Over in the west above the treetops, the sky grew pink, deepened to crimson, paled to ashes-of-roses. The sparkling lights on the water were snuffed out one by one. The air was full of sounds, shrill-voiced insects cheeping, the pipe of frogs, the twittering of birds seeking their nests.
The downward droop of the corners of Dorothy’s mouth became more pronounced.
“I don’t like that noise,” she protested. “It sounds as if things were all crying.”
Peggy hugged the little penitent close. She did not like the sound herself. “You’re pretty near dry, aren’t you?” she said, trying to speak lightly.
Dorothy’s answer was a grieved whimper, “Aunt Peggy, when are they coming for us?”
“I don’t know, dear.” The resolute cheerfulness of Peggy’s tone gave no hint of her inward perturbation. What did it mean, she asked herself. What were the girls thinking of? It was growing dark. She tightened her clasp about Dorothy and the disconsolate little maid snuggled her damp head against Peggy’s shoulder, and forgot her troubles in sleep.
Little flickering lights began to play about the island, as the fire-flies lit their fairy lamps. Overhead the stars came out. The warm wind of the summer night sighed through the treetops, and the sad chorus of humble earthly pipers answered from below. It seemed to Peggy as if the dear familiar world with its cheery homes and friendly faces, had been blotted out, and Dorothy and herself were alone on an unfamiliar earth. Yet with all the strange, terrifying loneliness, the stars had never seemed so bright nor the heavenly Father so near.
CHAPTER XIX
THE RESCUE
The picnickers had slept late. Elaine was the first to wake, and she lay for a moment staring at the tranquil sky above her, unable to understand why she was not viewing the ceiling of her bedroom on Friendly Terrace. Then recollection came, and she raised herself on her elbow just as Amy opened her eyes.