A WIND FLOWER
"And she would go—'twas the twenty-fifth—there was dozens o' trees blown down—'twas just before dark—her mother, she ran out after her as soon's she knew—she called, but she didn't hear—she saw her on the edge o' the rocks, an' she almost got up to her an' screamed, an' it scared her, we think—she turned 'round quick, an' she went right off the cliff an' her mother saw her go—'twas awful!"
Willard's eyes went beyond her to the woods; the woman's voice, with its high, flat intonation, brought the past so vividly before him that he was unconscious of the actual scene—he lived through the quick, terrible drama with the intensity of a witness of it.
"No, they haven't found her yet—the surf's too high. We always had a feeling she wouldn't live—she wasn't like other girls"
Half unconsciously he unwrapped the photograph.
"I—I brought this," he said dully. The woman blanched and clutched the gate-post.
"Oh, take it away! Take it away!" she gasped,
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