Terry sprang to obey. The front door opened; the screen door beyond it was blown back and slammed against the side of the house.
“Come in, come in,” Terry shouted against the screaming wind. “You’ll be blown away!”
But the storm-born creature, holding a torn sweater closer around her, looked sharply at Terry, then turned and dashed away in the dim light and was almost instantly lost to sight on the winding pathway.
Terry, drying her face and smoothing her hair, came back to the harbor of the lighted room.
“She ran when I called her,” she stated simply. “What do you suppose she wanted, if she didn’t want to come in?”
“It’s a queer time just to come for a look around,” Sim agreed. “You must have scared her away, Terry.”
“She’s probably a water pixie,” Arden remarked, still under the spell of the majestic storm. “She was most likely never there at all; we just imagined it.”
“What’s that?” Sim asked. “Do I imagine I hear a knock at the door? I’m sure I heard something.”
They all listened. There was certainly a sound like knocking.
“She’s come back!” Terry declared and once more opened the door. The storm by this time had abated a bit, although the rain still lashed down in lordly fury.