Richie was going, Sally
had the gallant but shivering Jane and the dark-eyed Keith by the hand,
and Barbara hung on her father's arm.
The waters of the bay were gray and cold; a sharp breeze swept their
steely surfaces into fans of ruffled water. The little Crow rocked at
her anchor, her ropes and brasswork beaded with dew. Julia, sitting in
desperate terror upon a slanting upholstered ledge, felt her teeth
chatter, and wondered why she had come.
Barbara, Sally, Richie, and their father all fell to work, and
presently, a miracle to Julia, the little boat was running toward
Richardson's Bay under a good breeze. Presently glorious sunlight
enveloped them, flashed from a thousand windows on San Francisco hills,
and struck to dazzling whiteness the breasts of the gulls that circled
Sausalito's piers. Everything sparkled and shone: the running blue water
that slapped the Crow's side, the roofs of houses on the hillside, the
green trees that nearly concealed them.
Growing every instant warmer and more content, Julia sat back and let
her whole body and soul soak in the comfort and beauty of the hour.
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