Then, Even
Before The Tears Were Dry, Her Eyes Were Once More Gazing At
The Tireless Little Dancers, Taking On
Child after child as
they came timidly forward to have a share in the fun, and once
more she began
To plead with her "mummy," and would not be
denied, for she was a most determined little Saxon, until
getting her way she rushed out for a second trial. Again the
little dancer saw her coming and flew to her like a bird to
its mate, and clasping her laughed her merry musical little
laugh. It was her "sudden glory," an expression of pure
delight in her power to infuse her own fire and boundless
gaiety of soul into all these little blue-eyed rosy phlegmatic
lumps of humanity.
What was it in these human mites, these fantastic Brownies,
which, in that crowd of Rowenas and their children, made them
seem like beings not only of another race, but of another
species? How came they alone to be distinguished among so
many by that irresponsible gaiety, as of the most volatile of
wild creatures, that quickness of sense and mind and sympathy,
that variety and grace and swiftness - all these brilliant
exotic qualities harmoniously housed in their small beautiful
elastic and vigorous frames? It was their genius, their
character - something derived from their race. But what
race? Looking at their mother watching her little ones at
their frolics with dark shining eyes - the small oval-faced
brown-skinned woman with blackest hair - I could but say that
she was an Iberian, pure and simple, and that her children
were like her.
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