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Stratton-Porter, Gene, 1863-1924

"Her Father's Daughter"

While
Katy made coffee and toasted biscuit Linda was busy introducing
her party to brigand beefsteak upon four long steel skewers. The
day had been warm. The light salt breeze from the sea was like a
benediction. Friendly gulls gathered on the white sands around
them. Cunning little sea chickens worked in accord with the
tide: when the waves advanced they rose above them on wing; when
they retreated they scampered over the wet sand, hunting any
small particles of food that might have been carried in. Out
over the water big brown pelicans went slowly fanning homeward;
and white sea swallows drew wonderful pictures on the blue night
sky with the tips of their wings. For a few minutes at the
reddest point of its setting the sun painted a marvelous picture
in a bank of white clouds. These piled up like a great rosy
castle, and down the sky roadway before it came a long procession
of armored knights, red in the sun glow and riding huge red
horses. Then the colors mixed and faded and a long red bridge
for a short time spanned the water, ending at their feet. The
gulls hunted the last scrap thrown them and went home. The
swallows sought their high cliffs. The insidiously alluring
perfume of sand verbena rose like altar incense around them.
Gilman spread a blanket, piled the beach fire higher, and sitting
beside Eileen, he drew her head to his shoulder and put his arm
around her. Possibly he could have been happier in a careless
way if he had never suffered.


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