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the bird. The girl wondered how many others had been beguiled just so.
    "I got on all the clothes I own, dearie. I'll peel off until I get down to something that isn't much wet, an' I'll pull some sandals out of my shopping bag there and I'll be good as new. An' when I've had my dinner, I'll go down to the music room— your boss always lets me have the key. I can play a pretty good piano an' folks might as well sing. It lightens the heart. You show me where you want Toby an' I'll find the ladies' room an' take off some of these clothes."
    She was as good as her word. Hank evidently knew her and turned over the keys to the music room without argument. She went up and down the halls, her sandals flip-flapping loudly, inviting everybody to come and sing. "We got to pass the time some way, you know," she would call out cheerfully at each door.
    And most of those who had gathered in the safety of the school building went along with her.
    Seven-thirty came, and Donna closed the doors and latched them. She had eaten earlier, she and Mary, Cliff, and Hank and the three men teachers. She rather thought she would go down to the music room and join in the singing. As Baby LaRue had said, there wasn't much else to do. She doubted that she would be welcomed by the men who were still playing poker across from Hank's office. First, however, she would freshen up. She went into her office and closed the door behind her.
    Leisurely, she washed her hands and face, then stood before the mirror on the medicine cabinet and began to make up her face. The wind outside made banshee noises. Coconuts were blown from trees and thudded with an ominous sound against the walls outside. The sign at the filling station clanged more loudly than ever. Hank had been right. She was too excited and fearful to sleep tonight, even if such a tiring were convenient. The cots in her office were uncomfortable as such things go, but she didn't think they would induce sleep through a long night. Her muscles ached at the very thought.
    She screwed out her lipstick and was about to apply it when the light above her mirror flickered. It came on again, and she sighed with relief, finishing the job she had been about to begin. Once more, the lights flickered. Then they went out. They did not come on again.
    For a moment, she regretted that she did not smoke. Her pocketbook lay close to her hand and there would have been matches or a lighter there. As it was, she had to fumble about in the pitch-darkness until she located the boxes Cliff had brought from the Cuban grocery. She remembered that the old grocer had said there were flashlights there. The first box produced nothing feeling even faintly like a flashlight. She tried the second, and it wasn't until she had nearly reached the bottom of the big corrugated pasteboard box that she located what she sought.
    By that time, her breath was catching in her throat. The big building sounded entirely deserted now, although there had been shouts of surprise and dismay when the lights had at first failed. Outside, the noises seemed to have increased. The lost souls of the dead might wail about the corners of buildings as the wind now did. Ordinarily, Donna didn't mind being alone, but now she could hardly keep herself from running down toward the music room, where most of the others were gathered.
    When she opened the door of her office, she could hear them still singing.
Sweet Adeline
, it was, and the sound of all those voices, perhaps not entirely in key, yet giving their lungs enthusiastically to the tune, was the finest music she had heard in many a day. She turned away from the front door, following the circle of light that went before her.
     

Chapter V
    Donna had just turned the corner when a pounding on the locked door behind her halted her. The sound was urgent, insistent. She hesitated. Seven-thirty was the hour set for closing the doors against further comers. It was now nearly eight. Still, she could not leave people