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Updated: September 25, 2025
Pemrose, it's up to you! Turn your backbone into a wishbone." The wreathed figure stepped from the pedestal, a laughing June spot against the wintry grimness of the Man Killer trail. Obligingly the inventor's daughter stepped up, closing her eyes half-humorously, doubling the drooping hands at her panting sides. But, as suddenly, the eyelids were flung up, like shutters from the blue of day.
"We're going to flash a message right across the valley, over to old Round-top, that sleepy, dark mountain, a couple of miles away, just as soon as the daylight is all faded out," she explained. "Oh, ho! That's what the Guardian meant when she spoke of showing us something a display with red fire, eh?" gasped Pemrose. "How are you going to signal with what code?"
That jeering nickname still rankled in the breast of Pemrose, who looked more like a colorless March Primrose, owing to the lingering shock of that train wreck, upon the spring morning in early April when the family lawyer whose duty it was to settle the affairs of the man who had left three separate portions of his will in as many drawers, to be opened on three successive anniversaries of his death, drew forth the last.
Alas! poor human ice that couldn't stand a moment under the blows of Nature's ice-hammer. Both pairs of girlish lashes were stark with terror now. "Una! Una! Una! Ac-ci-dent! Tr-rain accident! Gone through through into the lake!" moaned Pemrose, half stunned, yet conscious, as she was ten seconds before, that they had been crossing frozen water. Water!
"Yes, but " perhaps her dream in the bungalow of Ta-te, the tempest, was affecting Pemrose "but suppose, oh! suppose, that the wind there is a wind should waft it away away from us, down the mountainside, to where we couldn't find it in the woods dark woods to where somebody, some horrid meddler, might pick it up, and get a look at the Thunder Bird's diary before us ... the first record from so high up.
It was an exciting situation. Pemrose, who like the enthroned daredevil liked excitement, if she was warm enough to enjoy it, had not hoped for quite such a tidbit when she came to the mountains, at least, short of the little Thunder Bird's record-breaking flight. "Oh! I did so want to run across him again. I do so long to thank him!
And when the little black-haired mite in due time came, when she opened upon her father eyes blue as the empyrean he hoped to conquer, he had cried out of a core of transport lurking in the very heart of disappointment: "Oh! by Jove, I can't quite give up my dream: let's name her Pemrose. If she had been a boy, I'd have called her Pem."
"We are the White Birch Group of Lenox, at present engaged in protecting our younger brothers, the little trees which we planted ourselves. I am Tanpa signifying Birch Guardian of the Group; in everyday life just Myra Seaver." "And my name is Lorry Pemrose Lorry my ceremonial name Wantaam, a Wise Woman."
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