Una, her balance recovered, jumped
upon the stone.

Surely, no wishing-cap ever before was
so bonnie, so becoming as the fine,
emerald needles of the little cedar branch
gripped together under the dimpled chin,
fringing the sweet, saucy, girlish face, the
star in the bright dark eye so intently
fixed.

Pem smiled; in the present crisis of
her young life she didn't care if her friend's
eyelashes were longer than hers by a whole
ell. And Andrew sighed because of that
one "sair memory" which had oppressed
him on the Pinnacle.

The serio-comic passion in the green-framed
face, the fervor in the one little
clenched fist drooping at Una's side, might
well have won over all the good fairy-hosts
that ever landed in the wake of the Pilgrims,
and set them to scouring Greylock
for the missing record from on high.

"Now then! Pemrose, it's up to you!
Turn your backbone into a wishbone."

[[255]]

p254 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p255w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p256

v?