"When we get to that palm. How wonderful it stands against the sky!—I never thought that I should see palm trees."
When they came to it, the negro driver turned the horse. Roll of wheel and slow thud of hoofs they went dreamily back toward Nassau. The walls on either hand were darkening; the sky was putting on a splendid dress.
"Years and years now I have been away," said Hagar. "In the spring I am going home."
"Home to—to Gilead Balm?"
"At first, yes, I think ... then, I do not know. I have been away so long. There are people in New York I want to see—old friends—women. Do you chance to know Elizabeth Eden?"
"Yes, I know her. She's one of the blessed." After a moment he said abruptly, "I want you to know Rose Darragh."
"Yes, I want to," said Hagar simply.
They came before long to the shell house. "Let us stop and get some shells."
Inside they had the place, save for the merchant of shells, to themselves. Right and left and all around were strewn the pearl and pink and purply spoils. All the sunset tints were here, and the beauty of delicate form—grotesqueries, too; nature in queer moods. It was pleasant to run the hands through the myriad small shells heaped in baskets, to weigh the sea-cushions and sea-stars and golden seafeathers, to admire rose coral and brain coral and finger coral, and hold the conch shells to the ear. Through the open door, too, came the smell and murmur of the near-by sea, and on the floor lay one last splash of sunlight. "Give me a shell," said Hagar, "and I will give you one. Then each of us will have something to remember the other by."