"Worse than pulling open a rosebud," said Kathleen.
"Very well, then," returned Mrs. Fabian. "I shall go upstairs."
No one objecting, she rose and suited the action to the word; and Kathleen and Phil were left to a welcome solitude.
The parent swallows soon ceased to notice the two large, strange birds perched on the veranda railing below.
Kathleen had discarded her Tam and as she sat between Phil and the wind-break, the sun gave him the red glints in her "reserved hair."
The tide was going out, but rushing with a splendid sweep toward the foot of their hill, the sky had occasional billows of downy white lying against its clear blue. The sweet wind swept the fresh grass where daisies were beginning to appear, and all down the irregular coast-line of the island the snowy foam broke on rock and sand.
The iridescent blue of the swallows' backs and the delicate rose of their breasts lent an exquisite touch of color, as they flew and wheeled in the curving flight designed to tempt the solemn-faced young, crowded so uncomfortably in the outgrown nest.
Again one struggled out upon the beam. The cunning parents fed it, while the others begged in vain. Then again the old birds were away in airy flight.
"Come out, come out in the sunshine," they seemed to cry, wheeling back toward the nest. "Come out to the ecstasy of wind and waves. The whole world, the world of sea and sky, is ours."
Kathleen for an instant turned about to her companion. "Do you see how he can resist?" she asked.