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"If you'd like me to," said Eve, "I'll show you how the turquoise-colored waves sound when they strike the hermit-crabs." "Do!" urged Barton. Listlessly the girl pushed back into her pillows, slid down a little farther into her blankets, and closed her eyes. "Mmmmmmmmm," she began, "Mmm-mmmmmmm Mmmmm Mmmmmmm, W-h-i-s-h-h-h! Mmmmmmmmm Mmmmmmmm Mmmmmmmm Mmmmmm W-h-i-s-h-h-h! Mmmmmmmm Mmmmmmm "
On Upper Morven Freydis had reared by enchantment a modest home, that was builded of jasper and porphyry and yellow and violet breccia. Inside, the stone walls were everywhere covered with significant traceries in low relief, and were incrusted at intervals with disks and tesserae of turquoise-colored porcelain.
"Why then more turquoise-colored waves, of course," chanted little Eve Edgarton. "It sounds rotten to me," confided Barton. "It is," said little Eve Edgarton. "And, oh, I forgot to tell you: John Ellbertson is sort of green, too. Geologists are apt to be, don't you think so?" "I never saw one," admitted Barton without shame.
And then just a long, unbroken line of turquoise-colored waves. And then more turquoise-colored waves. And then more turquoise-colored waves. And then more turquoise-colored waves. And then and then " "And then what?" worried Barton. With a vaguely astonished lift of the eyebrows little Eve Edgarton met both question and questioner perfectly squarely.
Its narrow, winding, cobble-paved streets, shaded by canopies of grapevines and bordered by rows of squat, red-tiled houses, their plastered walls tinted pale blue, bright pink or yellow, and the amazingly picturesque costumes of its inhabitants slender, stately Montenegrin women in long coats of turquoise-colored broad-cloth piped with crimson, Bosnians in skin-tight breeches covered with arabesques of braid and jackets heavy with embroidery, Albanians wearing the starched and pleated skirts of linen known as fustanellas and comitadjis with cartridge-filled bandoliers slung across their chests and their sashes bristling with assorted weapons, priests of the Orthodox Church with uncut hair and beards, wearing hats that look like inverted stovepipes, hook-nosed, white-bearded, patriarchal-looking Turks in flowing robes and snowy turbans, fierce-faced, keen-eyed mountain herdsmen in fur caps and coats of sheepskin all these combined to make me feel that I had intruded upon the stage of a theater during a musical comedy performance, and that I must find the exit and escape before I was discovered by the stage-manager.
Everything now is perfectly comfortably explained except the turquoise-colored stockings. Nobody could explain the turquoise-colored stockings! But even a little child could explain the ensuing June! Oh, June was perfectly wonderful that year! Bud, blossom, bird-song, breeze, rioting headlong through the Land. Warm days sweet and lush as a green-house vapor!
And the Senior Surgeon was there, of course, and the necessary witnesses. But the Little Crippled Girl never turned up at all, owing it proved later, to a more than usually violent wrangle with whomever dressed her, concerning the general advisability of sporting turquoise-colored stockings with her brightest little purple dress.
"Yes, sir," said the White Linen Nurse. Now perhaps you will understand just exactly how it happened that the Senior Surgeon and the White Linen Nurse were married on the first day of June, and just exactly how it happened that the Senior Surgeon went off alone as usual on his Canadian trip, and just exactly how it happened that the White Linen Nurse came home alone to the Senior Surgeon's great, gloomy house, to find her brand new step-daughter still screaming over the turquoise-colored stockings.
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