“Did you hear that?” asked Alice of her attendant.
“No, ma’am, I heard nothing, Miss Ally,” replied the obtuse negro.
And Alice thought she was mistaken. The bay was perfectly smooth, yet it seemed to Alice that the vast body of water under them just perceptibly rose and fell, as though instinct with life and breath. The little skiff sped like an arrow across the bosom of the waters, and in something less than half an hour cleared the distance between the mainland and the isle. The old negro stuck his oar into the sand and shoved the boat up high and dry upon the beach, so that his mistress could step out dry-shod.
“Does not the wind blow around this bleak island even when it is calm along the coast of the mainland?” asked Alice, as she gathered her flapping veil and shawl more closely around her and stepped out upon the strand.
“La, no, Miss Ally, ma’am; it never doesn’t, of course; dough when der is a win’, it has more ’siderable of a clean sweep here than anywhere else. No, Miss Ally, no, ma’am; but de win’ do seem for to be a-risin’.”
“Come, let us hurry on to the house, for really it is quite fresh,” said she, drawing her veil down over her face and under her shawl, and wrapping the latter more closely around her, and striking into the narrow path leading through the cornfield and up to the house. But when she had got about halfway up the hill the wind took her so fiercely, flapping her skirts about her feet, flapping her bonnet and veil about her face, that she was forced to turn around from the wind to recover her breath and strength.
“I can scarcely face this gale! How very suddenly it has sprung up!”
“Yes, ma’am,” replied the old negro, looking uneasily at the sky; “I—I—mos’ wish us hadn’t a-ventured out! I—I—I do hope us aint a-gwine to have a squeeling, knocking storm afore us gits back!”
“Oh, it is entirely too late in the season for an equinoctial storm,” replied Alice, following his glance to the sky. “The wind has blown a few straggling clouds up from the horizon, but it does not look at all threatening.”
“Ah, Miss Ally, you don’t know, honey! Der aint never no good in dem ar switchy mare’s tails!” replied Diogenes, pointing to the long, black, ragged clouds flying before the wind. Holding her head down, and hugging her shawl tightly about her, Alice pushed on toward the house.