or a moment, and when it was
pulled back by invisible hands--(broom wire handled by Mary) she was
discovered sitting robed in purple (one of the girls had brought her
mother's Japanese dressing-gown) with a homemade but very effective
crown on her head. Her throne was an arm-chair, raised on blocks of
wood. As King Canute, Pearl's eyes were eagle-like and keen, her whole
bearing full of arrogance and pride. Dramatically she waved her right
arm towards the sea, and in bitter words chided it for its restless
tossing, and commanded it to hear the words of the ALL HIGH, Great and
Powerful King, and stay--just--where--it--was!

But even as she spoke, a small wave came rolling in, gently lapping
the shore. It was Danny Watson, with a small white apron tied around
his person, which at each revolution, made a white crest of breaking
foam.

The King re-doubled his imprecations, and commands, tearing his
hair and threatening to rend his garments, but wave after wave came
rhythmically to shore, growing in size and speed, until the seventh
wave, crested with foam--a pillow-case torn across and fastened with
safety-pins--came crashing to her feet, amid thunderous applause.

When the company, with the king at one end and the first and smallest
wave at the other, stood up to take their applause, and respond to
curtain calls, next to Pearl stood the seventh wave--crested with
foam, dishevelled of hair--a four days' growth of whiskers on his
face--but a happy-looking wave--nevertheless.

Mr. Steadman grabbed hold of his friend hysterically. He could not
speak.

"Well, thank God, he's not dead anyway," he gasped at last.

"But I fancy," murmured Mr. Driggs, "that he is dead--to the cause!"

"Make a speech, Pearl," cried one of the company. "Mr. Neelands would
like to hear you do that one of the Premier's, when he laid the
cornerstone, about 'the generations yet unborn.' Go on, Pearl, that's
a good one!"

"Don't forget 'the waves of emigration breaking at our feet'!" said
Mary, handing Pearl one of Teddy's coats.

Pearl slipped on the coat, carefully adjusting the collar. Then
fingering an imaginary watch-chain, she began. Her face grew
grave--her neck seemed to thicken. Her voice was a throaty contralto.

"We are gathered here today." she declaimed, "to take part in a
ceremonial, whose import we cannot even remotely guess! Whose full
significance will be revealed, not in your time or mine, but to the
generations yet unborn!"