authorities. Had it escaped through Sandy Hook, and come poisoning the waters along shore? Now that I was ready for the first plunge, were my best hopes to be frustrated? Had I sat up all night sewing red braid on that tunic, and those—well, Turkish pantalettes, for nothing? Had I conquered a great New England prejudice, to be conquered myself by careless health officers? Why hadn't they taken an example by some of the old stock, and divided the whole thing among them in perquisites? I only wish they had.
Sisters, it was a keen disappointment. I was looking at that yellow flag, with tears in my eyes, when Cousin E. E. came on to the veranda.
"Come, Phœmie," says she, bright as a May morning, "where is the new bathing-dress? It will be splendid bathing!"
I looked at her, I looked at the ocean and at the path that led down to the beach, along which half a dozen real nice-looking gentlemen were picking their steps like rabbits toward a sweet-apple trap. It was tantalizing.
"Yes," says she, as contented as a lamb, "it will be lovely bathing this morning; I mean to try it."
"Try it," says I; "haven't you read that yellow-fever is in the harbor?"
"Well, what then?" says she. "It won't hurt us."
"Won't hurt us," says I. "Did you ever hear of poison getting into water that could be washed out? No, if it is in the harbor, some of it will drift down here. Look, you can see it sweltering in the waves now."
She looked out on the ocean, where a faint yellow tinge rippled and shone with treacherous temptatiousness.
"Oh, that is only the sunshine," says she.