The wild ducks had been passing over the island for more than ten days, now, and sometimes, in their tramps over the sweet-scented commons, the twins and Erica would come upon a small, jewel-like pond set down in a rosy sedge of reeds, and on its blue surface there would be stragglers from one of the big flocks, swimming up and down placidly, and perhaps wondering, in whatever thoughts a duck knows, whether this pleasant, fertile island might not be as happy hunting-grounds as any they would be likely to find farther south. A little later, the long V-shaped wedges of the wild geese’s flight would be seen, usually late at night or very early in the morning, high up against the blue Nantucket sky. Erica, when she saw them, always waved to them enviously, and wished she were a wild goose, too—just as she often wished she were a boy, or a gull, or anything that was untrammeled and free, and the opposite of what proper little girls of her day and generation were supposed to be. It was almost dark when she reached home and slipped through the side garden to Tommy’s house and up the broad, white-painted front stairs. Aunt Callie called to her, in a rather woe-begone voice, and bade her go in and talk to her cousin, who had had a lonely day and had been suffering a good deal, besides, with his leg. The door to the back room which was Lis’s and Tommy’s stood ajar, but the lamp inside had not been lighted yet. Standing on the sill, Erica spoke Tommy’s name, but softly, in case he were asleep. “Come in,” a muffled voice answered her, not too graciously. Erica went in, and crossed the dim room to the big mahogany four-poster. Tommy had slid down uncomfortably in bed, the pillows bunched askew under his yellow head, which looked more wildly disheveled and moplike than usual. The covers were drawn up so that they half covered his face, and even in the dusk Erica could see that his cheeks were hot and flushed and that his forehead was puckered with a forlorn, childlike scowl of utter misery. “Here, let me plump your pillows up nice and comfy,” she said, capably, and proceeded to lift his head with one strong, gentle arm and turn the hot and crumpled pillows with her free hand. For Erica had at least one womanly accomplishment—she was a good nurse in a sick-room, and was never more contented than when one of her family or neighbors borrowed her services.