Read Online The Secret of the Sand Castle by Margaret Sutton - Free Book Online
Authors: Margaret Sutton
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lighthouse. The light in it turns round and round.
It takes exactly seven seconds for it to shine this way again.”
“I count to seven,” little Judy put in drowsily, 75
“and there it is.”
“It’s dependable. Children like things they can depend on—like clocks, and holidays, and their own Saturday afternoon TV show,” Irene explained. “I do have to be there, you know. They depend on me.”
“Yes, I know.” For seven seconds Judy envied Irene her adoring public. Then the light winked at her as much as to say, “People depend on us, too.”
“We’ll get across some way,” Pauline vowed.
“Dale may calm Emily Grimshaw down for one day, but each day I’m absent she’ll get that much more upset. It really isn’t good for her at her age.”
“How old is she?” asked Flo.
“Ageless.” Pauline laughed. “I said the same thing about Lady Luck, didn’t I?”
“Ageless, like the ocean,” Judy remembered.
“Does it always roar like this?”
“Always,” Irene replied, “but not quite so loud when it isn’t storming. You’ll get used to it. I find it puts me to sleep.”
“Little Judy counted herself to sleep.” Judy gazed fondly at her little namesake. She had turned over so that she lay against the wall with Lady Luck still in her arms. “She left room for you, Irene. Why can’t we all sleep here in the tower room?”
“I guess we can.” Irene turned down the covers to find clean white sheets on both beds. “Funny,” she muttered. “There are clean sheets on little Judy’s 76
bed, too. I didn’t bring any night things but look, girls, here are fresh nightgowns under each pillow.”
“How did they get there?” asked Flo, beginning to undress.
Irene shrugged her shoulders. “Mrs. Hatch thinks of everything. She must have guessed we’d want to sleep up here.”
“But Irene,” Judy protested, “she didn’t know we would have to stay all night—or did she?” She was beginning to distrust the all-knowing Mrs. Hatch.
“Who cares? This nightgown fits and I’m ready to fall into bed,” confessed Flo. “I didn’t know digging would make me so tired. We’d probably still be down there under the house if the rain hadn’t started to pour in. You don’t really suppose it will damage the foundation, do you?”
“Not a chance. The Sand Castle went through that first hurricane. I don’t know why Hazel Barton called it Judy unless it was late in the season. It is odd that she should mention both our names,” Irene mused, crossing the room to turn out the light.
“Well,” said Judy, snuggling down under the covers luxuriously as Flo joined her, “I’m glad I met her, anyway. I wouldn’t mind having her for an aunt, and I’m sure your aunt Edith was a fine person.”
“A stepmother?”
“You must be half asleep, Flo,” Judy eluded her.
77
“Stepmothers are only cruel in fairy tales. Anyway, Roxy thought she was her real mother until I found that clue in the patchwork quilt. Did I ever tell you about it?”
“I don’t think so,” was the drowsy answer.
“Well, even then she wouldn’t admit we were cousins. She kept insisting your aunt Edith was her real mother because she loved her—but what’s the matter?”
Flo had made a noise that sounded like a sob.
“Nothing. I’m listening.”
“She snores,” Pauline called over from the other bed.
“I do not.” Flo sat bolt upright to deny this accusation.
“How do you know?” Irene teased her. “Have you ever stayed awake to see.”
“You’re hopeless!” Flo sank back under the covers, but she was laughing now. The light was winking at them as if it enjoyed the joke, too, and the ceaseless roar of the ocean echoed the laughter of all four girls. Only little Judy was asleep.
Then gradually the wild sound of the waves on the beach lulled first Irene, then Pauline, and finally Flo into quiet sleep. Only Judy lay awake watching the winking light and counting—one, two, three, four,
It takes exactly seven seconds for it to shine this way again.”
“I count to seven,” little Judy put in drowsily, 75
“and there it is.”
“It’s dependable. Children like things they can depend on—like clocks, and holidays, and their own Saturday afternoon TV show,” Irene explained. “I do have to be there, you know. They depend on me.”
“Yes, I know.” For seven seconds Judy envied Irene her adoring public. Then the light winked at her as much as to say, “People depend on us, too.”
“We’ll get across some way,” Pauline vowed.
“Dale may calm Emily Grimshaw down for one day, but each day I’m absent she’ll get that much more upset. It really isn’t good for her at her age.”
“How old is she?” asked Flo.
“Ageless.” Pauline laughed. “I said the same thing about Lady Luck, didn’t I?”
“Ageless, like the ocean,” Judy remembered.
“Does it always roar like this?”
“Always,” Irene replied, “but not quite so loud when it isn’t storming. You’ll get used to it. I find it puts me to sleep.”
“Little Judy counted herself to sleep.” Judy gazed fondly at her little namesake. She had turned over so that she lay against the wall with Lady Luck still in her arms. “She left room for you, Irene. Why can’t we all sleep here in the tower room?”
“I guess we can.” Irene turned down the covers to find clean white sheets on both beds. “Funny,” she muttered. “There are clean sheets on little Judy’s 76
bed, too. I didn’t bring any night things but look, girls, here are fresh nightgowns under each pillow.”
“How did they get there?” asked Flo, beginning to undress.
Irene shrugged her shoulders. “Mrs. Hatch thinks of everything. She must have guessed we’d want to sleep up here.”
“But Irene,” Judy protested, “she didn’t know we would have to stay all night—or did she?” She was beginning to distrust the all-knowing Mrs. Hatch.
“Who cares? This nightgown fits and I’m ready to fall into bed,” confessed Flo. “I didn’t know digging would make me so tired. We’d probably still be down there under the house if the rain hadn’t started to pour in. You don’t really suppose it will damage the foundation, do you?”
“Not a chance. The Sand Castle went through that first hurricane. I don’t know why Hazel Barton called it Judy unless it was late in the season. It is odd that she should mention both our names,” Irene mused, crossing the room to turn out the light.
“Well,” said Judy, snuggling down under the covers luxuriously as Flo joined her, “I’m glad I met her, anyway. I wouldn’t mind having her for an aunt, and I’m sure your aunt Edith was a fine person.”
“A stepmother?”
“You must be half asleep, Flo,” Judy eluded her.
77
“Stepmothers are only cruel in fairy tales. Anyway, Roxy thought she was her real mother until I found that clue in the patchwork quilt. Did I ever tell you about it?”
“I don’t think so,” was the drowsy answer.
“Well, even then she wouldn’t admit we were cousins. She kept insisting your aunt Edith was her real mother because she loved her—but what’s the matter?”
Flo had made a noise that sounded like a sob.
“Nothing. I’m listening.”
“She snores,” Pauline called over from the other bed.
“I do not.” Flo sat bolt upright to deny this accusation.
“How do you know?” Irene teased her. “Have you ever stayed awake to see.”
“You’re hopeless!” Flo sank back under the covers, but she was laughing now. The light was winking at them as if it enjoyed the joke, too, and the ceaseless roar of the ocean echoed the laughter of all four girls. Only little Judy was asleep.
Then gradually the wild sound of the waves on the beach lulled first Irene, then Pauline, and finally Flo into quiet sleep. Only Judy lay awake watching the winking light and counting—one, two, three, four,
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