Obediently, Angela dropped her wings, sank. Her feet, shell-like, pinky-soft, padded the ground. She tried to balance, but she swayed and fell.
“No matter, darling!” Peachy called cheerily, “Try again!”
Angela heroically pulled herself up. She made a few uncertain steps, but she stumbled with every move.
Honey-Boy and Peterkin came running up to her side; Junior, grinning happily, waddled behind a long way in the rear. “Angela’s trying to walk!” the boys cried. “Angela’s trying to walk!” They capered with amusement. “Oh, isn’t she funny? Look at the girl trying to walk!”
The tears spurted from Angela’s eyes. Her lips quivered. Her wings shot up straight.
“Don’t mind what the boys say, Angela!” Peachy called. “Put your wings down! Keep right on walking!”
Again Angela’s pinions dropped. Again she took a few steps. This time she fell to her knees. But she pulled herself up, sped onward, fell again, and again. She had reached the stones that bounded the sand. When she arose this last time, her foot was, bleeding.
“Keep on walking, baby!” Peachy commanded inflexibly. But there was a rain of tears on her check.
Angela staggered forward a rod or two; and now both feet left a trail of blood. Then suddenly again she struggled for balance, fell headlong.
“Keep on walking, mother’s heart’s treasure,” Peachy commanded. She dropped to her knees and held out her arms; her face worked uncontrollably.