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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!"
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