Free Island Hospital by Elizabeth Houghton Page A

trappers, the fishermen, the first settlers ... they would have watched the growing city, a wooden city that disappeared in a sheet of flame the year of the Great Fire, only to rise again, more splendid, more permanent, its tall buildings a puny challenge to the splendor of the mountain heights ... the streets that ran like arrows through the city’s heart to the water’s edge.
    Sheila could see the dock now, crowded with people waiting to return to their wilderness homes.
    “See any sign of your relatives, Sheila?”
    She turned to smile at the First Officer, who had joined her at the r o a d . “Not yet. I’ve never met them before.”
    “I expect you’ll find them waiting at the barrier. How about letting me show you something of the big city?”
    Sheila hesitated. “I’m not sure what plans my cousins have made.”
    He grinned. “I forgot you’d be sort of tied up. Where do these cousins live anyway?”
    “At English Bay. Isn’t that somewhere near Stanley Park?”
    “That’s right. Tell you what. I usually take a stroll through Stanley Park when I’m ashore ... it’s not all that far from my sister’s place. I’ll be by the hamburger stand at the entrance; you can’t miss it, your nose will lead you there. If you don’t turn up between four-thirty and five, I’ll know you can’t make it. Okay?”
    “Thank you very much ... if you’re sure ... ”
    “Of course I’m sure. I’ve got plenty of time. The engineer has some engine tinkering to do and at any rate we don’t sail until tomorrow. The Island Princess is doing this trip, thank goodness. It gives us a breather. The Captain’s throwing me dirty looks, so I’ll be off. Be seeing you.”
    Sheila began to search anxiously for a glimpse of her cousins. Then she saw them and smiled. She needn’t have worried. Their very Englishness, their well-cut tweeds, stood out from the groups around them, and seemed to subdue the gay colors of the women’s frocks, and the gaudy lumberjacks, to something that would be found in an English garden.
    Sheila’s heart sank as she submitted to their cool kiss. They reminded her too much of what she had left. Already in the past few weeks, she had soaked up some of the color and vitality that was Canada.
    Her cousins looked at her critically. “You’re not very like your mother, dear, except for your fair coloring. But then it is some years since we were home. Bring your case and we’ll find the car. ”
    Sheila walked demurely at their heels, but she felt that she had more in common with the crowd that surged excitedly toward the exits, toward the shops, toward all the sights that a teeming city could offer.
    She scarcely heard the quiet voices of her cousins pointing out places of interest. She was too busy craning her neck to see the tall buildings, the glimpse of the greenness that was Stanley Park, the glittering shop windows. She stared at the crowds of people that jostled one another on the wide pavements, the endless streams of traffic that surged forward when the lights turned green. The noise beat against her ears which almost ached as they picked up the unaccustomed medley of sounds ... ears that had heard only the low hum of voices, the chug of fishing boats heading for the outer pass, and the muted sounds of the wilderness.
    She heard one of her cousins speaking. “All right, dear? We’ll soon be away from all these crowds.”
    Sheila beamed at her. “But I love it, Cousin Annie,” and her gaze went back to the busy scene.
    She never noticed the looks of pained surprise on their well bred faces nor their murmurs: England must have changed for the worse since we were home last. I can’t think what the younger generation is coming to. Her mother was such a gentle girl.
    The car stopped at last, and Sheila was amused to see the tidy box hedge, the well-painted gate and the leaded-pane windows at either side of the picture window. She followed her cousins up the path, and smelled the sweet,