” 152 < 19 > THE WINDS OF NOVEMBER The Thanksgiving season brought a fierce wind that relentlessly whipped around the brick corners of the school. As she approached the corner of the Avenue the blond, no-hatted man in gray flannels appeared. "Lend a hand with the ruffles, Blueskin!" he shouted, as that personage, who had just recovered from the stunning effects of the blow, contrived to pick himself up. Ann Veronica’s desire to laugh unrestrainedly was checked by the tremendous earnestness of his expression. It—it is nothing,’ she said, although with a tremor in her voice. She had adored the stupid thing, and kept it in her pocket for about ten years. .
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