"I am as quick as I can be," replied Lucy, in an aggrieved tone; "but your hair is in such a tangle with tossing in the wind, that there is no doing anything with it."
"My hair is a bother," said Beryl. "I wish I could wear it quite short like a boy. It kept blowing in my eyes and teasing me so when I was on the beach. I should have enjoyed the wind but for that. I think it is good fun when the wind blows as it has been blowing this afternoon."
"The wind still seems to be rising," said Lucy, as an angry gust beat against the house; "I am afraid there will be a storm to-night."
"Oh, I am so glad!" cried Beryl gleefully. "I love to hear the wind roaring after I am in bed. It seems to make the bed feel so much more cosy and comfortable."
"Oh, Miss Beryl, how can you say you are glad!" said Lucy reproachfully; for, being a fisherman's daughter, she knew the perils of the deep, and to her a storm was an event to be dreaded. "Think of the poor sailors who may be drowned whilst you are enjoying your warm bed."
"Oh, well, Lucy, you know I did not mean that I was glad that sailors should be drowned," replied Beryl, in a tone of annoyance; "I'm sure I don't wish any one to come to harm; but I do like to hear the wind roar."
By this time Beryl's hair was in order, and Lucy proceeded to array her in a white dress, with blue sash and ribbons. As soon as she was released from her maid's hands, Beryl, regardless of Lucy's warning that she would tumble her dress, scrambled up into the high window-seat, and took a good look at the prospect it commanded. The nursery window was at the side of Egloshayle House, and looked over the garden wall into the narrow, hilly street which led from the village to the shore.
A corner of the beach, too, was visible, with a row of fishermen's boats drawn up high and dry on the stones, and some nets spread over them. Several men were moving about on the beach, gathering up the nets, and making the boats more secure, in expectation of a stormy night. The gloomy sky, the angry roll of the waves, and the increasing bluster of the March wind, seemed to show that their prognostications would soon be verified.
"How the wind does blow, to be sure!" said Beryl; "and now it is beginning to rain. I hope papa will not get wet."
"The rain is not enough to hurt any one at present," said Lucy, looking out; "and I dare say Andrew took wraps. Oh, Miss Beryl, do look at your dress. It will not be fit to be seen if you kneel on it like that."