{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_5342/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_5342","id":"gutenberg_5342","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/5342","summary":null,"tags":["Canada","Category: Adventure","Category: Children & Young Adult Reading","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Novels","Children's Literature","Cousins -- Fiction","Prince Edward Island -- Fiction","Storytellers -- Fiction"],"text":"Produced by Leslee Suttie, Mary Mark Ockerbloom, and Ben Crowder\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE STORY GIRL\n\nBy L. M. Montgomery\n\n\nAuthor of \u201cAnne of Green Gables,\u201d \u201cAnne of Avonlea,\u201d \u201cKilmeny of the\nOrchard,\u201d etc.\n\n\nWith frontispiece and cover in colour by George Gibbs\n\n\n\nThis book has been put on-line as part of the BUILD-A-BOOK Initiative\nat the Celebration of Women Writers through the combined work of Leslee\nSuttie and Mary Mark Ockerbloom.\n\nhttp://digital.library.upenn.edu/women/\n\nReformatted by Ben Crowder\n\n\n\n                \u201cShe was a form of life and light\n                That seen, became a part of sight,\n                And rose, where\u2019er I turn\u2019d mine eye,\n                The morning-star of Memory!\u201d --Byron.\n\n\nTO MY COUSIN\n\nFrederica E. Campbell\n\nIN REMEMBRANCE OF OLD DAYS, OLD DREAMS, AND OLD LAUGHTER\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n      I. The Home of Our Fathers\n     II. A Queen of Hearts\n    III. Legends of the Old Orchard\n     IV. The Wedding Veil of the Proud Princess\n      V. Peter Goes to Church\n     VI. The Mystery of Golden Milestone\n    VII. How Betty Sherman Won a Husband\n   VIII. A Tragedy of Childhood\n     IX. Magic Seed\n      X. A Daughter of Eve\n     XI. The Story Girl Does Penance\n    XII. The Blue Chest of Rachel Ward\n   XIII. An Old Proverb With a New Meaning\n    XIV. Forbidden Fruit\n     XV. A Disobedient Brother\n    XVI. The Ghostly Bell\n   XVII. The Proof of the Pudding\n  XVIII. How Kissing Was Discovered\n    XIX. A Dread Prophecy\n     XX. The Judgment Sunday\n    XXI. Dreamers of Dreams\n   XXII. The Dream Books\n  XXIII. Such Stuff as Dreams Are Made On\n   XXIV. The Bewitchment of Pat\n    XXV. A Cup of Failure\n   XXVI. Peter Makes an Impression\n  XXVII. The Ordeal of Bitter Apples\n XXVIII. The Tale of the Rainbow Bridge\n   XXIX. The Shadow Feared of Man\n    XXX. A Compound Letter\n   XXXI. On the Edge of Light and Dark\n  XXXII. The Opening of the Blue Chest\n\n\n\n\nTHE STORY GIRL\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I. THE HOME OF OUR FATHERS\n\n\u201cI do like a road, because you can be always wondering what is at the\nend of it.\u201d\n\nThe Story Girl said that once upon a time. Felix and I, on the May\nmorning when we left Toronto for Prince Edward Island, had not then\nheard her say it, and, indeed, were but barely aware of the existence of\nsuch a person as the Story Girl. We did not know her at all under that\nname. We knew only that a cousin, Sara Stanley, whose mother, our Aunt\nFelicity, was dead, was living down on the Island with Uncle Roger\nand Aunt Olivia King, on a farm adjoining the old King homestead in\nCarlisle. We supposed we should get acquainted with her when we reached\nthere, and we had an idea, from Aunt Olivia\u2019s letters to father, that\nshe would be quite a jolly creature. Further than that we did not think\nabout her. We were more interested in Felicity and Cecily and Dan,\nwho lived on the homestead and would therefore be our roofmates for a\nseason.\n\nBut the spirit of the Story Girl\u2019s yet unuttered remark was thrilling\nin our hearts that morning, as the train pulled out of Toronto. We were\nfaring forth on a long road; and, though we had some idea what would be\nat the end of it, there was enough glamour of the unknown about it to\nlend a wonderful charm to our speculations concerning it.\n\nWe were delighted at the thought of seeing father\u2019s old home, and living\namong the haunts of his boyhood. He had talked so much to us about it,\nand described its scenes so often and so minutely, that he had inspired\nus with some of his own deep-seated affection for it--an affection that\nhad never waned in all his years of exile. We had a vague feeling that\nwe, somehow, belonged there, in that cradle of our family, though we had\nnever seen it. We had always looked forward eagerly to the promised day\nwhen father would take us \u201cdown home,\u201d to the old house with the spruces\nbehind it and the famous \u201cKing orchard\u201d before it--when we might ramble\nin \u201cUncle Stephen\u2019s Walk,\u201d drink from the deep well with the Chinese\nroof over it, stand on \u201cthe Pulpit Stone,\u201d and eat apples from our\n\u201cbirthday trees.\u201d\n\nThe time had come sooner than we had dared to hope; but father could\nnot take us after all. His firm asked him to go to Rio de Janeiro that\nspring to take charge of their new branch there. It was too good a\nchance to lose, for father was a poor man and it meant promotion and\nincrease of salary; but it also meant the temporary breaking up of our\nhome. Our mother had died before either of us was old enough to remember\nher; father could not take us to Rio de Janeiro. In the end he decided\nto send us to Uncle Alec and Aunt Janet down on the homestead; and our\nhousekeeper, who belonged to the Island and was now returning to it,\ntook charge of us on the journey. I fear she had an anxious trip of it,\npoor woman! She was constantly in a quite justifiable terror lest we\nshould be lost or killed; she must have felt great relief when she\nreached Charlottetown and handed us over to the keeping of Uncle Alec.\nIndeed, she said as much.\n\n\u201cThe fat one isn\u2019t so bad. He isn\u2019t so quick to move and get out of your\nsight while you\u2019re winking as the thin one. But the only safe way to\ntravel with those young ones would be to have \u2018em both tied to you with\na short rope--a MIGHTY short rope.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe fat one\u201d was Felix, who was very sensitive about his plumpness.\nHe was always taking exercises to make him thin, with the dismal result\nthat he became fatter all the time. He vowed that he didn\u2019t care; but he\nDID care terribly, and he glowered at Mrs. MacLaren in a most undutiful\nfashion. He had never liked her since the day she had told him he would\nsoon be as broad as he was long.\n\nFor my own part, I was rather sorry to see her going; and she cried over\nus and wished us well; but we had forgotten all about her by the time\nwe reached the open country, driving along, one on either side of Uncle\nAlec, whom we loved from the moment we saw him. He was a small man, with\nthin, delicate features, close-clipped gray beard, and large, tired,\nblue eyes--father\u2019s eyes over again. We knew that Uncle Alec was fond\nof children and was heart-glad to welcome \u201cAlan\u2019s boys.\u201d We felt at home\nwith him, and were not afraid to ask him questions on any subject that\ncame uppermost in our minds. We became very good friends with him on\nthat twenty-four mile drive.\n\nMuch to our disappointment it was dark when we reached Carlisle--too\ndark to see anything very distinctly, as we drove up the lane of the\nold King homestead on the hill. Behind us a young moon was hanging over\nsouthwestern meadows of spring-time peace, but all about us were the\nsoft, moist shadows of a May night. We peered eagerly through the gloom.\n\n\u201cThere\u2019s the big willow, Bev,\u201d whispered Felix excitedly, as we turned\nin at the gate.\n\nThere it was, in truth--the tree Grandfather King had planted when he\nreturned one evening from ploughing in the brook field and stuck the\nwillow switch he had used all day in the soft soil by the gate.\n\nIt had taken root and grown; our father and our uncles and aunts had\nplayed in its shadow; and now it was a massive thing, with a huge girth\nof trunk and great spreading boughs, each of them as large as a tree in\nitself.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m going to climb it to-morrow,\u201d I said joyfully.\n\nOff to the right was a dim, branching place which we knew was the\norchard; and on our left, among sibilant spruces and firs, was the old,\nwhitewashed house--from which presently a light gleamed through an open\ndoor, and Aunt Janet, a big, bustling, sonsy woman, with full-blown\npeony cheeks, came to welcome us.\n\nSoon after we were at supper in the kitchen, with its low, dark,\nraftered ceiling from which substantial hams and flitches of bacon were\nhanging. Everything was just as father had described it. We felt that we\nhad come home, leaving exile behind us.\n\nFelicity, Cecily, and Dan were sitting opposite us, staring at us when\nthey thought we would be too busy eating to see them. We tried to stare\nat them when THEY were eating; and as a result we were always catching\neach other at it and feeling cheap and embarrassed.\n\nDan was the oldest; he was my age--thirteen. He was a lean, freckled\nfellow with rather long, lank, brown hair and the shapely King nose. We\nrecognized it at once. His mouth was his own, however, for it was like\nto no mouth on either the King or the Ward side; and nobody would have\nbeen anxious to claim it, for it was an undeniably ugly one--long and\nnarrow and twisted. But it could grin in friendly fashion, and both\nFelix and I felt that we were going to like Dan.\n\nFelicity was twelve. She had been called after Aunt Felicity, who was\nthe twin sister of Uncle Felix. Aunt Felicity and Uncle Felix, as father\nhad often told us, had died on the same day, far apart, and were buried\nside by side in the old Carlisle graveyard.\n\nWe had known from Aunt Olivia\u2019s letters, that Felicity was the beauty of\nthe connection, and we had been curious to see her on that account. She\nfully justified our expectations. She was plump and dimpled, with big,\ndark-blue, heavy-lidded eyes, soft, feathery, golden curls, and a pink\nand white skin--\u201cthe King complexion.\u201d The Kings were noted for their\nnoses and complexion. Felicity had also delightful hands and wrists. At\nevery turn of them a dimple showed itself. It was a pleasure to wonder\nwhat her elbows must be like.\n\nShe was very nicely dressed in a pink print and a frilled muslin apron;\nand we understood, from something Dan said, that she had \u201cdressed up\u201d\n in honour of our coming. This made us feel quite important. So far as we\nknew, no feminine creatures had ever gone to the pains of dressing up on\nour account before.\n\nCecily, who was eleven, was pretty also--or would have been had Felicity\nnot been there. Felicity rather took the colour from other girls. Cecily\nlooked pale and thin beside her; but she had dainty little features,\nsmooth brown hair of satin sheen, and mild brown eyes, with just a hint\nof demureness in them now and again. We remembered that Aunt Olivia\nhad written to father that Cecily was a true Ward--she had no sense\nof humour. We did not know what this meant, but we thought it was not\nexactly complimentary.\n\nStill, we were both inclined to think we would like Cecily better than\nFelicity. To be sure, Felicity was a stunning beauty. But, with the\nswift and unerring intuition of childhood, which feels in a moment what\nit sometimes takes maturity much time to perceive, we realized that\nshe was rather too well aware of her good looks. In brief, we saw that\nFelicity was vain.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s a wonder the Story Girl isn\u2019t over to see you,\u201d said Uncle Alec.\n\u201cShe\u2019s been quite wild with excitement about your coming.\u201d\n\n\u201cShe hasn\u2019t been very well all day,\u201d explained Cecily, \u201cand Aunt Olivia\nwouldn\u2019t let her come out in the night air. She made her go to bed\ninstead. The Story Girl was awfully disappointed.\u201d\n\n\u201cWho is the Story Girl?\u201d asked Felix.\n\n\u201cOh, Sara--Sara Stanley. We call her the Story Girl partly because\nshe\u2019s such a hand to tell stories--oh, I can\u2019t begin to describe it--and\npartly because Sara Ray, who lives at the foot of the hill, often comes\nup to play with us, and it is awkward to have two girls of the same name\nin the same crowd. Besides, Sara Stanley doesn\u2019t like her name and she\u2019d\nrather be called the Story Girl.\u201d\n\nDan speaking for the first time, rather sheepishly volunteered the\ninformation that Peter had also been intending to come over but had to\ngo home to take some flour to his mother instead.\n\n\u201cPeter?\u201d I questioned. I had never heard of any Peter.\n\n\u201cHe is your Uncle Roger\u2019s handy boy,\u201d said Uncle Alec. \u201cHis name is\nPeter Craig, and he is a real smart little chap. But he\u2019s got his share\nof mischief, that same lad.\u201d\n\n\u201cHe wants to be Felicity\u2019s beau,\u201d said Dan slyly.\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t talk silly nonsense, Dan,\u201d said Aunt Janet severely.\n\nFelicity tossed her golden head and shot an unsisterly glance at Dan.\n\n\u201cI wouldn\u2019t be very likely to have a hired boy for a beau,\u201d she\nobserved.\n\nWe saw that her anger was real, not affected. Evidently Peter was not an\nadmirer of whom Felicity was proud.\n\nWe were very hungry boys; and when we had eaten all we could--and oh,\nwhat suppers Aunt Janet always spread!--we discovered that we were very\ntired also--too tired to go out and explore our ancestral domains, as we\nwould have liked to do, despite the dark.\n\nWe were quite willing to go to bed; and presently we found ourselves\ntucked away upstairs in the very room, looking out eastward into the\nspruce grove, which father had once occupied. Dan shared it with us,\nsleeping in a bed of his own in the opposite corner. The sheets and\npillow-slips were fragrant with lavender, and one of Grandmother King\u2019s\nnoted patchwork quilts was over us. The window was open and we heard the\nfrogs singing down in the swamp of the brook meadow. We had heard frogs\nsing in Ontario, of course; but certainly Prince Edward Island frogs\nwere more tuneful and mellow. Or was it simply the glamour of old family\ntraditions and tales which was over us, lending its magic to all sights\nand sounds around us? This was home--father\u2019s home--OUR home! We\nhad never lived long enough in any one house to develop a feeling\nof affection for it; but here, under the roof-tree built by\nGreat-Grandfather King ninety years ago, that feeling swept into our\nboyish hearts and souls like a flood of living sweetness and tenderness.\n\n\u201cJust think, those are the very frogs father listened to when he was a\nlittle boy,\u201d whispered Felix.\n\n\u201cThey can hardly be the SAME frogs,\u201d I objected doubtfully, not feeling\nvery certain about the possible longevity of frogs. \u201cIt\u2019s twenty years\nsince father left home.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, they\u2019re the descendants of the frogs he heard,\u201d said Felix, \u201cand\nthey\u2019re singing in the same swamp. That\u2019s near enough.\u201d\n\nOur door was open and in their room across the narrow hall the girls\nwere preparing for bed, and talking rather more loudly than they might\nhave done had they realized how far their sweet, shrill voices carried.\n\n\u201cWhat do you think of the boys?\u201d asked Cecily.\n\n\u201cBeverley is handsome, but Felix is too fat,\u201d answered Felicity\npromptly.\n\nFelix twitched the quilt rather viciously and grunted. But I began to\nthink I would like Felicity. It might not be altogether her fault that\nshe was vain. How could she help it when she looked in the mirror?\n\n\u201cI think they\u2019re both nice and nice looking,\u201d said Cecily.\n\nDear little soul!\n\n\u201cI wonder what the Story Girl will think of them,\u201d said Felicity, as if,\nafter all, that was the main thing.\n\nSomehow, we, too, felt that it was. We felt that if the Story Girl did\nnot approve of us it made little difference who else did or did not.\n\n\u201cI wonder if the Story Girl is pretty,\u201d said Felix aloud.\n\n\u201cNo, she isn\u2019t,\u201d said Dan instantly, from across the room. \u201cBut you\u2019ll\nthink she is while she\u2019s talking to you. Everybody does. It\u2019s only when\nyou go away from her that you find out she isn\u2019t a bit pretty after\nall.\u201d\n\nThe girls\u2019 door shut with a bang. Silence fell over the house. We\ndrifted into the land of sleep, wondering if the Story Girl would like\nus.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II. A QUEEN OF HEARTS\n\nI wakened shortly after sunrise. The pale May sunshine was showering\nthrough the spruces, and a chill, inspiring wind was tossing the boughs\nabout.\n\n\u201cFelix, wake up,\u201d I whispered, shaking him.\n\n\u201cWhat\u2019s the matter?\u201d he murmured reluctantly.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s morning. Let\u2019s get up and go down and out. I can\u2019t wait another\nminute to see the places father has told us of.\u201d\n\nWe slipped out of bed and dressed, without arousing Dan, who was still\nslumbering soundly, his mouth wide open, and his bed-clothes kicked off\non the floor. I had hard work to keep Felix from trying to see if he\ncould \u201cshy\u201d a marble into that tempting open mouth. I told him it would\nwaken Dan, who would then likely insist on getting up and accompanying\nus, and it would be so much nicer to go by ourselves for the first time.\n\nEverything was very still as we crept downstairs. Out in the kitchen we\nheard some one, presumably Uncle Alec, lighting the fire; but the heart\nof house had not yet begun to beat for the day.\n\nWe paused a moment in the hall to look at the big \u201cGrandfather\u201d clock.\nIt was not going, but it seemed like an old, familiar acquaintance to\nus, with the gilt balls on its three peaks; the little dial and pointer\nwhich would indicate the changes of the moon, and the very dent in its\nwooden door which father had made when he was a boy, by kicking it in a\nfit of naughtiness.\n\nThen we opened the front door and stepped out, rapture swelling in our\nbosoms. There was a rare breeze from the south blowing to meet us; the\nshadows of the spruces were long and clear-cut; the exquisite skies of\nearly morning, blue and wind-winnowed, were over us; away to the west,\nbeyond the brook field, was a long valley and a hill purple with firs\nand laced with still leafless beeches and maples.\n\nBehind the house was a grove of fir and spruce, a dim, cool place where\nthe winds were fond of purring and where there was always a resinous,\nwoodsy odour. On the further side of it was a thick plantation of\nslender silver birches and whispering poplars; and beyond it was Uncle\nRoger\u2019s house.\n\nRight before us, girt about with its trim spruce hedge, was the\nfamous King orchard, the history of which was woven into our earliest\nrecollections. We knew all about it, from father\u2019s descriptions, and in\nfancy we had roamed in it many a time and oft.\n\nIt was now nearly sixty years since it had had its beginning, when\nGrandfather King brought his bride home. Before the wedding he had\nfenced off the big south meadow that sloped to the sun; it was the\nfinest, most fertile field on the farm, and the neighbours told young\nAbraham King that he would raise many a fine crop of wheat in that\nmeadow. Abraham King smiled and, being a man of few words, said nothing;\nbut in his mind he had a vision of the years to be, and in that vision\nhe saw, not rippling acres of harvest gold, but great, leafy avenues of\nwide-spreading trees laden with fruit to gladden the eyes of children\nand grandchildren yet unborn.\n\nIt was a vision to develop slowly into fulfilment. Grandfather King was\nin no hurry. He did not set his whole orchard out at once, for he wished\nit to grow with his life and history, and be bound up with all of good\nand joy that should come to his household. So the morning after he had\nbrought his young wife home they went together to the south meadow and\nplanted their bridal trees. These trees were no longer living; but they\nhad been when father was a boy, and every spring bedecked themselves in\nblossom as delicately tinted as Elizabeth King\u2019s face when she walked\nthrough the old south meadow in the morn of her life and love.\n\nWhen a son was born to Abraham and Elizabeth a tree was planted in the\norchard for him. They had fourteen children in all, and each child\nhad its \u201cbirth tree.\u201d Every family festival was commemorated in like\nfashion, and every beloved visitor who spent a night under their roof\nwas expected to plant a tree in the orchard. So it came to pass that\nevery tree in it was a fair green monument to some love or delight of\nthe vanished years. And each grandchild had its tree, there, also, set\nout by grandfather when the tidings of its birth reached him; not always\nan apple tree--perhaps it was a plum, or cherry or pear. But it was\nalways known by the name of the person for whom, or by whom, it was\nplanted; and Felix and I knew as much about \u201cAunt Felicity\u2019s pears,\u201d and\n\u201cAunt Julia\u2019s cherries,\u201d and \u201cUncle Alec\u2019s apples,\u201d and the \u201cRev. Mr.\nScott\u2019s plums,\u201d as if we had been born and bred among them.\n\nAnd now we had come to the orchard; it was before us; we had only\nto open that little whitewashed gate in the hedge and we might find\nourselves in its storied domain. But before we reached the gate we\nglanced to our left, along the grassy, spruce-bordered lane which led\nover to Uncle Roger\u2019s; and at the entrance of that lane we saw a girl\nstanding, with a gray cat at her feet. She lifted her hand and beckoned\nblithely to us; and, the orchard forgotten, we followed her summons. For\nwe knew that this must be the Story Girl; and in that gay and graceful\ngesture was an allurement not to be gainsaid or denied.\n\nWe looked at her as we drew near with such interest that we forgot to\nfeel shy. No, she was not pretty. She was tall for her fourteen years,\nslim and straight; around her long, white face--rather too long and too\nwhite--fell sleek, dark-brown curls, tied above either ear with rosettes\nof scarlet ribbon. Her large, curving mouth was as red as a poppy, and\nshe had brilliant, almond-shaped, hazel eyes; but we did not think her\npretty.\n\nThen she spoke; she said,\n\n\u201cGood morning.\u201d\n\nNever had we heard a voice like hers. Never, in all my life since, have\nI heard such a voice. I cannot describe it. I might say it was clear; I\nmight say it was sweet; I might say it was vibrant and far-reaching and\nbell-like; all this would be true, but it would give you no real idea of\nthe peculiar quality which made the Story Girl\u2019s voice what it was.\n\nIf voices had colour, hers would have been like a rainbow. It made words\nLIVE. Whatever she said became a breathing entity, not a mere verbal\nstatement or utterance. Felix and I were too young to understand or\nanalyze the impression it made upon us; but we instantly felt at her\ngreeting that it WAS a good morning--a surpassingly good morning--the\nvery best morning that had ever happened in this most excellent of\nworlds.\n\n\u201cYou are Felix and Beverley,\u201d she went on, shaking our hands with an air\nof frank comradeship, which was very different from the shy, feminine\nadvances of Felicity and Cecily. From that moment we were as good\nfriends as if we had known each other for a hundred years. \u201cI am glad to\nsee you. I was so disappointed I couldn\u2019t go over last night. I got up\nearly this morning, though, for I felt sure you would be up early, too,\nand that you\u2019d like to have me tell you about things. I can tell things\nso much better than Felicity or Cecily. Do you think Felicity is VERY\npretty?\u201d\n\n\u201cShe\u2019s the prettiest girl I ever saw,\u201d I said enthusiastically,\nremembering that Felicity had called me handsome.\n\n\u201cThe boys all think so,\u201d said the Story Girl, not, I fancied, quite well\npleased. \u201cAnd I suppose she is. She is a splendid cook, too, though she\nis only twelve. I can\u2019t cook. I am trying to learn, but I don\u2019t make\nmuch progress. Aunt Olivia says I haven\u2019t enough natural gumption ever\nto be a cook; but I\u2019d love to be able to make as good cakes and pies as\nFelicity can make. But then, Felicity is stupid. It\u2019s not ill-natured\nof me to say that. It\u2019s just the truth, and you\u2019d soon find it out for\nyourselves. I like Felicity very well, but she IS stupid. Cecily is ever\nso much cleverer. Cecily\u2019s a dear. So is Uncle Alec; and Aunt Janet is\npretty nice, too.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat is Aunt Olivia like?\u201d asked Felix.\n\n\u201cAunt Olivia is very pretty. She is just like a pansy--all velvety and\npurply and goldy.\u201d\n\nFelix and I SAW, somewhere inside of our heads, a velvet and purple and\ngold pansy-woman, just as the Story Girl spoke.\n\n\u201cBut is she NICE?\u201d I asked. That was the main question about grown-ups.\nTheir looks mattered little to us.\n\n\u201cShe is lovely. But she is twenty-nine, you know. That\u2019s pretty old. She\ndoesn\u2019t bother me much. Aunt Janet says that I\u2019d have no bringing up at\nall, if it wasn\u2019t for her. Aunt Olivia says children should just be let\nCOME up--that everything else is settled for them long before they are\nborn. I don\u2019t understand that. Do you?\u201d\n\nNo, we did not. But it was our experience that grown-ups had a habit of\nsaying things hard to understand.\n\n\u201cWhat is Uncle Roger like?\u201d was our next question.\n\n\u201cWell, I like Uncle Roger,\u201d said the Story Girl meditatively. \u201cHe is big\nand jolly. But he teases people too much. You ask him a serious question\nand you get a ridiculous answer. He hardly ever scolds or gets cross,\nthough, and THAT is something. He is an old bachelor.\u201d\n\n\u201cDoesn\u2019t he ever mean to get married?\u201d asked Felix.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t know. Aunt Olivia wishes he would, because she\u2019s tired keeping\nhouse for him, and she wants to go to Aunt Julia in California. But she\nsays he\u2019ll never get married, because he is looking for perfection, and\nwhen he finds her she won\u2019t have HIM.\u201d\n\nBy this time we were all sitting down on the gnarled roots of the\nspruces, and the big gray cat came over and made friends with us. He was\na lordly animal, with a silver-gray coat beautifully marked with darker\nstripes. With such colouring most cats would have had white or silver\nfeet; but he had four black paws and a black nose. Such points gave him\nan air of distinction, and marked him out as quite different from the\ncommon or garden variety of cats. He seemed to be a cat with a tolerably\ngood opinion of himself, and his response to our advances was slightly\ntinged with condescension.\n\n\u201cThis isn\u2019t Topsy, is it?\u201d I asked. I knew at once that the question was\na foolish one. Topsy, the cat of which father had talked, had flourished\nthirty years before, and all her nine lives could scarcely have lasted\nso long.\n\n\u201cNo, but it is Topsy\u2019s great-great-great-great-grandson,\u201d said the Story\nGirl gravely. \u201cHis name is Paddy and he is my own particular cat. We\nhave barn cats, but Paddy never associates with them. I am very good\nfriends with all cats. They are so sleek and comfortable and dignified.\nAnd it is so easy to make them happy. Oh, I\u2019m so glad you boys have come\nto live here. Nothing ever happens here, except days, so we have to make\nour own good times. We were short of boys before--only Dan and Peter to\nfour girls.\u201d\n\n\u201cFOUR girls? Oh, yes, Sara Ray. Felicity mentioned her. What is she\nlike? Where does she live?\u201d\n\n\u201cJust down the hill. You can\u2019t see the house for the spruce bush. Sara\nis a nice girl. She\u2019s only eleven, and her mother is dreadfully strict.\nShe never allows Sara to read a single story. JUST you fancy! Sara\u2019s\nconscience is always troubling her for doing things she\u2019s sure her\nmother won\u2019t approve, but it never prevents her from doing them. It\nonly spoils her fun. Uncle Roger says that a mother who won\u2019t let you do\nanything, and a conscience that won\u2019t let you enjoy anything is an awful\ncombination, and he doesn\u2019t wonder Sara is pale and thin and nervous.\nBut, between you and me, I believe the real reason is that her mother\ndoesn\u2019t give her half enough to eat. Not that she\u2019s mean, you know--but\nshe thinks it isn\u2019t healthy for children to eat much, or anything but\ncertain things. Isn\u2019t it fortunate we weren\u2019t born into that sort of a\nfamily?\u201d\n\n\u201cI think it\u2019s awfully lucky we were all born into the same family,\u201d\n Felix remarked.\n\n\u201cIsn\u2019t it? I\u2019ve often thought so. And I\u2019ve often thought what a dreadful\nthing it would have been if Grandfather and Grandmother King had never\ngot married to each other. I don\u2019t suppose there would have been a\nsingle one of us children here at all; or if we were, we would be part\nsomebody else and that would be almost as bad. When I think it all over\nI can\u2019t feel too thankful that Grandfather and Grandmother King happened\nto marry each other, when there were so many other people they might\nhave married.\u201d\n\nFelix and I shivered. We felt suddenly that we had escaped a dreadful\ndanger--the danger of having been born somebody else. But it took\nthe Story Girl to make us realize just how dreadful it was and what a\nterrible risk we had run years before we, or our parents either, had\nexisted.\n\n\u201cWho lives over there?\u201d I asked, pointing to a house across the fields.\n\n\u201cOh, that belongs to the Awkward Man. His name is Jasper Dale, but\neverybody calls him the Awkward Man. And they do say he writes poetry.\nHe calls his place Golden Milestone. I know why, because I\u2019ve read\nLongfellow\u2019s poems. He never goes into society because he is so awkward.\nThe girls laugh at him and he doesn\u2019t like it. I know a story about him\nand I\u2019ll tell it to you sometime.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd who lives in that other house?\u201d asked Felix, looking over the\nwestering valley where a little gray roof was visible among the trees.\n\n\u201cOld Peg Bowen. She\u2019s very queer. She lives there with a lot of pet\nanimals in winter, and in summer she roams over the country and begs her\nmeals. They say she is crazy. People have always tried to frighten us\nchildren into good behaviour by telling us that Peg Bowen would catch us\nif we didn\u2019t behave. I\u2019m not so frightened of her as I once was, but\nI don\u2019t think I would like to be caught by her. Sara Ray is dreadfully\nscared of her. Peter Craig says she is a witch and that he bets she\u2019s at\nthe bottom of it when the butter won\u2019t come. But I don\u2019t believe THAT.\nWitches are so scarce nowadays. There may be some somewhere in the\nworld, but it\u2019s not likely there are any here right in Prince Edward\nIsland. They used to be very plenty long ago. I know some splendid witch\nstories I\u2019ll tell you some day. They\u2019ll just make your blood freeze in\nyour veins.\u201d\n\nWe hadn\u2019t a doubt of it. If anybody could freeze the blood in our veins\nthis girl with the wonderful voice could. But it was a May morning, and\nour young blood was running blithely in our veins. We suggested a visit\nto the orchard would be more agreeable.\n\n\u201cAll right. I know stories about it, too,\u201d she said, as we walked across\nthe yard, followed by Paddy of the waving tail. \u201cOh, aren\u2019t you glad it\nis spring? The beauty of winter is that it makes you appreciate spring.\u201d\n\nThe latch of the gate clicked under the Story Girl\u2019s hand, and the next\nmoment we were in the King orchard.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III. LEGENDS OF THE OLD ORCHARD\n\nOutside of the orchard the grass was only beginning to grow green; but\nhere, sheltered by the spruce hedges from uncertain winds and sloping to\nsouthern suns, it was already like a wonderful velvet carpet; the leaves\non the trees were beginning to come out in woolly, grayish clusters;\nand there were purple-pencilled white violets at the base of the Pulpit\nStone.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s all just as father described it,\u201d said Felix with a blissful sigh,\n\u201cand there\u2019s the well with the Chinese roof.\u201d\n\nWe hurried over to it, treading on the spears of mint that were\nbeginning to shoot up about it. It was a very deep well, and the curb\nwas of rough, undressed stones. Over it, the queer, pagoda-like roof,\nbuilt by Uncle Stephen on his return from a voyage to China, was covered\nwith yet leafless vines.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s so pretty, when the vines leaf out and hang down in long\nfestoons,\u201d said the Story Girl. \u201cThe birds build their nests in it. A\npair of wild canaries come here every summer. And ferns grow out between\nthe stones of the well as far down as you can see. The water is lovely.\nUncle Edward preached his finest sermon about the Bethlehem well\nwhere David\u2019s soldiers went to get him water, and he illustrated it by\ndescribing his old well at the homestead--this very well--and how in\nforeign lands he had longed for its sparkling water. So you see it is\nquite famous.\u201d\n\n\u201cThere\u2019s a cup just like the one that used to be here in father\u2019s time,\u201d\n exclaimed Felix, pointing to an old-fashioned shallow cup of clouded\nblue ware on a little shelf inside the curb.\n\n\u201cIt is the very same cup,\u201d said the Story Girl impressively. \u201cIsn\u2019t it\nan amazing thing? That cup has been here for forty years, and hundreds\nof people have drunk from it, and it has never been broken. Aunt Julia\ndropped it down the well once, but they fished it up, not hurt a bit\nexcept for that little nick in the rim. I think it is bound up with the\nfortunes of the King family, like the Luck of Edenhall in Longfellow\u2019s\npoem. It is the last cup of Grandmother King\u2019s second best set. Her best\nset is still complete. Aunt Olivia has it. You must get her to show it\nto you. It\u2019s so pretty, with red berries all over it, and the funniest\nlittle pot-bellied cream jug. Aunt Olivia never uses it except on a\nfamily anniversary.\u201d\n\nWe took a drink from the blue cup and then went to find our birthday\ntrees. We were rather disappointed to find them quite large, sturdy\nones. It seemed to us that they should still be in the sapling stage\ncorresponding to our boyhood.\n\n\u201cYour apples are lovely to eat,\u201d the Story Girl said to me, \u201cbut Felix\u2019s\nare only good for pies. Those two big trees behind them are the twins\u2019\ntrees--my mother and Uncle Felix, you know. The apples are so dead sweet\nthat nobody but us children and the French boys can eat them. And that\ntall, slender tree over there, with the branches all growing straight\nup, is a seedling that came up of itself, and NOBODY can eat its apples,\nthey are so sour and bitter. Even the pigs won\u2019t eat them. Aunt Janet\ntried to make pies of them once, because she said she hated to see them\ngoing to waste. But she never tried again. She said it was better to\nwaste apples alone than apples and sugar too. And then she tried giving\nthem away to the French hired men, but they wouldn\u2019t even carry them\nhome.\u201d\n\nThe Story Girl\u2019s words fell on the morning air like pearls and diamonds.\nEven her prepositions and conjunctions had untold charm, hinting at\nmystery and laughter and magic bound up in everything she mentioned.\nApple pies and sour seedlings and pigs became straightway invested with\na glamour of romance.\n\n\u201cI like to hear you talk,\u201d said Felix in his grave, stodgy way.\n\n\u201cEverybody does,\u201d said the Story Girl coolly. \u201cI\u2019m glad you like the way\nI talk. But I want you to like ME, too--AS WELL as you like Felicity and\nCecily. Not BETTER. I wanted that once but I\u2019ve got over it. I found\nout in Sunday School, the day the minister taught our class, that it was\nselfish. But I want you to like me AS WELL.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, I will, for one,\u201d said Felix emphatically. I think he was\nremembering that Felicity had called him fat.\n\nCecily now joined us. It appeared that it was Felicity\u2019s morning to help\nprepare breakfast, therefore she could not come. We all went to Uncle\nStephen\u2019s Walk.\n\nThis was a double row of apple trees, running down the western side of\nthe orchard. Uncle Stephen was the first born of Abraham and Elizabeth\nKing. He had none of grandfather\u2019s abiding love for woods and meadows\nand the kindly ways of the warm red earth. Grandmother King had been a\nWard, and in Uncle Stephen the blood of the seafaring race claimed its\nown. To sea he must go, despite the pleadings and tears of a reluctant\nmother; and it was from the sea he came to set out his avenue in the\norchard with trees brought from a foreign land.\n\nThen he sailed away again--and the ship was never heard of more. The\ngray first came in grandmother\u2019s brown hair in those months of waiting.\nThe, for the first time, the orchard heard the sound of weeping and was\nconsecrated by a sorrow.\n\n\u201cWhen the blossoms come out it\u2019s wonderful to walk here,\u201d said the\nStory Girl. \u201cIt\u2019s like a dream of fairyland--as if you were walking in\na king\u2019s palace. The apples are delicious, and in winter it\u2019s a splendid\nplace for coasting.\u201d\n\nFrom the Walk we went to the Pulpit Stone--a huge gray boulder, as high\nas a man\u2019s head, in the southeastern corner. It was straight and smooth\nin front, but sloped down in natural steps behind, with a ledge midway\non which one could stand. It had played an important part in the games\nof our uncles and aunts, being fortified castle, Indian ambush, throne,\npulpit, or concert platform, as occasion required. Uncle Edward had\npreached his first sermon at the age of eight from that old gray\nboulder; and Aunt Julia, whose voice was to delight thousands, sang her\nearliest madrigals there.\n\nThe Story Girl mounted to the ledge, sat on the rim, and looked at us.\nPat sat gravely at its base and daintily washed his face with his black\npaws.\n\n\u201cNow for your stories about the orchard,\u201d said I.\n\n\u201cThere are two important ones,\u201d said the Story Girl. \u201cThe story of the\nPoet Who Was Kissed, and the Tale of the Family Ghost. Which one shall I\ntell?\u201d\n\n\u201cTell them both,\u201d said Felix greedily, \u201cbut tell the ghost one first.\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t know.\u201d The Story Girl looked dubious. \u201cThat sort of story ought\nto be told in the twilight among the shadows. Then it would frighten the\nsouls out of your bodies.\u201d\n\nWe thought it might be more agreeable not to have the souls frightened\nout of our bodies, and we voted for the Family Ghost.\n\n\u201cGhost stories are more comfortable in daytime,\u201d said Felix.\n\nThe Story Girl began it and we listened avidly. Cecily, who had heard it\nmany times before, listened just as eagerly as we did. She declared to\nme afterwards that no matter how often the Story Girl told a story it\nalways seemed as new and exciting as if you had just heard it for the\nfirst time.\n\n\u201cLong, long ago,\u201d began the Story Girl, her voice giving us an\nimpression of remote antiquity, \u201ceven before Grandfather King was born,\nan orphan cousin of his lived here with his parents. Her name was Emily\nKing. She was very small and very sweet. She had soft brown eyes that\nwere too timid to look straight at anybody--like Cecily\u2019s there--and\nlong, sleek, brown curls--like mine; and she had a tiny birthmark like a\npink butterfly on one cheek--right here.\n\n\u201cOf course, there was no orchard here then. It was just a field;\nbut there was a clump of white birches in it, right where that big,\nspreading tree of Uncle Alec\u2019s is now, and Emily liked to sit among the\nferns under the birches and read or sew. She had a lover. His name was\nMalcolm Ward and he was as handsome as a prince. She loved him with all\nher heart and he loved her the same; but they had never spoken about\nit. They used to meet under the birches and talk about everything except\nlove. One day he told her he was coming the next day to ask A VERY\nIMPORTANT QUESTION, and he wanted to find her under the birches when he\ncame. Emily promised to meet him there. I am sure she stayed awake that\nnight, thinking about it, and wondering what the important question\nwould be, although she knew perfectly well. I would have. And the next\nday she dressed herself beautifully in her best pale blue muslin and\nsleeked her curls and went smiling to the birches. And while she was\nwaiting there, thinking such lovely thoughts, a neighbour\u2019s boy came\nrunning up--a boy who didn\u2019t know about her romance--and cried out that\nMalcolm Ward had been killed by his gun going off accidentally. Emily\njust put her hands to her heart--so--and fell, all white and broken\namong the ferns. And when she came back to life she never cried or\nlamented. She was CHANGED. She was never, never like herself again; and\nshe was never contented unless she was dressed in her blue muslin and\nwaiting under the birches. She got paler and paler every day, but the\npink butterfly grew redder, until it looked just like a stain of blood\non her white cheek. When the winter came she died. But next spring\u201d--the\nStory Girl dropped her voice to a whisper that was as audible and\nthrilling as her louder tones--\u201cpeople began to tell that Emily was\nsometimes seen waiting under the birches still. Nobody knew just who\ntold it first. But more than one person saw her. Grandfather saw her\nwhen he was a little boy. And my mother saw her once.\u201d\n\n\u201cDid YOU ever see her?\u201d asked Felix skeptically.\n\n\u201cNo, but I shall some day, if I keep on believing in her,\u201d said the\nStory Girl confidently.\n\n\u201cI wouldn\u2019t like to see her. I\u2019d be afraid,\u201d said Cecily with a shiver.\n\n\u201cThere wouldn\u2019t be anything to be afraid of,\u201d said the Story Girl\nreassuringly. \u201cIt\u2019s not as if it were a strange ghost. It\u2019s our own\nfamily ghost, so of course it wouldn\u2019t hurt us.\u201d\n\nWe were not so sure of this. Ghosts were unchancy folk, even if they\nwere our family ghosts. The Story Girl had made the tale very real to\nus. We were glad we had not heard it in the evening. How could we ever\nhave got back to the house through the shadows and swaying branches of a\ndarkening orchard? As it was, we were almost afraid to look up it, lest\nwe should see the waiting, blue-clad Emily under Uncle Alec\u2019s tree.\nBut all we saw was Felicity, tearing over the green sward, her curls\nstreaming behind her in a golden cloud.\n\n\u201cFelicity\u2019s afraid she\u2019s missed something,\u201d remarked the Story Girl in\na tone of quiet amusement. \u201cIs your breakfast ready, Felicity, or have I\ntime to tell the boys the Story of the Poet Who Was Kissed?\u201d\n\n\u201cBreakfast is ready, but we can\u2019t have it till father is through\nattending to the sick cow, so you will likely have time,\u201d answered\nFelicity.\n\nFelix and I couldn\u2019t keep our eyes off her. Crimson-cheeked,\nshining-eyed from her haste, her face was like a rose of youth. But when\nthe Story Girl spoke, we forgot to look at Felicity.\n\n\u201cAbout ten years after Grandfather and Grandmother King were married, a\nyoung man came to visit them. He was a distant relative of grandmother\u2019s\nand he was a Poet. He was just beginning to be famous. He was VERY\nfamous afterward. He came into the orchard to write a poem, and he fell\nasleep with his head on a bench that used to be under grandfather\u2019s\ntree. Then Great-Aunt Edith came into the orchard. She was not a\nGreat-Aunt then, of course. She was only eighteen, with red lips and\nblack, black hair and eyes. They say she was always full of mischief.\nShe had been away and had just come home, and she didn\u2019t know about the\nPoet. But when she saw him, sleeping there, she thought he was a cousin\nthey had been expecting from Scotland. And she tiptoed up--so--and bent\nover--so--and kissed his cheek. Then he opened his big blue eyes and\nlooked up into Edith\u2019s face. She blushed as red as a rose, for she\nknew she had done a dreadful thing. This could not be her cousin from\nScotland. She knew, for he had written so to her, that he had eyes as\nblack as her own. Edith ran away and hid; and of course she felt still\nworse when she found out that he was a famous poet. But he wrote one of\nhis most beautiful poems on it afterwards and sent it to her--and it was\npublished in one of his books.\u201d\n\nWe had SEEN it all--the sleeping genius--the roguish, red-lipped\ngirl--the kiss dropped as lightly as a rose-petal on the sunburned\ncheek.\n\n\u201cThey should have got married,\u201d said Felix.\n\n\u201cWell, in a book they would have, but you see this was in real life,\u201d\n said the Story Girl. \u201cWe sometimes act the story out. I like it when\nPeter plays the poet. I don\u2019t like it when Dan is the poet because he\nis so freckled and screws his eyes up so tight. But you can hardly ever\ncoax Peter to be the poet--except when Felicity is Edith--and Dan is so\nobliging that way.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat is Peter like?\u201d I asked.\n\n\u201cPeter is splendid. His mother lives on the Markdale road and washes\nfor a living. Peter\u2019s father ran away and left them when Peter was only\nthree years old. He has never come back, and they don\u2019t know whether he\nis alive or dead. Isn\u2019t that a nice way to behave to your family? Peter\nhas worked for his board ever since he was six. Uncle Roger sends him\nto school, and pays him wages in summer. We all like Peter, except\nFelicity.\u201d\n\n\u201cI like Peter well enough in his place,\u201d said Felicity primly, \u201cbut you\nmake far too much of him, mother says. He is only a hired boy, and he\nhasn\u2019t been well brought up, and hasn\u2019t much education. I don\u2019t think\nyou should make such an equal of him as you do.\u201d\n\nLaughter rippled over the Story Girl\u2019s face as shadow waves go over ripe\nwheat before a wind.\n\n\u201cPeter is a real gentleman, and he is more interesting than YOU could\never be, if you were brought up and educated for a hundred years,\u201d she\nsaid.\n\n\u201cHe can hardly write,\u201d said Felicity.\n\n\u201cWilliam the Conqueror couldn\u2019t write at all,\u201d said the Story Girl\ncrushingly.\n\n\u201cHe never goes to church, and he never says his prayers,\u201d retorted\nFelicity, uncrushed.\n\n\u201cI do, too,\u201d said Peter himself, suddenly appearing through a little gap\nin the hedge. \u201cI say my prayers sometimes.\u201d\n\nThis Peter was a slim, shapely fellow, with laughing black eyes and\nthick black curls. Early in the season as it was, he was barefooted. His\nattire consisted of a faded, gingham shirt and a scanty pair of corduroy\nknickerbockers; but he wore it with such an unconscious air of purple\nand fine linen that he seemed to be much better dressed than he really\nwas.\n\n\u201cYou don\u2019t pray very often,\u201d insisted Felicity.\n\n\u201cWell, God will be all the more likely to listen to me if I don\u2019t pester\nHim all the time,\u201d argued Peter.\n\nThis was rank heresy to Felicity, but the Story Girl looked as if she\nthought there might be something in it.\n\n\u201cYou NEVER go to church, anyhow,\u201d continued Felicity, determined not to\nbe argued down.\n\n\u201cWell, I ain\u2019t going to church till I\u2019ve made up my mind whether I\u2019m\ngoing to be a Methodist or a Presbyterian. Aunt Jane was a Methodist.\nMy mother ain\u2019t much of anything but I mean to be something. It\u2019s more\nrespectable to be a Methodist or a Presbyterian, or SOMETHING, than not\nto be anything. When I\u2019ve settled what I\u2019m to be I\u2019m going to church\nsame as you.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s not the same as being BORN something,\u201d said Felicity loftily.\n\n\u201cI think it\u2019s a good deal better to pick your own religion than have to\ntake it just because it was what your folks had,\u201d retorted Peter.\n\n\u201cNow, never mind quarrelling,\u201d said Cecily. \u201cYou leave Peter alone,\nFelicity. Peter, this is Beverley King, and this is Felix. And we\u2019re all\ngoing to be good friends and have a lovely summer together. Think of the\ngames we can have! But if you go squabbling you\u2019ll spoil it all. Peter,\nwhat are you going to do to-day?\u201d\n\n\u201cHarrow the wood field and dig your Aunt Olivia\u2019s flower beds.\u201d\n\n\u201cAunt Olivia and I planted sweet peas yesterday,\u201d said the Story Girl,\n\u201cand I planted a little bed of my own. I am NOT going to dig them up\nthis year to see if they have sprouted. It is bad for them. I shall try\nto cultivate patience, no matter how long they are coming up.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am going to help mother plant the vegetable garden to-day,\u201d said\nFelicity.\n\n\u201cOh, I never like the vegetable garden,\u201d said the Story Girl. \u201cExcept\nwhen I am hungry. Then I DO like to go and look at the nice little rows\nof onions and beets. But I love a flower garden. I think I could be\nalways good if I lived in a garden all the time.\u201d\n\n\u201cAdam and Eve lived in a garden all the time,\u201d said Felicity, \u201cand THEY\nwere far from being always good.\u201d\n\n\u201cThey mightn\u2019t have kept good as long as they did if they hadn\u2019t lived\nin a garden,\u201d said the Story Girl.\n\nWe were now summoned to breakfast. Peter and the Story Girl slipped away\nthrough the gap, followed by Paddy, and the rest of us walked up the\norchard to the house.\n\n\u201cWell, what do you think of the Story Girl?\u201d asked Felicity.\n\n\u201cShe\u2019s just fine,\u201d said Felix, enthusiastically. \u201cI never heard anything\nlike her to tell stories.\u201d\n\n\u201cShe can\u2019t cook,\u201d said Felicity, \u201cand she hasn\u2019t a good complexion. Mind\nyou, she says she\u2019s going to be an actress when she grows up. Isn\u2019t that\ndreadful?\u201d\n\nWe didn\u2019t exactly see why.\n\n\u201cOh, because actresses are always wicked people,\u201d said Felicity in a\nshocked tone. \u201cBut I daresay the Story Girl will go and be one just as\nsoon as she can. Her father will back her up in it. He is an artist, you\nknow.\u201d\n\nEvidently Felicity thought artists and actresses and all such poor trash\nwere members one of another.\n\n\u201cAunt Olivia says the Story Girl is fascinating,\u201d said Cecily.\n\nThe very adjective! Felix and I recognized its beautiful fitness at\nonce. Yes, the Story Girl WAS fascinating and that was the final word to\nbe said on the subject.\n\nDan did not come down until breakfast was half over, and Aunt Janet\ntalked to him after a fashion which made us realize that it would be\nwell to keep, as the piquant country phrase went, from the rough side\nof her tongue. But all things considered, we liked the prospect of our\nsummer very much. Felicity to look at--the Story Girl to tell us tales\nof wonder--Cecily to admire us--Dan and Peter to play with--what more\ncould reasonable fellows want?\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV. THE WEDDING VEIL OF THE PROUD PRINCESS\n\nWhen we had lived for a fortnight in Carlisle we belonged there, and the\nfreedom of all its small fry was conferred on us. With Peter and Dan,\nwith Felicity and Cecily and the Story Girl, with pale, gray-eyed little\nSara Ray, we were boon companions. We went to school, of course;\nand certain home chores were assigned to each of us for the faithful\nperformance of which we were held responsible. But we had long hours for\nplay. Even Peter had plenty of spare time when the planting was over.\n\nWe got along very well with each other in the main, in spite of some\nminor differences of opinion. As for the grown-up denizens of our small\nworld, they suited us also.\n\nWe adored Aunt Olivia; she was pretty and merry and kind; and, above\nall, she had mastered to perfection the rare art of letting children\nalone. If we kept ourselves tolerably clean, and refrained from\nquarrelling or talking slang, Aunt Olivia did not worry us. Aunt Janet,\non the contrary, gave us so much good advice and was so constantly\ntelling us to do this or not to do the other thing, that we could not\nremember half her instructions, and did not try.\n\nUncle Roger was, as we had been informed, quite jolly and fond of\nteasing. We liked him; but we had an uncomfortable feeling that the\nmeaning of his remarks was not always that which met the ear. Sometimes\nwe believed Uncle Roger was making fun of us, and the deadly seriousness\nof youth in us resented that.\n\nTo Uncle Alec we gave our warmest love. We felt that we always had a\nfriend at court in Uncle Alec, no matter what we did or left undone. And\nwe never had to turn HIS speeches inside out to discover their meaning.\n\nThe social life of juvenile Carlisle centred in the day and Sunday\nSchools. We were especially interested in our Sunday School, for we were\nfortunate enough to be assigned to a teacher who made our lessons so\ninteresting that we no longer regarded Sunday School attendance as\na disagreeable weekly duty; but instead looked forward to it with\npleasure, and tried to carry out our teacher\u2019s gentle precepts--at least\non Mondays and Tuesdays. I am afraid the remembrance grew a little dim\nthe rest of the week.\n\nShe was also deeply interested in missions; and one talk on this subject\ninspired the Story Girl to do a little home missionary work on her own\naccount. The only thing she could think of, along this line, was to\npersuade Peter to go to church.\n\nFelicity did not approve of the design, and said so plainly.\n\n\u201cHe won\u2019t know how to behave, for he\u2019s never been inside a church door\nin his life,\u201d she warned the Story Girl. \u201cHe\u2019ll likely do something\nawful, and then you\u2019ll feel ashamed and wish you\u2019d never asked him to\ngo, and we\u2019ll all be disgraced. It\u2019s all right to have our mite boxes\nfor the heathen, and send missionaries to them. They\u2019re far away and we\ndon\u2019t have to associate with them. But I don\u2019t want to have to sit in a\npew with a hired boy.\u201d\n\nBut the Story Girl undauntedly continued to coax the reluctant Peter. It\nwas not an easy matter. Peter did not come of a churchgoing stock; and\nbesides, he alleged, he had not yet made up his mind whether to be a\nPresbyterian or a Methodist.\n\n\u201cIt isn\u2019t a bit of difference which you are,\u201d pleaded the Story Girl.\n\u201cThey both go to heaven.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut one way must be easier or better than the other, or else they\u2019d all\nbe one kind,\u201d argued Peter. \u201cI want to find the easiest way. And I\u2019ve\ngot a hankering after the Methodists. My Aunt Jane was a Methodist.\u201d\n\n\u201cIsn\u2019t she one still?\u201d asked Felicity pertly.\n\n\u201cWell, I don\u2019t know exactly. She\u2019s dead,\u201d said Peter rebukingly. \u201cDo\npeople go on being just the same after they\u2019re dead?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, of course not. They\u2019re angels then--not Methodists or anything, but\njust angels. That is, if they go to heaven.\u201d\n\n\u201cS\u2019posen they went to the other place?\u201d\n\nBut Felicity\u2019s theology broke down at this point. She turned her back on\nPeter and walked disdainfully away.\n\nThe Story Girl returned to the main point with a new argument.\n\n\u201cWe have such a lovely minister, Peter. He looks just like the picture\nof St. John my father sent me, only he is old and his hair is white.\nI know you\u2019d like him. And even if you are going to be a Methodist it\nwon\u2019t hurt you to go to the Presbyterian church. The nearest Methodist\nchurch is six miles away, at Markdale, and you can\u2019t attend there just\nnow. Go to the Presbyterian church until you\u2019re old enough to have a\nhorse.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut s\u2019posen I got too fond of being Presbyterian and couldn\u2019t change if\nI wanted to?\u201d objected Peter.\n\nAltogether, the Story Girl had a hard time of it; but she persevered;\nand one day she came to us with the announcement that Peter had yielded.\n\n\u201cHe\u2019s going to church with us to-morrow,\u201d she said triumphantly.\n\nWe were out in Uncle Roger\u2019s hill pasture, sitting on some smooth, round\nstones under a clump of birches. Behind us was an old gray fence, with\nviolets and dandelions thick in its corners. Below us was the Carlisle\nvalley, with its orchard-embowered homesteads, and fertile meadows. Its\nupper end was dim with a delicate spring mist. Winds blew up the field\nlike wave upon wave of sweet savour--spice of bracken and balsam.\n\nWe were eating little jam \u201cturnovers,\u201d which Felicity had made for us.\nFelicity\u2019s turnovers were perfection. I looked at her and wondered why\nit was not enough that she should be so pretty and capable of making\nsuch turnovers. If she were only more interesting! Felicity had not a\nparticle of the nameless charm and allurement which hung about every\nmotion of the Story Girl, and made itself manifest in her lightest word\nand most careless glance. Ah well, one cannot have every good gift! The\nStory Girl had no dimples at her slim, brown wrists.\n\nWe all enjoyed our turnovers except Sara Ray. She ate hers but she\nknew she should not have done so. Her mother did not approve of snacks\nbetween meals, or of jam turnovers at any time. Once, when Sara was in a\nbrown study, I asked her what she was thinking of.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m trying to think of something ma hasn\u2019t forbid,\u201d she answered with a\nsigh.\n\nWe were all glad to hear that Peter was going to church, except\nFelicity. She was full of gloomy forebodings and warnings.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m surprised at you, Felicity King,\u201d said Cecily severely. \u201cYou ought\nto be glad that poor boy is going to get started in the right way.\u201d\n\n\u201cThere\u2019s a great big patch on his best pair of trousers,\u201d protested\nFelicity.\n\n\u201cWell, that\u2019s better than a hole,\u201d said the Story Girl, addressing\nherself daintily to her turnover. \u201cGod won\u2019t notice the patch.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, but the Carlisle people will,\u201d retorted Felicity, in a tone which\nimplied that what the Carlisle people thought was far more important.\n\u201cAnd I don\u2019t believe that Peter has got a decent stocking to his name.\nWhat will you feel like if he goes to church with the skin of his legs\nshowing through the holes, Miss Story Girl?\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019m not a bit afraid,\u201d said the Story Girl staunchly. \u201cPeter knows\nbetter than that.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, all I hope is that he\u2019ll wash behind his ears,\u201d said Felicity\nresignedly.\n\n\u201cHow is Pat to-day?\u201d asked Cecily, by way of changing the conversation.\n\n\u201cPat isn\u2019t a bit better. He just mopes about the kitchen,\u201d said the\nStory Girl anxiously. \u201cI went out to the barn and I saw a mouse. I had\na stick in my hand and I fetched a swipe at it--so. I killed it stone\ndead. Then I took it in to Paddy. Will you believe it? He wouldn\u2019t even\nlook at it. I\u2019m so worried. Uncle Roger says he needs a dose of physic.\nBut how is he to be made take it, that\u2019s the question. I mixed a powder\nin some milk and tried to pour it down his throat while Peter held him.\nJust look at the scratches I got! And the milk went everywhere except\ndown Pat\u2019s throat.\u201d\n\n\u201cWouldn\u2019t it be awful if--if anything happened to Pat?\u201d whispered\nCecily.\n\n\u201cWell, we could have a jolly funeral, you know,\u201d said Dan.\n\nWe looked at him in such horror that Dan hastened to apologize.\n\n\u201cI\u2019d be awful sorry myself if Pat died. But if he DID, we\u2019d have to give\nhim the right kind of a funeral,\u201d he protested. \u201cWhy, Paddy just seems\nlike one of the family.\u201d\n\nThe Story Girl finished her turnover, and stretched herself out on the\ngrasses, pillowing her chin in her hands and looking at the sky. She was\nbare headed, as usual, and her scarlet ribbon was bound filletwise about\nher head. She had twined freshly plucked dandelions around it and the\neffect was that of a crown of brilliant golden stars on her sleek, brown\ncurls.\n\n\u201cLook at that long, thin, lacy cloud up there,\u201d she said. \u201cWhat does it\nmake you think of, girls?\u201d\n\n\u201cA wedding veil,\u201d said Cecily.\n\n\u201cThat is just what it is--the Wedding Veil of the Proud Princess. I\nknow a story about it. I read it in a book. Once upon a time\u201d--the Story\nGirl\u2019s eyes grew dreamy, and her accents floated away on the summer\nair like wind-blown rose petals--\u201cthere was a princess who was the most\nbeautiful princess in the world, and kings from all lands came to woo\nher for a bride. But she was as proud as she was beautiful. She laughed\nall her suitors to scorn. And when her father urged her to choose one of\nthem as her husband she drew herself up haughtily--so--\u201d\n\nThe Story Girl sprang to her feet and for a moment we saw the proud\nprincess of the old tale in all her scornful loveliness--\n\n\u201cand she said,\n\n\u201c\u2018I will not wed until a king comes who can conquer all kings. Then I\nshall be the wife of the king of the world and no one can hold herself\nhigher than I.\u2019\n\n\u201cSo every king went to war to prove that he could conquer every one\nelse, and there was a great deal of bloodshed and misery. But the proud\nprincess laughed and sang, and she and her maidens worked at a wonderful\nlace veil which she meant to wear when the king of all kings came. It\nwas a very beautiful veil; but her maidens whispered that a man had died\nand a woman\u2019s heart had broken for every stitch set in it.\n\n\u201cJust when a king thought he had conquered everybody some other king\nwould come and conquer HIM; and so it went on until it did not seem\nlikely the proud princess would ever get a husband at all. But still\nher pride was so great that she would not yield, even though everybody\nexcept the kings who wanted to marry her, hated her for the suffering\nshe had caused. One day a horn was blown at the palace gate; and there\nwas one tall man in complete armor with his visor down, riding on a\nwhite horse. When he said he had come to marry the princess every one\nlaughed, for he had no retinue and no beautiful apparel, and no golden\ncrown.\n\n\u201c\u2018But I am the king who conquers all kings,\u2019 he said.\n\n\u201c\u2018You must prove it before I shall marry you,\u2019 said the proud princess.\nBut she trembled and turned pale, for there was something in his voice\nthat frightened her. And when he laughed, his laughter was still more\ndreadful.\n\n\u201c\u2018I can easily prove it, beautiful princess,\u2019 he said, \u2018but you must\ngo with me to my kingdom for the proof. Marry me now, and you and I and\nyour father and all your court will ride straightway to my kingdom; and\nif you are not satisfied then that I am the king who conquers all kings\nyou may give me back my ring and return home free of me forever more.\u2019\n\n\u201cIt was a strange wooing and the friends of the princess begged her to\nrefuse. But her pride whispered that it would be such a wonderful thing\nto be the queen of the king of the world; so she consented; and her\nmaidens dressed her, and put on the long lace veil that had been so many\nyears a-making. Then they were married at once, but the bridegroom\nnever lifted his visor and no one saw his face. The proud princess held\nherself more proudly than ever, but she was as white as her veil. And\nthere was no laughter or merry-making, such as should be at a wedding,\nand every one looked at every one else with fear in his eyes.\n\n\u201cAfter the wedding the bridegroom lifted his bride before him on his\nwhite horse, and her father and all the members of his court mounted,\ntoo, and rode after them. On and on they rode, and the skies grew darker\nand the wind blew and wailed, and the shades of evening came down. And\njust in the twilight they rode into a dark valley, filled with tombs and\ngraves.\n\n\u201c\u2018Why have you brought me here?\u2019 cried the proud princess angrily.\n\n\u201c\u2018This is my kingdom,\u2019 he answered. \u2018These are the tombs of the kings I\nhave conquered. Behold me, beautiful princess. I am Death!\u2019\n\n\u201cHe lifted his visor. All saw his awful face. The proud princess\nshrieked.\n\n\u201c\u2018Come to my arms, my bride,\u2019 he cried. \u2018I have won you fairly. I am the\nking who conquers all kings!\u2019\n\n\u201cHe clasped her fainting form to his breast and spurred his white horse\nto the tombs. A tempest of rain broke over the valley and blotted them\nfrom sight. Very sadly the old king and courtiers rode home, and never,\nnever again did human eye behold the proud princess. But when those\nlong, white clouds sweep across the sky, the country people in the land\nwhere she lived say, \u2018Look you, there is the Wedding Veil of the Proud\nPrincess.\u2019\u201d\n\nThe weird spell of the tale rested on us for some moments after the\nStory Girl had finished. We had walked with her in the place of death\nand grown cold with the horror that chilled the heart of the poor\nprincess. Dan presently broke the spell.\n\n\u201cYou see it doesn\u2019t do to be too proud, Felicity,\u201d he remarked, giving\nher a poke. \u201cYou\u2019d better not say too much about Peter\u2019s patches.\u201d\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V. PETER GOES TO CHURCH\n\nThere was no Sunday School the next afternoon, as superintendent and\nteachers wished to attend a communion service at Markdale. The Carlisle\nservice was in the evening, and at sunset we were waiting at Uncle\nAlec\u2019s front door for Peter and the Story Girl.\n\nNone of the grown-ups were going to church. Aunt Olivia had a sick\nheadache and Uncle Roger stayed home with her. Aunt Janet and Uncle Alec\nhad gone to the Markdale service and had not yet returned.\n\nFelicity and Cecily were wearing their new summer muslins for the first\ntime--and were acutely conscious of the fact. Felicity, her pink and\nwhite face shadowed by her drooping, forget-me-not-wreathed, leghorn\nhat, was as beautiful as usual; but Cecily, having tortured her hair\nwith curl papers all night, had a rampant bush of curls all about her\nhead which quite destroyed the sweet, nun-like expression of her little\nfeatures. Cecily cherished a grudge against fate because she had not\nbeen given naturally curly hair as had the other two girls. But she\nattained the desire of her heart on Sundays at least, and was quite\nwell satisfied. It was impossible to convince her that the satin smooth\nlustre of her week-day tresses was much more becoming to her.\n\nPresently Peter and the Story Girl appeared, and we were all more or\nless relieved to see that Peter looked quite respectable, despite the\nindisputable patch on his trousers. His face was rosy, his thick black\ncurls were smoothly combed, and his tie was neatly bowed; but it was his\nlegs which we scrutinized most anxiously. At first glance they seemed\nwell enough; but closer inspection revealed something not altogether\ncustomary.\n\n\u201cWhat is the matter with your stockings, Peter?\u201d asked Dan bluntly.\n\n\u201cOh, I hadn\u2019t a pair without holes in the legs,\u201d answered Peter easily,\n\u201cbecause ma hadn\u2019t time to darn them this week. So I put on two pairs.\nThe holes don\u2019t come in the same places, and you\u2019d never notice them\nunless you looked right close.\u201d\n\n\u201cHave you got a cent for collection?\u201d demanded Felicity.\n\n\u201cI\u2019ve got a Yankee cent. I s\u2019pose it will do, won\u2019t it?\u201d\n\nFelicity shook her head vehemently.\n\n\u201cOh, no, no. It may be all right to pass a Yankee cent on a store keeper\nor an egg peddler, but it would never do for church.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll have to go without any, then,\u201d said Peter. \u201cI haven\u2019t another\ncent. I only get fifty cents a week and I give it all to ma last night.\u201d\n\nBut Peter must have a cent. Felicity would have given him one\nherself--and she was none too lavish of her coppers--rather than\nhave him go without one. Dan, however, lent him one, on the distinct\nunderstanding that it was to be repaid the next week.\n\nUncle Roger wandered by at this moment and, beholding Peter, said,\n\n\u201c\u2018Is Saul also among the prophets?\u2019 What can have induced you to turn\nchurch-goer, Peter, when all Olivia\u2019s gentle persuasions were of no\navail? The old, old argument I suppose--\u2018beauty draws us with a single\nhair.\u2019\u201d\n\nUncle Roger looked quizzically at Felicity. We did not know what his\nquotations meant, but we understood he thought Peter was going to church\nbecause of Felicity. Felicity tossed her head.\n\n\u201cIt isn\u2019t my fault that he\u2019s going to church,\u201d she said snappishly.\n\u201cIt\u2019s the Story Girl\u2019s doings.\u201d\n\nUncle Roger sat down on the doorstep, and gave himself over to one\nof the silent, inward paroxysms of laughter we all found so very\naggravating. He shook his big, blond head, shut his eyes, and murmured,\n\n\u201cNot her fault! Oh, Felicity, Felicity, you\u2019ll be the death of your dear\nUncle yet if you don\u2019t watch out.\u201d\n\nFelicity started off indignantly, and we followed, picking up Sara Ray\nat the foot of the hill.\n\nThe Carlisle church was a very old-fashioned one, with a square,\nivy-hung tower. It was shaded by tall elms, and the graveyard surrounded\nit completely, many of the graves being directly under its windows. We\nalways took the corner path through it, passing the King plot where our\nkindred of four generations slept in a green solitude of wavering light\nand shadow.\n\nThere was Great-grandfather King\u2019s flat tombstone of rough Island\nsandstone, so overgrown with ivy that we could hardly read its lengthy\ninscription, recording his whole history in brief, and finishing with\neight lines of original verse composed by his widow. I do not think that\npoetry was Great-grandmother King\u2019s strong point. When Felix read it, on\nour first Sunday in Carlisle, he remarked dubiously that it LOOKED like\npoetry but didn\u2019t SOUND like it.\n\nThere, too, slept the Emily whose faithful spirit was supposed to haunt\nthe orchard; but Edith who had kissed the poet lay not with her kindred.\nShe had died in a far, foreign land, and the murmur of an alien sea\nsounded about her grave.\n\nWhite marble tablets, ornamented with weeping willow trees, marked where\nGrandfather and Grandmother King were buried, and a single shaft of\nred Scotch granite stood between the graves of Aunt Felicity and Uncle\nFelix. The Story Girl lingered to lay a bunch of wild violets, misty\nblue and faintly sweet, on her mother\u2019s grave; and then she read aloud\nthe verse on the stone.\n\n\u201c\u2018They were lovely and pleasant in their lives and in their death they\nwere not divided.\u2019\u201d\n\nThe tones of her voice brought out the poignant and immortal beauty and\npathos of that wonderful old lament. The girls wiped their eyes; and\nwe boys felt as if we might have done so, too, had nobody been looking.\nWhat better epitaph could any one wish than to have it said that he was\nlovely and pleasant in his life? When I heard the Story Girl read it I\nmade a secret compact with myself that I would try to deserve such an\nepitaph.\n\n\u201cI wish I had a family plot,\u201d said Peter, rather wistfully. \u201cI haven\u2019t\nANYTHING you fellows have. The Craigs are just buried anywhere they\nhappen to die.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019d like to be buried here when I die,\u201d said Felix. \u201cBut I hope it\nwon\u2019t be for a good while yet,\u201d he added in a livelier tone, as we moved\nonward to the church.\n\nThe interior of the church was as old-fashioned as its exterior. It was\nfurnished with square box pews; the pulpit was a \u201cwine-glass\u201d one, and\nwas reached by a steep, narrow flight of steps. Uncle Alec\u2019s pew was at\nthe top of the church, quite near the pulpit.\n\nPeter\u2019s appearance did not attract as much attention as we had fondly\nexpected. Indeed, nobody seemed to notice him at all. The lamps were\nnot yet lighted and the church was filled with a soft twilight and hush.\nOutside, the sky was purple and gold and silvery green, with a delicate\ntangle of rosy cloud above the elms.\n\n\u201cIsn\u2019t it awful nice and holy in here?\u201d whispered Peter reverently. \u201cI\ndidn\u2019t know church was like this. It\u2019s nice.\u201d\n\nFelicity frowned at him, and the Story Girl touched her with her\nslippered foot to remind him that he must not talk in church. Peter\nstiffened up and sat at attention during the service. Nobody could have\nbehaved better. But when the sermon was over and the collection was\nbeing taken up, he made the sensation which his entrance had not\nproduced.\n\nElder Frewen, a tall, pale man, with long, sandy side-whiskers, appeared\nat the door of our pew with the collection plate. We knew Elder Frewen\nquite well and liked him; he was Aunt Janet\u2019s cousin and often visited\nher. The contrast between his week-day jollity and the unearthly\nsolemnity of his countenance on Sundays always struck us as very funny.\nIt seemed so to strike Peter; for as Peter dropped his cent into the\nplate he laughed aloud!\n\nEverybody looked at our pew. I have always wondered why Felicity did\nnot die of mortification on the spot. The Story Girl turned white, and\nCecily turned red. As for that poor, unlucky Peter, the shame of his\ncountenance was pitiful to behold. He never lifted his head for the\nremainder of the service; and he followed us down the aisle and across\nthe graveyard like a beaten dog. None of us uttered a word until we\nreached the road, lying in the white moonshine of the May night. Then\nFelicity broke the tense silence by remarking to the Story Girl,\n\n\u201cI told you so!\u201d\n\nThe Story Girl made no response. Peter sidled up to her.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m awful sorry,\u201d he said contritely. \u201cI never meant to laugh. It just\nhappened before I could stop myself. It was this way--\u201d\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t you ever speak to me again,\u201d said the Story Girl, in a tone of\ncold concentrated fury. \u201cGo and be a Methodist, or a Mohammedan, or\nANYTHING! I don\u2019t care what you are! You have HUMILIATED me!\u201d\n\nShe marched off with Sara Ray, and Peter dropped back to us with a\nfrightened face.\n\n\u201cWhat is it I\u2019ve done to her?\u201d he whispered. \u201cWhat does that big word\nmean?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, never mind,\u201d I said crossly--for I felt that Peter HAD disgraced\nus--\u201cShe\u2019s just mad--and no wonder. Whatever made you act so crazy,\nPeter?\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, I didn\u2019t mean to. And I wanted to laugh twice before that and\nDIDN\u2019T. It was the Story Girl\u2019s stories made me want to laugh, so I\ndon\u2019t think it\u2019s fair for her to be mad at me. She hadn\u2019t ought to tell\nme stories about people if she don\u2019t want me to laugh when I see them.\nWhen I looked at Samuel Ward I thought of him getting up in meeting\none night, and praying that he might be guided in his upsetting and\ndownrising. I remembered the way she took him off, and I wanted to\nlaugh. And then I looked at the pulpit and thought of the story she told\nabout the old Scotch minister who was too fat to get in at the door\nof it, and had to h\u2019ist himself by his two hands over it, and then\nwhispered to the other minister so that everybody heard him.\n\n\u201c\u2018_This pulpit door was made for speerits_\u2019--and I wanted to laugh.\nAnd then Mr. Frewen come--and I thought of her story about his\nsidewhiskers--how when his first wife died of information of the lungs\nhe went courting Celia Ward, and Celia told him she wouldn\u2019t marry\nhim unless he shaved them whiskers off. And he wouldn\u2019t, just to be\nstubborn. And one day one of them caught fire, when he was burning\nbrush, and burned off, and every one thought he\u2019d HAVE to shave the\nother off then. But he didn\u2019t and just went round with one whisker till\nthe burned one grew out. And then Celia gave in and took him, because\nshe saw there wasn\u2019t no hope of HIM ever giving in. I just remembered\nthat story, and I thought I could see him, taking up the cents so\nsolemn, with one long whisker; and the laugh just laughed itself before\nI could help it.\u201d\n\nWe all exploded with laughter on the spot, much to the horror of Mrs.\nAbraham Ward, who was just driving past, and who came up the next day\nand told Aunt Janet we had \u201cacted scandalous\u201d on the road home from\nchurch. We felt ashamed ourselves, because we knew people should conduct\nthemselves decently and in order on Sunday farings-forth. But, as with\nPeter, it \u201chad laughed itself.\u201d\n\nEven Felicity laughed. Felicity was not nearly so angry with Peter as\nmight have been expected. She even walked beside him and let him carry\nher Bible. They talked quite confidentially. Perhaps she forgave him the\nmore easily, because he had justified her in her predictions, and thus\nafforded her a decided triumph over the Story Girl.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m going to keep on going to church,\u201d Peter told her. \u201cI like it.\nSermons are more int\u2019resting than I thought, and I like the singing.\nI wish I could make up my mind whether to be a Presbyterian or a\nMethodist. I s\u2019pose I might ask the ministers about it.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, no, no, don\u2019t do that,\u201d said Felicity in alarm. \u201cMinisters wouldn\u2019t\nwant to be bothered with such questions.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy not? What are ministers for if they ain\u2019t to tell people how to get\nto heaven?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, well, it\u2019s all right for grown-ups to ask them things, of course.\nBut it isn\u2019t respectful for little boys--especially hired boys.\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t see why. But anyhow, I s\u2019pose it wouldn\u2019t be much use, because\nif he was a Presbyterian minister he\u2019d say I ought to be a Presbyterian,\nand if he was a Methodist he\u2019d tell me to be one, too. Look here,\nFelicity, what IS the difference between them?\u201d\n\n\u201cI--I don\u2019t know,\u201d said Felicity reluctantly. \u201cI s\u2019pose children can\u2019t\nunderstand such things. There must be a great deal of difference, of\ncourse, if we only knew what it was. Anyhow, I am a Presbyterian, and\nI\u2019m glad of it.\u201d\n\nWe walked on in silence for a time, thinking our own young thoughts.\nPresently they were scattered by an abrupt and startling question from\nPeter.\n\n\u201cWhat does God look like?\u201d he said.\n\nIt appeared that none of us had any idea.\n\n\u201cThe Story Girl would prob\u2019ly know,\u201d said Cecily.\n\n\u201cI wish I knew,\u201d said Peter gravely. \u201cI wish I could see a picture of\nGod. It would make Him seem lots more real.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019ve often wondered myself what he looks like,\u201d said Felicity in a\nburst of confidence. Even in Felicity, so it would seem, there were\ndepths of thought unplumbed.\n\n\u201cI\u2019ve seen pictures of Jesus,\u201d said Felix meditatively. \u201cHe looks just\nlike a man, only better and kinder. But now that I come to think of it,\nI\u2019ve never seen a picture of God.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, if there isn\u2019t one in Toronto it isn\u2019t likely there\u2019s one\nanywhere,\u201d said Peter disappointedly. \u201cI saw a picture of the devil\nonce,\u201d he added. \u201cIt was in a book my Aunt Jane had. She got it for a\nprize in school. My Aunt Jane was clever.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt couldn\u2019t have been a very good book if there was such a picture in\nit,\u201d said Felicity.\n\n\u201cIt was a real good book. My Aunt Jane wouldn\u2019t have a book that wasn\u2019t\ngood,\u201d retorted Peter sulkily.\n\nHe refused to discuss the subject further, somewhat to our\ndisappointment. For we had never seen a picture of the person referred\nto, and we were rather curious regarding it.\n\n\u201cWe\u2019ll ask Peter to describe it sometime when he\u2019s in a better humour,\u201d\n whispered Felix.\n\nSara Ray having turned in at her own gate, I ran ahead to join the Story\nGirl, and we walked up the hill together. She had recovered her calmness\nof mind, but she made no reference to Peter. When we reached our lane\nand passed under Grandfather King\u2019s big willow the fragrance of the\norchard struck us in the face like a wave. We could see the long rows of\ntrees, a white gladness in the moonshine. It seemed to us that there\nwas in the orchard something different from other orchards that we had\nknown. We were too young to analyze the vague sensation. In later years\nwe were to understand that it was because the orchard blossomed not only\napple blossoms but all the love, faith, joy, pure happiness and pure\nsorrow of those who had made it and walked there.\n\n\u201cThe orchard doesn\u2019t seem the same place by moonlight at all,\u201d said the\nStory Girl dreamily. \u201cIt\u2019s lovely, but it\u2019s different. When I was very\nsmall I used to believe the fairies danced in it on moonlight nights. I\nwould like to believe it now but I can\u2019t.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy not?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, it\u2019s so hard to believe things you know are not true. It was Uncle\nEdward who told me there were no such things as fairies. I was just\nseven. He is a minister, so of course I knew he spoke the truth. It was\nhis duty to tell me, and I do not blame him, but I have never felt quite\nthe same to Uncle Edward since.\u201d\n\nAh, do we ever \u201cfeel quite the same\u201d towards people who destroy our\nillusions? Shall I ever be able to forgive the brutal creature who first\ntold me there was no such person as Santa Claus? He was a boy, three\nyears older than myself; and he may now, for aught I know, be a most\nuseful and respectable member of society, beloved by his kind. But I\nknow what he must ever seem to me!\n\nWe waited at Uncle Alec\u2019s door for the others to come up. Peter was by\nway of skulking shamefacedly past into the shadows; but the Story Girl\u2019s\nbrief, bitter anger had vanished.\n\n\u201cWait for me, Peter,\u201d she called.\n\nShe went over to him and held out her hand.\n\n\u201cI forgive you,\u201d she said graciously.\n\nFelix and I felt that it would really be worth while to offend her,\njust to be forgiven in such an adorable voice. Peter eagerly grasped her\nhand.\n\n\u201cI tell you what, Story Girl, I\u2019m awfully sorry I laughed in church,\nbut you needn\u2019t be afraid I ever will again. No, sir! And I\u2019m going to\nchurch and Sunday School regular, and I\u2019ll say my prayers every night. I\nwant to be like the rest of you. And look here! I\u2019ve thought of the way\nmy Aunt Jane used to give medicine to a cat. You mix the powder in lard,\nand spread it on his paws and his sides and he\u2019ll lick it off, \u2018cause a\ncat can\u2019t stand being messy. If Paddy isn\u2019t any better to-morrow, we\u2019ll\ndo that.\u201d\n\nThey went away together hand in hand, children-wise, up the lane of\nspruces crossed with bars of moonlight. And there was peace over all\nthat fresh and flowery land, and peace in our little hearts.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI. THE MYSTERY OF GOLDEN MILESTONE\n\nPaddy was smeared with medicated lard the next day, all of us assisting\nat the rite, although the Story Girl was high priestess. Then, out of\nregard for mats and cushions, he was kept in durance vile in the granary\nuntil he had licked his fur clean. This treatment being repeated every\nday for a week, Pat recovered his usual health and spirits, and our\nminds were set at rest to enjoy the next excitement--collecting for a\nschool library fund.\n\nOur teacher thought it would be an excellent thing to have a library\nin connection with the school; and he suggested that each of the pupils\nshould try to see how much money he or she could raise for the project\nduring the month of June. We might earn it by honest toil, or gather it\nin by contributions levied on our friends.\n\nThe result was a determined rivalry as to which pupil should collect\nthe largest sum; and this rivalry was especially intense in our home\ncoterie.\n\nOur relatives started us with a quarter apiece. For the rest, we knew we\nmust depend on our own exertions. Peter was handicapped at the beginning\nby the fact that he had no family friend to finance him.\n\n\u201cIf my Aunt Jane\u2019d been living she\u2019d have given me something,\u201d he\nremarked. \u201cAnd if my father hadn\u2019t run away he might have given me\nsomething too. But I\u2019m going to do the best I can anyhow. Your Aunt\nOlivia says I can have the job of gathering the eggs, and I\u2019m to have\none egg out of every dozen to sell for myself.\u201d\n\nFelicity made a similar bargain with her mother. The Story Girl and\nCecily were each to be paid ten cents a week for washing dishes in their\nrespective homes. Felix and Dan contracted to keep the gardens free from\nweeds. I caught brook trout in the westering valley of spruces and sold\nthem for a cent apiece.\n\nSara Ray was the only unhappy one among us. She could do nothing. She\nhad no relatives in Carlisle except her mother, and her mother did not\napprove of the school library project, and would not give Sara a cent,\nor put her in any way of earning one. To Sara, this was humiliation\nindescribable. She felt herself an outcast and an alien to our busy\nlittle circle, where each member counted every day, with miserly\ndelight, his slowly increasing hoard of small cash.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m just going to pray to God to send me some money,\u201d she announced\ndesperately at last.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t believe that will do any good,\u201d said Dan. \u201cHe gives lots of\nthings, but he doesn\u2019t give money, because people can earn that for\nthemselves.\u201d\n\n\u201cI can\u2019t,\u201d said Sara, with passionate defiance. \u201cI think He ought to\ntake that into account.\u201d\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t worry, dear,\u201d said Cecily, who always poured balm. \u201cIf you can\u2019t\ncollect any money everybody will know it isn\u2019t your fault.\u201d\n\n\u201cI won\u2019t ever feel like reading a single book in the library if I can\u2019t\ngive something to it,\u201d mourned Sara.\n\nDan and the girls and I were sitting in a row on Aunt Olivia\u2019s garden\nfence, watching Felix weed. Felix worked well, although he did not like\nweeding--\u201cfat boys never do,\u201d Felicity informed him. Felix pretended not\nto hear her, but I knew he did, because his ears grew red. Felix\u2019s face\nnever blushed, but his ears always gave him away. As for Felicity, she\ndid not say things like that out of malice prepense. It never occurred\nto her that Felix did not like to be called fat.\n\n\u201cI always feel so sorry for the poor weeds,\u201d said the Story Girl\ndreamily. \u201cIt must be very hard to be rooted up.\u201d\n\n\u201cThey shouldn\u2019t grow in the wrong place,\u201d said Felicity mercilessly.\n\n\u201cWhen weeds go to heaven I suppose they will be flowers,\u201d continued the\nStory Girl.\n\n\u201cYou do think such queer things,\u201d said Felicity.\n\n\u201cA rich man in Toronto has a floral clock in his garden,\u201d I said. \u201cIt\nlooks just like the face of a clock, and there are flowers in it that\nopen at every hour, so that you can always tell the time.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, I wish we had one here,\u201d exclaimed Cecily.\n\n\u201cWhat would be the use of it?\u201d asked the Story Girl a little\ndisdainfully. \u201cNobody ever wants to know the time in a garden.\u201d\n\nI slipped away at this point, suddenly remembering that it was time to\ntake a dose of magic seed. I had bought it from Billy Robinson three\ndays before in school. Billy had assured me that it would make me grow\nfast.\n\nI was beginning to feel secretly worried because I did not grow. I had\noverheard Aunt Janet say I was going to be short, like Uncle Alec. Now,\nI loved Uncle Alec, but I wanted to be taller than he was. So when Billy\nconfided to me, under solemn promise of secrecy, that he had some \u201cmagic\nseed,\u201d which would make boys grow, and would sell me a box of it for ten\ncents, I jumped at the offer. Billy was taller than any boy of his age\nin Carlisle, and he assured me it all came from taking magic seed.\n\n\u201cI was a regular runt before I begun,\u201d he said, \u201cand look at me now. I\ngot it from Peg Bowen. She\u2019s a witch, you know. I wouldn\u2019t go near her\nagain for a bushel of magic seed. It was an awful experience. I haven\u2019t\nmuch left, but I guess I\u2019ve enough to do me till I\u2019m as tall as I want\nto be. You must take a pinch of the seed every three hours, walking\nbackward, and you must never tell a soul you\u2019re taking it, or it won\u2019t\nwork. I wouldn\u2019t spare any of it to any one but you.\u201d\n\nI felt deeply grateful to Billy, and sorry that I had not liked him\nbetter. Somehow, nobody did like Billy Robinson over and above. But I\nvowed I WOULD like him in future. I paid him the ten cents cheerfully\nand took the magic seed as directed, measuring myself carefully every\nday by a mark on the hall door. I could not see any advance in growth\nyet, but then I had been taking it only three days.\n\nOne day the Story Girl had an inspiration.\n\n\u201cLet us go and ask the Awkward Man and Mr. Campbell for a contribution\nto the library fund,\u201d she said. \u201cI am sure no one else has asked them,\nbecause nobody in Carlisle is related to them. Let us all go, and if\nthey give us anything we\u2019ll divide it equally among us.\u201d\n\nIt was a daring proposition, for both Mr. Campbell and the Awkward Man\nwere regarded as eccentric personages; and Mr. Campbell was supposed\nto detest children. But where the Story Girl led we would follow to the\ndeath. The next day being Saturday, we started out in the afternoon.\n\nWe took a short cut to Golden Milestone, over a long, green, dewy land\nfull of placid meadows, where sunshine had fallen asleep. At first all\nwas not harmonious. Felicity was in an ill humour; she had wanted to\nwear her second best dress, but Aunt Janet had decreed that her school\nclothes were good enough to go \u201ctraipsing about in the dust.\u201d Then the\nStory Girl arrived, arrayed not in any second best but in her very best\ndress and hat, which her father had sent her from Paris--a dress of\nsoft, crimson silk, and a white leghorn hat encircled by flame-red\npoppies. Neither Felicity nor Cecily could have worn it; but it became\nthe Story Girl perfectly. In it she was a thing of fire and laughter\nand glow, as if the singular charm of her temperament were visible and\ntangible in its vivid colouring and silken texture.\n\n\u201cI shouldn\u2019t think you\u2019d put on your best clothes to go begging for the\nlibrary in,\u201d said Felicity cuttingly.\n\n\u201cAunt Olivia says that when you are going to have an important interview\nwith a man you ought to look your very best,\u201d said the Story Girl,\ngiving her skirt a lustrous swirl and enjoying the effect.\n\n\u201cAunt Olivia spoils you,\u201d said Felicity.\n\n\u201cShe doesn\u2019t either, Felicity King! Aunt Olivia is just sweet. She\nkisses me good-night every night, and your mother NEVER kisses you.\u201d\n\n\u201cMy mother doesn\u2019t make kisses so common,\u201d retorted Felicity. \u201cBut she\ngives us pie for dinner every day.\u201d\n\n\u201cSo does Aunt Olivia.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, but look at the difference in the size of the pieces! And Aunt\nOlivia only gives you skim milk. My mother gives us cream.\u201d\n\n\u201cAunt Olivia\u2019s skim milk is as good as your mother\u2019s cream,\u201d cried the\nStory Girl hotly.\n\n\u201cOh, girls, don\u2019t fight,\u201d said Cecily, the peacemaker. \u201cIt\u2019s such a nice\nday, and we\u2019ll have a nice time if you don\u2019t spoil it by fighting.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe\u2019re NOT fighting,\u201d said Felicity. \u201cAnd I like Aunt Olivia. But my\nmother is just as good as Aunt Olivia, there now!\u201d\n\n\u201cOf course she is. Aunt Janet is splendid,\u201d agreed the Story Girl.\n\nThey smiled at each other amicably. Felicity and the Story Girl were\nreally quite fond of each other, under the queer surface friction that\ncommonly resulted from their intercourse.\n\n\u201cYou said once you knew a story about the Awkward Man,\u201d said Felix. \u201cYou\nmight tell it to us.\u201d\n\n\u201cAll right,\u201d agreed the Story Girl. \u201cThe only trouble is, I don\u2019t know\nthe whole story. But I\u2019ll tell you all I do know. I call it \u2018The Mystery\nof the Golden Milestone.\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, I don\u2019t believe that story is true,\u201d said Felicity. \u201cI believe Mrs.\nGriggs was just romancing. She DOES romance, mother says.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes; but I don\u2019t believe she could ever have thought of such a thing\nas this herself, so I believe it must be true,\u201d said the Story Girl.\n\u201cAnyway, this is the story, boys. You know the Awkward Man has lived\nalone ever since his mother died, ten years ago. Abel Griggs is his\nhired man, and he and his wife live in a little house down the Awkward\nMan\u2019s lane. Mrs. Griggs makes his bread for him, and she cleans up his\nhouse now and then. She says he keeps it very neat. But till last fall\nthere was one room she never saw. It was always locked--the west one,\nlooking out over his garden. One day last fall the Awkward Man went to\nSummerside, and Mrs. Griggs scrubbed his kitchen. Then she went over the\nwhole house and she tried the door of the west room. Mrs. Griggs is a\nVERY curious woman. Uncle Roger says all women have as much curiosity\nas is good for them, but Mrs. Griggs has more. She expected to find the\ndoor locked as usual. It was NOT locked. She opened it and went in. What\ndo you suppose she found?\u201d\n\n\u201cSomething like--like Bluebeard\u2019s chamber?\u201d suggested Felix in a scared\ntone.\n\n\u201cOh, no, NO! Nothing like THAT could happen in Prince Edward Island. But\nif there HAD been beautiful wives hanging up by their hair all round the\nwalls I don\u2019t believe Mrs. Griggs could have been much more astonished.\nThe room had never been furnished in his mother\u2019s time, but now it was\nELEGANTLY furnished, though Mrs. Griggs says SHE doesn\u2019t know when or\nhow that furniture was brought there. She says she never saw a room\nlike it in a country farmhouse. It was like a bed-room and sitting-room\ncombined. The floor was covered with a carpet like green velvet. There\nwere fine lace curtains at the windows and beautiful pictures on the\nwalls. There was a little white bed, and a dressing-table, a bookcase\nfull of books, a stand with a work basket on it, and a rocking-chair.\nThere was a woman\u2019s picture above the bookcase. Mrs. Griggs says she\nthinks it was a coloured photograph, but she didn\u2019t know who it was.\nAnyway, it was a very pretty girl. But the most amazing thing of all was\nthat A WOMAN\u2019S DRESS was hanging over a chair by the table. Mrs. Griggs\nsays it NEVER belonged to Jasper Dale\u2019s mother, for she thought it a sin\nto wear anything but print and drugget; and this dress was of PALE BLUE\nsilk. Besides that, there was a pair of blue satin slippers on the floor\nbeside it--HIGH-HEELED slippers. And on the fly-leaves of the books\nthe name \u2018Alice\u2019 was written. Now, there never was an Alice in the Dale\nconnection and nobody ever heard of the Awkward Man having a sweetheart.\nThere, isn\u2019t that a lovely mystery?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s a pretty queer yarn,\u201d said Felix. \u201cI wonder if it is true--and\nwhat it means.\u201d\n\n\u201cI intend to find out what it means,\u201d said the Story Girl. \u201cI am going\nto get acquainted with the Awkward Man sometime, and then I\u2019ll find out\nhis Alice-secret.\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t see how you\u2019ll ever get acquainted with him,\u201d said Felicity.\n\u201cHe never goes anywhere except to church. He just stays home and reads\nbooks when he isn\u2019t working. Mother says he is a perfect hermit.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll manage it somehow,\u201d said the Story Girl--and we had no doubt that\nshe would. \u201cBut I must wait until I\u2019m a little older, for he wouldn\u2019t\ntell the secret of the west room to a little girl. And I mustn\u2019t wait\ntill I\u2019m TOO old, for he is frightened of grown-up girls, because he\nthinks they laugh at his awkwardness. I know I will like him. He has\nsuch a nice face, even if he is awkward. He looks like a man you could\ntell things to.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, I\u2019d like a man who could move around without falling over his own\nfeet,\u201d said Felicity. \u201cAnd then the look of him! Uncle Roger says he is\nlong, lank, lean, narrow, and contracted.\u201d\n\n\u201cThings always sound worse than they are when Uncle Roger says them,\u201d\n said the Story Girl. \u201cUncle Edward says Jasper Dale is a very clever man\nand it\u2019s a great pity he wasn\u2019t able to finish his college course. He\nwent to college two years, you know. Then his father died, and he stayed\nhome with his mother because she was very delicate. I call him a hero. I\nwonder if it is true that he writes poetry. Mrs. Griggs says it is. She\nsays she has seen him writing it in a brown book. She said she couldn\u2019t\nget near enough to read it, but she knew it was poetry by the shape of\nit.\u201d\n\n\u201cVery likely. If that blue silk dress story is true, I\u2019d believe\nANYTHING of him,\u201d said Felicity.\n\nWe were near Golden Milestone now. The house was a big, weather-gray\nstructure, overgrown with vines and climbing roses. Something about\nthe three square windows in the second story gave it an appearance of\nwinking at us in a friendly fashion through its vines--at least, so the\nStory Girl said; and, indeed, we could see it for ourselves after she\nhad once pointed it out to us.\n\nWe did not get into the house, however. We met the Awkward man in his\nyard, and he gave us a quarter apiece for our library. He did not seem\nawkward or shy; but then we were only children, and his foot was on his\nnative heath.\n\nHe was a tall, slender man, who did not look his forty years, so\nunwrinkled was his high, white forehead, so clear and lustrous his\nlarge, dark-blue eyes, so free from silver threads his rather long black\nhair. He had large hands and feet, and walked with a slight stoop. I\nam afraid we stared at him rather rudely while the Story Girl talked\nto him. But was not an Awkward Man, who was also a hermit and kept blue\nsilk dresses in a locked room, and possibly wrote poetry, a legitimate\nobject of curiosity? I leave it to you.\n\nWhen we got away we compared notes, and found that we all liked him--and\nthis, although he had said little and had appeared somewhat glad to get\nrid of us.\n\n\u201cHe gave us the money like a gentleman,\u201d said the Story Girl. \u201cI felt he\ndidn\u2019t grudge it. And now for Mr. Campbell. It was on HIS account I put\non my red silk. I don\u2019t suppose the Awkward Man noticed it at all, but\nMr. Campbell will, or I\u2019m much mistaken.\u201d\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII. HOW BETTY SHERMAN WON A HUSBAND\n\nThe rest of us did not share the Story Girl\u2019s enthusiasm regarding\nour call on Mr. Campbell. We secretly dreaded it. If, as was said, he\ndetested children, who knew what sort of a reception we might meet?\n\nMr. Campbell was a rich, retired farmer, who took life easily. He had\nvisited New York and Boston, Toronto and Montreal; he had even been as\nfar as the Pacific coast. Therefore he was regarded in Carlisle as a\nmuch travelled man; and he was known to be \u201cwell read\u201d and intelligent.\nBut it was also known that Mr. Campbell was not always in a good\nhumour. If he liked you there was nothing he would not do for you; if he\ndisliked you--well, you were not left in ignorance of it. In short, we\nhad the impression that Mr. Campbell resembled the famous little girl\nwith the curl in the middle of her forehead. \u201cWhen he was good, he was\nvery, very good, and when he was bad he was horrid.\u201d What if this were\none of his horrid days?\n\n\u201cHe can\u2019t DO anything to us, you know,\u201d said the Story Girl. \u201cHe may be\nrude, but that won\u2019t hurt any one but himself.\u201d\n\n\u201cHard words break no bones,\u201d observed Felicity philosophically.\n\n\u201cBut they hurt your feelings. I am afraid of Mr. Campbell,\u201d said Cecily\ncandidly.\n\n\u201cPerhaps we\u2019d better give up and go home,\u201d suggested Dan.\n\n\u201cYou can go home if you like,\u201d said the Story Girl scornfully. \u201cBut I am\ngoing to see Mr. Campbell. I know I can manage him. But if I have to go\nalone, and he gives me anything, I\u2019ll keep it all for my own collection,\nmind you.\u201d\n\nThat settled it. We were not going to let the Story Girl get ahead of us\nin the manner of collecting.\n\nMr. Campbell\u2019s housekeeper ushered us into his parlour and left us.\nPresently Mr. Campbell himself was standing in the doorway, looking us\nover. We took heart of grace. It seemed to be one of his good days,\nfor there was a quizzical smile on his broad, clean-shaven,\nstrongly-featured face. Mr. Campbell was a tall man, with a massive\nhead, well thatched with thick, black hair, gray-streaked. He had\nbig, black eyes, with many wrinkles around them, and a thin, firm,\nlong-lipped mouth. We thought him handsome, for an old man.\n\nHis gaze wandered over us with uncomplimentary indifference until it\nfell on the Story Girl, leaning back in an arm-chair. She looked like a\nslender red lily in the unstudied grace of her attitude. A spark flashed\ninto Mr. Campbell\u2019s black eyes.\n\n\u201cIs this a Sunday School deputation?\u201d he inquired rather ironically.\n\n\u201cNo. We have come to ask a favour of you,\u201d said the Story Girl.\n\nThe magic of her voice worked its will on Mr. Campbell, as on all\nothers. He came in, sat down, hooked his thumb into his vest pocket, and\nsmiled at her.\n\n\u201cWhat is it?\u201d he asked.\n\n\u201cWe are collecting for our school library, and we have called to ask you\nfor a contribution,\u201d she replied.\n\n\u201cWhy should I contribute to your school library?\u201d demanded Mr. Campbell.\n\nThis was a poser for us. Why should he, indeed? But the Story Girl\nwas quite equal to it. Leaning forward, and throwing an indescribable\nwitchery into tone and eyes and smile, she said,\n\n\u201cBecause a lady asks you.\u201d\n\nMr. Campbell chuckled.\n\n\u201cThe best of all reasons,\u201d he said. \u201cBut see here, my dear young lady,\nI\u2019m an old miser and curmudgeon, as you may have heard. I HATE to part\nwith my money, even for a good reason. And I NEVER part with any of\nit, unless I am to receive some benefit from the expenditure. Now, what\nearthly good could I get from your three by six school library? None\nwhatever. But I shall make you a fair offer. I have heard from my\nhousekeeper\u2019s urchin of a son that you are a \u2018master hand\u2019 to tell\nstories. Tell me one, here and now. I shall pay you in proportion to the\nentertainment you afford me. Come now, and do your prettiest.\u201d\n\nThere was a fine mockery in his tone that put the Story Girl on her\nmettle instantly. She sprang to her feet, an amazing change coming over\nher. Her eyes flashed and burned; crimson spots glowed in her cheeks.\n\n\u201cI shall tell you the story of the Sherman girls, and how Betty Sherman\nwon a husband,\u201d she said.\n\nWe gasped. Was the Story Girl crazy? Or had she forgotten that Betty\nSherman was Mr. Campbell\u2019s own great-grandmother, and that her method\nof winning a husband was not exactly in accordance with maidenly\ntraditions.\n\nBut Mr. Campbell chuckled again.\n\n\u201cAn excellent test,\u201d he said. \u201cIf you can amuse ME with that story you\nmust be a wonder. I\u2019ve heard it so often that it has no more interest\nfor me than the alphabet.\u201d\n\n\u201cOne cold winter day, eighty years ago,\u201d began the Story Girl without\nfurther parley, \u201cDonald Fraser was sitting by the window of his new\nhouse, playing his fiddle for company, and looking out over the white,\nfrozen bay before his door. It was bitter, bitter cold, and a storm was\nbrewing. But, storm, or no storm, Donald meant to go over the bay that\nevening to see Nancy Sherman. He was thinking of her as he played \u2018Annie\nLaurie,\u2019 for Nancy was more beautiful than the lady of the song. \u2018Her\nface, it is the fairest that e\u2019er the sun shone on,\u2019 hummed Donald--and\noh, he thought so, too! He did not know whether Nancy cared for him or\nnot. He had many rivals. But he knew that if she would not come to be\nthe mistress of his new house no one else ever should. So he sat there\nthat afternoon and dreamed of her, as he played sweet old songs and\nrollicking jigs on his fiddle.\n\n\u201cWhile he was playing a sleigh drove up to the door, and Neil Campbell\ncame in. Donald was not overly glad to see him, for he suspected where\nhe was going. Neil Campbell, who was Highland Scotch and lived down\nat Berwick, was courting Nancy Sherman, too; and, what was far worse,\nNancy\u2019s father favoured him, because he was a richer man than Donald\nFraser. But Donald was not going to show all he thought--Scotch people\nnever do--and he pretended to be very glad to see Neil and made him\nheartily welcome.\n\n\u201cNeil sat down by the roaring fire, looking quite well satisfied with\nhimself. It was ten miles from Berwick to the bay shore, and a call at\na half way house was just the thing. Then Donald brought out the whisky.\nThey always did that eighty years ago, you know. If you were a woman,\nyou could give your visitors a dish of tea; but if you were a man and\ndid not offer them a \u2018taste\u2019 of whisky, you were thought either very\nmean or very ignorant.\n\n\u201c\u2018You look cold,\u2019 said Donald, in his great, hearty voice. \u2018Sit nearer\nthe fire, man, and put a bit of warmth in your veins. It\u2019s bitter cold\nthe day. And now tell me the Berwick news. Has Jean McLean made up\nwith her man yet? And is it true that Sandy McQuarrie is to marry Kate\nFerguson? \u2018Twill be a match now! Sure, with her red hair, Sandy will not\nbe like to lose his bride past finding.\u2019\n\n\u201cNeil had plenty of news to tell. And the more whisky he drank the more\nhe told. He didn\u2019t notice that Donald was not taking much. Neil talked\non and on, and of course he soon began to tell things it would have been\nmuch wiser not to tell. Finally he told Donald that he was going over\nthe bay to ask Nancy Sherman that very night to marry him. And if she\nwould have him, then Donald and all the folks should see a wedding that\nWAS a wedding.\n\n\u201cOh, wasn\u2019t Donald taken aback! This was more than he had expected. Neil\nhadn\u2019t been courting Nancy very long, and Donald never dreamed he would\npropose to her QUITE so soon.\n\n\u201cAt first Donald didn\u2019t know what to do. He felt sure deep down in his\nheart, that Nancy liked HIM. She was very shy and modest, but you know\na girl can let a man see she likes him without going out of her way. But\nDonald knew that if Neil proposed first he would have the best chance.\nNeil was rich and the Shermans were poor, and old Elias Sherman would\nhave the most to say in the matter. If he told Nancy she must take Neil\nCampbell she would never dream of disobeying him. Old Elias Sherman was\na man who had to be obeyed. But if Nancy had only promised some one else\nfirst her father would not make her break her word.\n\n\u201cWasn\u2019t it a hard plight for poor Donald? But he was a Scotchman,\nyou know, and it\u2019s pretty hard to stick a Scotchman long. Presently a\ntwinkle came into his eyes, for he remembered that all was fair in love\nand war. So he said to Neil, oh, so persuasively,\n\n\u201c\u2018Have some more, man, have some more. \u2018Twill keep the heart in you in\nthe teeth of that wind. Help yourself. There\u2019s plenty more where that\ncame from.\u2019\n\n\u201cNeil didn\u2019t want MUCH persuasion. He took some more, and said slyly,\n\n\u201c\u2018Is it going over the bay the night that yourself will be doing?\u2019\n\n\u201cDonald shook his head.\n\n\u201c\u2018I had thought of it,\u2019 he owned, \u2018but it looks a wee like a storm, and\nmy sleigh is at the blacksmith\u2019s to be shod. If I went it must be on\nBlack Dan\u2019s back, and he likes a canter over the ice in a snow-storm\nas little as I. His own fireside is the best place for a man to-night,\nCampbell. Have another taste, man, have another taste.\u2019\n\n\u201cNeil went on \u2018tasting,\u2019 and that sly Donald sat there with a sober\nface, but laughing eyes, and coaxed him on. At last Neil\u2019s head fell\nforward on his breast, and he was sound asleep. Donald got up, put on\nhis overcoat and cap, and went to the door.\n\n\u201c\u2018May your sleep be long and sweet, man,\u2019 he said, laughing softly, \u2018and\nas for the waking, \u2018twill be betwixt you and me.\u2019\n\n\u201cWith that he untied Neil\u2019s horse, climbed into Neil\u2019s sleigh, and\ntucked Neil\u2019s buffalo robe about him.\n\n\u201c\u2018Now, Bess, old girl, do your bonniest,\u2019 he said. \u2018There\u2019s more than\nyou know hangs on your speed. If the Campbell wakes too soon Black Dan\ncould show you a pair of clean heels for all your good start. On, my\ngirl.\u2019\n\n\u201cBrown Bess went over the ice like a deer, and Donald kept thinking of\nwhat he should say to Nancy--and more still of what she would say to\nhim. SUPPOSE he was mistaken. SUPPOSE she said \u2018no!\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018Neil would have the laugh on me then. Sure he\u2019s sleeping well. And the\nsnow is coming soon. There\u2019ll be a bonny swirl on the bay ere long. I\nhope no harm will come to the lad if he starts to cross. When he wakes\nhe\u2019ll be in such a fine Highland temper that he\u2019ll never stop to think\nof danger. Well, Bess, old girl, here we are. Now, Donald Fraser, pluck\nup heart and play the man. Never flinch because a slip of a lass looks\nscornful at you out of the bonniest dark-blue eyes on earth.\u2019\n\n\u201cBut in spite of his bold words Donald\u2019s heart was thumping as he drove\ninto the Sherman yard. Nancy was there milking a cow by the stable door,\nbut she stood up when she saw Donald coming. Oh, she was very beautiful!\nHer hair was like a skein of golden silk, and her eyes were as blue as\nthe gulf water when the sun breaks out after a storm. Donald felt more\nnervous than ever. But he knew he must make the most of his chance. He\nmight not see Nancy alone again before Neil came. He caught her hand and\nstammered out,\n\n\u201c\u2018Nan, lass, I love you. You may think \u2018tis a hasty wooing, but that\u2019s a\nstory I can tell you later maybe. I know well I\u2019m not worthy of you, but\nif true love could make a man worthy there\u2019d be none before me. Will you\nhave me, Nan?\u2019\n\n\u201cNancy didn\u2019t SAY she would have him. She just LOOKED it, and Donald\nkissed her right there in the snow.\n\n\u201cThe next morning the storm was over. Donald knew Neil must be soon\non his track. He did not want to make the Sherman house the scene of\na quarrel, so he resolved to get away before the Campbell came.\nHe persuaded Nancy to go with him to visit some friends in another\nsettlement. As he brought Neil\u2019s sleigh up to the door he saw a black\nspeck far out on the bay and laughed.\n\n\u201c\u2018Black Dan goes well, but he\u2019ll not be quick enough,\u2019 he said.\n\n\u201cHalf an hour later Neil Campbell rushed into the Sherman kitchen and\noh, how angry he was! There was nobody there but Betty Sherman, and\nBetty was not afraid of him. She was never afraid of anybody. She was\nvery handsome, with hair as brown as October nuts and black eyes and\ncrimson cheeks; and she had always been in love with Neil Campbell\nherself.\n\n\u201c\u2018Good morning, Mr. Campbell,\u2019 she said, with a toss of her head. \u2018It\u2019s\nearly abroad you are. And on Black Dan, no less! Was I mistaken in\nthinking that Donald Fraser said once that his favourite horse should\nnever be backed by any man but him? But doubtless a fair exchange is no\nrobbery, and Brown Bess is a good mare in her way.\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018Where is Donald Fraser?\u2019 said Neil, shaking his fist. \u2018It\u2019s him I\u2019m\nseeking, and it\u2019s him I will be finding. Where is he, Betty Sherman?\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018Donald Fraser is far enough away by this time,\u2019 mocked Betty. \u2018He is a\nprudent fellow, and has some quickness of wit under that sandy thatch of\nhis. He came here last night at sunset, with a horse and sleigh not his\nown, or lately gotten, and he asked Nan in the stable yard to marry him.\nDid a man ask ME to marry him at the cow\u2019s side with a milking pail\nin my hand, it\u2019s a cold answer he\u2019d get for his pains. But Nan thought\ndifferently, and they sat late together last night, and \u2018twas a bonny\nstory Nan wakened me to hear when she came to bed--the story of a braw\nlover who let his secret out when the whisky was above the wit, and then\nfell asleep while his rival was away to woo and win his lass. Did you\never hear a like story, Mr. Campbell?\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018Oh, yes,\u2019 said Neil fiercely. \u2018It is laughing at me over the country\nside and telling that story that Donald Fraser will be doing, is it? But\nwhen I meet him it is not laughing he will be doing. Oh, no. There will\nbe another story to tell!\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018Now, don\u2019t meddle with the man,\u2019 cried Betty. \u2018What a state to be in\nbecause one good-looking lass likes sandy hair and gray eyes better\nthan Highland black and blue! You have not the spirit of a wren, Neil\nCampbell. Were I you, I would show Donald Fraser that I could woo and\nwin a lass as speedily as any Lowlander of them all; that I would!\nThere\u2019s many a girl would gladly say \u2018yes\u2019 for your asking. And here\nstands one! Why not marry ME, Neil Campbell? Folks say I\u2019m as bonny as\nNan--and I could love you as well as Nan loves her Donald--ay, and ten\ntimes better!\u2019\n\n\u201cWhat do you suppose the Campbell did? Why, just the thing he ought to\nhave done. He took Betty at her word on the spot; and there was a double\nwedding soon after. And it is said that Neil and Betty were the happiest\ncouple in the world--happier even than Donald and Nancy. So all was well\nbecause it ended well!\u201d\n\nThe Story Girl curtsied until her silken skirts swept the floor. Then\nshe flung herself in her chair and looked at Mr. Campbell, flushed,\ntriumphant, daring.\n\nThe story was old to us. It had once been published in a Charlottetown\npaper, and we had read in Aunt Olivia\u2019s scrapbook, where the Story Girl\nhad learned it. But we had listened entranced. I have written down the\nbare words of the story, as she told it; but I can never reproduce the\ncharm and colour and spirit she infused into it. It LIVED for us. Donald\nand Neil, Nancy and Betty, were there in that room with us. We saw the\nflashes of expression on their faces, we heard their voices, angry or\ntender, mocking or merry, in Lowland and Highland accent. We realized\nall the mingled coquetry and feeling and defiance and archness in Betty\nSherman\u2019s daring speech. We had even forgotten all about Mr. Campbell.\n\nThat gentleman, in silence, took out his wallet, extracted a note\ntherefrom, and handed it gravely to the Story Girl.\n\n\u201cThere are five dollars for you,\u201d he said, \u201cand your story was well\nworth it. You ARE a wonder. Some day you will make the world realize\nit. I\u2019ve been about a bit, and heard some good things, but I\u2019ve never\nenjoyed anything more than that threadbare old story I heard in my\ncradle. And now, will you do me a favour?\u201d\n\n\u201cOf course,\u201d said the delighted Story Girl.\n\n\u201cRecite the multiplication table for me,\u201d said Mr. Campbell.\n\nWe stared. Well might Mr. Campbell be called eccentric. What on earth\ndid he want the multiplication table recited for? Even the Story Girl\nwas surprised. But she began promptly, with twice one and went through\nit to twelve times twelve. She repeated it simply, but her voice changed\nfrom one tone to another as each in succession grew tired. We had never\ndreamed that there was so much in the multiplication table. As she\nannounced it, the fact that three times three was nine was exquisitely\nridiculous, five times six almost brought tears to our eyes, eight times\nseven was the most tragic and frightful thing ever heard of, and twelve\ntimes twelve rang like a trumpet call to victory.\n\nMr. Campbell nodded his satisfaction.\n\n\u201cI thought you could do it,\u201d he said. \u201cThe other day I found this\nstatement in a book. \u2018Her voice would have made the multiplication\ntable charming!\u2019 I thought of it when I heard yours. I didn\u2019t believe it\nbefore, but I do now.\u201d\n\nThen he let us go.\n\n\u201cYou see,\u201d said the Story Girl as we went home, \u201cyou need never be\nafraid of people.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut we are not all Story Girls,\u201d said Cecily.\n\nThat night we heard Felicity talking to Cecily in their room.\n\n\u201cMr. Campbell never noticed one of us except the Story Girl,\u201d she said,\n\u201cbut if I had put on MY best dress as she did maybe she wouldn\u2019t have\ntaken all the attention.\u201d\n\n\u201cCould you ever do what Betty Sherman did, do you suppose?\u201d asked Cecily\nabsently.\n\n\u201cNo; but I believe the Story Girl could,\u201d answered Felicity rather\nsnappishly.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII. A TRAGEDY OF CHILDHOOD\n\nThe Story Girl went to Charlottetown for a week in June to visit Aunt\nLouisa. Life seemed very colourless without her, and even Felicity\nadmitted that it was lonesome. But three days after her departure Felix\ntold us something on the way home from school which lent some spice to\nexistence immediately.\n\n\u201cWhat do you think?\u201d he said in a very solemn, yet excited, tone. \u201cJerry\nCowan told me at recess this afternoon that he HAD SEEN A PICTURE OF\nGOD--that he has it at home in an old, red-covered history of the world,\nand has looked at it OFTEN.\u201d\n\nTo think that Jerry Cowan should have seen such a picture often! We were\nas deeply impressed as Felix had meant us to be.\n\n\u201cDid he say what it was like?\u201d asked Peter.\n\n\u201cNo--only that it was a picture of God, walking in the garden of Eden.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh,\u201d whispered Felicity--we all spoke in low tones on the subject, for,\nby instinct and training, we thought and uttered the Great Name with\nreverence, in spite of our devouring curiosity--\u201coh, WOULD Jerry Cowan\nbring it to school and let us see it?\u201d\n\n\u201cI asked him that, soon as ever he told me,\u201d said Felix. \u201cHe said he\nmight, but he couldn\u2019t promise, for he\u2019d have to ask his mother if\nhe could bring the book to school. If she\u2019ll let him he\u2019ll bring it\nto-morrow.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, I\u2019ll be almost afraid to look at it,\u201d said Sara Ray tremulously.\n\nI think we all shared her fear to some extent. Nevertheless, we went to\nschool the next day burning with curiosity. And we were disappointed.\nPossibly night had brought counsel to Jerry Cowan; or perhaps his mother\nhad put him up to it. At all events, he announced to us that he couldn\u2019t\nbring the red-covered history to school, but if we wanted to buy the\npicture outright he would tear it out of the book and sell it to us for\nfifty cents.\n\nWe talked the matter over in serious conclave in the orchard that\nevening. We were all rather short of hard cash, having devoted most of\nour spare means to the school library fund. But the general consensus\nof opinion was that we must have the picture, no matter what pecuniary\nsacrifices were involved. If we could each give about seven cents we\nwould have the amount. Peter could only give four, but Dan gave eleven,\nwhich squared matters.\n\n\u201cFifty cents would be pretty dear for any other picture, but of course\nthis is different,\u201d said Dan.\n\n\u201cAnd there\u2019s a picture of Eden thrown in, too, you know,\u201d added\nFelicity.\n\n\u201cFancy selling God\u2019s picture,\u201d said Cecily in a shocked, awed tone.\n\n\u201cNobody but a Cowan would do it, and that\u2019s a fact,\u201d said Dan.\n\n\u201cWhen we get it we\u2019ll keep it in the family Bible,\u201d said Felicity.\n\u201cThat\u2019s the only proper place.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, I wonder what it will be like,\u201d breathed Cecily.\n\nWe all wondered. Next day in school we agreed to Jerry Cowan\u2019s terms,\nand Jerry promised to bring the picture up to Uncle Alec\u2019s the following\nafternoon.\n\nWe were all intensely excited Saturday morning. To our dismay, it began\nto rain just before dinner.\n\n\u201cWhat if Jerry doesn\u2019t bring the picture to-day because of the rain?\u201d I\nsuggested.\n\n\u201cNever you fear,\u201d answered Felicity decidedly. \u201cA Cowan would come\nthrough ANYTHING for fifty cents.\u201d\n\nAfter dinner we all, without any verbal decision about it, washed our\nfaces and combed our hair. The girls put on their second best dresses,\nand we boys donned white collars. We all had the unuttered feeling that\nwe must do such honour to that Picture as we could. Felicity and Dan\nbegan a small spat over something, but stopped at once when Cecily said\nseverely,\n\n\u201cHow DARE you quarrel when you are going to look at a picture of God\nto-day?\u201d\n\nOwing to the rain we could not foregather in the orchard, where we had\nmeant to transact the business with Jerry. We did not wish our grown-ups\naround at our great moment, so we betook ourselves to the loft of the\ngranary in the spruce wood, from whose window we could see the main road\nand hail Jerry. Sara Ray had joined us, very pale and nervous, having\nhad, so it appeared, a difference of opinion with her mother about\ncoming up the hill in the rain.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m afraid I did very wrong to come against ma\u2019s will,\u201d she said\nmiserably, \u201cbut I COULDN\u2019T wait. I wanted to see the picture as soon as\nyou did.\u201d\n\nWe waited and watched at the window. The valley was full of mist, and\nthe rain was coming down in slanting lines over the tops of the spruces.\nBut as we waited the clouds broke away and the sun came out flashingly;\nthe drops on the spruce boughs glittered like diamonds.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t believe Jerry can be coming,\u201d said Cecily in despair. \u201cI\nsuppose his mother must have thought it was dreadful, after all, to sell\nsuch a picture.\u201d\n\n\u201cThere he is now!\u201d cried Dan, waving excitedly from the window.\n\n\u201cHe\u2019s carrying a fish-basket,\u201d said Felicity. \u201cYou surely don\u2019t suppose\nhe would bring THAT picture in a fish-basket!\u201d\n\nJerry HAD brought it in a fish-basket, as appeared when he mounted\nthe granary stairs shortly afterwards. It was folded up in a newspaper\npacket on top of the dried herring with which the basket was filled. We\npaid him his money, but we would not open the packet until he had gone.\n\n\u201cCecily,\u201d said Felicity in a hushed tone. \u201cYou are the best of us all.\nYOU open the parcel.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, I\u2019m no gooder than the rest of you,\u201d breathed Cecily, \u201cbut I\u2019ll\nopen it if you like.\u201d\n\nWith trembling fingers Cecily opened the parcel. We stood around, hardly\nbreathing. She unfolded it and held it up. We saw it.\n\nSuddenly Sara began to cry.\n\n\u201cOh, oh, oh, does God look like THAT?\u201d she wailed.\n\nFelix and I spoke not. Disappointment, and something worse, sealed our\nspeech. DID God look like that--like that stern, angrily frowning old\nman with the tossing hair and beard of the wood-cut Cecily held.\n\n\u201cI suppose He must, since that is His picture,\u201d said Dan miserably.\n\n\u201cHe looks awful cross,\u201d said Peter simply.\n\n\u201cOh, I wish we\u2019d never, never seen it,\u201d cried Cecily.\n\nWe all wished that--too late. Our curiosity had led us into some Holy of\nHolies, not to be profaned by human eyes, and this was our punishment.\n\n\u201cI\u2019ve always had a feeling right along,\u201d wept Sara, \u201cthat it wasn\u2019t\nRIGHT to buy--or LOOK AT--God\u2019s picture.\u201d\n\nAs we stood there wretchedly we heard flying feet below and a blithe\nvoice calling,\n\n\u201cWhere are you, children?\u201d\n\nThe Story Girl had returned! At any other moment we would have rushed to\nmeet her in wild joy. But now we were too crushed and miserable to move.\n\n\u201cWhatever is the matter with you all?\u201d demanded the Story Girl,\nappearing at the top of the stairs. \u201cWhat is Sara crying about? What\nhave you got there?\u201d\n\n\u201cA picture of God,\u201d said Cecily with a sob in her voice, \u201cand oh, it is\nso dreadful and ugly. Look!\u201d\n\nThe Story Girl looked. An expression of scorn came over her face.\n\n\u201cSurely you don\u2019t believe God looks like that,\u201d she said impatiently,\nwhile her fine eyes flashed. \u201cHe doesn\u2019t--He couldn\u2019t. He is wonderful\nand beautiful. I\u2019m surprised at you. THAT is nothing but the picture of\na cross old man.\u201d\n\nHope sprang up in our hearts, although we were not wholly convinced.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t know,\u201d said Dan dubiously. \u201cIt says under the picture \u2018God in\nthe Garden of Eden.\u2019 It\u2019s PRINTED.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, I suppose that\u2019s what the man who drew it thought God was like,\u201d\n answered the Story Girl carelessly. \u201cBut HE couldn\u2019t have known any more\nthan you do. HE had never seen Him.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s all very well for you to say so,\u201d said Felicity, \u201cbut YOU don\u2019t\nknow either. I wish I could believe that isn\u2019t like God--but I don\u2019t\nknow what to believe.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, if you won\u2019t believe me, I suppose you\u2019ll believe the minister,\u201d\n said the Story Girl. \u201cGo and ask him. He\u2019s in the house this very\nminute. He came up with us in the buggy.\u201d\n\nAt any other time we would never have dared catechize the minister\nabout anything. But desperate cases call for desperate measures. We\ndrew straws to see who should go and do the asking, and the lot fell to\nFelix.\n\n\u201cBetter wait until Mr. Marwood leaves, and catch him in the lane,\u201d\n advised the Story Girl. \u201cYou\u2019ll have a lot of grown-ups around you in\nthe house.\u201d\n\nFelix took her advice. Mr. Marwood, presently walking benignantly\nalong the lane, was confronted by a fat, small boy with a pale face but\nresolute eyes.\n\nThe rest of us remained in the background but within hearing.\n\n\u201cWell, Felix, what is it?\u201d asked Mr. Marwood kindly.\n\n\u201cPlease, sir, does God really look like this?\u201d asked Felix, holding out\nthe picture. \u201cWe hope He doesn\u2019t--but we want to know the truth, and\nthat is why I\u2019m bothering you. Please excuse us and tell me.\u201d\n\nThe minister looked at the picture. A stern expression came into his\ngentle blue eyes and he got as near to frowning as it was possible for\nhim to get.\n\n\u201cWhere did you get that thing?\u201d he asked.\n\nTHING! We began to breathe easier.\n\n\u201cWe bought it from Jerry Cowan. He found it in a red-covered history of\nthe world. It SAYS it\u2019s God\u2019s picture,\u201d said Felix.\n\n\u201cIt is nothing of the sort,\u201d said Mr. Marwood indignantly. \u201cThere is\nno such thing as a picture of God, Felix. No human being knows what he\nlooks like--no human being CAN know. We should not even try to think\nwhat He looks like. But, Felix, you may be sure that God is infinitely\nmore beautiful and loving and tender and kind than anything we can\nimagine of Him. Never believe anything else, my boy. As for this--this\nSACRILEGE--take it and burn it.\u201d\n\nWe did not know what a sacrilege meant, but we knew that Mr. Marwood had\ndeclared that the picture was not like God. That was enough for us. We\nfelt as if a terrible weight had been lifted from our minds.\n\n\u201cI could hardly believe the Story Girl, but of course the minister\nKNOWS,\u201d said Dan happily.\n\n\u201cWe\u2019ve lost fifty cents because of it,\u201d said Felicity gloomily.\n\nWe had lost something of infinitely more value than fifty cents,\nalthough we did not realize it just then. The minister\u2019s words had\nremoved from our minds the bitter belief that God was like that picture;\nbut on something deeper and more enduring than mind an impression had\nbeen made that was never to be removed. The mischief was done. From\nthat day to this the thought or the mention of God brings up before us\ninvoluntarily the vision of a stern, angry, old man. Such was the price\nwe were to pay for the indulgence of a curiosity which each of us, deep\nin our hearts, had, like Sara Ray, felt ought not to be gratified.\n\n\u201cMr. Marwood told me to burn it,\u201d said Felix.\n\n\u201cIt doesn\u2019t seem reverent to do that,\u201d said Cecily. \u201cEven if it isn\u2019t\nGod\u2019s picture, it has His name on it.\u201d\n\n\u201cBury it,\u201d said the Story Girl.\n\nWe did bury it after tea, in the depths of the spruce grove; and then we\nwent into the orchard. It was so nice to have the Story Girl back again.\nShe had wreathed her hair with Canterbury Bells, and looked like the\nincarnation of rhyme and story and dream.\n\n\u201cCanterbury Bells is a lovely name for a flower, isn\u2019t it?\u201d she said.\n\u201cIt makes you think of cathedrals and chimes, doesn\u2019t it? Let\u2019s go over\nto Uncle Stephen\u2019s Walk, and sit on the branches of the big tree. It\u2019s\ntoo wet on the grass, and I know a story--a TRUE story, about an old\nlady I saw in town at Aunt Louisa\u2019s. Such a dear old lady, with lovely\nsilvery curls.\u201d\n\nAfter the rain the air seemed dripping with odours in the warm west\nwind--the tang of fir balsam, the spice of mint, the wild woodsiness of\nferns, the aroma of grasses steeping in the sunshine,--and with it all a\nbreath of wild sweetness from far hill pastures.\n\nScattered through the grass in Uncle Stephen\u2019s Walk, were blossoming\npale, aerial flowers which had no name that we could ever discover.\nNobody seemed to know anything about them. They had been there when\nGreat-grandfather King bought the place. I have never seen them\nelsewhere, or found them described in any floral catalogue. We called\nthem the White Ladies. The Story Girl gave them the name. She said they\nlooked like the souls of good women who had had to suffer much and had\nbeen very patient. They were wonderfully dainty, with a strange, faint,\naromatic perfume which was only to be detected at a little distance and\nvanished if you bent over them. They faded soon after they were plucked;\nand, although strangers, greatly admiring them, often carried away roots\nand seeds, they could never be coaxed to grow elsewhere.\n\n\u201cMy story is about Mrs. Dunbar and the Captain of the FANNY,\u201d said the\nStory Girl, settling herself comfortably on a bough, with her brown head\nagainst a gnarled trunk. \u201cIt\u2019s sad and beautiful--and true. I do love to\ntell stories that I know really happened. Mrs. Dunbar lives next door to\nAunt Louisa in town. She is so sweet. You wouldn\u2019t think to look at her\nthat she had a tragedy in her life, but she has. Aunt Louisa told me the\ntale. It all happened long, long ago. Interesting things like this all\ndid happen long ago, it seems to me. They never seem to happen now. This\nwas in \u201849, when people were rushing to the gold fields in California.\nIt was just like a fever, Aunt Louisa says. People took it, right here\non the Island; and a number of young men determined they would go to\nCalifornia.\n\n\u201cIt is easy to go to California now; but it was a very different matter\nthen. There were no railroads across the land, as there are now, and if\nyou wanted to go to California you had to go in a sailing vessel, all\nthe way around Cape Horn. It was a long and dangerous journey; and\nsometimes it took over six months. When you got there you had no way of\nsending word home again except by the same plan. It might be over a year\nbefore your people at home heard a word about you--and fancy what their\nfeelings would be!\n\n\u201cBut these young men didn\u2019t think of these things; they were led on by a\ngolden vision. They made all their arrangements, and they chartered the\nbrig _Fanny_ to take them to California.\n\n\u201cThe captain of the _Fanny_ is the hero of my story. His name was Alan\nDunbar, and he was young and handsome. Heroes always are, you know,\nbut Aunt Louisa says he really was. And he was in love--wildly in\nlove,--with Margaret Grant. Margaret was as beautiful as a dream, with\nsoft blue eyes and clouds of golden hair; and she loved Alan Dunbar just\nas much as he loved her. But her parents were bitterly opposed to him,\nand they had forbidden Margaret to see him or speak to him. They hadn\u2019t\nanything against him as a MAN, but they didn\u2019t want her to throw herself\naway on a sailor.\n\n\u201cWell, when Alan Dunbar knew that he must go to California in the\n_Fanny_ he was in despair. He felt that he could NEVER go so far away\nfor so long and leave his Margaret behind. And Margaret felt that she\ncould never let him go. I know EXACTLY how she felt.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow can you know?\u201d interrupted Peter suddenly. \u201cYou ain\u2019t old enough to\nhave a beau. How can you know?\u201d\n\nThe Story Girl looked at Peter with a frown. She did not like to be\ninterrupted when telling a story.\n\n\u201cThose are not things one KNOWS about,\u201d she said with dignity. \u201cOne\nFEELS about them.\u201d\n\nPeter, crushed but not convinced, subsided, and the Story Girl went on.\n\n\u201cFinally, Margaret ran away with Alan, and they were married in\nCharlottetown. Alan intended to take his wife with him to California in\nthe _Fanny_. If it was a hard journey for a man it was harder still for\na woman, but Margaret would have dared anything for Alan\u2019s sake. They\nhad three days--ONLY three days--of happiness, and then the blow fell.\nThe crew and the passengers of the _Fanny_ refused to let Captain Dunbar\ntake his wife with him. They told him he must leave her behind. And\nall his prayers were of no avail. They say he stood on the deck of the\n_Fanny_ and pleaded with the men while the tears ran down his face; but\nthey would not yield, and he had to leave Margaret behind. Oh, what a\nparting it was!\u201d\n\nThere was heartbreak in the Story Girl\u2019s voice and tears came into our\neyes. There, in the green bower of Uncle Stephen\u2019s Walk, we cried over\nthe pathos of a parting whose anguish had been stilled for many years.\n\n\u201cWhen it was all over, Margaret\u2019s father and mother forgave her, and she\nwent back home to wait--to WAIT. Oh, it is so dreadful just to WAIT,\nand do nothing else. Margaret waited for nearly a year. How long it must\nhave seemed to her! And at last there came a letter--but not from Alan.\nAlan was DEAD. He had died in California and had been buried there.\nWhile Margaret had been thinking of him and longing for him and praying\nfor him he had been lying in his lonely, faraway grave.\u201d\n\nCecily sprang up, shaking with sobs.\n\n\u201cOh, don\u2019t--don\u2019t go on,\u201d she implored. \u201cI CAN\u2019T bear any more.\u201d\n\n\u201cThere is no more,\u201d said the Story Girl. \u201cThat was the end of it--the\nend of everything for Margaret. It didn\u2019t kill HER, but her heart died.\u201d\n\n\u201cI just wish I\u2019d hold of those fellows who wouldn\u2019t let the Captain take\nhis wife,\u201d said Peter savagely.\n\n\u201cWell, it was awful said,\u201d said Felicity, wiping her eyes. \u201cBut it was\nlong ago and we can\u2019t do any good by crying over it now. Let us go\nand get something to eat. I made some nice little rhubarb tarts this\nmorning.\u201d\n\nWe went. In spite of new disappointments and old heartbreaks we had\nappetites. And Felicity did make scrumptious rhubarb tarts!\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX. MAGIC SEED\n\nWhen the time came to hand in our collections for the library fund Peter\nhad the largest--three dollars. Felicity was a good second with two and\na half. This was simply because the hens had laid so well.\n\n\u201cIf you\u2019d had to pay father for all the extra handfuls of wheat you\u2019ve\nfed to those hens, Miss Felicity, you wouldn\u2019t have so much,\u201d said Dan\nspitefully.\n\n\u201cI didn\u2019t,\u201d said Felicity indignantly. \u201cLook how Aunt Olivia\u2019s hens\nlaid, too, and she fed them herself just the same as usual.\u201d\n\n\u201cNever mind,\u201d said Cecily, \u201cwe have all got something to give. If you\nwere like poor Sara Ray, and hadn\u2019t been able to collect anything, you\nmight feel bad.\u201d\n\nBut Sara Ray HAD something to give. She came up the hill after tea, all\nradiant. When Sara Ray smiled--and she did not waste her smiles--she was\nrather pretty in a plaintive, apologetic way. A dimple or two came\ninto sight, and she had very nice teeth--small and white, like the\ntraditional row of pearls.\n\n\u201cOh, just look,\u201d she said. \u201cHere are three dollars--and I\u2019m going to\ngive it all to the library fund. I had a letter to-day from Uncle Arthur\nin Winnipeg, and he sent me three dollars. He said I was to use it ANY\nway I liked, so ma couldn\u2019t refuse to let me give it to the fund. She\nthinks it\u2019s an awful waste, but she always goes by what Uncle Arthur\nsays. Oh, I\u2019ve prayed so hard that some money might come some way, and\nnow it has. See what praying does!\u201d\n\nI was very much afraid that we did not rejoice quite as unselfishly\nin Sara\u2019s good fortune as we should have done. WE had earned our\ncontributions by the sweat of our brow, or by the scarcely less\ndisagreeable method of \u201cbegging.\u201d And Sara\u2019s had as good as descended\nupon her out of the skies, as much like a miracle as anything you could\nimagine.\n\n\u201cShe prayed for it, you know,\u201d said Felix, after Sara had gone home.\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s too easy a way of earning money,\u201d grumbled Peter resentfully.\n\u201cIf the rest of us had just set down and done nothing, only prayed, how\nmuch do you s\u2019pose we\u2019d have? It don\u2019t seem fair to me.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, well, it\u2019s different with Sara,\u201d said Dan. \u201cWe COULD earn money and\nshe COULDN\u2019T. You see? But come on down to the orchard. The Story Girl\nhad a letter from her father to-day and she\u2019s going to read it to us.\u201d\n\nWe went promptly. A letter from the Story Girl\u2019s father was always an\nevent; and to hear her read it was almost as good as hearing her tell a\nstory.\n\nBefore coming to Carlisle, Uncle Blair Stanley had been a mere name\nto us. Now he was a personality. His letters to the Story Girl, the\npictures and sketches he sent her, her adoring and frequent mention of\nhim, all combined to make him very real to us.\n\nWe FELT then, what we did not understand till later years, that our\ngrown-up relatives did not altogether admire or approve of Uncle Blair.\nHe belonged to a different world from theirs. They had never known him\nvery intimately or understood him. I realize now that Uncle Blair was a\nbit of a Bohemian--a respectable sort of tramp. Had he been a poor man\nhe might have been a more successful artist. But he had a small fortune\nof his own and, lacking the spur of necessity, or of disquieting\nambition, he remained little more than a clever amateur. Once in a while\nhe painted a picture which showed what he could do; but for the rest,\nhe was satisfied to wander over the world, light-hearted and content.\nWe knew that the Story Girl was thought to resemble him strongly in\nappearance and temperament, but she had far more fire and intensity and\nstrength of will--her inheritance from King and Ward. She would never\nbe satisfied as a dabbler; whatever her future career should be, into it\nshe would throw all her powers of mind and heart and soul.\n\nBut Uncle Blair could do at least one thing surpassingly well. He could\nwrite letters. Such letters! By contrast, Felix and I were secretly\nashamed of father\u2019s epistles. Father could talk well but, as Felix said,\nhe couldn\u2019t write worth a cent. The letters we had received from him\nsince his arrival in Rio de Janeiro were mere scrawls, telling us to be\ngood boys and not trouble Aunt Janet, incidentally adding that he was\nwell and lonesome. Felix and I were always glad to get his letters, but\nwe never read them aloud to an admiring circle in the orchard.\n\nUncle Blair was spending the summer in Switzerland; and the letter the\nStory Girl read to us, among the fair, frail White Ladies of the Walk,\nwhere the west wind came now with a sigh, and again with a rush, and\nthen brushed our faces as softly as the down of a thistle, was full of\nthe glamour of mountain-rimmed lakes, and purple chalets, and \u201csnowy\nsummits old in story.\u201d We climbed Mount Blanc, saw the Jungfrau soaring\ninto cloudland, and walked among the gloomy pillars of Bonnivard\u2019s\nprison. Finally, the Story Girl told us the tale of the Prisoner of\nChillon, in words that were Byron\u2019s, but in a voice that was all her\nown.\n\n\u201cIt must be splendid to go to Europe,\u201d sighed Cecily longingly.\n\n\u201cI am going some day,\u201d said the Story Girl airily.\n\nWe looked at her with a slightly incredulous awe. To us, in those years,\nEurope seemed almost as remote and unreachable as the moon. It was\nhard to believe that one of US should ever go there. But Aunt Julia had\ngone--and SHE had been brought up in Carlisle on this very farm. So it\nwas possible that the Story Girl might go too.\n\n\u201cWhat will you do there?\u201d asked Peter practically.\n\n\u201cI shall learn how to tell stories to all the world,\u201d said the Story\nGirl dreamily.\n\nIt was a lovely, golden-brown evening; the orchard, and the farm-lands\nbeyond, were full of ruby lights and kissing shadows. Over in the east,\nabove the Awkward Man\u2019s house, the Wedding Veil of the Proud Princess\nfloated across the sky, presently turning as rosy as if bedewed with her\nheart\u2019s blood. We sat there and talked until the first star lighted a\nwhite taper over the beech hill.\n\nThen I remembered that I had forgotten to take my dose of magic seed,\nand I hastened to do it, although I was beginning to lose faith in it. I\nhad not grown a single bit, by the merciless testimony of the hall door.\n\nI took the box of seed out of my trunk in the twilit room and swallowed\nthe decreed pinch. As I did so, Dan\u2019s voice rang out behind me.\n\n\u201cBeverley King, what have you got there?\u201d\n\nI thrust the box hastily into my trunk and confronted Dan.\n\n\u201cNone of your business,\u201d I said defiantly.\n\n\u201cYes, \u2018tis.\u201d Dan was too much in earnest to resent my blunt speech.\n\u201cLook here, Bev, is that magic seed? And did you get it from Billy\nRobinson?\u201d\n\nDan and I looked at each other, suspicion dawning in our eyes.\n\n\u201cWhat do you know about Billy Robinson and his magic seed?\u201d I demanded.\n\n\u201cJust this. I bought a box from him for--for--something. He said he\nwasn\u2019t going to sell any of it to anybody else. Did he sell any to you?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, he did,\u201d I said in disgust--for I was beginning to understand that\nBilly and his magic seed were arrant frauds.\n\n\u201cWhat for? YOUR mouth is a decent size,\u201d said Dan.\n\n\u201cMouth? It had nothing to do with my mouth! He said it would make me\ngrow tall. And it hasn\u2019t--not an inch! I don\u2019t see what you wanted it\nfor! You are tall enough.\u201d\n\n\u201cI got it for my mouth,\u201d said Dan with a shame-faced grin. \u201cThe girls in\nschool laugh at it so. Kate Marr says it\u2019s like a gash in a pie. Billy\nsaid that seed would shrink it for sure.\u201d\n\nWell, there it was! Billy had deceived us both. Nor were we the only\nvictims. We did not find the whole story out at once. Indeed, the summer\nwas almost over before, in one way or another, the full measure of that\nshameless Billy Robinson\u2019s iniquity was revealed to us. But I shall\nanticipate the successive relations in this chapter. Every pupil of\nCarlisle school, so it eventually appeared, had bought magic seed, under\nsolemn promise of secrecy. Felix had believed blissfully that it would\nmake him thin. Cecily\u2019s hair was to become naturally curly, and Sara Ray\nwas not to be afraid of Peg Bowen any more. It was to make Felicity as\nclever as the Story Girl and it was to make the Story Girl as good a\ncook as Felicity. What Peter had bought magic seed for remained a secret\nlonger than any of the others. Finally--it was the night before what we\nexpected would be the Judgment Day--he confessed to me that he had taken\nit to make Felicity fond of him. Skilfully indeed had that astute Billy\nplayed on our respective weaknesses.\n\nThe keenest edge to our humiliation was given by the discovery that\nthe magic seed was nothing more or less than caraway, which grew in\nabundance at Billy Robinson\u2019s uncle\u2019s in Markdale. Peg Bowen had had\nnothing to do with it.\n\nWell, we had all been badly hoaxed. But we did not trumpet our wrongs\nabroad. We did not even call Billy to account. We thought that least\nsaid was soonest mended in such a matter. We went very softly indeed,\nlest the grown-ups, especially that terrible Uncle Roger, should hear of\nit.\n\n\u201cWe should have known better than to trust Billy Robinson,\u201d said\nFelicity, summing up the case one evening when all had been made known.\n\u201cAfter all, what could you expect from a pig but a grunt?\u201d\n\nWe were not surprised to find that Billy Robinson\u2019s contribution to the\nlibrary fund was the largest handed in by any of the scholars. Cecily\nsaid she didn\u2019t envy him his conscience. But I am afraid she measured\nhis conscience by her own. I doubt very much if Billy\u2019s troubled him at\nall.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X. A DAUGHTER OF EVE\n\n\u201cI hate the thought of growing up,\u201d said the Story Girl reflectively,\n\u201cbecause I can never go barefooted then, and nobody will ever see what\nbeautiful feet I have.\u201d\n\nShe was sitting, the July sunlight, on the ledge of the open hayloft\nwindow in Uncle Roger\u2019s big barn; and the bare feet below her print\nskirt WERE beautiful. They were slender and shapely and satin smooth\nwith arched insteps, the daintiest of toes, and nails like pink shells.\n\nWe were all in the hayloft. The Story Girl had been telling us a tale\n\n    \u201cOf old, unhappy, far-off things,\n    And battles long ago.\u201d\n\nFelicity and Cecily were curled up in a corner, and we boys sprawled\nidly on the fragrant, sun-warm heaps. We had \u201cstowed\u201d the hay in the\nloft that morning for Uncle Roger, so we felt that we had earned the\nright to loll on our sweet-smelling couch. Haylofts are delicious\nplaces, with just enough of shadow and soft, uncertain noises to give\nan agreeable tang of mystery. The swallows flew in and out of their nest\nabove our heads, and whenever a sunbeam fell through a chink the air\nswarmed with golden dust. Outside of the loft was a vast, sunshiny gulf\nof blue sky and mellow air, wherein floated argosies of fluffy cloud,\nand airy tops of maple and spruce.\n\nPat was with us, of course, prowling about stealthily, or making\nfrantic, bootless leaps at the swallows. A cat in a hayloft is a\nbeautiful example of the eternal fitness of things. We had not heard of\nthis fitness then, but we all felt that Paddy was in his own place in a\nhayloft.\n\n\u201cI think it is very vain to talk about anything you have yourself being\nbeautiful,\u201d said Felicity.\n\n\u201cI am not a bit vain,\u201d said the Story Girl, with entire truthfulness.\n\u201cIt is not vanity to know your own good points. It would just be\nstupidity if you didn\u2019t. It\u2019s only vanity when you get puffed up about\nthem. I am not a bit pretty. My only good points are my hair and eyes\nand feet. So I think it\u2019s real mean that one of them has to be covered\nup the most of the time. I\u2019m always glad when it gets warm enough to go\nbarefooted. But, when I grow up they\u2019ll have to covered all the time. It\nIS mean.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou\u2019ll have to put your shoes and stockings on when you go to the magic\nlantern show to-night,\u201d said Felicity in a tone of satisfaction.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t know that. I\u2019m thinking of going barefooted.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, you wouldn\u2019t! Sara Stanley, you\u2019re not in earnest!\u201d exclaimed\nFelicity, her blue eyes filling with horror.\n\nThe Story Girl winked with the side of her face next to Felix and me,\nbut the side next the girls changed not a muscle. She dearly loved to\n\u201ctake a rise\u201d out of Felicity now and then.\n\n\u201cIndeed, I would if I just made up my mind to. Why not? Why not bare\nfeet--if they\u2019re clean--as well as bare hands and face?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, you wouldn\u2019t! It would be such a disgrace!\u201d said poor Felicity in\nreal distress.\n\n\u201cWe went to school barefooted all June,\u201d argued that wicked Story Girl.\n\u201cWhat is the difference between going to the schoolhouse barefooted in\nthe daytime and going in the evening?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, there\u2019s EVERY difference. I can\u2019t just explain it--but every one\nKNOWS there is a difference. You know it yourself. Oh, PLEASE, don\u2019t do\nsuch a thing, Sara.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, I won\u2019t, just to oblige you,\u201d said the Story Girl, who would\nhave died the death before she would have gone to a \u201cpublic meeting\u201d\n barefooted.\n\nWe were all rather excited over the magic lantern show which an\nitinerant lecturer was to give in the schoolhouse that evening. Even\nFelix and I, who had seen such shows galore, were interested, and the\nrest were quite wild. There had never been such a thing in Carlisle\nbefore. We were all going, Peter included. Peter went everywhere with us\nnow. He was a regular attendant at church and Sunday School, where his\nbehaviour was as irreproachable as if he had been \u201craised\u201d in the caste\nof Vere de Vere. It was a feather in the Story Girl\u2019s cap, for she took\nall the credit of having started Peter on the right road. Felicity was\nresigned, although the fatal patch on Peter\u2019s best trousers was still\nan eyesore to her. She declared she never got any good of the singing,\nbecause Peter stood up then and every one could see the patch. Mrs.\nJames Clark, whose pew was behind ours, never took her eye off it--or so\nFelicity averred.\n\nBut Peter\u2019s stockings were always darned. Aunt Olivia had seen to that,\never since she heard of Peter\u2019s singular device regarding them on his\nfirst Sunday. She had also given Peter a Bible, of which he was so proud\nthat he hated to use it lest he should soil it.\n\n\u201cI think I\u2019ll wrap it up and keep it in my box,\u201d he said. \u201cI\u2019ve an old\nBible of Aunt Jane\u2019s at home that I can use. I s\u2019pose it\u2019s just the\nsame, even if it is old, isn\u2019t it?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, yes,\u201d Cecily had assured him. \u201cThe Bible is always the same.\u201d\n\n\u201cI thought maybe they\u2019d got some new improvements on it since Aunt\nJane\u2019s day,\u201d said Peter, relieved.\n\n\u201cSara Ray is coming along the lane, and she\u2019s crying,\u201d announced Dan,\nwho was peering out of a knot-hole on the opposite side of the loft.\n\n\u201cSara Ray is crying half her time,\u201d said Cecily impatiently. \u201cI\u2019m sure\nshe cries a quartful of tears a month. There are times when you can\u2019t\nhelp crying. But I hide then. Sara just goes and cries in public.\u201d\n\nThe lachrymose Sara presently joined us and we discovered the cause of\nher tears to be the doleful fact that her mother had forbidden her to\ngo to the magic lantern show that night. We all showed the sympathy we\nfelt.\n\n\u201cShe SAID yesterday you could go,\u201d said the Story Girl indignantly. \u201cWhy\nhas she changed her mind?\u201d\n\n\u201cBecause of the measles in Markdale,\u201d sobbed Sara. \u201cShe says Markdale is\nfull of them, and there\u2019ll be sure to be some of the Markdale people at\nthe show. So I\u2019m not to go. And I\u2019ve never seen a magic lantern--I\u2019ve\nnever seen ANYTHING.\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t believe there\u2019s any danger of catching measles,\u201d said Felicity.\n\u201cIf there was we wouldn\u2019t be allowed to go.\u201d\n\n\u201cI wish I COULD get the measles,\u201d said Sara defiantly. \u201cMaybe I\u2019d be of\nsome importance to ma then.\u201d\n\n\u201cSuppose Cecily goes down with you and coaxes your mother,\u201d suggested\nthe Story Girl. \u201cPerhaps she\u2019d let you go then. She likes Cecily. She\ndoesn\u2019t like either Felicity or me, so it would only make matters worse\nfor us to try.\u201d\n\n\u201cMa\u2019s gone to town--pa and her went this afternoon--and they\u2019re not\ncoming back till to-morrow. There\u2019s nobody home but Judy Pineau and me.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen,\u201d said the Story Girl, \u201cwhy don\u2019t you just go to the show anyhow?\nYour mother won\u2019t ever know, if you coax Judy to hold her tongue.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, but that\u2019s wrong,\u201d said Felicity. \u201cYou shouldn\u2019t put Sara up to\ndisobeying her mother.\u201d\n\nNow, Felicity for once was undoubtedly right. The Story Girl\u2019s\nsuggestion WAS wrong; and if it had been Cecily who protested, the Story\nGirl would probably have listened to her, and proceeded no further\nin the matter. But Felicity was one of those unfortunate people whose\nprotests against wrong-doing serve only to drive the wrong-doer further\non her sinful way.\n\nThe Story Girl resented Felicity\u2019s superior tone, and proceeded to tempt\nSara in right good earnest. The rest of us held our tongues. It was, we\ntold ourselves, Sara\u2019s own lookout.\n\n\u201cI have a good mind to do it,\u201d said Sara, \u201cbut I can\u2019t get my good\nclothes; they\u2019re in the spare room, and ma locked the door, for fear\nsomebody would get at the fruit cake. I haven\u2019t a single thing to wear,\nexcept my school gingham.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, that\u2019s new and pretty,\u201d said the Story Girl. \u201cWe\u2019ll lend you\nsome things. You can have my lace collar. That\u2019ll make the gingham quite\nelegant. And Cecily will lend you her second best hat.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut I\u2019ve no shoes or stockings. They\u2019re locked up too.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou can have a pair of mine,\u201d said Felicity, who probably thought that\nsince Sara was certain to yield to temptation, she might as well be\ngarbed decently for her transgression.\n\nSara did yield. When the Story Girl\u2019s voice entreated it was not easy\nto resist its temptation, even if you wanted to. That evening, when\nwe started for the schoolhouse, Sara Ray was among us, decked out in\nborrowed plumes.\n\n\u201cSuppose she DOES catch the measles?\u201d Felicity said aside.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t believe there\u2019ll be anybody there from Markdale. The lecturer\nis going to Markdale next week. They\u2019ll wait for that,\u201d said the Story\nGirl airily.\n\nIt was a cool, dewy evening, and we walked down the long, red hill in\nthe highest of spirits. Over a valley filled with beech and spruce was\na sunset afterglow--creamy yellow and a hue that was not so much red as\nthe dream of red, with a young moon swung low in it. The air was sweet\nwith the breath of mown hayfields where swaths of clover had been\nsteeping in the sun. Wild roses grew pinkly along the fences, and the\nroadsides were star-dusted with buttercups.\n\nThose of us who had nothing the matter with our consciences enjoyed our\nwalk to the little whitewashed schoolhouse in the valley. Felicity\nand Cecily were void of offence towards all men. The Story Girl walked\nuprightly like an incarnate flame in her crimson silk. Her pretty feet\nwere hidden in the tan-coloured, buttoned Paris boots which were the\nsecret envy of every school girl in Carlisle.\n\nBut Sara Ray was not happy. Her face was so melancholy that the Story\nGirl lost patience with her. The Story Girl herself was not altogether\nat ease. Probably her own conscience was troubling her. But admit it she\nwould not.\n\n\u201cNow, Sara,\u201d she said, \u201cyou just take my advice and go into this with\nall your heart if you go at all. Never mind if it is bad. There\u2019s no\nuse being naughty if you spoil your fun by wishing all the time you were\ngood. You can repent afterwards, but there is no use in mixing the two\nthings together.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019m not repenting,\u201d protested Sara. \u201cI\u2019m only scared of ma finding it\nout.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh!\u201d The Story Girl\u2019s voice expressed her scorn. For remorse she\nhad understanding and sympathy; but fear of her fellow creatures was\nsomething unknown to her. \u201cDidn\u2019t Judy Pineau promise you solemnly she\nwouldn\u2019t tell?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes; but maybe some one who sees me there will mention it to ma.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, if you\u2019re so scared you\u2019d better not go. It isn\u2019t too late.\nHere\u2019s your own gate,\u201d said Cecily.\n\nBut Sara could not give up the delights of the show. So she walked on,\na small, miserable testimony that the way of the transgressor is never\neasy, even when said transgressor is only a damsel of eleven.\n\nThe magic lantern show was a splendid one. The views were good and the\nlecturer witty. We repeated his jokes to each other all the way home.\nSara, who had not enjoyed the exhibition at all, seemed to feel more\ncheerful when it was over and she was going home. The Story Girl on the\ncontrary was gloomy.\n\n\u201cThere WERE Markdale people there,\u201d she confided to me, \u201cand the\nWilliamsons live next door to the Cowans, who have measles. I wish I\u2019d\nnever egged Sara on to going--but don\u2019t tell Felicity I said so. If Sara\nRay had really enjoyed the show I wouldn\u2019t mind. But she didn\u2019t. I could\nsee that. So I\u2019ve done wrong and made her do wrong--and there\u2019s nothing\nto show for it.\u201d\n\nThe night was scented and mysterious. The wind was playing an eerie\nfleshless melody in the reeds of the brook hollow. The sky was dark and\nstarry, and across it the Milky Way flung its shimmering misty ribbons.\n\n\u201cThere\u2019s four hundred million stars in the Milky Way,\u201d quoth Peter, who\nfrequently astonished us by knowing more than any hired boy could be\nexpected to. He had a retentive memory, and never forgot anything he\nheard or read. The few books left to him by his oft-referred-to Aunt\nJane had stocked his mind with a miscellaneous information which\nsometimes made Felix and me doubt if we knew as much as Peter after all.\nFelicity was so impressed by his knowledge of astronomy that she dropped\nback from the other girls and walked beside him. She had not done so\nbefore because he was barefooted. It was permissible for hired boys to\ngo to public meetings--when not held in the church--with bare feet, and\nno particular disgrace attached to it. But Felicity would not walk with\na barefooted companion. It was dark now, so nobody would notice his\nfeet.\n\n\u201cI know a story about the Milky Way,\u201d said the Story Girl, brightening\nup. \u201cI read it in a book of Aunt Louisa\u2019s in town, and I learned it\noff by heart. Once there were two archangels in heaven, named Zerah and\nZulamith--\u201d\n\n\u201cHave angels names--same as people?\u201d interrupted Peter.\n\n\u201cYes, of course. They MUST have. They\u2019d be all mixed up if they hadn\u2019t.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd when I\u2019m an angel--if I ever get to be one--will my name still be\nPeter?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo. You\u2019ll have a new name up there,\u201d said Cecily gently. \u201cIt says so\nin the Bible.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, I\u2019m glad of that. Peter would be such a funny name for an angel.\nAnd what is the difference between angels and archangels?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, archangels are angels that have been angels so long that they\u2019ve\nhad time to grow better and brighter and more beautiful than newer\nangels,\u201d said the Story Girl, who probably made that explanation up on\nthe spur of the moment, just to pacify Peter.\n\n\u201cHow long does it take for an angel to grow into an archangel?\u201d pursued\nPeter.\n\n\u201cOh, I don\u2019t know. Millions of years likely. And even then I don\u2019t\nsuppose ALL the angels do. A good many of them must just stay plain\nangels, I expect.\u201d\n\n\u201cI shall be satisfied just to be a plain angel,\u201d said Felicity modestly.\n\n\u201cOh, see here, if you\u2019re going to interrupt and argue over everything,\nwe\u2019ll never get the story told,\u201d said Felix. \u201cDry up, all of you, and\nlet the Story Girl go on.\u201d\n\nWe dried up, and the Story Girl went on.\n\n\u201cZerah and Zulamith loved each other, just as mortals love, and this is\nforbidden by the laws of the Almighty. And because Zerah and Zulamith\nhad so broken God\u2019s law they were banished from His presence to the\nuttermost bounds of the universe. If they had been banished TOGETHER it\nwould have been no punishment; so Zerah was exiled to a star on one side\nof the universe, and Zulamith was sent to a star on the other side of\nthe universe; and between them was a fathomless abyss which thought\nitself could not cross. Only one thing could cross it--and that was\nlove. Zulamith yearned for Zerah with such fidelity and longing that\nhe began to build up a bridge of light from his star; and Zerah, not\nknowing this, but loving and longing for him, began to build a similar\nbridge of light from her star. For a thousand thousand years they both\nbuilt the bridge of light, and at last they met and sprang into each\nother\u2019s arms. Their toil and loneliness and suffering were all over and\nforgotten, and the bridge they had built spanned the gulf between their\nstars of exile.\n\n\u201cNow, when the other archangels saw what had been done they flew in fear\nand anger to God\u2019s white throne, and cried to Him,\n\n\u201c\u2018See what these rebellious ones have done! They have built them a\nbridge of light across the universe, and set Thy decree of separation at\nnaught. Do Thou, then, stretch forth Thine arm and destroy their impious\nwork.\u2019\n\n\u201cThey ceased--and all heaven was hushed. Through the silence sounded the\nvoice of the Almighty.\n\n\u201c\u2018Nay,\u2019 He said, \u2018whatsoever in my universe true love hath builded not\neven the Almighty can destroy. The bridge must stand forever.\u2019\n\n\u201cAnd,\u201d concluded the Story Girl, her face upturned to the sky and her\nbig eyes filled with starlight, \u201cit stands still. That bridge is the\nMilky Way.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat a lovely story,\u201d sighed Sara Ray, who had been wooed to a\ntemporary forgetfulness of her woes by its charm.\n\nThe rest of us came back to earth, feeling that we had been wandering\namong the hosts of heaven. We were not old enough to appreciate fully\nthe wonderful meaning of the legend; but we felt its beauty and\nits appeal. To us forevermore the Milky Way would be, not Peter\u2019s\noverwhelming garland of suns, but the lucent bridge, love-created, on\nwhich the banished archangels crossed from star to star.\n\nWe had to go up Sara Ray\u2019s lane with her to her very door, for she was\nafraid Peg Bowen would catch her if she went alone. Then the Story Girl\nand I walked up the hill together. Peter and Felicity lagged behind.\nCecily and Dan and Felix were walking before us, hand in hand, singing a\nhymn. Cecily had a very sweet voice, and I listened in delight. But the\nStory Girl sighed.\n\n\u201cWhat if Sara does take the measles?\u201d she asked miserably.\n\n\u201cEveryone has to have the measles sometime,\u201d I said comfortingly, \u201cand\nthe younger you are the better.\u201d\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI. THE STORY GIRL DOES PENANCE\n\nTen days later, Aunt Olivia and Uncle Roger went to town one evening,\nto remain over night, and the next day. Peter and the Story Girl were to\nstay at Uncle Alec\u2019s during their absence.\n\nWe were in the orchard at sunset, listening to the story of King\nCophetua and the beggar maid--all of us, except Peter, who was hoeing\nturnips, and Felicity, who had gone down the hill on an errand to Mrs.\nRay.\n\nThe Story Girl impersonated the beggar maid so vividly, and with such\nan illusion of beauty, that we did not wonder in the least at the king\u2019s\nlove for her. I had read the story before, and it had been my opinion\nthat it was \u201crot.\u201d No king, I felt certain, would ever marry a beggar\nmaid when he had princesses galore from whom to choose. But now I\nunderstood it all.\n\nWhen Felicity returned we concluded from her expression that she had\nnews. And she had.\n\n\u201cSara is real sick,\u201d she said, with regret, and something that was not\nregret mingled in her voice. \u201cShe has a cold and sore throat, and she is\nfeverish. Mrs. Ray says if she isn\u2019t better by the morning she\u2019s going\nto send for the doctor. AND SHE IS AFRAID IT\u2019S THE MEASLES.\u201d\n\nFelicity flung the last sentence at the Story Girl, who turned very\npale.\n\n\u201cOh, do you suppose she caught them at the magic lantern show?\u201d she said\nmiserably.\n\n\u201cWhere else could she have caught them?\u201d said Felicity mercilessly. \u201cI\ndidn\u2019t see her, of course--Mrs. Ray met me at the door and told me not\nto come in. But Mrs. Ray says the measles always go awful hard with the\nRays--if they don\u2019t die completely of them it leaves them deaf or half\nblind, or something like that. Of course,\u201d added Felicity, her heart\nmelting at sight of the misery in the Story Girl\u2019s piteous eyes, \u201cMrs.\nRay always looks on the dark side, and it may not be the measles Sara\nhas after all.\u201d\n\nBut Felicity had done her work too thoroughly. The Story Girl was not to\nbe comforted.\n\n\u201cI\u2019d give anything if I\u2019d never put Sara up to going to that show,\u201d she\nsaid. \u201cIt\u2019s all my fault--but the punishment falls on Sara, and that\nisn\u2019t fair. I\u2019d go this minute and confess the whole thing to Mrs. Ray;\nbut if I did it might get Sara into more trouble, and I mustn\u2019t do that.\nI sha\u2019n\u2019t sleep a wink to-night.\u201d\n\nI don\u2019t think she did. She looked very pale and woebegone when she came\ndown to breakfast. But, for all that, there was a certain exhilaration\nabout her.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m going to do penance all day for coaxing Sara to disobey her\nmother,\u201d she announced with chastened triumph.\n\n\u201cPenance?\u201d we murmured in bewilderment.\n\n\u201cYes. I\u2019m going to deny myself everything I like, and do everything\nI can think of that I don\u2019t like, just to punish myself for being so\nwicked. And if any of you think of anything I don\u2019t, just mention it to\nme. I thought it out last night. Maybe Sara won\u2019t be so very sick if God\nsees I\u2019m truly sorry.\u201d\n\n\u201cHe can see it anyhow, without your doing anything,\u201d said Cecily.\n\n\u201cWell, my conscience will feel better.\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t believe Presbyterians ever do penance,\u201d said Felicity\ndubiously. \u201cI never heard of one doing it.\u201d\n\nBut the rest of us rather looked with favour on the Story Girl\u2019s idea.\nWe felt sure that she would do penance as picturesquely and thoroughly\nas she did everything else.\n\n\u201cYou might put peas in your shoes, you know,\u201d suggested Peter.\n\n\u201cThe very thing! I never thought of that. I\u2019ll get some after breakfast.\nI\u2019m not going to eat a single thing all day, except bread and water--and\nnot much of that!\u201d\n\nThis, we felt, was a heroic measure indeed. To sit down to one of Aunt\nJanet\u2019s meals, in ordinary health and appetite, and eat nothing but\nbread and water--that would be penance with a vengeance! We felt WE\ncould never do it. But the Story Girl did it. We admired and pitied her.\nBut now I do not think that she either needed our pity or deserved our\nadmiration. Her ascetic fare was really sweeter to her than honey\nof Hymettus. She was, though quite unconsciously, acting a part,\nand tasting all the subtle joy of the artist, which is so much more\nexquisite than any material pleasure.\n\nAunt Janet, of course, noticed the Story Girl\u2019s abstinence and asked if\nshe was sick.\n\n\u201cNo. I am just doing penance, Aunt Janet, for a sin I committed. I can\u2019t\nconfess it, because that would bring trouble on another person. So I\u2019m\ngoing to do penance all day. You don\u2019t mind, do you?\u201d\n\nAunt Janet was in a very good humour that morning, so she merely\nlaughed.\n\n\u201cNot if you don\u2019t go too far with your nonsense,\u201d she said tolerantly.\n\n\u201cThank you. And will you give me a handful of hard peas after breakfast,\nAunt Janet? I want to put them in my shoes.\u201d\n\n\u201cThere isn\u2019t any; I used the last in the soup yesterday.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh!\u201d The Story Girl was much disappointed. \u201cThen I suppose I\u2019ll have\nto do without. The new peas wouldn\u2019t hurt enough. They\u2019re so soft they\u2019d\njust squash flat.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll tell you,\u201d said Peter, \u201cI\u2019ll pick up a lot of those little round\npebbles on Mr. King\u2019s front walk. They\u2019ll be just as good as peas.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou\u2019ll do nothing of the sort,\u201d said Aunt Janet. \u201cSara must not do\npenance in that way. She would wear holes in her stockings, and might\nseriously bruise her feet.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat would you say if I took a whip and whipped my bare shoulders till\nthe blood came?\u201d demanded the Story Girl aggrieved.\n\n\u201cI wouldn\u2019t SAY anything,\u201d retorted Aunt Janet. \u201cI\u2019d simply turn you\nover my knee and give you a sound, solid spanking, Miss Sara. You\u2019d find\nthat penance enough.\u201d\n\nThe Story Girl was crimson with indignation. To have such a remark made\nto you--when you were fourteen and a half--and before the boys, too!\nReally, Aunt Janet could be very dreadful.\n\nIt was vacation, and there was not much to do that day; we were soon\nfree to seek the orchard. But the Story Girl would not come. She had\nseated herself in the darkest, hottest corner of the kitchen, with a\npiece of old cotton in her hand.\n\n\u201cI am not going to play to-day,\u201d she said, \u201cand I\u2019m not going to tell a\nsingle story. Aunt Janet won\u2019t let me put pebbles in my shoes, but I\u2019ve\nput a thistle next my skin on my back and it sticks into me if I lean\nback the least bit. And I\u2019m going to work buttonholes all over this\ncotton. I hate working buttonholes worse than anything in the world, so\nI\u2019m going to work them all day.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat\u2019s the good of working buttonholes on an old rag?\u201d asked Felicity.\n\n\u201cIt isn\u2019t any good. The beauty of penance is that it makes you feel\nuncomfortable. So it doesn\u2019t matter what you do, whether it\u2019s useful or\nnot, so long as it\u2019s nasty. Oh, I wonder how Sara is this morning.\u201d\n\n\u201cMother\u2019s going down this afternoon,\u201d said Felicity. \u201cShe says none\nof us must go near the place till we know whether it is the measles or\nnot.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019ve thought of a great penance,\u201d said Cecily eagerly. \u201cDon\u2019t go to the\nmissionary meeting to-night.\u201d\n\nThe Story Girl looked piteous.\n\n\u201cI thought of that myself--but I CAN\u2019T stay home, Cecily. It would be\nmore than flesh and blood could endure. I MUST hear that missionary\nspeak. They say he was all but eaten by cannibals once. Just think how\nmany new stories I\u2019d have to tell after I\u2019d heard him! No, I must go,\nbut I\u2019ll tell you what I\u2019ll do. I\u2019ll wear my school dress and hat. THAT\nwill be penance. Felicity, when you set the table for dinner, put the\nbroken-handled knife for me. I hate it so. And I\u2019m going to take a dose\nof Mexican Tea every two hours. It\u2019s such dreadful tasting stuff--but\nit\u2019s a good blood purifier, so Aunt Janet can\u2019t object to it.\u201d\n\nThe Story Girl carried out her self-imposed penance fully. All day she\nsat in the kitchen and worked buttonholes, subsisting on bread and water\nand Mexican Tea.\n\nFelicity did a mean thing. She went to work and made little raisin pies,\nright there in the kitchen before the Story Girl. The smell of raisin\npies is something to tempt an anchorite; and the Story Girl was\nexceedingly fond of them. Felicity ate two in her very presence, and\nthen brought the rest out to us in the orchard. The Story Girl could see\nus through the window, carousing without stint on raisin pies and Uncle\nEdward\u2019s cherries. But she worked on at her buttonholes. She would not\nlook at the exciting serial in the new magazine Dan brought home from\nthe post-office, neither would she open a letter from her father. Pat\ncame over, but his most seductive purrs won no notice from his mistress,\nwho refused herself the pleasure of even patting him.\n\nAunt Janet could not go down the hill in the afternoon to find out how\nSara was because company came to tea--the Millwards from Markdale. Mr.\nMillward was a doctor, and Mrs. Millward was a B.A. Aunt Janet was very\ndesirous that everything should be as nice as possible, and we were\nall sent to our rooms before tea to wash and dress up. The Story Girl\nslipped over home, and when she came back we gasped. She had combed her\nhair out straight, and braided it in a tight, kinky, pudgy braid; and\nshe wore an old dress of faded print, with holes in the elbows and\nragged flounces, which was much too short for her.\n\n\u201cSara Stanley, have you taken leave of your senses?\u201d demanded Aunt\nJanet. \u201cWhat do you mean by putting on such a rig! Don\u2019t you know I have\ncompany to tea?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, and that is just why I put it on, Aunt Janet. I want to mortify\nthe flesh--\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll \u2018mortify\u2019 you, if I catch you showing yourself to the Millwards\nlike that, my girl! Go right home and dress yourself decently--or eat\nyour supper in the kitchen.\u201d\n\nThe Story Girl chose the latter alternative. She was highly indignant.\nI verily believe that to sit at the dining-room table, in that shabby,\noutgrown dress, conscious of looking her ugliest, and eating only bread\nand water before the critical Millwards would have been positive bliss\nto her.\n\nWhen we went to the missionary meeting that evening, the Story Girl wore\nher school dress and hat, while Felicity and Cecily were in their pretty\nmuslins. And she had tied her hair with a snuff-brown ribbon which was\nvery unbecoming to her.\n\nThe first person we saw in the church porch was Mrs. Ray. She told us\nthat Sara had nothing worse than a feverish cold.\n\nThe missionary had at least seven happy listeners that night. We were\nall glad that Sara did not have measles, and the Story Girl was radiant.\n\n\u201cNow you see all your penance was wasted,\u201d said Felicity, as we walked\nhome, keeping close together because of the rumour that Peg Bowen was\nabroad.\n\n\u201cOh, I don\u2019t know. I feel better since I punished myself. But I\u2019m going\nto make up for it to-morrow,\u201d said the Story Girl energetically. \u201cIn\nfact, I\u2019ll begin to-night. I\u2019m going to the pantry as soon as I get\nhome, and I\u2019ll read father\u2019s letter before I go to bed. Wasn\u2019t the\nmissionary splendid? That cannibal story was simply grand. I tried\nto remember every word, so that I can tell it just as he told it.\nMissionaries are such noble people.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019d like to be a missionary and have adventures like that,\u201d said Felix.\n\n\u201cIt would be all right if you could be sure the cannibals would be\ninterrupted in the nick of time as his were,\u201d said Dan. \u201cBut sposen they\nweren\u2019t?\u201d\n\n\u201cNothing would prevent cannibals from eating Felix if they once caught\nhim,\u201d giggled Felicity. \u201cHe\u2019s so nice and fat.\u201d\n\nI am sure Felix felt very unlike a missionary at that precise moment.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m going to put two cents more a week in my missionary box than I\u2019ve\nbeen doing,\u201d said Cecily determinedly.\n\nTwo cents more a week out of Cecily\u2019s egg money, meant something of a\nsacrifice. It inspired the rest of us. We all decided to increase\nour weekly contribution by a cent or so. And Peter, who had had no\nmissionary box at all, up to this time, determined to start one.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t seem to be able to feel as int\u2019rested in missionaries as you\nfolks do,\u201d he said, \u201cbut maybe if I begin to give something I\u2019ll get\nint\u2019rested. I\u2019ll want to know how my money\u2019s being spent. I won\u2019t be\nable to give much. When your father\u2019s run away, and your mother goes out\nwashing, and you\u2019re only old enough to get fifty cents a week, you can\u2019t\ngive much to the heathen. But I\u2019ll do the best I can. My Aunt Jane was\nfond of missions. Are there any Methodist heathen? I s\u2019pose I ought to\ngive my box to them, rather than to Presbyterian heathen.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, it\u2019s only after they\u2019re converted that they\u2019re anything in\nparticular,\u201d said Felicity. \u201cBefore that, they\u2019re just plain heathen.\nBut if you want your money to go to a Methodist missionary you can give\nit to the Methodist minister at Markdale. I guess the Presbyterians can\nget along without it, and look after their own heathen.\u201d\n\n\u201cJust smell Mrs. Sampson\u2019s flowers,\u201d said Cecily, as we passed a trim\nwhite paling close to the road, over which blew odours sweeter than the\nperfume of Araby\u2019s shore. \u201cHer roses are all out and that bed of Sweet\nWilliam is a sight by daylight.\u201d\n\n\u201cSweet William is a dreadful name for a flower,\u201d said the Story Girl.\n\u201cWilliam is a man\u2019s name, and men are NEVER sweet. They are a great many\nnice things, but they are NOT sweet and shouldn\u2019t be. That is for women.\nOh, look at the moonshine on the road in that gap between the spruces!\nI\u2019d like a dress of moonshine, with stars for buttons.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt wouldn\u2019t do,\u201d said Felicity decidedly. \u201cYou could see through it.\u201d\n\nWhich seemed to settle the question of moonshine dresses effectually.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII. THE BLUE CHEST OF RACHEL WARD\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s utterly out of the question,\u201d said Aunt Janet seriously. When Aunt\nJanet said seriously that anything was out of the question it meant that\nshe was thinking about it, and would probably end up by doing it. If a\nthing really was out of the question she merely laughed and refused to\ndiscuss it at all.\n\nThe particular matter in or out of the question that opening day of\nAugust was a project which Uncle Edward had recently mooted. Uncle\nEdward\u2019s youngest daughter was to be married; and Uncle Edward had\nwritten over, urging Uncle Alec, Aunt Janet and Aunt Olivia to go down\nto Halifax for the wedding and spend a week there.\n\nUncle Alec and Aunt Olivia were eager to go; but Aunt Janet at first\ndeclared it was impossible.\n\n\u201cHow could we go away and leave the place to the mercy of all those\nyoung ones?\u201d she demanded. \u201cWe\u2019d come home and find them all sick, and\nthe house burned down.\u201d\n\n\u201cNot a bit of fear of it,\u201d scoffed Uncle Roger. \u201cFelicity is as good a\nhousekeeper as you are; and I shall be here to look after them all, and\nkeep them from burning the house down. You\u2019ve been promising Edward for\nyears to visit him, and you\u2019ll never have a better chance. The haying\nis over and harvest isn\u2019t on, and Alec needs a change. He isn\u2019t looking\nwell at all.\u201d\n\nI think it was Uncle Roger\u2019s last argument which convinced Aunt Janet.\nIn the end she decided to go. Uncle Roger\u2019s house was to be closed, and\nhe and Peter and the Story Girl were to take up their abode with us.\n\nWe were all delighted. Felicity, in especial, seemed to be in seventh\nheaven. To be left in sole charge of a big house, with three meals a\nday to plan and prepare, with poultry and cows and dairy and garden\nto superintend, apparently furnished forth Felicity\u2019s conception of\nParadise. Of course, we were all to help; but Felicity was to \u201crun\nthings,\u201d and she gloried in it.\n\nThe Story Girl was pleased, too.\n\n\u201cFelicity is going to give me cooking lessons,\u201d she confided to me, as\nwe walked in the orchard. \u201cIsn\u2019t that fine? It will be easier when\nthere are no grown-ups around to make me nervous, and laugh if I make\nmistakes.\u201d\n\nUncle Alec and aunts left on Monday morning. Poor Aunt Janet was full of\ndismal forebodings, and gave us so many charges and warnings that we did\nnot try to remember any of them; Uncle Alec merely told us to be good\nand mind what Uncle Roger said. Aunt Olivia laughed at us out of her\npansy-blue eyes, and told us she knew exactly what we felt like and\nhoped we\u2019d have a gorgeous time.\n\n\u201cMind they go to bed at a decent hour,\u201d Aunt Janet called back to Uncle\nRoger as she drove out of the gate. \u201cAnd if anything dreadful happens\ntelegraph us.\u201d\n\nThen they were really gone and we were all left \u201cto keep house.\u201d\n\nUncle Roger and Peter went away to their work. Felicity at once set the\npreparations for dinner a-going, and allotted to each of us his portion\nof service. The Story Girl was to prepare the potatoes; Felix and Dan\nwere to pick and shell the peas; Cecily was to attend the fire; I was to\npeel the turnips. Felicity made our mouths water by announcing that she\nwas going to make a roly-poly jam pudding for dinner.\n\nI peeled my turnips on the back porch, put them in their pot, and set\nthem on the stove. Then I was at liberty to watch the others, who had\nlonger jobs. The kitchen was a scene of happy activity. The Story Girl\npeeled her potatoes, somewhat slowly and awkwardly--for she was not\ndeft at household tasks; Dan and Felix shelled peas and tormented Pat\nby attaching pods to his ears and tail; Felicity, flushed and serious,\nmeasured and stirred skilfully.\n\n\u201cI am sitting on a tragedy,\u201d said the Story Girl suddenly.\n\nFelix and I stared. We were not quite sure what a \u201ctragedy\u201d was, but we\ndid not think it was an old blue wooden chest, such as the Story Girl\nwas undoubtedly sitting on, if eyesight counted for anything.\n\nThe old chest filled up the corner between the table and the wall.\nNeither Felix nor I had ever thought about it particularly. It was very\nlarge and heavy, and Felicity generally said hard things of it when she\nswept the kitchen.\n\n\u201cThis old blue chest holds a tragedy,\u201d explained the Story Girl. \u201cI know\na story about it.\u201d\n\n\u201cCousin Rachel Ward\u2019s wedding things are all in that old chest,\u201d said\nFelicity.\n\nWho was Cousin Rachel Ward? And why were her wedding things shut up\nin an old blue chest in Uncle Alec\u2019s kitchen? We demanded the tale\ninstantly. The Story Girl told it to us as she peeled her potatoes.\nPerhaps the potatoes suffered--Felicity declared the eyes were not\nproperly done at all--but the story did not.\n\n\u201cIt is a sad story,\u201d said the Story Girl, \u201cand it happened fifty\nyears ago, when Grandfather and Grandmother King were quite young.\nGrandmother\u2019s cousin Rachel Ward came to spend a winter with them. She\nbelonged to Montreal and she was an orphan too, just like the Family\nGhost. I have never heard what she looked like, but she MUST have been\nbeautiful, of course.\u201d\n\n\u201cMother says she was awful sentimental and romantic,\u201d interjected\nFelicity.\n\n\u201cWell, anyway, she met Will Montague that winter. He was\nhandsome--everybody says so\u201d--\n\n\u201cAnd an awful flirt,\u201d said Felicity.\n\n\u201cFelicity, I WISH you wouldn\u2019t interrupt. It spoils the effect. What\nwould you feel like if I went and kept stirring things that didn\u2019t\nbelong to it into that pudding? I feel just the same way. Well, Will\nMontague fell in love with Rachel Ward, and she with him, and it was\nall arranged that they were to be married from here in the spring. Poor\nRachel was so happy that winter; she made all her wedding things with\nher own hands. Girls did, then, you know, for there was no such thing as\na sewing-machine. Well, at last in April the wedding day came, and\nall the guests were here, and Rachel was dressed in her wedding robes,\nwaiting for her bridegroom. And\u201d--the Story Girl laid down her knife and\npotato and clasped her wet hands--\u201cWILL MONTAGUE NEVER CAME!\u201d\n\nWe felt as much of a shock as if we had been one of the expectant guests\nourselves.\n\n\u201cWhat happened to him? Was HE killed too?\u201d asked Felix.\n\nThe Story Girl sighed and resumed her work.\n\n\u201cNo, indeed. I wish he had been. THAT would have been suitable and\nromantic. No, it was just something horrid. He had to run away for debt!\nFancy! He acted mean right through, Aunt Janet says. He never sent even\na word to Rachel, and she never heard from him again.\u201d\n\n\u201cPig!\u201d said Felix forcibly.\n\n\u201cShe was broken-hearted of course. When she found out what had happened,\nshe took all her wedding things, and her supply of linen, and some\npresents that had been given her, and packed them all away in this old\nblue chest. Then she went away back to Montreal, and took the key with\nher. She never came back to the Island again--I suppose she couldn\u2019t\nbear to. And she has lived in Montreal ever since and never married. She\nis an old woman now--nearly seventy-five. And this chest has never been\nopened since.\u201d\n\n\u201cMother wrote to Cousin Rachel ten years ago,\u201d said Cecily, \u201cand asked\nher if she might open the chest to see if the moths had got into it.\nThere\u2019s a crack in the back as big as your finger. Cousin Rachel wrote\nback that if it wasn\u2019t for one thing that was in the trunk she would ask\nmother to open the chest and dispose of the things as she liked. But\nshe could not bear that any one but herself should see or touch that one\nthing. So she wanted it left as it was. Ma said she washed her hands of\nit, moths or no moths. She said if Cousin Rachel had to move that\nchest every time the floor had to be scrubbed it would cure her of her\nsentimental nonsense. But I think,\u201d concluded Cecily, \u201cthat I would feel\njust like Cousin Rachel in her place.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat was the thing she couldn\u2019t bear any one to see?\u201d I asked.\n\n\u201cMa thinks it was her wedding dress. But father says he believes it was\nWill Montague\u2019s picture,\u201d said Felicity. \u201cHe saw her put it in. Father\nknows some of the things that are in the chest. He was ten years old,\nand he saw her pack it. There\u2019s a white muslin wedding dress and a\nveil--and--and--a--a\u201d--Felicity dropped her eyes and blushed painfully.\n\n\u201cA petticoat, embroidered by hand from hem to belt,\u201d said the Story Girl\ncalmly.\n\n\u201cAnd a china fruit basket with an apple on the handle,\u201d went on\nFelicity, much relieved. \u201cAnd a tea set, and a blue candle-stick.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019d dearly love to see all the things that are in it,\u201d said the Story\nGirl.\n\n\u201cPa says it must never be opened without Cousin Rachel\u2019s permission,\u201d\n said Cecily.\n\nFelix and I looked at the chest reverently. It had taken on a new\nsignificance in our eyes, and seemed like a tomb wherein lay buried some\ndead romance of the vanished years.\n\n\u201cWhat happened to Will Montague?\u201d I asked.\n\n\u201cNothing!\u201d said the Story Girl viciously. \u201cHe just went on living and\nflourishing. He patched up matters with his creditors after awhile, and\ncame back to the Island; and in the end he married a real nice girl,\nwith money, and was very happy. Did you ever HEAR of anything so\nunjust?\u201d\n\n\u201cBeverley King,\u201d suddenly cried Felicity, who had been peering into\na pot, \u201cYOU\u2019VE GONE AND PUT THE TURNIPS ON TO BOIL WHOLE JUST LIKE\nPOTATOES!\u201d\n\n\u201cWasn\u2019t that right?\u201d I cried, in an agony of shame.\n\n\u201cRight!\u201d but Felicity had already whisked the turnips out, and was\nslicing them, while all the others were laughing at me. I had added a\ntradition on my own account to the family archives.\n\nUncle Roger roared when he heard it; and he roared again at night over\nPeter\u2019s account of Felix attempting to milk a cow. Felix had previously\nacquired the knack of extracting milk from the udder. But he had never\nbefore tried to \u201cmilk a whole cow.\u201d He did not get on well; the cow\ntramped on his foot, and finally upset the bucket.\n\n\u201cWhat are you to do when a cow won\u2019t stand straight?\u201d spluttered Felix\nangrily.\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s the question,\u201d said Uncle Roger, shaking his head gravely.\n\nUncle Roger\u2019s laughter was hard to bear, but his gravity was harder.\n\nMeanwhile, in the pantry the Story Girl, apron-enshrouded, was being\ninitiated into the mysteries of bread-making. Under Felicity\u2019s eyes she\nset the bread, and on the morrow she was to bake it.\n\n\u201cThe first thing you must do in the morning is knead it well,\u201d said\nFelicity, \u201cand the earlier it\u2019s done the better--because it\u2019s such a\nwarm night.\u201d\n\nWith that we went to bed, and slept as soundly as if tragedies of blue\nchests and turnips and crooked cows had no place in the scheme of things\nat all.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII. AN OLD PROVERB WITH A NEW MEANING\n\nIt was half-past five when we boys got up the next morning. We were\njoined on the stairs by Felicity, yawning and rosy.\n\n\u201cOh, dear me, I overslept myself. Uncle Roger wanted breakfast at six.\nWell, I suppose the fire is on anyhow, for the Story Girl is up. I guess\nshe got up early to knead the bread. She couldn\u2019t sleep all night for\nworrying over it.\u201d\n\nThe fire was on, and a flushed and triumphant Story Girl was taking a\nloaf of bread from the oven.\n\n\u201cJust look,\u201d she said proudly. \u201cI have every bit of the bread baked. I\ngot up at three, and it was lovely and light, so I just gave it a right\ngood kneading and popped it into the oven. And it\u2019s all done and out of\nthe way. But the loaves don\u2019t seem quite as big as they should be,\u201d she\nadded doubtfully.\n\n\u201cSara Stanley!\u201d Felicity flew across the kitchen. \u201cDo you mean that you\nput the bread right into the oven after you kneaded it without leaving\nit to rise a second time?\u201d\n\nThe Story Girl turned quite pale.\n\n\u201cYes, I did,\u201d she faltered. \u201cOh, Felicity, wasn\u2019t it right?\u201d\n\n\u201cYou\u2019ve ruined the bread,\u201d said Felicity flatly. \u201cIt\u2019s as heavy as a\nstone. I declare, Sara Stanley, I\u2019d rather have a little common sense\nthan be a great story teller.\u201d\n\nBitter indeed was the poor Story Girl\u2019s mortification.\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t tell Uncle Roger,\u201d she implored humbly.\n\n\u201cOh, I won\u2019t tell him,\u201d promised Felicity amiably. \u201cIt\u2019s lucky there\u2019s\nenough old bread to do to-day. This will go to the hens. But it\u2019s an\nawful waste of good flour.\u201d\n\nThe Story Girl crept out with Felix and me to the morning orchard, while\nDan and Peter went to do the barn work.\n\n\u201cIt isn\u2019t ANY use for me to try to learn to cook,\u201d she said.\n\n\u201cNever mind,\u201d I said consolingly. \u201cYou can tell splendid stories.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut what good would that do a hungry boy?\u201d wailed the Story Girl.\n\n\u201cBoys ain\u2019t ALWAYS hungry,\u201d said Felix gravely. \u201cThere\u2019s times when they\nain\u2019t.\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t believe it,\u201d said the Story Girl drearily.\n\n\u201cBesides,\u201d added Felix in the tone of one who says while there is life\nthere is yet hope, \u201cyou may learn to cook yet if you keep on trying.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut Aunt Olivia won\u2019t let me waste the stuff. My only hope was to learn\nthis week. But I suppose Felicity is so disgusted with me now that she\nwon\u2019t give me any more lessons.\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t care,\u201d said Felix. \u201cI like you better than Felicity, even if\nyou can\u2019t cook. There\u2019s lots of folks can make bread. But there isn\u2019t\nmany who can tell a story like you.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut it\u2019s better to be useful than just interesting,\u201d sighed the Story\nGirl bitterly.\n\nAnd Felicity, who was useful, would, in her secret soul, have given\nanything to be interesting. Which is the way of human nature.\n\nCompany descended on us that afternoon. First came Aunt Janet\u2019s sister,\nMrs. Patterson, with a daughter of sixteen years and a son of two. They\nwere followed by a buggy-load of Markdale people; and finally, Mrs.\nElder Frewen and her sister from Vancouver, with two small daughters of\nthe latter, arrived.\n\n\u201cIt never rains but it pours,\u201d said Uncle Roger, as he went out to take\ntheir horse. But Felicity\u2019s foot was on her native heath. She had been\nbaking all the afternoon, and, with a pantry well stocked with biscuits,\ncookies, cakes, and pies, she cared not if all Carlisle came to tea.\nCecily set the table, and the Story Girl waited on it and washed all the\ndishes afterwards. But all the blushing honours fell to Felicity, who\nreceived so many compliments that her airs were quite unbearable for\nthe rest of the week. She presided at the head of the table with as much\ngrace and dignity as if she had been five times twelve years old, and\nseemed to know by instinct just who took sugar and who took it not. She\nwas flushed with excitement and pleasure, and was so pretty that I could\nhardly eat for looking at her--which is the highest compliment in a\nboy\u2019s power to pay.\n\nThe Story Girl, on the contrary, was under eclipse. She was pale and\nlustreless from her disturbed night and early rising; and no opportunity\noffered to tell a melting tale. Nobody took any notice of her. It was\nFelicity\u2019s day.\n\nAfter tea Mrs. Frewen and her sister wished to visit their father\u2019s\ngrave in the Carlisle churchyard. It appeared that everybody wanted to\ngo with them; but it was evident that somebody must stay home with Jimmy\nPatterson, who had just fallen sound asleep on the kitchen sofa. Dan\nfinally volunteered to look after him. He had a new Henty book which he\nwanted to finish, and that, he said, was better fun than a walk to the\ngraveyard.\n\n\u201cI think we\u2019ll be back before he wakes,\u201d said Mrs. Patterson, \u201cand\nanyhow he is very good and won\u2019t be any trouble. Don\u2019t let him go\noutside, though. He has a cold now.\u201d\n\nWe went away, leaving Dan sitting on the door-sill reading his book, and\nJimmy P. snoozing blissfully on the sofa. When we returned--Felix and\nthe girls and I were ahead of the others--Dan was still sitting in\nprecisely the same place and attitude; but there was no Jimmy in sight.\n\n\u201cDan, where\u2019s the baby?\u201d cried Felicity.\n\nDan looked around. His jaw fell in blank amazement. I never saw any one\nlook as foolish as Dan at that moment.\n\n\u201cGood gracious, I don\u2019t know,\u201d he said helplessly.\n\n\u201cYou\u2019ve been so deep in that wretched book that he\u2019s got out, and dear\nknows where he is,\u201d cried Felicity distractedly.\n\n\u201cI wasn\u2019t,\u201d cried Dan. \u201cHe MUST be in the house. I\u2019ve been sitting right\nacross the door ever since you left, and he couldn\u2019t have got out unless\nhe crawled right over me. He must be in the house.\u201d\n\n\u201cHe isn\u2019t in the kitchen,\u201d said Felicity rushing about wildly, \u201cand he\ncouldn\u2019t get into the other part of the house, for I shut the hall door\ntight, and no baby could open it--and it\u2019s shut tight yet. So are all\nthe windows. He MUST have gone out of that door, Dan King, and it\u2019s your\nfault.\u201d\n\n\u201cHe DIDN\u2019T go out of this door,\u201d reiterated Dan stubbornly. \u201cI know\nthat.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, where is he, then? He isn\u2019t here. Did he melt into air?\u201d demanded\nFelicity. \u201cOh, come and look for him, all of you. Don\u2019t stand round like\nninnies. We MUST find him before his mother gets here. Dan King, you\u2019re\nan idiot!\u201d\n\nDan was too frightened to resent this, at the time. However and wherever\nJimmy had gone, he WAS gone, so much was certain. We tore about the\nhouse and yard like maniacs; we looked into every likely and unlikely\nplace. But Jimmy we could not find, anymore than if he had indeed melted\ninto air. Mrs. Patterson came, and we had not found him. Things were\ngetting serious. Uncle Roger and Peter were summoned from the field.\nMrs. Patterson became hysterical, and was taken into the spare room with\nsuch remedies as could be suggested. Everybody blamed poor Dan. Cecily\nasked him what he would feel like if Jimmy was never, never found. The\nStory Girl had a gruesome recollection of some baby at Markdale who had\nwandered away like that--\n\n\u201cAnd they never found him till the next spring, and all they found\nwas--HIS SKELETON, with the grass growing through it,\u201d she whispered.\n\n\u201cThis beats me,\u201d said Uncle Roger, when a fruitless hour had elapsed. \u201cI\ndo hope that baby hasn\u2019t wandered down to the swamp. It seems impossible\nhe could walk so far; but I must go and see. Felicity, hand me my high\nboots out from under the sofa, there\u2019s a girl.\u201d\n\nFelicity, pale and tearful, dropped on her knees and lifted the cretonne\nfrill of the sofa. There, his head pillowed hardly on Uncle Roger\u2019s\nboots, lay Jimmy Patterson, still sound asleep!\n\n\u201cWell, I\u2019ll be--jiggered!\u201d said Uncle Roger.\n\n\u201cI KNEW he never went out of the door,\u201d cried Dan triumphantly.\n\nWhen the last buggy had driven away, Felicity set a batch of bread, and\nthe rest of us sat around the back porch steps in the cat\u2019s light and\nate cherries, shooting the stones at each other. Cecily was in quest of\ninformation.\n\n\u201cWhat does \u2018it never rains but it pours\u2019 mean?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, it means if anything happens something else is sure to happen,\u201d\n said the Story Girl. \u201cI\u2019ll illustrate. There\u2019s Mrs. Murphy. She never\nhad a proposal in her life till she was forty, and then she had three\nin the one week, and she was so flustered she took the wrong one and has\nbeen sorry ever since. Do you see what it means now?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, I guess so,\u201d said Cecily somewhat doubtfully. Later on we heard\nher imparting her newly acquired knowledge to Felicity in the pantry.\n\n\u201c\u2018It never rains but it pours\u2019 means that nobody wants to marry you for\never so long, and then lots of people do.\u201d\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV. FORBIDDEN FRUIT\n\nWe were all, with the exception of Uncle Roger, more or less grumpy in\nthe household of King next day. Perhaps our nerves had been upset by the\nexcitement attendant on Jimmy Patterson\u2019s disappearance. But it is more\nlikely that our crankiness was the result of the supper we had eaten the\nprevious night. Even children cannot devour mince pie, and cold fried\npork ham, and fruit cake before going to bed with entire impunity. Aunt\nJanet had forgotten to warn Uncle Roger to keep an eye on our bedtime\nsnacks, and we ate what seemed good unto us.\n\nSome of us had frightful dreams, and all of us carried chips on our\nshoulders at breakfast. Felicity and Dan began a bickering which they\nkept up the entire day. Felicity had a natural aptitude for what we\ncalled \u201cbossing,\u201d and in her mother\u2019s absence she deemed that she had\na right to rule supreme. She knew better than to make any attempt to\nassert authority over the Story Girl, and Felix and I were allowed some\nlength of tether; but Cecily, Dan, and Peter were expected to submit\ndutifully to her decrees. In the main they did; but on this particular\nmorning Dan was plainly inclined to rebel. He had had time to grow sore\nover the things that Felicity had said to him when Jimmy Patterson was\nthought lost, and he began the day with a flatly expressed determination\nthat he was not going to let Felicity rule the roost.\n\nIt was not a pleasant day, and to make matters worse it rained until\nlate in the afternoon. The Story Girl had not recovered from the\nmortifications of the previous day; she would not talk, and she would\nnot tell a single story; she sat on Rachel Ward\u2019s chest and ate her\nbreakfast with the air of a martyr. After breakfast she washed the\ndishes and did the bed-room work in grim silence; then, with a book\nunder one arm and Pat under the other, she betook herself to the\nwindow-seat in the upstairs hall, and would not be lured from that\nretreat, charmed we never so wisely. She stroked the purring Paddy, and\nread steadily on, with maddening indifference to all our pleadings.\n\nEven Cecily, the meek and mild, was snappish, and complained of\nheadache. Peter had gone home to see his mother, and Uncle Roger had\ngone to Markdale on business. Sara Ray came up, but was so snubbed by\nFelicity that she went home, crying. Felicity got the dinner by herself,\ndisdaining to ask or command assistance. She banged things about and\nrattled the stove covers until even Cecily protested from her sofa. Dan\nsat on the floor and whittled, his sole aim and object being to make a\nmess and annoy Felicity, in which noble ambition he succeeded perfectly.\n\n\u201cI wish Aunt Janet and Uncle Alec were home,\u201d said Felix. \u201cIt\u2019s not half\nso much fun having the grown-ups away as I thought it would be.\u201d\n\n\u201cI wish I was back in Toronto,\u201d I said sulkily. The mince pie was to\nblame for THAT wish.\n\n\u201cI wish you were, I\u2019m sure,\u201d said Felicity, riddling the fire noisily.\n\n\u201cAny one who lives with you, Felicity King, will always be wishing he\nwas somewhere else,\u201d said Dan.\n\n\u201cI wasn\u2019t talking to you, Dan King,\u201d retorted Felicity, \u201c\u2018Speak when\nyou\u2019re spoken to, come when you\u2019re called.\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, oh, oh,\u201d wailed Cecily on the sofa. \u201cI WISH it would stop raining.\nI WISH my head would stop aching. I WISH ma had never gone away. I WISH\nyou\u2019d leave Felicity alone, Dan.\u201d\n\n\u201cI wish girls had some sense,\u201d said Dan--which brought the orgy of\nwishing to an end for the time. A wishing fairy might have had the time\nof her life in the King kitchen that morning--particularly if she were a\ncynically inclined fairy.\n\nBut even the effects of unholy snacks wear away at length. By tea-time\nthings had brightened up. The rain had ceased, and the old, low-raftered\nroom was full of sunshine which danced on the shining dishes of the\ndresser, made mosaics on the floor, and flickered over the table whereon\na delicious meal was spread. Felicity had put on her blue muslin, and\nlooked so beautiful in it that her good humour was quite restored.\nCecily\u2019s headache was better, and the Story Girl, refreshed by an\nafternoon siesta, came down with smiles and sparkling eyes. Dan alone\ncontinued to nurse his grievances, and would not even laugh when the\nStory Girl told us a tale brought to mind by some of the \u201cRev. Mr.\nScott\u2019s plums\u201d which were on the table.\n\n\u201cThe Rev. Mr. Scott was the man who thought the pulpit door must be made\nfor speerits, you know,\u201d she said. \u201cI heard Uncle Edward telling ever\nso many stories about him. He was called to this congregation, and he\nlaboured here long and faithfully, and was much beloved, though he was\nvery eccentric.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat does that mean?\u201d asked Peter.\n\n\u201cHush! It just means queer,\u201d said Cecily, nudging him with her elbow. \u201cA\ncommon man would be queer, but when it\u2019s a minister, it\u2019s eccentric.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhen he gets very old,\u201d continued the Story Girl, \u201cthe Presbytery\nthought it was time he was retired. HE didn\u2019t think so; but the\nPresbytery had their way, because there were so many of them to one of\nhim. He was retired, and a young man was called to Carlisle. Mr. Scott\nwent to live in town, but he came out to Carlisle very often, and\nvisited all the people regularly, just the same as when he was their\nminister. The young minister was a very good young man, and tried to do\nhis duty; but he was dreadfully afraid of meeting old Mr. Scott, because\nhe had been told that the old minister was very angry at being set\naside, and would likely give him a sound drubbing, if he ever met him.\nOne day the young minister was visiting the Crawfords in Markdale, when\nthey suddenly heard old Mr. Scott\u2019s voice in the kitchen. The young\nminister turned pale as the dead, and implored Mrs. Crawford to hid him.\nBut she couldn\u2019t get him out of the room, and all she could do was to\nhide him in the china closet. The young minister slipped into the china\ncloset, and old Mr. Scott came into the room. He talked very nicely, and\nread, and prayed. They made very long prayers in those days, you know;\nand at the end of his prayer he said, \u2018Oh Lord, bless the poor young man\nhiding in the closet. Give him courage not to fear the face of man. Make\nhim a burning and a shining light to this sadly abused congregation.\u2019\nJust imagine the feelings of the young minister in the china closet! But\nhe came right out like a man, though his face was very red, as soon as\nMr. Scott had done praying. And Mr. Scott was lovely to him, and shook\nhands, and never mentioned the china closet. And they were the best of\nfriends ever afterwards.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow did old Mr. Scott find out the young minister was in the closet?\u201d\n asked Felix.\n\n\u201cNobody ever knew. They supposed he had seen him through the\nwindow before he came into the house, and guessed he must be in the\ncloset--because there was no way for him to get out of the room.\u201d\n\n\u201cMr. Scott planted the yellow plum tree in Grandfather\u2019s time,\u201d said\nCecily, peeling one of the plums, \u201cand when he did it he said it was\nas Christian an act as he ever did. I wonder what he meant. I don\u2019t see\nanything very Christian about planting a tree.\u201d\n\n\u201cI do,\u201d said the Story Girl sagely.\n\nWhen next we assembled ourselves together, it was after milking, and the\ncares of the day were done with. We foregathered in the balsam-fragrant\naisles of the fir wood, and ate early August apples to such an extent\nthat the Story Girl said we made her think of the Irishman\u2019s pig.\n\n\u201cAn Irishman who lived at Markdale had a little pig,\u201d she said, \u201cand he\ngave it a pailful of mush. The pig ate the whole pailful, and then the\nIrishman put the pig IN the pail, and it didn\u2019t fill more than half the\npail. Now, how was that, when it held a whole pailful of mush?\u201d\n\nThis seemed to be a rather unanswerable kind of conundrum. We discussed\nthe problem as we roamed the wood, and Dan and Peter almost quarrelled\nover it, Dan maintaining that the thing was impossible, and Peter being\nof the opinion that the mush was somehow \u201cmade thicker\u201d in the process\nof being eaten, and so took up less room. During the discussion we came\nout to the fence of the hill pasture where grew the \u201cbad berry\u201d bushes.\n\nJust what these \u201cbad berries\u201d were I cannot tell. We never knew their\nreal name. They were small, red-clustered berries of a glossy, seductive\nappearance, and we were forbidden to eat them, because it was thought\nthey might be poisonous. Dan picked a cluster and held it up.\n\n\u201cDan King, don\u2019t you DARE eat those berries,\u201d said Felicity in her\n\u201cbossiest\u201d tone. \u201cThey\u2019re poison. Drop them right away.\u201d\n\nNow, Dan had not had the slightest intention of eating the berries. But\nat Felicity\u2019s prohibition the rebellion which had smouldered in him all\nday broke into sudden flame. He would show her!\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll eat them if I please, Felicity King,\u201d he said in a fury: \u201cI don\u2019t\nbelieve they\u2019re poison. Look here!\u201d\n\nDan crammed the whole bunch into his capacious mouth and chewed it up.\n\n\u201cThey taste great,\u201d he said, smacking; and he ate two more clusters,\nregardless of our horror-stricken protestations and Felicity\u2019s\npleadings.\n\nWe feared that Dan would drop dead on the spot. But nothing occurred\nimmediately. When an hour had passed we concluded that the bad berries\nwere not poison after all, and we looked upon Dan as quite a hero for\ndaring to eat them.\n\n\u201cI knew they wouldn\u2019t hurt me,\u201d he said loftily. \u201cFelicity\u2019s so fond of\nmaking a fuss over everything.\u201d\n\nNevertheless, when it grew dark and we returned to the house, I noticed\nthat Dan was rather pale and quiet. He lay down on the kitchen sofa.\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t you feel all right, Dan?\u201d I whispered anxiously.\n\n\u201cShut up,\u201d he said.\n\nI shut up.\n\nFelicity and Cecily were setting out a lunch in the pantry when we were\nall startled by a loud groan from the sofa.\n\n\u201cOh, I\u2019m sick--I\u2019m awful sick,\u201d said Dan abjectly, all the defiance and\nbravado gone out of him.\n\nWe all went to pieces, except Cecily, who alone retained her presence of\nmind.\n\n\u201cHave you got a pain in your stomach?\u201d she demanded.\n\n\u201cI\u2019ve got an awful pain here, if that\u2019s where my stomach is,\u201d moaned\nDan, putting his hand on a portion of his anatomy considerably below his\nstomach. \u201cOh--oh--oh!\u201d\n\n\u201cGo for Uncle Roger,\u201d commanded Cecily, pale but composed. \u201cFelicity,\nput on the kettle. Dan, I\u2019m going to give you mustard and warm water.\u201d\n\nThe mustard and warm water produced its proper effect promptly, but gave\nDan no relief. He continued to writhe and groan. Uncle Roger, who had\nbeen summoned from his own place, went at once for the doctor, telling\nPeter to go down the hill for Mrs. Ray. Peter went, but returned\naccompanied by Sara only. Mrs. Ray and Judy Pineau were both away. Sara\nmight better have stayed home; she was of no use, and could only add to\nthe general confusion, wandering aimlessly about, crying and asking if\nDan was going to die.\n\nCecily took charge of things. Felicity might charm the palate, and the\nStory Girl bind captive the soul; but when pain and sickness wrung the\nbrow it was Cecily who was the ministering angel. She made the writhing\nDan go to bed. She made him swallow every available antidote which was\nrecommended in \u201cthe doctor\u2019s book;\u201d and she applied hot cloths to him\nuntil her faithful little hands were half scalded off.\n\nThere was no doubt Dan was suffering intense pain. He moaned and\nwrithed, and cried for his mother.\n\n\u201cOh, isn\u2019t it dreadful!\u201d said Felicity, wringing her hands as she walked\nthe kitchen floor. \u201cOh, why doesn\u2019t the doctor come? I TOLD Dan the bad\nberries were poison. But surely they can\u2019t kill people ALTOGETHER.\u201d\n\n\u201cPa\u2019s cousin died of eating something forty years ago,\u201d sobbed Sara Ray.\n\n\u201cHold your tongue,\u201d said Peter in a fierce whisper. \u201cYou oughter have\nmore sense than to say such things to the girls. They don\u2019t want to be\nany worse scared than they are.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut Pa\u2019s cousin DID die,\u201d reiterated Sara.\n\n\u201cMy Aunt Jane used to rub whisky on for a pain,\u201d suggested Peter.\n\n\u201cWe haven\u2019t any whisky,\u201d said Felicity disapprovingly. \u201cThis is a\ntemperance house.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut rubbing whisky on the OUTSIDE isn\u2019t any harm,\u201d argued Peter. \u201cIt\u2019s\nonly when you take it inside it is bad for you.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, we haven\u2019t any, anyhow,\u201d said Felicity. \u201cI suppose blueberry wine\nwouldn\u2019t do in its place?\u201d\n\nPeter did not think blueberry wine would be any good.\n\nIt was ten o\u2019clock before Dan began to get better; but from that time\nhe improved rapidly. When the doctor, who had been away from home\nwhen Uncle Roger reached Markdale, came at half past ten, he found his\npatient very weak and white, but free from pain.\n\nDr. Grier patted Cecily on the head, told her she was a little brick,\nand had done just the right thing, examined some of the fatal\nberries and gave it as his opinion that they were probably poisonous,\nadministered some powders to Dan and advised him not to tamper with\nforbidden fruit in future, and went away.\n\nMrs. Ray now appeared, looking for Sara, and said she would stay all\nnight with us.\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll be much obliged to you if you will,\u201d said Uncle Roger. \u201cI feel\na bit shook. I urged Janet and Alec to go to Halifax, and took the\nresponsibility of the children while they were away, but I didn\u2019t know\nwhat I was letting myself in for. If anything had happened I could never\nhave forgiven myself--though I believe it\u2019s beyond the power of mortal\nman to keep watch over the things children WILL eat. Now, you young fry,\nget straight off to your beds. Dan is out of danger, and you can\u2019t do\nany more good. Not that any of you have done much, except Cecily. She\u2019s\ngot a head of her shoulders.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s been a horrid day all through,\u201d said Felicity drearily, as we\nclimbed the stairs.\n\n\u201cI suppose we made it horrid ourselves,\u201d said the Story Girl candidly.\n\u201cBut it\u2019ll be a good story to tell sometime,\u201d she added.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m awful tired and thankful,\u201d sighed Cecily.\n\nWe all felt that way.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV. A DISOBEDIENT BROTHER\n\nDan was his own man again in the morning, though rather pale and weak;\nhe wanted to get up, but Cecily ordered him to stay in bed. Fortunately\nFelicity forgot to repeat the command, so Dan did stay in bed. Cecily\ncarried his meals to him, and read a Henty book to him all her spare\ntime. The Story Girl went up and told him wondrous tales; and Sara Ray\nbrought him a pudding she had made herself. Sara\u2019s intentions were\ngood, but the pudding--well, Dan fed most of it to Paddy, who had curled\nhimself up at the foot of the bed, giving the world assurance of a cat\nby his mellifluous purring.\n\n\u201cAin\u2019t he just a great old fellow?\u201d said Dan. \u201cHe knows I\u2019m kind of\nsick, just as well as a human. He never pays no attention to me when I\u2019m\nwell.\u201d\n\nFelix and Peter and I were required to help Uncle Roger in some\ncarpentering work that day, and Felicity indulged in one of the\nhouse-cleaning orgies so dear to her soul; so that it was evening before\nwe were all free to meet in the orchard and loll on the grasses of Uncle\nStephen\u2019s Walk. In August it was a place of shady sweetness, fragrant\nwith the odour of ripening apples, full of dear, delicate shadows.\nThrough its openings we looked afar to the blue rims of the hills and\nover green, old, tranquil fields, lying the sunset glow. Overhead the\nlacing leaves made a green, murmurous roof. There was no such thing as\nhurry in the world, while we lingered there and talked of \u201ccabbages and\nkings.\u201d A tale of the Story Girl\u2019s, wherein princes were thicker than\nblackberries, and queens as common as buttercups, led to our discussion\nof kings. We wondered what it would be like to be a king. Peter thought\nit would be fine, only kind of inconvenient, wearing a crown all the\ntime.\n\n\u201cOh, but they don\u2019t,\u201d said the Story Girl. \u201cMaybe they used to once, but\nnow they wear hats. The crowns are just for special occasions. They look\nvery much like other people, if you can go by their photographs.\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t believe it would be much fun as a steady thing,\u201d said Cecily.\n\u201cI\u2019d like to SEE a queen though. That is one thing I have against the\nIsland--you never have a chance to see things like that here.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe Prince of Wales was in Charlottetown once,\u201d said Peter. \u201cMy Aunt\nJane saw him quite close by.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat was before we were born, and such a thing won\u2019t happen again until\nafter we\u2019re dead,\u201d said Cecily, with very unusual pessimism.\n\n\u201cI think queens and kings were thicker long ago,\u201d said the Story Girl.\n\u201cThey do seem dreadfully scarce now. There isn\u2019t one in this country\nanywhere. Perhaps I\u2019ll get a glimpse of some when I go to Europe.\u201d\n\nWell, the Story Girl was destined to stand before kings herself, and she\nwas to be one whom they delighted to honour. But we did not know\nthat, as we sat in the old orchard. We thought it quite sufficiently\nmarvellous that she should expect to have the chance of just seeing\nthem.\n\n\u201cCan a queen do exactly as she pleases?\u201d Sara Ray wanted to know.\n\n\u201cNot nowadays,\u201d explained the Story Girl.\n\n\u201cThen I don\u2019t see any use in being one,\u201d Sara decided.\n\n\u201cA king can\u2019t do as he pleases now, either,\u201d said Felix. \u201cIf he tries\nto, and if it isn\u2019t what pleases other people, the Parliament or\nsomething squelches him.\u201d\n\n\u201cIsn\u2019t \u2018squelch\u2019 a lovely word?\u201d said the Story Girl irrelevantly. \u201cIt\u2019s\nso expressive. Squ-u-e-l-ch!\u201d\n\nCertainly it was a lovely word, as the Story Girl said it. Even a king\nwould not have minded being squelched, if it were done to music like\nthat.\n\n\u201cUncle Roger says that Martin Forbes\u2019 wife has squelched HIM,\u201d said\nFelicity. \u201cHe says Martin can\u2019t call his soul his own since he was\nmarried.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019m glad of it,\u201d said Cecily vindictively.\n\nWe all stared. This was so very unlike Cecily.\n\n\u201cMartin Forbes is the brother of a horrid man in Summerside who called\nme Johnny, that\u2019s why,\u201d she explained. \u201cHe was visiting here with his\nwife two years ago, and he called me Johnny every time he spoke to me.\nJust you fancy! I\u2019ll NEVER forgive him.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat isn\u2019t a Christian spirit,\u201d said Felicity rebukingly.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t care. Would YOU forgive James Forbes if he had called YOU\nJohnny?\u201d demanded Cecily.\n\n\u201cI know a story about Martin Forbes\u2019 grandfather,\u201d said the Story Girl.\n\u201cLong ago they didn\u2019t have any choir in the Carlisle church--just a\nprecentor you know. But at last they got a choir, and Andrew McPherson\nwas to sing bass in it. Old Mr. Forbes hadn\u2019t gone to church for years,\nbecause he was so rheumatic, but he went the first Sunday the choir\nsang, because he had never heard any one sing bass, and wanted to hear\nwhat it was like. Grandfather King asked him what he thought of the\nchoir. Mr. Forbes said it was \u2018verra guid,\u2019 but as for Andrew\u2019s bass,\n\u2018there was nae bass aboot it--it was just a bur-r-r-r the hale time.\u2019\u201d\n\nIf you could have heard the Story Girl\u2019s \u201cbur-r-r-r!\u201d Not old Mr. Forbes\nhimself could have invested it with more of Doric scorn. We rolled over\nin the cool grass and screamed with laughter.\n\n\u201cPoor Dan,\u201d said Cecily compassionately. \u201cHe\u2019s up there all alone in his\nroom, missing all the fun. I suppose it\u2019s mean of us to be having such a\ngood time here, when he has to stay in bed.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf Dan hadn\u2019t done wrong eating the bad berries when he was told not\nto, he wouldn\u2019t be sick,\u201d said Felicity. \u201cYou\u2019re bound to catch it when\nyou do wrong. It was just a Providence he didn\u2019t die.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat makes me think of another story about old Mr. Scott,\u201d said\nthe Story Girl. \u201cYou know, I told you he was very angry because the\nPresbytery made him retire. There were two ministers in particular\nhe blamed for being at the bottom of it. One time a friend of his was\ntrying to console him, and said to him,\n\n\u201c\u2018You should be resigned to the will of Providence.\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018Providence had nothing to do with it,\u2019 said old Mr. Scott. \u2018\u2019Twas the\nMcCloskeys and the devil.\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cYou shouldn\u2019t speak of the--the--DEVIL,\u201d said Felicity, rather shocked.\n\n\u201cWell, that\u2019s just what Mr. Scott said.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, it\u2019s all right for a MINISTER to speak of him. But it isn\u2019t nice\nfor little girls. If you HAVE to speak of--of--him--you might say the\nOld Scratch. That is what mother calls him.\u201d\n\n\u201c\u2018\u2019Twas the McCloskeys and the Old Scratch,\u2019\u201d said the Story Girl\nreflectively, as if she were trying to see which version was the more\neffective. \u201cIt wouldn\u2019t do,\u201d she decided.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t think it\u2019s any harm to mention the--the--that person, when\nyou\u2019re telling a story,\u201d said Cecily. \u201cIt\u2019s only in plain talking it\ndoesn\u2019t do. It sounds too much like swearing then.\u201d\n\n\u201cI know another story about Mr. Scott,\u201d said the Story Girl. \u201cNot long\nafter he was married his wife wasn\u2019t quite ready for church one morning\nwhen it was time to go. So, just to teach her a lesson, he drove off\nalone, and left her to walk all the way--it was nearly two miles--in\nthe heat and dust. She took it very quietly. It\u2019s the best way, I guess,\nwhen you\u2019re married to a man like old Mr. Scott. But just a few Sundays\nafter wasn\u2019t he late himself! I suppose Mrs. Scott thought that what was\nsauce for the goose was sauce for the gander, for she slipped out and\ndrove off to church as he had done. Old Mr. Scott finally arrived at\nthe church, pretty hot and dusty, and in none too good a temper. He went\ninto the pulpit, leaned over it and looked at his wife, sitting calmly\nin her pew at the side.\n\n\u201c\u2018It was cleverly done,\u2019 he said, right out loud, \u2018BUT DINNA TRY IT\nAGAIN!\u2019\u201d\n\nIn the midst of our laughter Pat came down the Walk, his stately tail\nwaving over the grasses. He proved to be the precursor of Dan, clothed\nand in his right mind.\n\n\u201cDo you think you should have got up, Dan?\u201d said Cecily anxiously.\n\n\u201cI had to,\u201d said Dan. \u201cThe window was open, and it was more\u2019n I could\nstand to hear you fellows laughing down here and me missing it all.\n\u2018Sides, I\u2019m all right again. I feel fine.\u201d\n\n\u201cI guess this will be a lesson to you, Dan King,\u201d said Felicity, in her\nmost maddening tone. \u201cI guess you won\u2019t forget it in a hurry. You won\u2019t\ngo eating the bad berries another time when you\u2019re told not to.\u201d\n\nDan had picked out a soft spot in the grass for himself, and was in the\nact of sitting down, when Felicity\u2019s tactful speech arrested him midway.\nHe straightened up and turned a wrathful face on his provoking sister.\nThen, red with indignation, but without a word, he stalked up the walk.\n\n\u201cNow he\u2019s gone off mad,\u201d said Cecily reproachfully. \u201cOh, Felicity, why\ncouldn\u2019t you have held your tongue?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy, what did I say to make him mad?\u201d asked Felicity in honest\nperplexity.\n\n\u201cI think it\u2019s awful for brothers and sisters to be always quarrelling,\u201d\n sighed Cecily. \u201cThe Cowans fight all the time; and you and Dan will soon\nbe as bad.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, talk sense,\u201d said Felicity. \u201cDan\u2019s got so touchy it isn\u2019t safe to\nspeak to him. I should think he\u2019d be sorry for all the trouble he made\nlast night. But you just back him up in everything, Cecily.\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t!\u201d\n\n\u201cYou do! And you\u2019ve no business to, specially when mother\u2019s away. She\nleft ME in charge.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou didn\u2019t take much charge last night when Dan got sick,\u201d said Felix\nmaliciously. Felicity had told him at tea that night he was getting\nfatter than ever. This was his tit-for-tat. \u201cYou were pretty glad to\nleave it all to Cecily then.\u201d\n\n\u201cWho\u2019s talking to you?\u201d said Felicity.\n\n\u201cNow, look here,\u201d said the Story Girl, \u201cthe first thing we know we\u2019ll\nall be quarrelling, and then some of us will sulk all day to-morrow.\nIt\u2019s dreadful to spoil a whole day. Just let\u2019s all sit still and count a\nhundred before we say another word.\u201d\n\nWe sat still and counted the hundred. When Cecily finished she got up\nand went in search of Dan, resolved to soothe his wounded feelings.\nFelicity called after her to tell Dan there was a jam turnover she had\nput away in the pantry specially for him. Felix held out to Felicity a\nremarkably fine apple which he had been saving for his own consumption;\nand the Story Girl began a tale of an enchanted maiden in a castle by\nthe sea; but we never heard the end of it. For, just as the evening star\nwas looking whitely through the rosy window of the west, Cecily came\nflying through the orchard, wringing her hands.\n\n\u201cOh, come, come quick,\u201d she gasped. \u201cDan\u2019s eating the bad berries\nagain--he\u2019s et a whole bunch of them--he says he\u2019ll show Felicity. I\ncan\u2019t stop him. Come you and try.\u201d\n\nWe rose in a body and rushed towards the house. In the yard we\nencountered Dan, emerging from the fir wood and champing the fatal\nberries with unrepentant relish.\n\n\u201cDan King, do you want to commit suicide?\u201d demanded the Story Girl.\n\n\u201cLook here, Dan,\u201d I expostulated. \u201cYou shouldn\u2019t do this. Think how sick\nyou were last night and all the trouble you made for everybody. Don\u2019t\neat any more, there\u2019s a good chap.\u201d\n\n\u201cAll right,\u201d said Dan. \u201cI\u2019ve et all I want. They taste fine. I don\u2019t\nbelieve it was them made me sick.\u201d\n\nBut now that his anger was over he looked a little frightened. Felicity\nwas not there. We found her in the kitchen, lighting up the fire.\n\n\u201cBev, fill the kettle with water and put it on to heat,\u201d she said in a\nresigned tone. \u201cIf Dan\u2019s going to be sick again we\u2019ve got to be ready\nfor it. I wish mother was home, that\u2019s all. I hope she\u2019ll never go away\nagain. Dan King, you just wait till I tell her of the way you\u2019ve acted.\u201d\n\n\u201cFudge! I ain\u2019t going to be sick,\u201d said Dan. \u201cAnd if YOU begin telling\ntales, Felicity King, I\u2019LL tell some too. I know how many eggs mother\nsaid you could use while she was away--and I know how many you HAVE\nused. I counted. So you\u2019d better mind your own business, Miss.\u201d\n\n\u201cA nice way to talk to your sister when you may be dead in an hour\u2019s\ntime!\u201d retorted Felicity, in tears between her anger and her real alarm\nabout Dan.\n\nBut in an hour\u2019s time Dan was still in good health, and announced his\nintention of going to bed. He went, and was soon sleeping as peacefully\nas if he had nothing on either conscience or stomach. But Felicity\ndeclared she meant to keep the water hot until all danger was past; and\nwe sat up to keep her company. We were sitting there when Uncle Roger\nwalked in at eleven o\u2019clock.\n\n\u201cWhat on earth are you young fry doing up at this time of night?\u201d he\nasked angrily. \u201cYou should have been in your beds two hours ago. And\nwith a roaring fire on a night that\u2019s hot enough to melt a brass monkey!\nHave you taken leave of your senses?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s because of Dan,\u201d explained Felicity wearily. \u201cHe went and et more\nof the bad berries--a whole lot of them--and we were sure he\u2019d be sick\nagain. But he hasn\u2019t been yet, and now he\u2019s asleep.\u201d\n\n\u201cIs that boy stark, staring mad?\u201d said Uncle Roger.\n\n\u201cIt was Felicity\u2019s fault,\u201d cried Cecily, who always took Dan\u2019s part\nthrough evil report and good report. \u201cShe told him she guessed he\u2019d\nlearned a lesson and wouldn\u2019t do what she\u2019d told him not to again. So he\nwent and et them because she vexed him so.\u201d\n\n\u201cFelicity King, if you don\u2019t watch out you\u2019ll grow up into the sort of\nwoman who drives her husband to drink,\u201d said Uncle Roger gravely.\n\n\u201cHow could I tell Dan would act so like a mule!\u201d cried Felicity.\n\n\u201cGet off to bed, every one of you. It\u2019s a thankful man I\u2019ll be when your\nfather and mother come home. The wretched bachelor who undertakes to\nlook after a houseful of children like you is to be pitied. Nobody will\never catch me doing it again. Felicity, is there anything fit to eat in\nthe pantry?\u201d\n\nThat last question was the most unkindest cut of all. Felicity could\nhave forgiven Uncle Roger anything but that. It really was unpardonable.\nShe confided to me as we climbed the stairs that she hated Uncle Roger.\nHer red lips quivered and the tears of wounded pride brimmed over in\nher beautiful blue eyes. In the dim candle-light she looked unbelievably\npretty and appealing. I put my arm about her and gave her a cousinly\nsalute.\n\n\u201cNever you mind him, Felicity,\u201d I said. \u201cHe\u2019s only a grown-up.\u201d\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI. THE GHOSTLY BELL\n\nFriday was a comfortable day in the household of King. Everybody was in\ngood humour. The Story Girl sparkled through several tales that ranged\nfrom the afrites and jinns of Eastern myth, through the piping days of\nchivalry, down to the homely anecdotes of Carlisle workaday folks. She\nwas in turn an Oriental princess behind a silken veil, the bride who\nfollowed her bridegroom to the wars of Palestine disguised as a page,\nthe gallant lady who ransomed her diamond necklace by dancing a coranto\nwith a highwayman on a moonlit heath, and \u201cBuskirk\u2019s girl\u201d who joined\nthe Sons and Daughters of Temperance \u201cjust to see what was into it;\u201d and\nin each impersonation she was so thoroughly the thing impersonated that\nit was a matter of surprise to us when she emerged from each our own\nfamiliar Story Girl again.\n\nCecily and Sara Ray found a \u201csweet\u201d new knitted lace pattern in an old\nmagazine and spent a happy afternoon learning it and \u201ctalking secrets.\u201d\n Chancing--accidentally, I vow--to overhear certain of these secrets, I\nlearned that Sara Ray had named an apple for Johnny Price--\u201cand, Cecily,\ntrue\u2019s you live, there was eight seeds in it, and you know eight means\n\u2018they both love\u2019 \u201c--while Cecily admitted that Willy Fraser had written\non his slate and showed it to her,\n\n    \u201cIf you love me as I love you,\n    No knife can cut our love in two\u201d--\n\n\u201cbut, Sara Ray, NEVER you breathe this to a living soul.\u201d\n\nFelix also averred that he heard Sara ask Cecily very seriously,\n\n\u201cCecily, how old must we be before we can have a REAL beau?\u201d\n\nBut Sara always denied it; so I am inclined to believe Felix simply made\nit up himself.\n\nPaddy distinguished himself by catching a rat, and being intolerably\nconceited about it--until Sara Ray cured him by calling him a \u201cdear,\nsweet cat,\u201d and kissing him between the ears. Then Pat sneaked abjectly\noff, his tail drooping. He resented being called a sweet cat. He had a\nsense of humour, had Pat. Very few cats have; and most of them have such\nan inordinate appetite for flattery that they will swallow any amount\nof it and thrive thereon. Paddy had a finer taste. The Story Girl and\nI were the only ones who could pay him compliments to his liking. The\nStory Girl would box his ears with her fist and say, \u201cBless your gray\nheart, Paddy, you\u2019re a good sort of old rascal,\u201d and Pat would purr his\nsatisfaction; I used to take a handful of the skin on his back, shake\nhim gently and say, \u201cPat, you\u2019ve forgotten more than any human being\never knew,\u201d and I vow Paddy would lick his chops with delight. But to be\ncalled \u201ca sweet cat!\u201d Oh, Sara, Sara!\n\nFelicity tried--and had the most gratifying luck with--a new and\ncomplicated cake recipe--a gorgeous compound of a plumminess to make\nyour mouth water. The number of eggs she used in it would have shocked\nAunt Janet\u2019s thrifty soul, but that cake, like beauty, was its own\nexcuse. Uncle Roger ate three slices of it at tea-time and told Felicity\nshe was an artist. The poor man meant it as a compliment; but Felicity,\nwho knew Uncle Blair was an artist and had a poor opinion of such fry,\nlooked indignant and retorted, indeed she wasn\u2019t!\n\n\u201cPeter says there\u2019s any amount of raspberries back in the maple\nclearing,\u201d said Dan. \u201cS\u2019posen we all go after tea and pick some?\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019d like to,\u201d sighed Felicity, \u201cbut we\u2019d come home tired and with all\nthe milking to do. You boys better go alone.\u201d\n\n\u201cPeter and I will attend to the milking for one evening,\u201d said Uncle\nRoger. \u201cYou can all go. I have an idea that a raspberry pie for\nto-morrow night, when the folks come home, would hit the right spot.\u201d\n\nAccordingly, after tea we all set off, armed with jugs and cups.\nFelicity, thoughtful creature, also took a small basketful of jelly\ncookies along with her. We had to go back through the maple woods to\nthe extreme end of Uncle Roger\u2019s farm--a pretty walk, through a world of\ngreen, whispering boughs and spice-sweet ferns, and shifting patches\nof sunlight. The raspberries were plentiful, and we were not long in\nfilling our receptacles. Then we foregathered around a tiny wood spring,\ncold and pellucid under its young maples, and ate the jelly cookies;\nand the Story Girl told us a tale of a haunted spring in a mountain glen\nwhere a fair white lady dwelt, who pledged all comers in a golden cup\nwith jewels bright.\n\n\u201cAnd if you drank of the cup with her,\u201d said the Story Girl, her eyes\nglowing through the emerald dusk about us, \u201cyou were never seen in the\nworld again; you were whisked straightway to fairyland, and lived there\nwith a fairy bride. And you never WANTED to come back to earth, because\nwhen you drank of the magic cup you forgot all your past life, except\nfor one day in every year when you were allowed to remember it.\u201d\n\n\u201cI wish there was such a place as fairyland--and a way to get to it,\u201d\n said Cecily.\n\n\u201cI think there IS such a place--in spite of Uncle Edward,\u201d said the\nStory Girl dreamily, \u201cand I think there is a way of getting there too,\nif we could only find it.\u201d\n\nWell, the Story Girl was right. There is such a place as fairyland--but\nonly children can find the way to it. And they do not know that it is\nfairyland until they have grown so old that they forget the way. One\nbitter day, when they seek it and cannot find it, they realize what they\nhave lost; and that is the tragedy of life. On that day the gates of\nEden are shut behind them and the age of gold is over. Henceforth they\nmust dwell in the common light of common day. Only a few, who remain\nchildren at heart, can ever find that fair, lost path again; and blessed\nare they above mortals. They, and only they, can bring us tidings\nfrom that dear country where we once sojourned and from which we must\nevermore be exiles. The world calls them its singers and poets and\nartists and story-tellers; but they are just people who have never\nforgotten the way to fairyland.\n\nAs we sat there the Awkward Man passed by, with his gun over his\nshoulder and his dog at his side. He did not look like an awkward man,\nthere in the heart of the maple woods. He strode along right masterfully\nand lifted his head with the air of one who was monarch of all he\nsurveyed.\n\nThe Story Girl kissed her fingertips to him with the delightful audacity\nwhich was a part of her; and the Awkward Man plucked off his hat and\nswept her a stately and graceful bow.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t understand why they call him the awkward man,\u201d said Cecily,\nwhen he was out of earshot.\n\n\u201cYou\u2019d understand why if you ever saw him at a party or a picnic,\u201d said\nFelicity, \u201ctrying to pass plates and dropping them whenever a woman\nlooked at him. They say it\u2019s pitiful to see him.\u201d\n\n\u201cI must get well acquainted with that man next summer,\u201d said the Story\nGirl. \u201cIf I put it off any longer it will be too late. I\u2019m growing so\nfast, Aunt Olivia says I\u2019ll have to wear ankle skirts next summer. If I\nbegin to look grown-up he\u2019ll get frightened of me, and then I\u2019ll never\nfind out the Golden Milestone mystery.\u201d\n\n\u201cDo you think he\u2019ll ever tell you who Alice is?\u201d I asked.\n\n\u201cI have a notion who Alice is already,\u201d said the mysterious creature.\nBut she would tell us nothing more.\n\nWhen the jelly cookies were all eaten it was high time to be moving\nhomeward, for when the dark comes down there are more comfortable places\nthan a rustling maple wood and the precincts of a possibly enchanted\nspring. When we reached the foot of the orchard and entered it through a\ngap in the hedge it was the magical, mystical time of \u201cbetween lights.\u201d\n Off to the west was a daffodil glow hanging over the valley of lost\nsunsets, and Grandfather King\u2019s huge willow rose up against it like a\nrounded mountain of foliage. In the east, above the maple woods, was a\nsilvery sheen that hinted the moonrise. But the orchard was a place of\nshadows and mysterious sounds. Midway up the open space in its heart we\nmet Peter; and if ever a boy was given over to sheer terror that boy was\nPeter. His face was as white as a sunburned face could be, and his eyes\nwere brimmed with panic.\n\n\u201cPeter, what is the matter?\u201d cried Cecily.\n\n\u201cThere\u2019s--SOMETHING--in the house, RINGING A BELL,\u201d said Peter, in\na shaking voice. Not the Story Girl herself could have invested that\n\u201csomething\u201d with more of creepy horror. We all drew close together. I\nfelt a crinkly feeling along my back which I had never known before. If\nPeter had not been so manifestly frightened we might have thought he was\ntrying to \u201cpass a joke\u201d on us. But such abject terror as his could not\nbe counterfeited.\n\n\u201cNonsense!\u201d said Felicity, but her voice shook. \u201cThere isn\u2019t a bell in\nthe house to ring. You must have imagined it, Peter. Or else Uncle Roger\nis trying to fool us.\u201d\n\n\u201cYour Uncle Roger went to Markdale right after milking,\u201d said Peter. \u201cHe\nlocked up the house and gave me the key. There wasn\u2019t a soul in it then,\nthat I\u2019m sure of. I druv the cows to the pasture, and I got back about\nfifteen minutes ago. I set down on the front door steps for a moment,\nand all at once I heard a bell ring in the house eight times. I tell\nyou I was skeered. I made a bolt for the orchard--and you won\u2019t catch me\ngoing near that house till your Uncle Roger comes home.\u201d\n\nYou wouldn\u2019t catch any of us doing it. We were almost as badly scared as\nPeter. There we stood in a huddled demoralized group. Oh, what an eerie\nplace that orchard was! What shadows! What noises! What spooky swooping\nof bats! You COULDN\u2019T look every way at once, and goodness only knew\nwhat might be behind you!\n\n\u201cThere CAN\u2019T be anybody in the house,\u201d said Felicity.\n\n\u201cWell, here\u2019s the key--go and see for yourself,\u201d said Peter.\n\nFelicity had no intention of going and seeing.\n\n\u201cI think you boys ought to go,\u201d she said, retreating behind the defence\nof sex. \u201cYou ought to be braver than girls.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut we ain\u2019t,\u201d said Felix candidly. \u201cI wouldn\u2019t be much scared of\nanything REAL. But a haunted house is a different thing.\u201d\n\n\u201cI always thought something had to be done in a place before it could\nbe haunted,\u201d said Cecily. \u201cSomebody killed or something like that, you\nknow. Nothing like that ever happened in our family. The Kings have\nalways been respectable.\u201d\n\n\u201cPerhaps it is Emily King\u2019s ghost,\u201d whispered Felix.\n\n\u201cShe never appeared anywhere but in the orchard,\u201d said the Story Girl.\n\u201cOh, oh, children, isn\u2019t there something under Uncle Alec\u2019s tree?\u201d\n\nWe peered fearfully through the gloom. There WAS something--something\nthat wavered and fluttered--advanced--retreated--\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s only my old apron,\u201d said Felicity. \u201cI hung it there to-day when\nI was looking for the white hen\u2019s nest. Oh, what shall we do? Uncle\nRoger may not be back for hours. I CAN\u2019T believe there\u2019s anything in the\nhouse.\u201d\n\n\u201cMaybe it\u2019s only Peg Bowen,\u201d suggested Dan.\n\nThere was not a great deal of comfort in this. We were almost as much\nafraid of Peg Bowen as we would be of any spectral visitant.\n\nPeter scoffed at the idea.\n\n\u201cPeg Bowen wasn\u2019t in the house before your Uncle Roger locked it up, and\nhow could she get in afterwards?\u201d he said. \u201cNo, it isn\u2019t Peg Bowen. It\u2019s\nSOMETHING that WALKS.\u201d\n\n\u201cI know a story about a ghost,\u201d said the Story Girl, the ruling passion\nstrong even in extremity. \u201cIt is about a ghost with eyeholes but no\neyes--\u201d\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t,\u201d cried Cecily hysterically. \u201cDon\u2019t you go on! Don\u2019t you say\nanother word! I can\u2019t bear it! Don\u2019t you!\u201d\n\nThe Story Girl didn\u2019t. But she had said enough. There was something in\nthe quality of a ghost with eyeholes but no eyes that froze our young\nblood.\n\nThere never were in all the world six more badly scared children than\nthose who huddled in the old King orchard that August night.\n\nAll at once--something--leaped from the bough of a tree and alighted\nbefore us. We split the air with a simultaneous shriek. We would have\nrun, one and all, if there had been anywhere to run to. But there\nwasn\u2019t--all around us were only those shadowy arcades. Then we saw with\nshame that it was only our Paddy.\n\n\u201cPat, Pat,\u201d I said, picking him up, feeling a certain comfort in his\nsoft, solid body. \u201cStay with us, old fellow.\u201d\n\nBut Pat would none of us. He struggled out of my clasp and disappeared\nover the long grasses with soundless leaps. He was no longer our tame,\ndomestic, well acquainted Paddy. He was a strange, furtive animal--a\n\u201cquesting beast.\u201d\n\nPresently the moon rose; but this only made matters worse. The shadows\nhad been still before; now they moved and danced, as the night wind\ntossed the boughs. The old house, with its dreadful secret, was white\nand clear against the dark background of spruces. We were woefully\ntired, but we could not sit down because the grass was reeking with dew.\n\n\u201cThe Family Ghost only appears in daylight,\u201d said the Story Girl. \u201cI\nwouldn\u2019t mind seeing a ghost in daylight. But after dark is another\nthing.\u201d\n\n\u201cThere\u2019s no such thing as a ghost,\u201d I said contemptuously. Oh, how I\nwished I could believe it!\n\n\u201cThen what rung that bell?\u201d said Peter. \u201cBells don\u2019t ring of themselves,\nI s\u2019pose, specially when there ain\u2019t any in the house to ring.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, will Uncle Roger never come home!\u201d sobbed Felicity. \u201cI know he\u2019ll\nlaugh at us awful, but it\u2019s better to be laughed at than scared like\nthis.\u201d\n\nUncle Roger did not come until nearly ten. Never was there a more\nwelcome sound than the rumble of his wheels in the lane. We ran to the\norchard gate and swarmed across the yard, just as Uncle Roger alighted\nat the front door. He stared at us in the moonlight.\n\n\u201cHave you tormented any one into eating more bad berries, Felicity?\u201d he\ndemanded.\n\n\u201cOh, Uncle Roger, don\u2019t go in,\u201d implored Felicity seriously. \u201cThere\u2019s\nsomething dreadful in there--something that rings a bell. Peter heard\nit. Don\u2019t go in.\u201d\n\n\u201cThere\u2019s no use asking the meaning of this, I suppose,\u201d said Uncle Roger\nwith the calm of despair. \u201cI\u2019ve gave up trying to fathom you young ones.\nPeter, where\u2019s the key? What yarn have you been telling?\u201d\n\n\u201cI DID hear a bell ring,\u201d said Peter stubbornly.\n\nUncle Roger unlocked and flung open the front door. As he did so, clear\nand sweet, rang out ten bell-like chimes.\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s what I heard,\u201d cried Peter. \u201cThere\u2019s the bell!\u201d\n\nWe had to wait until Uncle Roger stopped laughing before we heard the\nexplanation. We thought he never WOULD stop.\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s Grandfather King\u2019s old clock striking,\u201d he said, as soon as he\nwas able to speak. \u201cSammy Prott came along after tea, when you were away\nto the forge, Peter, and I gave him permission to clean the old clock.\nHe had it going merrily in no time. And now it has almost frightened you\npoor little monkeys to death.\u201d\n\nWe heard Uncle Roger chuckling all the way to the barn.\n\n\u201cUncle Roger can laugh,\u201d said Cecily, with a quiver in her voice, \u201cbut\nit\u2019s no laughing matter to be so scared. I just feel sick, I was so\nfrightened.\u201d\n\n\u201cI wouldn\u2019t mind if he\u2019d laugh once and have it done with it,\u201d said\nFelicity bitterly. \u201cBut he\u2019ll laugh at us for a year, and tell the story\nto every soul that comes to the place.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou can\u2019t blame him for that,\u201d said the Story Girl. \u201cI shall tell it,\ntoo. I don\u2019t care if the joke is as much on myself as any one. A story\nis a story, no matter who it\u2019s on. But it IS hateful to be laughed\nat--and grown-ups always do it. I never will when I\u2019m grown up. I\u2019ll\nremember better.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s all Peter\u2019s fault,\u201d said Felicity. \u201cI do think he might have had\nmore sense than to take a clock striking for a bell ringing.\u201d\n\n\u201cI never heard that kind of a strike before,\u201d protested Peter. \u201cIt don\u2019t\nsound a bit like other clocks. And the door was shut and the sound kind\no\u2019 muffled. It\u2019s all very fine to say you would have known what it was,\nbut I don\u2019t believe you would.\u201d\n\n\u201cI wouldn\u2019t have,\u201d said the Story Girl honestly. \u201cI thought it WAS a\nbell when I heard it, and the door open, too. Let us be fair, Felicity.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019m dreadful tired,\u201d sighed Cecily.\n\nWe were all \u201cdreadful tired,\u201d for this was the third night of late hours\nand nerve racking strain. But it was over two hours since we had\neaten the cookies, and Felicity suggested that a saucerful apiece of\nraspberries and cream would not be hard to take. It was not, for any one\nbut Cecily, who couldn\u2019t swallow a mouthful.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m glad father and mother will be back to-morrow night,\u201d she said.\n\u201cIt\u2019s too exciting when they\u2019re away. That\u2019s my opinion.\u201d\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII. THE PROOF OF THE PUDDING\n\nFelicity was cumbered with many cares the next morning. For one thing,\nthe whole house must be put in apple pie order; and for another,\nan elaborate supper must be prepared for the expected return of the\ntravellers that night. Felicity devoted her whole attention to this, and\nleft the secondary preparation of the regular meals to Cecily and the\nStory Girl. It was agreed that the latter was to make a cornmeal pudding\nfor dinner.\n\nIn spite of her disaster with the bread, the Story Girl had been taking\ncooking lessons from Felicity all the week, and getting on tolerably\nwell, although, mindful of her former mistake, she never ventured\non anything without Felicity\u2019s approval. But Felicity had no time to\noversee her this morning.\n\n\u201cYou must attend to the pudding yourself,\u201d she said. \u201cThe recipe\u2019s so\nplain and simple even you can\u2019t go astray, and if there\u2019s anything you\ndon\u2019t understand you can ask me. But don\u2019t bother me if you can help\nit.\u201d\n\nThe Story Girl did not bother her once. The pudding was concocted\nand baked, as the Story Girl proudly informed us when we came to\nthe dinner-table, all on her own hook. She was very proud of it; and\ncertainly as far as appearance went it justified her triumph. The slices\nwere smooth and golden; and, smothered in the luscious maple sugar\nsauce which Cecily had compounded, were very fair to view. Nevertheless,\nalthough none of us, not even Uncle Roger or Felicity, said a word at\nthe time, for fear of hurting the Story Girl\u2019s feelings, the pudding\ndid not taste exactly as it should. It was tough--decidedly tough--and\nlacked the richness of flavour which was customary in Aunt Janet\u2019s\ncornmeal puddings. If it had not been for the abundant supply of sauce\nit would have been very dry eating indeed. Eaten it was, however, to the\nlast crumb. If it were not just what a cornmeal pudding might be, the\nrest of the bill of fare had been extra good and our appetites matched\nit.\n\n\u201cI wish I was twins so\u2019s I could eat more,\u201d said Dan, when he simply had\nto stop.\n\n\u201cWhat good would being twins do you?\u201d asked Peter. \u201cPeople who squint\ncan\u2019t eat any more than people who don\u2019t squint, can they?\u201d\n\nWe could not see any connection between Peter\u2019s two questions.\n\n\u201cWhat has squinting got to do with twins?\u201d asked Dan.\n\n\u201cWhy, twins are just people that squint, aren\u2019t they?\u201d said Peter.\n\nWe thought he was trying to be funny, until we found out that he was\nquite in earnest. Then we laughed until Peter got sulky.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t care,\u201d he said. \u201cHow\u2019s a fellow to know? Tommy and Adam Cowan,\nover at Markdale, are twins; and they\u2019re both cross-eyed. So I s\u2019posed\nthat was what being twins meant. It\u2019s all very fine for you fellows\nto laugh. I never went to school half as much as you did; and you was\nbrought up in Toronto, too. If you\u2019d worked out ever since you was\nseven, and just got to school in the winter, there\u2019d be lots of things\nyou wouldn\u2019t know, either.\u201d\n\n\u201cNever mind, Peter,\u201d said Cecily. \u201cYou know lots of things they don\u2019t.\u201d\n\nBut Peter was not to be conciliated, and took himself off in high\ndudgeon. To be laughed at before Felicity--to be laughed at BY\nFelicity--was something he could not endure. Let Cecily and the Story\nGirl cackle all they wanted to, and let those stuck-up Toronto boys grin\nlike chessy-cats; but when Felicity laughed at him the iron entered into\nPeter\u2019s soul.\n\nIf the Story Girl laughed at Peter the mills of the gods ground out\nhis revenge for him in mid-afternoon. Felicity, having used up all the\navailable cooking materials in the house, had to stop perforce; and she\nnow determined to stuff two new pincushions she had been making for\nher room. We heard her rummaging in the pantry as we sat on the cool,\nspruce-shadowed cellar door outside, where Uncle Roger was showing us\nhow to make elderberry pop-guns. Presently she came out, frowning.\n\n\u201cCecily, do you know where mother put the sawdust she emptied out of\nthat old beaded pincushion of Grandmother King\u2019s, after she had sifted\nthe needles out of it? I thought it was in the tin box.\u201d\n\n\u201cSo it is,\u201d said Cecily.\n\n\u201cIt isn\u2019t. There isn\u2019t a speck of sawdust in that box.\u201d\n\nThe Story Girl\u2019s face wore a quite indescribable expression, compound of\nhorror and shame. She need not have confessed. If she had but held her\ntongue the mystery of the sawdust\u2019s disappearance might have forever\nremained a mystery. She WOULD have held her tongue, as she afterwards\nconfided to me, if it had not been for a horrible fear which flashed\ninto her mind that possibly sawdust puddings were not healthy for people\nto eat--especially if there might be needles in them--and that if any\nmischief had been done in that direction it was her duty to undo it if\npossible at any cost of ridicule to herself.\n\n\u201cOh, Felicity,\u201d she said, her voice expressing a very anguish of\nhumiliation, \u201cI--I--thought that stuff in the box was cornmeal and used\nit to make the pudding.\u201d\n\nFelicity and Cecily stared blankly at the Story Girl. We boys began to\nlaugh, but were checked midway by Uncle Roger. He was rocking himself\nback and forth, with his hand pressed against his stomach.\n\n\u201cOh,\u201d he groaned, \u201cI\u2019ve been wondering what these sharp pains I\u2019ve been\nfeeling ever since dinner meant. I know now. I must have swallowed a\nneedle--several needles, perhaps. I\u2019m done for!\u201d\n\nThe poor Story Girl went very white.\n\n\u201cOh, Uncle Roger, could it be possible? You COULDN\u2019T have swallowed a\nneedle without knowing it. It would have stuck in your tongue or teeth.\u201d\n\n\u201cI didn\u2019t chew the pudding,\u201d groaned Uncle Roger. \u201cIt was too tough--I\njust swallowed the chunks whole.\u201d\n\nHe groaned and twisted and doubled himself up. But he overdid it. He was\nnot as good an actor as the Story Girl. Felicity looked scornfully at\nhim.\n\n\u201cUncle Roger, you are not one bit sick,\u201d she said deliberately. \u201cYou are\njust putting on.\u201d\n\n\u201cFelicity, if I die from the effects of eating sawdust pudding,\nflavoured with needles, you\u2019ll be sorry you ever said such a thing to\nyour poor old uncle,\u201d said Uncle Roger reproachfully. \u201cEven if there\nwere no needles in it, sixty-year-old sawdust can\u2019t be good for my\ntummy. I daresay it wasn\u2019t even clean.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, you know every one has to eat a peck of dirt in his life,\u201d\n giggled Felicity.\n\n\u201cBut nobody has to eat it all at once,\u201d retorted Uncle Roger, with\nanother groan. \u201cOh, Sara Stanley, it\u2019s a thankful man I am that your\nAunt Olivia is to be home to-night. You\u2019d have me kilt entirely by\nanother day. I believe you did it on purpose to have a story to tell.\u201d\n\nUncle Roger hobbled off to the barn, still holding on to his stomach.\n\n\u201cDo you think he really feels sick?\u201d asked the Story Girl anxiously.\n\n\u201cNo, I don\u2019t,\u201d said Felicity. \u201cYou needn\u2019t worry over him. There\u2019s\nnothing the matter with him. I don\u2019t believe there were any needles in\nthat sawdust. Mother sifted it very carefully.\u201d\n\n\u201cI know a story about a man whose son swallowed a mouse,\u201d said the Story\nGirl, who would probably have known a story and tried to tell it if she\nwere being led to the stake. \u201cAnd he ran and wakened up a very tired\ndoctor just as he had got to sleep.\n\n\u201c\u2018Oh, doctor, my son has swallowed a mouse,\u2019 he cried. \u2018What shall I\ndo?\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018Tell him to swallow a cat,\u2019 roared the poor doctor, and slammed his\ndoor.\n\n\u201cNow, if Uncle Roger has swallowed any needles, maybe it would make it\nall right if he swallowed a pincushion.\u201d\n\nWe all laughed. But Felicity soon grew sober.\n\n\u201cIt seems awful to think of eating a sawdust pudding. How on earth did\nyou make such a mistake?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt looked just like cornmeal,\u201d said the Story Girl, going from white to\nred in her shame. \u201cWell, I\u2019m going to give up trying to cook, and stick\nto things I can do. And if ever one of you mentions sawdust pudding to\nme I\u2019ll never tell you another story as long as I live.\u201d\n\nThe threat was effectual. Never did we mention that unholy pudding. But\nthe Story Girl could not so impose silence on the grown-ups, especially\nUncle Roger. He tormented her for the rest of the summer. Never a\nbreakfast did he sit down to, without gravely inquiring if they were\nsure there was no sawdust in the porridge. Not a tweak of rheumatism did\nhe feel but he vowed it was due to a needle, travelling about his body.\nAnd Aunt Olivia was warned to label all the pincushions in the house.\n\u201cContents, sawdust; not intended for puddings.\u201d\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII. HOW KISSING WAS DISCOVERED\n\nAn August evening, calm, golden, dewless, can be very lovely. At sunset,\nFelicity, Cecily, and Sara Ray, Dan, Felix, and I were in the orchard,\nsitting on the cool grasses at the base of the Pulpit Stone. In the west\nwas a field of crocus sky over which pale cloud blossoms were scattered.\n\nUncle Roger had gone to the station to meet the travellers, and the\ndining-room table was spread with a feast of fat things.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s been a jolly week, take it all round,\u201d said Felix, \u201cbut I\u2019m glad\nthe grown-ups are coming back to-night, especially Uncle Alec.\u201d\n\n\u201cI wonder if they\u2019ll bring us anything,\u201d said Dan.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m thinking long to hear all about the wedding,\u201d said Felicity, who\nwas braiding timothy stalks into a collar for Pat.\n\n\u201cYou girls are always thinking about weddings and getting married,\u201d said\nDan contemptuously.\n\n\u201cWe ain\u2019t,\u201d said Felicity indignantly. \u201cI am NEVER going to get married.\nI think it is just horrid, so there!\u201d\n\n\u201cI guess you think it would be a good deal horrider not to be,\u201d said\nDan.\n\n\u201cIt depends on who you\u2019re married to,\u201d said Cecily gravely, seeing that\nFelicity disdained reply. \u201cIf you got a man like father it would be all\nright. But S\u2019POSEN you got one like Andrew Ward? He\u2019s so mean and cross\nto his wife that she tells him every day she wishes she\u2019d never set eyes\non him.\u201d\n\n\u201cPerhaps that\u2019s WHY he\u2019s mean and cross,\u201d said Felix.\n\n\u201cI tell you it isn\u2019t always the man\u2019s fault,\u201d said Dan darkly. \u201cWhen I\nget married I\u2019ll be good to my wife, but I mean to be boss. When I open\nmy mouth my word will be law.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf your word is as big as your mouth I guess it will be,\u201d said Felicity\ncruelly.\n\n\u201cI pity the man who gets you, Felicity King, that\u2019s all,\u201d retorted Dan.\n\n\u201cNow, don\u2019t fight,\u201d implored Cecily.\n\n\u201cWho\u2019s fighting?\u201d demanded Dan. \u201cFelicity thinks she can say anything\nshe likes to me, but I\u2019ll show her different.\u201d\n\nProbably, in spite of Cecily\u2019s efforts, a bitter spat would have\nresulted between Dan and Felicity, had not a diversion been effected\nat that moment by the Story Girl, who came slowly down Uncle Stephen\u2019s\nWalk.\n\n\u201cJust look how the Story Girl has got herself up!\u201d said Felicity. \u201cWhy,\nshe\u2019s no more than decent!\u201d\n\nThe Story Girl was barefooted and barearmed, having rolled the sleeves\nof her pink gingham up to her shoulders. Around her waist was twisted a\ngirdle of the blood-red roses that bloomed in Aunt Olivia\u2019s garden; on\nher sleek curls she wore a chaplet of them; and her hands were full of\nthem.\n\nShe paused under the outmost tree, in a golden-green gloom, and laughed\nat us over a big branch. Her wild, subtle, nameless charm clothed her as\nwith a garment. We always remembered the picture she made there; and\nin later days when we read Tennyson\u2019s poems at a college desk, we knew\nexactly how an oread, peering through the green leaves on some haunted\nknoll of many fountained Ida, must look.\n\n\u201cFelicity,\u201d said the Story Girl reproachfully, \u201cwhat have you been doing\nto Peter? He\u2019s up there sulking in the granary, and he won\u2019t come\ndown, and he says it\u2019s your fault. You must have hurt his feelings\ndreadfully.\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t know about his feelings,\u201d said Felicity, with an angry toss of\nher shining head, \u201cbut I guess I made his ears tingle all right. I boxed\nthem both good and hard.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, Felicity! What for?\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, he tried to kiss me, that\u2019s what for!\u201d said Felicity, turning\nvery red. \u201cAs if I would let a hired boy kiss me! I guess Master Peter\nwon\u2019t try anything like that again in a hurry.\u201d\n\nThe Story Girl came out of her shadows and sat down beside us on the\ngrass.\n\n\u201cWell, in that case,\u201d she said gravely, \u201cI think you did right to\nslap his ears--not because he is a hired boy, but because it would be\nimpertinent in ANY boy. But talking of kissing makes me think of a story\nI found in Aunt Olivia\u2019s scrapbook the other day. Wouldn\u2019t you like to\nhear it? It is called, \u2018How Kissing Was Discovered.\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cWasn\u2019t kissing always discovered?\u201d asked Dan.\n\n\u201cNot according to this story. It was just discovered accidentally.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, let\u2019s hear about it,\u201d said Felix, \u201calthough I think kissing\u2019s\nawful silly, and it wouldn\u2019t have mattered much if it hadn\u2019t ever been\ndiscovered.\u201d\n\nThe Story Girl scattered her roses around her on the grass, and clasped\nher slim hands over her knees. Gazing dreamily afar at the tinted sky\nbetween the apple trees, as if she were looking back to the merry days\nof the world\u2019s gay youth, she began, her voice giving to the words\nand fancies of the old tale the delicacy of hoar frost and the crystal\nsparkle of dew.\n\n\u201cIt happened long, long ago in Greece--where so many other beautiful\nthings happened. Before that, nobody had ever heard of kissing. And then\nit was just discovered in the twinkling of an eye. And a man wrote it\ndown and the account has been preserved ever since.\n\n\u201cThere was a young shepherd named Glaucon--a very handsome young\nshepherd--who lived in a little village called Thebes. It became a very\ngreat and famous city afterwards, but at this time it was only a little\nvillage, very quiet and simple. Too quiet for Glaucon\u2019s liking. He grew\ntired of it, and he thought he would like to go away from home and\nsee something of the world. So he took his knapsack and his shepherd\u2019s\ncrook, and wandered away until he came to Thessaly. That is the land of\nthe gods\u2019 hill, you know. The name of the hill was Olympus. But it has\nnothing to do with this story. This happened on another mountain--Mount\nPelion.\n\n\u201cGlaucon hired himself to a wealthy man who had a great many sheep. And\nevery day Glaucon had to lead the sheep up to pasture on Mount Pelion,\nand watch them while they ate. There was nothing else to do, and he\nwould have found the time very long, if he had not been able to play on\na flute. So he played very often and very beautifully, as he sat under\nthe trees and watched the wonderful blue sea afar off, and thought about\nAglaia.\n\n\u201cAglaia was his master\u2019s daughter. She was so sweet and beautiful that\nGlaucon fell in love with her the very moment he first saw her; and\nwhen he was not playing his flute on the mountain he was thinking about\nAglaia, and dreaming that some day he might have flocks of his own, and\na dear little cottage down in the valley where he and Aglaia might live.\n\n\u201cAglaia had fallen in love with Glaucon just as he had with her. But she\nnever let him suspect it for ever so long. He did not know how often\nshe would steal up the mountain and hide behind the rocks near where\nthe sheep pastured, to listen to Glaucon\u2019s beautiful music. It was very\nlovely music, because he was always thinking of Aglaia while he played,\nthough he little dreamed how near him she often was.\n\n\u201cBut after awhile Glaucon found out that Aglaia loved him, and\neverything was well. Nowadays I suppose a wealthy man like Aglaia\u2019s\nfather wouldn\u2019t be willing to let his daughter marry a hired man; but\nthis was in the Golden Age, you know, when nothing like that mattered at\nall.\n\n\u201cAfter that, almost every day Aglaia would go up the mountain and sit\nbeside Glaucon, as he watched the flocks and played on his flute. But he\ndid not play as much as he used to, because he liked better to talk with\nAglaia. And in the evening they would lead the sheep home together.\n\n\u201cOne day Aglaia went up the mountain by a new way, and she came to a\nlittle brook. Something was sparkling very brightly among its pebbles.\nAglaia picked it up, and it was the most beautiful little stone that\nshe had ever seen. It was only as large as a pea, but it glittered and\nflashed in the sunlight with every colour of the rainbow. Aglaia was so\ndelighted with it that she resolved to take it as a present to Glaucon.\n\n\u201cBut all at once she heard a stamping of hoofs behind her, and when she\nturned she almost died from fright. For there was the great god, Pan,\nand he was a very terrible object, looking quite as much like a goat as\na man. The gods were not all beautiful, you know. And, beautiful or not,\nnobody ever wanted to meet them face to face.\n\n\u201c\u2018Give that stone to me,\u2019 said Pan, holding out his hand.\n\n\u201cBut Aglaia, though she was frightened, would not give him the stone.\n\n\u201c\u2018I want it for Glaucon,\u2019 she said.\n\n\u201c\u2018I want it for one of my wood nymphs,\u2019 said Pan, \u2018and I must have it.\u2019\n\n\u201cHe advanced threateningly, but Aglaia ran as hard as she could up the\nmountain. If she could only reach Glaucon he would protect her. Pan\nfollowed her, clattering and bellowing terribly, but in a few minutes\nshe rushed into Glaucon\u2019s arms.\n\n\u201cThe dreadful sight of Pan and the still more dreadful noise he made, so\nfrightened the sheep that they fled in all directions. But Glaucon was\nnot afraid at all, because Pan was the god of shepherds, and was bound\nto grant any prayer a good shepherd, who always did his duty, might\nmake. If Glaucon had NOT been a good shepherd dear knows what would have\nhappened to him and Aglaia. But he was; and when he begged Pan to go\naway and not frighten Aglaia any more, Pan had to go, grumbling a good\ndeal--and Pan\u2019s grumblings had a very ugly sound. But still he WENT, and\nthat was the main thing.\n\n\u201c\u2018Now, dearest, what is all this trouble about?\u2019 asked Glaucon; and\nAglaia told him the story.\n\n\u201c\u2018But where is the beautiful stone?\u2019 he asked, when she had finished.\n\u2018Didst thou drop it in thy alarm?\u2019\n\n\u201cNo, indeed! Aglaia had done nothing of the sort. When she began to run,\nshe had popped it into her mouth, and there it was still, quite safe.\nNow she poked it out between her red lips, where it glittered in the\nsunlight.\n\n\u201c\u2018Take it,\u2019 she whispered.\n\n\u201cThe question was--how was he to take it? Both of Aglaia\u2019s arms were\nheld fast to her sides by Glaucon\u2019s arms; and if he loosened his clasp\never so little he was afraid she would fall, so weak and trembling was\nshe from her dreadful fright. Then Glaucon had a brilliant idea. He\nwould take the beautiful stone from Aglaia\u2019s lips with his own lips.\n\n\u201cHe bent over until his lips touched hers--and THEN, he forgot all about\nthe beautiful pebble and so did Aglaia. Kissing was discovered!\n\n\u201cWhat a yarn!\u201d said Dan, drawing a long breath, when we had come to\nourselves and discovered that we were really sitting in a dewy Prince\nEdward Island orchard instead of watching two lovers on a mountain in\nThessaly in the Golden Age. \u201cI don\u2019t believe a word of it.\u201d\n\n\u201cOf course, we know it wasn\u2019t really true,\u201d said Felicity.\n\n\u201cWell, I don\u2019t know,\u201d said the Story Girl thoughtfully. \u201cI think there\nare two kinds of true things--true things that ARE, and true things that\nare NOT, but MIGHT be.\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t believe there\u2019s any but the one kind of trueness,\u201d said\nFelicity. \u201cAnd anyway, this story couldn\u2019t be true. You know there was\nno such thing as a god Pan.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow do you know what there might have been in the Golden Age?\u201d asked\nthe Story Girl.\n\nWhich was, indeed, an unanswerable question for Felicity.\n\n\u201cI wonder what became of the beautiful stone?\u201d said Cecily.\n\n\u201cLikely Aglaia swallowed it,\u201d said Felix practically.\n\n\u201cDid Glaucon and Aglaia ever get married?\u201d asked Sara Ray.\n\n\u201cThe story doesn\u2019t say. It stops just there,\u201d said the Story Girl. \u201cBut\nof course they did. I will tell you what I think. I don\u2019t think Aglaia\nswallowed the stone. I think it just fell to the ground; and after\nawhile they found it, and it turned out to be of such value that Glaucon\ncould buy all the flocks and herds in the valley, and the sweetest\ncottage; and he and Aglaia were married right away.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut you only THINK that,\u201d said Sara Ray. \u201cI\u2019d like to be really sure\nthat was what happened.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, bother, none of it happened,\u201d said Dan. \u201cI believed it while the\nStory Girl was telling it, but I don\u2019t now. Isn\u2019t that wheels?\u201d\n\nWheels it was. Two wagons were driving up the lane. We rushed to the\nhouse--and there were Uncle Alec and Aunt Janet and Aunt Olivia! The\nexcitement was quite tremendous. Every body talked and laughed at once,\nand it was not until we were all seated around the supper table that\nconversation grew coherent. What laughter and questioning and telling of\ntales followed, what smiles and bright eyes and glad voices. And through\nit all, the blissful purrs of Paddy, who sat on the window sill behind\nthe Story Girl, resounded through the din like Andrew McPherson\u2019s\nbass--\u201cjust a bur-r-r-r the hale time.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, I\u2019m thankful to be home again,\u201d said Aunt Janet, beaming on us.\n\u201cWe had a real nice time, and Edward\u2019s folks were as kind as could be.\nBut give me home for a steady thing. How has everything gone? How did\nthe children behave, Roger?\u201d\n\n\u201cLike models,\u201d said Uncle Roger. \u201cThey were as good as gold most of the\ndays.\u201d\n\nThere were times when one couldn\u2019t help liking Uncle Roger.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX. A DREAD PROPHECY\n\n\u201cI\u2019ve got to go and begin stumping out the elderberry pasture this\nafternoon,\u201d said Peter dolefully. \u201cI tell you it\u2019s a tough job. Mr.\nRoger might wait for cool weather before he sets people to stumping out\nelderberries, and that\u2019s a fact.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy don\u2019t you tell him so?\u201d asked Dan.\n\n\u201cIt ain\u2019t my business to tell him things,\u201d retorted Peter. \u201cI\u2019m hired\nto do what I\u2019m told, and I do it. But I can have my own opinion all the\nsame. It\u2019s going to be a broiling hot day.\u201d\n\nWe were all in the orchard, except Felix, who had gone to the\npost-office. It was the forenoon of an August Saturday. Cecily and Sara\nRay, who had come up to spend the day with us--her mother having gone to\ntown--were eating timothy roots. Bertha Lawrence, a Charlottetown girl,\nwho had visited Kitty Marr in June, and had gone to school one day\nwith her, had eaten timothy roots, affecting to consider them great\ndelicacies. The fad was at once taken up by the Carlisle schoolgirls.\nTimothy roots quite ousted \u201csours\u201d and young raspberry sprouts, both of\nwhich had the real merit of being quite toothsome, while timothy roots\nwere tough and tasteless. But timothy roots were fashionable, therefore\ntimothy roots must be eaten. Pecks of them must have been devoured in\nCarlisle that summer.\n\nPat was there also, padding about from one to the other on his black\npaws, giving us friendly pokes and rubs. We all made much of him except\nFelicity, who would not take any notice of him because he was the Story\nGirl\u2019s cat.\n\nWe boys were sprawling on the grass. Our morning chores were done and\nthe day was before us. We should have been feeling very comfortable and\nhappy, but, as a matter of fact, we were not particularly so.\n\nThe Story Girl was sitting on the mint beside the well-house, weaving\nherself a wreath of buttercups. Felicity was sipping from the cup of\nclouded blue with an overdone air of unconcern. Each was acutely and\nmiserably conscious of the other\u2019s presence, and each was desirous of\nconvincing the rest of us that the other was less than nothing to her.\nFelicity could not succeed. The Story Girl managed it better. If it had\nnot been for the fact that in all our foregatherings she was careful to\nsit as far from Felicity as possible, we might have been deceived.\n\nWe had not passed a very pleasant week. Felicity and the Story Girl\nhad not been \u201cspeaking\u201d to each other, and consequently there had been\nsomething rotten in the state of Denmark. An air of restraint was over\nall our games and conversations.\n\nOn the preceding Monday Felicity and the Story Girl had quarrelled over\nsomething. What the cause of the quarrel was I cannot tell because I\nnever knew. It remained a \u201cdead secret\u201d between the parties of the first\nand second part forever. But it was more bitter than the general run\nof their tiffs, and the consequences were apparent to all. They had not\nspoken to each other since.\n\nThis was not because the rancour of either lasted so long. On the\ncontrary it passed speedily away, not even one low descending sun going\ndown on their wrath. But dignity remained to be considered. Neither\nwould \u201cspeak first,\u201d and each obstinately declared that she would not\nspeak first, no, not in a hundred years. Neither argument, entreaty, nor\nexpostulation had any effect on those two stubborn girls, nor yet the\ntears of sweet Cecily, who cried every night about it, and mingled in\nher pure little prayers fervent petitions that Felicity and the Story\nGirl might make up.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t know where you expect to go when you die, Felicity,\u201d she said\ntearfully, \u201cif you don\u2019t forgive people.\u201d\n\n\u201cI have forgiven her,\u201d was Felicity\u2019s answer, \u201cbut I am not going to\nspeak first for all that.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s very wrong, and, more than that, it\u2019s so uncomfortable,\u201d\n complained Cecily. \u201cIt spoils everything.\u201d\n\n\u201cWere they ever like this before?\u201d I asked Cecily, as we talked the\nmatter over privately in Uncle Stephen\u2019s Walk.\n\n\u201cNever for so long,\u201d said Cecily. \u201cThey had a spell like this last\nsummer, and one the summer before, but they only lasted a couple of\ndays.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd who spoke first?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, the Story Girl. She got excited about something and spoke to\nFelicity before she thought, and then it was all right. But I\u2019m afraid\nit isn\u2019t going to be like that this time. Don\u2019t you notice how careful\nthe Story Girl is not to get excited? That is such a bad sign.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe\u2019ve just got to think up something that will excite her, that\u2019s all,\u201d\n I said.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m--I\u2019m praying about it,\u201d said Cecily in a low voice, her tear-wet\nlashes trembling against her pale, round cheeks. \u201cDo you suppose it will\ndo any good, Bev?\u201d\n\n\u201cVery likely,\u201d I assured her. \u201cRemember Sara Ray and the money. That\ncame from praying.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019m glad you think so,\u201d said Cecily tremulously. \u201cDan said it was no\nuse for me to bother praying about it. He said if they COULDN\u2019T speak\nGod might do something, but when they just WOULDN\u2019T it wasn\u2019t likely\nHe would interfere. Dan does say such queer things. I\u2019m so afraid he\u2019s\ngoing to grow up just like Uncle Robert Ward, who never goes to church,\nand doesn\u2019t believe more than half the Bible is true.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhich half does he believe is true?\u201d I inquired with unholy curiosity.\n\n\u201cOh, just the nice parts. He says there\u2019s a heaven all right,\nbut no--no--HELL. I don\u2019t want Dan to grow up like that. It isn\u2019t\nrespectable. And you wouldn\u2019t want all kinds of people crowding heaven,\nnow, would you?\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, no, I suppose not,\u201d I agreed, thinking of Billy Robinson.\n\n\u201cOf course, I can\u2019t help feeling sorry for those who have to go to THE\nOTHER PLACE,\u201d said Cecily compassionately. \u201cBut I suppose they wouldn\u2019t\nbe very comfortable in heaven either. They wouldn\u2019t feel at home. Andrew\nMarr said a simply dreadful thing about THE OTHER PLACE one night last\nfall, when Felicity and I were down to see Kitty, and they were burning\nthe potato stalks. He said he believed THE OTHER PLACE must be lots more\ninteresting than heaven because fires were such jolly things. Now, did\nyou ever hear the like?\u201d\n\n\u201cI guess it depends a good deal on whether you\u2019re inside or outside the\nfires,\u201d I said.\n\n\u201cOh, Andrew didn\u2019t really mean it, of course. He just said it to sound\nsmart and make us stare. The Marrs are all like that. But anyhow, I\u2019m\ngoing to keep on praying that something will happen to excite the Story\nGirl. I don\u2019t believe there is any use in praying that Felicity will\nspeak first, because I am sure she won\u2019t.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut don\u2019t you suppose God could make her?\u201d I said, feeling that it\nwasn\u2019t quite fair that the Story Girl should always have to speak first.\nIf she had spoken first the other times it was surely Felicity\u2019s turn\nthis time.\n\n\u201cWell, I believe it would puzzle Him,\u201d said Cecily, out of the depths of\nher experience with Felicity.\n\nPeter, as was to be expected, took Felicity\u2019s part, and said the Story\nGirl ought to speak first because she was the oldest. That, he said, had\nalways been his Aunt Jane\u2019s rule.\n\nSara Ray thought Felicity should speak first, because the Story Girl was\nhalf an orphan.\n\nFelix tried to make peace between them, and met the usual fate of all\npeacemakers. The Story Girl loftily told him that he was too young\nto understand, and Felicity said that fat boys should mind their own\nbusiness. After that, Felix declared it would serve Felicity right if\nthe Story Girl never spoke to her again.\n\nDan had no patience with either of the girls, especially Felicity.\n\n\u201cWhat they both want is a right good spanking,\u201d he said.\n\nIf only a spanking would mend the matter it was not likely it would ever\nbe mended. Both Felicity and the Story Girl were rather too old to be\nspanked, and, if they had not been, none of the grown-ups would have\nthought it worth while to administer so desperate a remedy for what\nthey considered so insignificant a trouble. With the usual levity of\ngrown-ups, they regarded the coldness between the girls as a subject of\nmirth and jest, and recked not that it was freezing the genial current\nof our youthful souls, and blighting hours that should have been fair\npages in our book of days.\n\nThe Story Girl finished her wreath and put it on. The buttercups drooped\nover her high, white brow and played peep with her glowing eyes. A\ndreamy smile hovered around her poppy-red mouth--a significant smile\nwhich, to those of us skilled in its interpretation, betokened the\nsentence which soon came.\n\n\u201cI know a story about a man who always had his own opinion--\u201d\n\nThe Story Girl got no further. We never heard the story of the man\nwho always had his own opinion. Felix came tearing up the lane, with a\nnewspaper in his hand. When a boy as fat as Felix runs at full speed\non a broiling August forenoon, he has something to run for--as Felicity\nremarked.\n\n\u201cHe must have got some bad news at the office,\u201d said Sara Ray.\n\n\u201cOh, I hope nothing has happened to father,\u201d I exclaimed, springing\nanxiously to my feet, a sick, horrible feeling of fear running over me\nlike a cool, rippling wave.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s just as likely to be good news he is running for as bad,\u201d said the\nStory Girl, who was no believer in meeting trouble half way.\n\n\u201cHe wouldn\u2019t be running so fast for good news,\u201d said Dan cynically.\n\nWe were not left long in doubt. The orchard gate flew open and Felix was\namong us. One glimpse of his face told us that he was no bearer of\nglad tidings. He had been running hard and should have been rubicund.\nInstead, he was \u201cas pale as are the dead.\u201d I could not have asked him\nwhat was the matter had my life depended on it. It was Felicity who\ndemanded impatiently of my shaking, voiceless brother:\n\n\u201cFelix King, what has scared you?\u201d\n\nFelix held out the newspaper--it was the Charlottetown _Daily\nEnterprise_.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s there,\u201d he gasped. \u201cLook--read--oh, do you--think it\u2019s--true?\nThe--end of--the world--is coming to-morrow--at two--o\u2019clock--in the\nafternoon!\u201d\n\nCrash! Felicity had dropped the cup of clouded blue, which had passed\nunscathed through so many changing years, and now at last lay shattered\non the stone of the well curb. At any other time we should all have\nbeen aghast over such a catastrophe, but it passed unnoticed now. What\nmattered it that all the cups in the world be broken to-day if the crack\no\u2019 doom must sound to-morrow?\n\n\u201cOh, Sara Stanley, do you believe it? DO you?\u201d gasped Felicity,\nclutching the Story Girl\u2019s hand. Cecily\u2019s prayer had been answered.\nExcitement had come with a vengeance, and under its stress Felicity\nhad spoken first. But this, like the breaking of the cup, had no\nsignificance for us at the moment.\n\nThe Story Girl snatched the paper and read the announcement to a group\non which sudden, tense silence had fallen. Under a sensational headline,\n\u201cThe Last Trump will sound at Two O\u2019clock To-morrow,\u201d was a paragraph to\nthe effect that the leader of a certain noted sect in the United States\nhad predicted that August twelfth would be the Judgment Day, and that\nall his numerous followers were preparing for the dread event by prayer,\nfasting, and the making of appropriate white garments for ascension\nrobes.\n\nI laugh at the remembrance now--until I recall the real horror of fear\nthat enwrapped us in that sunny orchard that August morning of long ago;\nand then I laugh no more. We were only children, be it remembered, with\na very firm and simple faith that grown people knew much more than we\ndid, and a rooted conviction that whatever you read in a newspaper must\nbe true. If the _Daily Enterprise_ said that August twelfth was to be\nthe Judgment Day how were you going to get around it?\n\n\u201cDo you believe it, Sara Stanley?\u201d persisted Felicity. \u201cDO you?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo--no, I don\u2019t believe a word of it,\u201d said the Story Girl.\n\nBut for once her voice failed to carry conviction--or, rather, it\ncarried conviction of the very opposite kind. It was borne in upon our\nmiserable minds that if the Story Girl did not altogether believe it was\ntrue she believed it might be true; and the possibility was almost as\ndreadful as the certainty.\n\n\u201cIt CAN\u2019T be true,\u201d said Sara Ray, seeking refuge, as usual, in tears.\n\u201cWhy, everything looks just the same. Things COULDN\u2019T look the same if\nthe Judgment Day was going to be to-morrow.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut that\u2019s just the way it\u2019s to come,\u201d I said uncomfortably. \u201cIt tells\nyou in the Bible. It\u2019s to come just like a thief in the night.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut it tells you another thing in the Bible, too,\u201d said Cecily eagerly.\n\u201cIt says nobody knows when the Judgment Day is to come--not even the\nangels in heaven. Now, if the angels in heaven don\u2019t know it, do you\nsuppose the editor of the _Enterprise_ can know it--and him a Grit,\ntoo?\u201d\n\n\u201cI guess he knows as much about it as a Tory would,\u201d retorted the Story\nGirl. Uncle Roger was a Liberal and Uncle Alec a Conservative, and\nthe girls held fast to the political traditions of their respective\nhouseholds. \u201cBut it isn\u2019t really the _Enterprise_ editor at all who is\nsaying it--it\u2019s a man in the States who claims to be a prophet. If he IS\na prophet perhaps he has found out somehow.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd it\u2019s in the paper, too, and that\u2019s printed as well as the Bible,\u201d\n said Dan.\n\n\u201cWell, I\u2019m going to depend on the Bible,\u201d said Cecily. \u201cI don\u2019t believe\nit\u2019s the Judgment Day to-morrow--but I\u2019m scared, for all that,\u201d she\nadded piteously.\n\nThat was exactly the position of us all. As in the case of the\nbell-ringing ghost, we did not believe but we trembled.\n\n\u201cNobody might have known when the Bible was written,\u201d said Dan, \u201cbut\nmaybe somebody knows now. Why, the Bible was written thousands of years\nago, and that paper was printed this very morning. There\u2019s been time to\nfind out ever so much more.\u201d\n\n\u201cI want to do so many things,\u201d said the Story Girl, plucking off her\ncrown of buttercup gold with a tragic gesture, \u201cbut if it\u2019s the Judgment\nDay to-morrow I won\u2019t have time to do any of them.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt can\u2019t be much worse than dying, I s\u2019pose,\u201d said Felix, grasping at\nany straw of comfort.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m awful glad I\u2019ve got into the habit of going to church and Sunday\nSchool this summer,\u201d said Peter very soberly. \u201cI wish I\u2019d made up my\nmind before this whether to be a Presbyterian or a Methodist. Do you\ns\u2019pose it\u2019s too late now?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, that doesn\u2019t matter,\u201d said Cecily earnestly. \u201cIf--if you\u2019re a\nChristian, Peter, that is all that\u2019s necessary.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut it\u2019s too late for that,\u201d said Peter miserably. \u201cI can\u2019t turn into\na Christian between this and two o\u2019clock to-morrow. I\u2019ll just have to be\nsatisfied with making up my mind to be a Presbyterian or a Methodist. I\nwanted to wait till I got old enough to make out what was the difference\nbetween them, but I\u2019ll have to chance it now. I guess I\u2019ll be a\nPresbyterian, \u2018cause I want to be like the rest of you. Yes, I\u2019ll be a\nPresbyterian.\u201d\n\n\u201cI know a story about Judy Pineau and the word Presbyterian,\u201d said the\nStory Girl, \u201cbut I can\u2019t tell it now. If to-morrow isn\u2019t the Judgment\nDay I\u2019ll tell it Monday.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf I had known that to-morrow might be the Judgment Day I wouldn\u2019t have\nquarrelled with you last Monday, Sara Stanley, or been so horrid and\nsulky all the week. Indeed I wouldn\u2019t,\u201d said Felicity, with very unusual\nhumility.\n\nAh, Felicity! We were all, in the depths of our pitiful little souls,\nreviewing the innumerable things we would or would not have done \u201cif\nwe had known.\u201d What a black and endless list they made--those sins\nof omission and commission that rushed accusingly across our young\nmemories! For us the leaves of the Book of Judgment were already opened;\nand we stood at the bar of our own consciences, than which for youth\nor eld, there can be no more dread tribunal. I thought of all the evil\ndeeds of my short life--of pinching Felix to make him cry out at family\nprayers, of playing truant from Sunday School and going fishing one\nday, of a certain fib--no, no away from this awful hour with all such\neuphonious evasions--of a LIE I had once told, of many a selfish and\nunkind word and thought and action. And to-morrow might be the great\nand terrible day of the last accounting! Oh, if I had only been a better\nboy!\n\n\u201cThe quarrel was as much my fault as yours, Felicity,\u201d said the Story\nGirl, putting her arm around Felicity. \u201cWe can\u2019t undo it now. But if\nto-morrow isn\u2019t the Judgment Day we must be careful never to quarrel\nagain. Oh, I wish father was here.\u201d\n\n\u201cHe will be,\u201d said Cecily. \u201cIf it\u2019s the Judgment Day for Prince Edward\nIsland it will be for Europe, too.\u201d\n\n\u201cI wish we could just KNOW whether what the paper says is true or not,\u201d\n said Felix desperately. \u201cIt seems to me I could brace up if I just\nKNEW.\u201d\n\nBut to whom could we appeal? Uncle Alec was away and would not be back\nuntil late that night. Neither Aunt Janet nor Uncle Roger were people to\nwhom we cared to apply in such a crisis. We were afraid of the Judgment\nDay; but we were almost equally afraid of being laughed at. How about\nAunt Olivia?\n\n\u201cNo, Aunt Olivia has gone to bed with a sick headache and mustn\u2019t be\ndisturbed,\u201d said the Story Girl. \u201cShe said I must get dinner ready,\nbecause there was plenty of cold meat, and nothing to do but boil the\npotatoes and peas, and set the table. I don\u2019t know how I can put my\nthoughts into it when the Judgment Day may be to-morrow. Besides, what\nis the good of asking the grown-ups? They don\u2019t know anything more about\nthis than we do.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut if they\u2019d just SAY they didn\u2019t believe it, it would be a sort of\ncomfort,\u201d said Cecily.\n\n\u201cI suppose the minister would know, but he\u2019s away on his vacation\u201d said\nFelicity. \u201cAnyhow, I\u2019ll go and ask mother what she thinks of it.\u201d\n\nFelicity picked up the _Enterprise_ and betook herself to the house. We\nawaited her return in dire suspense.\n\n\u201cWell, what does she say?\u201d asked Cecily tremulously.\n\n\u201cShe said, \u2018Run away and don\u2019t bother me. I haven\u2019t any time for your\nnonsense.\u2019\u201d responded Felicity in an injured tone. \u201cAnd I said, \u2018But,\nma, the paper SAYS to-morrow is the Judgment Day,\u2019 and ma just said\n\u2018Judgment Fiddlesticks!\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, that\u2019s kind of comforting,\u201d said Peter. \u201cShe can\u2019t put any faith\nin it, or she\u2019d be more worked up.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf it only wasn\u2019t PRINTED!\u201d said Dan gloomily.\n\n\u201cLet\u2019s all go over and ask Uncle Roger,\u201d said Felix desperately.\n\nThat we should make Uncle Roger a court of last resort indicated all\ntoo clearly the state of our minds. But we went. Uncle Roger was in\nhis barn-yard, hitching his black mare into the buggy. His copy of the\n_Enterprise_ was sticking out of his pocket. He looked, as we saw with\nsinking hearts, unusually grave and preoccupied. There was not a glimmer\nof a smile about his face.\n\n\u201cYou ask him,\u201d said Felicity, nudging the Story Girl.\n\n\u201cUncle Roger,\u201d said the Story Girl, the golden notes of her voice\nthreaded with fear and appeal, \u201cthe _Enterprise_ says that to-morrow is\nthe Judgment Day? IS it? Do YOU think it is?\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019m afraid so,\u201d said Uncle Roger gravely. \u201cThe _Enterprise_ is always\nvery careful to print only reliable news.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut mother doesn\u2019t believe it,\u201d cried Felicity.\n\nUncle Roger shook his head.\n\n\u201cThat is just the trouble,\u201d he said. \u201cPeople won\u2019t believe it till it\u2019s\ntoo late. I\u2019m going straight to Markdale to pay a man there some money I\nowe him, and after dinner I\u2019m going to Summerside to buy me a new suit.\nMy old one is too shabby for the Judgment Day.\u201d\n\nHe got into his buggy and drove away, leaving eight distracted mortals\nbehind him.\n\n\u201cWell, I suppose that settles it,\u201d said Peter, in despairing tone.\n\n\u201cIs there anything we can do to PREPARE?\u201d asked Cecily.\n\n\u201cI wish I had a white dress like you girls,\u201d sobbed Sara Ray. \u201cBut I\nhaven\u2019t, and it\u2019s too late to get one. Oh, I wish I had minded what ma\nsaid better. I wouldn\u2019t have disobeyed her so often if I\u2019d thought the\nJudgment Day was so near. When I go home I\u2019m going to tell her about\ngoing to the magic lantern show.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019m not sure that Uncle Roger meant what he said,\u201d remarked the Story\nGirl. \u201cI couldn\u2019t get a look into his eyes. If he was trying to hoax\nus there would have been a twinkle in them. He can never help that.\nYou know he would think it a great joke to frighten us like this. It\u2019s\nreally dreadful to have no grown-ups you can depend on.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe could depend on father if he was here,\u201d said Dan stoutly. \u201cHE\u2019D tell\nus the truth.\u201d\n\n\u201cHe would tell us what he THOUGHT was true, Dan, but he couldn\u2019t KNOW.\nHe\u2019s not such a well-educated man as the editor of the _Enterprise_. No,\nthere\u2019s nothing to do but wait and see.\u201d\n\n\u201cLet us go into the house and read just what the Bible does say about\nit,\u201d suggested Cecily.\n\nWe crept in carefully, lest we disturb Aunt Olivia, and Cecily found and\nread the significant portion of Holy Writ. There was little comfort for\nus in that vivid and terrible picture.\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d said the Story Girl finally. \u201cI must go and get the potatoes\nready. I suppose they must be boiled even if it is the Judgment Day\nto-morrow. But I don\u2019t believe it is.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd I\u2019ve got to go and stump elderberries,\u201d said Peter. \u201cI don\u2019t see\nhow I can do it--go away back there alone. I\u2019ll feel scared to death the\nwhole time.\u201d\n\n\u201cTell Uncle Roger that, and say if to-morrow is the end of the world\nthat there is no good in stumping any more fields,\u201d I suggested.\n\n\u201cYes, and if he lets you off then we\u2019ll know he was in earnest,\u201d chimed\nin Cecily. \u201cBut if he still says you must go that\u2019ll be a sign he\ndoesn\u2019t believe it.\u201d\n\nLeaving the Story Girl and Peter to peel their potatoes, the rest of\nus went home, where Aunt Janet, who had gone to the well and found the\nfragments of the old blue cup, gave poor Felicity a bitter scolding\nabout it. But Felicity bore it very patiently--nay, more, she seemed to\ndelight in it.\n\n\u201cMa can\u2019t believe to-morrow is the last day, or she wouldn\u2019t scold like\nthat,\u201d she told us; and this comforted us until after dinner, when the\nStory Girl and Peter came over and told us that Uncle Roger had really\ngone to Summerside. Then we plunged down into fear and wretchedness\nagain.\n\n\u201cBut he said I must go and stump elderberries just the same\u201d said Peter.\n\u201cHe said it might NOT be the Judgment Day to-morrow, though he believed\nit was, and it would keep me out of mischief. But I just can\u2019t stand it\nback there alone. Some of you fellows must come with me. I don\u2019t want\nyou to work, but just for company.\u201d\n\nIt was finally decided that Dan and Felix should go. I wanted to go\nalso, but the girls protested.\n\n\u201cYOU must stay and keep us cheered up,\u201d implored Felicity. \u201cI just don\u2019t\nknow how I\u2019m ever going to put in the afternoon. I promised Kitty Marr\nthat I\u2019d go down and spend it with her, but I can\u2019t now. And I can\u2019t\nknit any at my lace. I\u2019d just keep thinking, \u2018What is the use? Perhaps\nit\u2019ll all be burned up to-morrow.\u2019\u201d\n\nSo I stayed with the girls, and a miserable afternoon we had of it. The\nStory Girl again and again declared that she \u201cdidn\u2019t believe it,\u201d but\nwhen we asked her to tell a story, she evaded it with a flimsy excuse.\nCecily pestered Aunt Janet\u2019s life out, asking repeatedly, \u201cMa, will you\nbe washing Monday?\u201d \u201cMa, will you be going to prayer meeting Tuesday\nnight?\u201d \u201cMa, will you be preserving raspberries next week?\u201d and various\nsimilar questions. It was a huge comfort to her that Aunt Janet always\nsaid, \u201cYes,\u201d or \u201cOf course,\u201d as if there could be no question about it.\n\nSara Ray cried until I wondered how one small head could contain all the\ntears she shed. But I do not believe she was half as much frightened as\ndisappointed that she had no white dress. In mid-afternoon Cecily came\ndownstairs with her forget-me-not jug in her hand--a dainty bit of\nchina, wreathed with dark blue forget-me-nots, which Cecily prized\nhighly, and in which she always kept her toothbrush.\n\n\u201cSara, I am going to give you this jug,\u201d she said solemnly.\n\nNow, Sara had always coveted this particular jug. She stopped crying\nlong enough to clutch it delightedly.\n\n\u201cOh, Cecily, thank you. But are you sure you won\u2019t want it back if\nto-morrow isn\u2019t the Judgment Day?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, it\u2019s yours for good,\u201d said Cecily, with the high, remote air of one\nto whom forget-me-not jugs and all such pomps and vanities of the world\nwere as a tale that is told.\n\n\u201cAre you going to give any one your cherry vase?\u201d asked Felicity, trying\nto speak indifferently. Felicity had never admired the forget-me-not\njug, but she had always hankered after the cherry vase--an affair of\nwhite glass, with a cluster of red glass cherries and golden-green glass\nleaves on its side, which Aunt Olivia had given Cecily one Christmas.\n\n\u201cNo, I\u2019m not,\u201d answered Cecily, with a change of tone.\n\n\u201cOh, well, I don\u2019t care,\u201d said Felicity quickly. \u201cOnly, if to-morrow is\nthe last day, the cherry vase won\u2019t be much use to you.\u201d\n\n\u201cI guess it will be as much use to me as to any one else,\u201d said Cecily\nindignantly. She had sacrificed her dear forget-me-not jug to satisfy\nsome pang of conscience, or propitiate some threatening fate, but\nsurrender her precious cherry vase she could not and would not. Felicity\nneedn\u2019t be giving any hints!\n\nWith the gathering shades of night our plight became pitiful. In the\ndaylight, surrounded by homely, familiar sights and sounds, it was not\nso difficult to fortify our souls with a cheering incredulity. But now,\nin this time of shadows, dread belief clutched us and wrung us with\nterror. If there had been one wise older friend to tell us, in serious\nfashion, that we need not be afraid, that the _Enterprise_ paragraph\nwas naught save the idle report of a deluded fanatic, it would have been\nwell for us. But there was not. Our grown-ups, instead, considered our\nterror an exquisite jest. At that very moment, Aunt Olivia, who had\nrecovered from her headache, and Aunt Janet were laughing in the kitchen\nover the state the children were in because they were afraid the end\nof the world was close at hand. Aunt Janet\u2019s throaty gurgle and Aunt\nOlivia\u2019s trilling mirth floated out through the open window.\n\n\u201cPerhaps they\u2019ll laugh on the other side of their faces to-morrow,\u201d said\nDan, with gloomy satisfaction.\n\nWe were sitting on the cellar hatch, watching what might be our last\nsunset o\u2019er the dark hills of time. Peter was with us. It was his last\nSunday to go home, but he had elected to remain.\n\n\u201cIf to-morrow is the Judgment Day I want to be with you fellows,\u201d he\nsaid.\n\nSara Ray had also yearned to stay, but could not because her mother had\ntold her she must be home before dark.\n\n\u201cNever mind, Sara,\u201d comforted Cecily. \u201cIt\u2019s not to be till two o\u2019clock\nto-morrow, so you\u2019ll have plenty of time to get up here before anything\nhappens.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut there might be a mistake,\u201d sobbed Sara. \u201cIt might be two o\u2019clock\nto-night instead of to-morrow.\u201d\n\nIt might, indeed. This was a new horror, which had not occurred to us.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m sure I won\u2019t sleep a wink to-night,\u201d said Felix.\n\n\u201cThe paper SAYS two o\u2019clock to-morrow,\u201d said Dan. \u201cYou needn\u2019t worry,\nSara.\u201d\n\nBut Sara departed, weeping. She did not, however, forget to carry the\nforget-me-not jug with her. All things considered, her departure was a\nrelief. Such a constantly tearful damsel was not a pleasant companion.\nCecily and Felicity and the Story Girl did not cry. They were made of\nfiner, firmer stuff. Dry-eyed, with such courage as they might, they\nfaced whatever might be in store for them.\n\n\u201cI wonder where we\u2019ll all be this time to-morrow night,\u201d said Felix\nmournfully, as we watched the sunset between the dark fir boughs. It was\nan ominous sunset. The sun dropped down amid dark, livid clouds, that\nturned sullen shades of purple and fiery red behind him.\n\n\u201cI hope we\u2019ll be all together, wherever we are,\u201d said Cecily gently.\n\u201cNothing can be so very bad then.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019m going to read the Bible all to-morrow forenoon,\u201d said Peter.\n\nWhen Aunt Olivia came out to go home the Story Girl asked her permission\nto stay all night with Felicity and Cecily. Aunt Olivia assented\nlightly, swinging her hat on her arm and including us all in a friendly\nsmile. She looked very pretty, with her big blue eyes and warm-hued\ngolden hair. We loved Aunt Olivia; but just now we resented her having\nlaughed at us with Aunt Janet, and we refused to smile back.\n\n\u201cWhat a sulky, sulky lot of little people,\u201d said Aunt Olivia, going away\nacross the yard, holding her pretty dress up from the dewy grass.\n\nPeter resolved to stay all night with us, too, not troubling himself\nabout anybody\u2019s permission. When we went to bed it was settling down for\na stormy night, and the rain was streaming wetly on the roof, as if the\nworld, like Sara Ray, were weeping because its end was so near. Nobody\nforgot or hurried over his prayers that night. We would dearly have\nloved to leave the candle burning, but Aunt Janet\u2019s decree regarding\nthis was as inexorable as any of Mede and Persia. Out the candle must\ngo; and we lay there, quaking, with the wild rain streaming down on the\nroof above us, and the voices of the storm wailing through the writhing\nspruce trees.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX. THE JUDGMENT SUNDAY\n\nSunday morning broke, dull and gray. The rain had ceased, but the\nclouds hung dark and brooding above a world which, in its windless\ncalm, following the spent storm-throe, seemed to us to be waiting \u201ctill\njudgment spoke the doom of fate.\u201d We were all up early. None of us, it\nappeared, had slept well, and some of us not at all. The Story Girl\nhad been among the latter, and she looked very pale and wan, with black\nshadows under her deep-set eyes. Peter, however, had slept soundly\nenough after twelve o\u2019clock.\n\n\u201cWhen you\u2019ve been stumping out elderberries all the afternoon it\u2019ll take\nmore than the Judgment Day to keep you awake all night,\u201d he said. \u201cBut\nwhen I woke up this morning it was just awful. I\u2019d forgot it for a\nmoment, and then it all came back with a rush, and I was worse scared\nthan before.\u201d\n\nCecily was pale but brave. For the first time in years she had not put\nher hair up in curlers on Saturday night. It was brushed and braided\nwith Puritan simplicity.\n\n\u201cIf it\u2019s the Judgment Day I don\u2019t care whether my hair is curly or not,\u201d\n she said.\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d said Aunt Janet, when we all descended to the kitchen, \u201cthis is\nthe first time you young ones have ever all got up without being called,\nand that\u2019s a fact.\u201d\n\nAt breakfast our appetites were poor. How could the grown-ups eat\nas they did? After breakfast and the necessary chores there was the\nforenoon to be lived through. Peter, true to his word, got out his Bible\nand began to read from the first chapter in Genesis.\n\n\u201cI won\u2019t have time to read it all through, I s\u2019pose,\u201d he said, \u201cbut I\u2019ll\nget along as far as I can.\u201d\n\nThere was no preaching in Carlisle that day, and Sunday School was not\ntill the evening. Cecily got out her Lesson Slip and studied the lesson\nconscientiously. The rest of us did not see how she could do it. We\ncould not, that was very certain.\n\n\u201cIf it isn\u2019t the Judgment Day, I want to have the lesson learned,\u201d she\nsaid, \u201cand if it is I\u2019ll feel I\u2019ve done what was right. But I never\nfound it so hard to remember the Golden Text before.\u201d\n\nThe long dragging hours were hard to endure. We roamed restlessly about,\nand went to and fro--all save Peter, who still steadily read away at his\nBible. He was through Genesis by eleven and beginning on Exodus.\n\n\u201cThere\u2019s a good deal of it I don\u2019t understand,\u201d he said, \u201cbut I read\nevery word, and that\u2019s the main thing. That story about Joseph and his\nbrother was so int\u2019resting I almost forgot about the Judgment Day.\u201d\n\nBut the long drawn out dread was beginning to get on Dan\u2019s nerves.\n\n\u201cIf it is the Judgment Day,\u201d he growled, as we went in to dinner, \u201cI\nwish it\u2019d hurry up and have it over.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, Dan!\u201d cried Felicity and Cecily together, in a chorus of horror.\nBut the Story Girl looked as if she rather sympathized with Dan.\n\nIf we had eaten little at breakfast we could eat still less at dinner.\nAfter dinner the clouds rolled away, and the sun came joyously and\ngloriously out. This, we thought, was a good omen. Felicity opined that\nit wouldn\u2019t have cleared up if it was the Judgment Day. Nevertheless, we\ndressed ourselves carefully, and the girls put on their white dresses.\n\nSara Ray came up, still crying, of course. She increased our uneasiness\nby saying that her mother believed the _Enterprise_ paragraph, and was\nafraid that the end of the world was really at hand.\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s why she let me come up,\u201d she sobbed. \u201cIf she hadn\u2019t been afraid\nI don\u2019t believe she would have let me come up. But I\u2019d have died if I\ncouldn\u2019t have come. And she wasn\u2019t a bit cross when I told her I had\ngone to the magic lantern show. That\u2019s an awful bad sign. I hadn\u2019t a\nwhite dress, but I put on my white muslin apron with the frills.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat seems kind of queer,\u201d said Felicity doubtfully. \u201cYou wouldn\u2019t put\non an apron to go to church, and so it doesn\u2019t seem as if it was proper\nto put it on for Judgment Day either.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, it\u2019s the best I could do,\u201d said Sara disconsolately. \u201cI wanted to\nhave something white on. It\u2019s just like a dress only it hasn\u2019t sleeves.\u201d\n\n\u201cLet\u2019s go into the orchard and wait,\u201d said the Story Girl. \u201cIt\u2019s one\no\u2019clock now, so in another hour we\u2019ll know the worst. We\u2019ll leave the\nfront door open, and we\u2019ll hear the big clock when it strikes two.\u201d\n\nNo better plan being suggested, we betook ourselves to the orchard, and\nsat on the boughs of Uncle Alec\u2019s tree because the grass was wet. The\nworld was beautiful and peaceful and green. Overhead was a dazzling blue\nsky, spotted with heaps of white cloud.\n\n\u201cPshaw, I don\u2019t believe there\u2019s any fear of it being the last day,\u201d said\nDan, beginning a whistle out of sheer bravado.\n\n\u201cWell, don\u2019t whistle on Sunday anyhow,\u201d said Felicity severely.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t see a thing about Methodists or Presbyterians, as far as I\u2019ve\ngone, and I\u2019m most through Exodus,\u201d said Peter suddenly. \u201cWhen does it\nbegin to tell about them?\u201d\n\n\u201cThere\u2019s nothing about Methodists or Presbyterians in the Bible,\u201d said\nFelicity scornfully.\n\nPeter looked amazed.\n\n\u201cWell, how did they happen then?\u201d he asked. \u201cWhen did they begin to be?\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019ve often thought it such a strange thing that there isn\u2019t a word\nabout either of them in the Bible,\u201d said Cecily. \u201cEspecially when it\nmentions Baptists--or at least one Baptist.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, anyhow,\u201d said Peter, \u201ceven if it isn\u2019t the Judgment Day I\u2019m\ngoing to keep on reading the Bible until I\u2019ve got clean through. I never\nthought it was such an int\u2019resting book.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt sounds simply dreadful to hear you call the Bible an interesting\nbook,\u201d said Felicity, with a shudder at the sacrilege. \u201cWhy, you might\nbe talking about ANY common book.\u201d\n\n\u201cI didn\u2019t mean any harm,\u201d said Peter, crestfallen.\n\n\u201cThe Bible IS an interesting book,\u201d said the Story Girl, coming to\nPeter\u2019s rescue. \u201cAnd there are magnificent stories in it--yes, Felicity,\nMAGNIFICENT. If the world doesn\u2019t come to an end I\u2019ll tell you the\nstory of Ruth next Sunday--or look here! I\u2019ll tell it anyhow. That\u2019s a\npromise. Wherever we are next Sunday I\u2019ll tell you about Ruth.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy, you wouldn\u2019t tell stories in heaven,\u201d said Cecily, in a very timid\nvoice.\n\n\u201cWhy not?\u201d said the Story Girl, with a flash of her eyes. \u201cIndeed I\nshall. I\u2019ll tell stories as long as I\u2019ve a tongue to talk with, or any\none to listen.\u201d\n\nAy, doubtless. That dauntless spirit would soar triumphantly above the\nwreck of matter and the crash of worlds, taking with it all its own wild\nsweetness and daring. Even the young-eyed cherubim, choiring on meadows\nof asphodel, might cease their harping for a time to listen to a tale\nof the vanished earth, told by that golden tongue. Some vague thought of\nthis was in our minds as we looked at her; and somehow it comforted us.\nNot even the Judgment was so greatly to be feared if after it we were\nthe SAME, our own precious little identities unchanged.\n\n\u201cIt must be getting handy two,\u201d said Cecily. \u201cIt seems as if we\u2019d been\nwaiting here for ever so much longer than an hour.\u201d\n\nConversation languished. We watched and waited nervously. The moments\ndragged by, each seeming an hour. Would two o\u2019clock never come and end\nthe suspense? We all became very tense. Even Peter had to stop reading.\nAny unaccustomed sound or sight in the world about us struck on our taut\nsenses like the trump of doom. A cloud passed over the sun and as the\nsudden shadow swept across the orchard we turned pale and trembled. A\nwagon rumbling over a plank bridge in the hollow made Sara Ray start up\nwith a shriek. The slamming of a barn door over at Uncle Roger\u2019s caused\nthe cold perspiration to break out on our faces.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t believe it\u2019s the Judgment Day,\u201d said Felix, \u201cand I never have\nbelieved it. But oh, I wish that clock would strike two.\u201d\n\n\u201cCan\u2019t you tell us a story to pass the time?\u201d I entreated the Story\nGirl.\n\nShe shook her head.\n\n\u201cNo, it would be no use to try. But if this isn\u2019t the Judgment Day I\u2019ll\nhave a great one to tell of us being so scared.\u201d\n\nPat presently came galloping up the orchard, carrying in his mouth a big\nfield mouse, which, sitting down before us, he proceeded to devour, body\nand bones, afterwards licking his chops with great satisfaction.\n\n\u201cIt can\u2019t be the Judgment Day,\u201d said Sara Ray, brightening up. \u201cPaddy\nwould never be eating mice if it was.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf that clock doesn\u2019t soon strike two I shall go out of my seven\nsenses,\u201d declared Cecily with unusual vehemence.\n\n\u201cTime always seems long when you\u2019re waiting,\u201d said the Story Girl. \u201cBut\nit does seem as if we had been here more than an hour.\u201d\n\n\u201cMaybe the clock struck and we didn\u2019t hear it,\u201d suggested Dan.\n\u201cSomebody\u2019d better go and see.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll go,\u201d said Cecily. \u201cI suppose, even if anything happens, I\u2019ll have\ntime to get back to you.\u201d\n\nWe watched her white-clad figure pass through the gate and enter the\nfront door. A few minutes passed--or a few years--we could not have told\nwhich. Then Cecily came running at full speed back to us. But when she\nreached us she trembled so much that at first she could not speak.\n\n\u201cWhat is it? Is it past two?\u201d implored the Story Girl.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s--it\u2019s four,\u201d said Cecily with a gasp. \u201cThe old clock isn\u2019t going.\nMother forgot to wind it up last night and it stopped. But it\u2019s four by\nthe kitchen clock--so it isn\u2019t the Judgment Day--and tea is ready--and\nmother says to come in.\u201d\n\nWe looked at each other, realizing what our dread had been, now that it\nwas lifted. It was not the Judgment Day. The world and life were still\nbefore us, with all their potent lure of years unknown.\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll never believe anything I read in the papers again,\u201d said Dan,\nrushing to the opposite extreme.\n\n\u201cI told you the Bible was more to be depended on than the newspapers,\u201d\n said Cecily triumphantly.\n\nSara Ray and Peter and the Story Girl went home, and we went in to\ntea with royal appetites. Afterwards, as we dressed for Sunday School\nupstairs, our spirits carried us away to such an extent that Aunt\nJanet had to come twice to the foot of the stairs and inquire severely,\n\u201cChildren, have you forgotten what day this is?\u201d\n\n\u201cIsn\u2019t it nice that we\u2019re going to live a spell longer in this nice\nworld?\u201d said Felix, as we walked down the hill.\n\n\u201cYes, and Felicity and the Story Girl are speaking again,\u201d said Cecily\nhappily.\n\n\u201cAnd Felicity DID speak first,\u201d I said.\n\n\u201cYes, but it took the Judgment Day to make her. I wish,\u201d added Cecily\nwith a sigh, \u201cthat I hadn\u2019t been in quite such a hurry giving away my\nforget-me-not jug.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd I wish I hadn\u2019t been in such a hurry deciding I\u2019d be a\nPresbyterian,\u201d said Peter.\n\n\u201cWell, it\u2019s not too late for that,\u201d said Dan. \u201cYou can change your mind\nnow.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, sir,\u201d said Peter with a flash of spirit, \u201cI ain\u2019t one of the kind\nthat says they\u2019ll be something just because they\u2019re scared, and when the\nscare is over go back on it. I said I\u2019d be Presbyterian and I mean to\nstick to it.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou said you knew a story that had something to do with Presbyterians,\u201d\n I said to the Story Girl. \u201cTell us it now.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, no, it isn\u2019t the right kind of story to tell on Sunday,\u201d she\nreplied. \u201cBut I\u2019ll tell it to-morrow morning.\u201d\n\nAccordingly, we heard it the next morning in the orchard.\n\n\u201cLong ago, when Judy Pineau was young,\u201d said the Story Girl, \u201cshe was\nhired with Mrs. Elder Frewen--the first Mrs. Elder Frewen. Mrs. Frewen\nhad been a school-teacher, and she was very particular as to how people\ntalked, and the grammar they used. And she didn\u2019t like anything but\nrefined words. One very hot day she heard Judy Pineau say she was \u2018all\nin a sweat.\u2019 Mrs. Frewen was greatly shocked, and said, \u2018Judy, you\nshouldn\u2019t say that. It\u2019s horses that sweat. You should say you are in\na perspiration.\u2019 Well, Judy promised she\u2019d remember, because she liked\nMrs. Frewen and was anxious to please her. Not long afterwards Judy was\nscrubbing the kitchen floor one morning, and when Mrs. Frewen came in\nJudy looked up and said, quite proud over using the right word, \u2018Oh,\nMees Frewen, ain\u2019t it awful hot? I declare I\u2019m all in a Presbyterian.\u2019\u201d\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI. DREAMERS OF DREAMS\n\nAugust went out and September came in. Harvest was ended; and though\nsummer was not yet gone, her face was turned westering. The asters\nlettered her retreating footsteps in a purple script, and over the hills\nand valleys hung a faint blue smoke, as if Nature were worshipping at\nher woodland altar. The apples began to burn red on the bending boughs;\ncrickets sang day and night; squirrels chattered secrets of Polichinelle\nin the spruces; the sunshine was as thick and yellow as molten gold;\nschool opened, and we small denizens of the hill farms lived happy days\nof harmless work and necessary play, closing in nights of peaceful,\nundisturbed slumber under a roof watched over by autumnal stars.\n\nAt least, our slumbers were peaceful and undisturbed until our orgy of\ndreaming began.\n\n\u201cI would really like to know what especial kind of deviltry you young\nfry are up to this time,\u201d said Uncle Roger one evening, as he passed\nthrough the orchard with his gun on his shoulder, bound for the swamp.\n\nWe were sitting in a circle before the Pulpit Stone, each writing\ndiligently in an exercise book, and eating the Rev. Mr. Scott\u2019s plums,\nwhich always reached their prime of juicy, golden-green flesh and bloomy\nblue skin in September. The Rev. Mr. Scott was dead and gone, but those\nplums certainly kept his memory green, as his forgotten sermons could\nnever have done.\n\n\u201cOh,\u201d said Felicity in a shocked tone, when Uncle Roger had passed by,\n\u201cUncle Roger SWORE.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, no, he didn\u2019t,\u201d said the Story Girl quickly. \u201c\u2018Deviltry\u2019 isn\u2019t\nswearing at all. It only means extra bad mischief.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, it\u2019s not a very nice word, anyhow,\u201d said Felicity.\n\n\u201cNo, it isn\u2019t,\u201d agreed the Story Girl with a regretful sigh. \u201cIt\u2019s\nvery expressive, but it isn\u2019t nice. That is the way with so many words.\nThey\u2019re expressive, but they\u2019re not nice, and so a girl can\u2019t use them.\u201d\n\nThe Story Girl sighed again. She loved expressive words, and treasured\nthem as some girls might have treasured jewels. To her, they were as\nlustrous pearls, threaded on the crimson cord of a vivid fancy. When she\nmet with a new one she uttered it over and over to herself in solitude,\nweighing it, caressing it, infusing it with the radiance of her voice,\nmaking it her own in all its possibilities for ever.\n\n\u201cWell, anyhow, it isn\u2019t a suitable word in this case,\u201d insisted\nFelicity. \u201cWe are not up to any dev--any extra bad mischief. Writing\ndown one\u2019s dreams isn\u2019t mischief at all.\u201d\n\nCertainly it wasn\u2019t. Surely not even the straitest sect of the grown-ups\ncould call it so. If writing down your dreams, with agonizing care as\nto composition and spelling--for who knew that the eyes of generations\nunborn might not read the record?--were not a harmless amusement, could\nanything be called so? I trow not.\n\nWe had been at it for a fortnight, and during that time we only lived to\nhave dreams and write them down. The Story Girl had originated the idea\none evening in the rustling, rain-wet ways of the spruce wood, where we\nwere picking gum after a day of showers. When we had picked enough, we\nsat down on the moss-grown stones at the end of a long arcade, where it\nopened out on the harvest-golden valley below us, our jaws exercising\nthemselves vigorously on the spoil of our climbings. We were never\nallowed to chew gum in school or in company, but in wood and field,\norchard and hayloft, such rules were in abeyance.\n\n\u201cMy Aunt Jane used to say it wasn\u2019t polite to chew gum anywhere,\u201d said\nPeter rather ruefully.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t suppose your Aunt Jane knew all the rules of etiquette,\u201d said\nFelicity, designing to crush Peter with a big word, borrowed from the\n_Family Guide_. But Peter was not to be so crushed. He had in him a\ncertain toughness of fibre, that would have been proof against a whole\ndictionary.\n\n\u201cShe did, too,\u201d he retorted. \u201cMy Aunt Jane was a real lady, even if she\nwas only a Craig. She knew all those rules and she kept them when there\nwas nobody round to see her, just the same as when any one was. And she\nwas smart. If father had had half her git-up-and-git I wouldn\u2019t be a\nhired boy to-day.\u201d\n\n\u201cHave you any idea where your father is?\u201d asked Dan.\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d said Peter indifferently. \u201cThe last we heard of him he was in the\nMaine lumber woods. But that was three years ago. I don\u2019t know where he\nis now, and,\u201d added Peter deliberately, taking his gum from his mouth to\nmake his statement more impressive, \u201cI don\u2019t care.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, Peter, that sounds dreadful,\u201d said Cecily. \u201cYour own father!\u201d\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d said Peter defiantly, \u201cif your own father had run away when\nyou was a baby, and left your mother to earn her living by washing and\nworking out, I guess you wouldn\u2019t care much about him either.\u201d\n\n\u201cPerhaps your father may come home some of these days with a huge\nfortune,\u201d suggested the Story Girl.\n\n\u201cPerhaps pigs may whistle, but they\u2019ve poor mouths for it,\u201d was all the\nanswer Peter deigned to this charming suggestion.\n\n\u201cThere goes Mr. Campbell down the road,\u201d said Dan. \u201cThat\u2019s his new mare.\nIsn\u2019t she a dandy? She\u2019s got a skin like black satin. He calls her Betty\nSherman.\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t think it\u2019s very nice to call a horse after your own\ngrandmother,\u201d said Felicity.\n\n\u201cBetty Sherman would have thought it a compliment,\u201d said the Story Girl.\n\n\u201cMaybe she would. She couldn\u2019t have been very nice herself, or she would\nnever have gone and asked a man to marry her,\u201d said Felicity.\n\n\u201cWhy not?\u201d\n\n\u201cGoodness me, it was dreadful! Would YOU do such a thing yourself?\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, I don\u2019t know,\u201d said the Story Girl, her eyes gleaming with impish\nlaughter. \u201cIf I wanted him DREADFULLY, and HE wouldn\u2019t do the asking,\nperhaps I would.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019d rather die an old maid forty times over,\u201d exclaimed Felicity.\n\n\u201cNobody as pretty as you will ever be an old maid, Felicity,\u201d said\nPeter, who never put too fine an edge on his compliments.\n\nFelicity tossed her golden tressed head and tried to look angry, but\nmade a dismal failure of it.\n\n\u201cIt wouldn\u2019t be ladylike to ask any one to marry you, you know,\u201d argued\nCecily.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t suppose the _Family Guide_ would think so,\u201d agreed the Story\nGirl lazily, with some sarcasm in her voice. The Story Girl never held\nthe _Family Guide_ in such reverence as did Felicity and Cecily. They\npored over the \u201cetiquette column\u201d every week, and could have told you\non demand, just exactly what kind of gloves should be worn at a wedding,\nwhat you should say when introducing or being introduced, and how you\nought to look when your best young man came to see you.\n\n\u201cThey say Mrs. Richard Cook asked HER husband to marry her,\u201d said Dan.\n\n\u201cUncle Roger says she didn\u2019t exactly ask him, but she helped the lame\ndog over the stile so slick that Richard was engaged to her before he\nknew what had happened to him,\u201d said the Story Girl. \u201cI know a story\nabout Mrs. Richard Cook\u2019s grandmother. She was one of those women who\nare always saying \u2018I told you so--\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cTake notice, Felicity,\u201d said Dan aside.\n\n\u201c--And she was very stubborn. Soon after she was married she and\nher husband quarrelled about an apple tree they had planted in their\norchard. The label was lost. He said it was a Fameuse and she declared\nit was a Yellow Transparent. They fought over it till the neighbours\ncame out to listen. Finally he got so angry that he told her to shut up.\nThey didn\u2019t have any _Family Guide_ in those days, so he didn\u2019t know\nit wasn\u2019t polite to say shut up to your wife. I suppose she thought she\nwould teach him manners, for would you believe it? That woman did shut\nup, and never spoke one single word to her husband for five years. And\nthen, in five years\u2019 time, the tree bore apples, and they WERE Yellow\nTransparents. And then she spoke at last. She said, \u2018I told you so.\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd did she talk to him after that as usual?\u201d asked Sara Ray.\n\n\u201cOh, yes, she was just the same as she used to be,\u201d said the Story Girl\nwearily. \u201cBut that doesn\u2019t belong to the story. It stops when she spoke\nat last. You\u2019re never satisfied to leave a story where it should stop,\nSara Ray.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, I always like to know what happens afterwards,\u201d said Sara Ray.\n\n\u201cUncle Roger says he wouldn\u2019t want a wife he could never quarrel with,\u201d\n remarked Dan. \u201cHe says it would be too tame a life for him.\u201d\n\n\u201cI wonder if Uncle Roger will always stay a bachelor,\u201d said Cecily.\n\n\u201cHe seems real happy,\u201d observed Peter.\n\n\u201cMa says that it\u2019s all right as long as he is a bachelor because he\nwon\u2019t take any one,\u201d said Felicity, \u201cbut if he wakes up some day and\nfinds he is an old bachelor because he can\u2019t get any one it\u2019ll have a\nvery different flavour.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf your Aunt Olivia was to up and get married what would your Uncle\nRoger do for a housekeeper?\u201d asked Peter.\n\n\u201cOh, but Aunt Olivia will never be married now,\u201d said Felicity. \u201cWhy,\nshe\u2019ll be twenty-nine next January.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, o\u2019 course, that\u2019s pretty old,\u201d admitted Peter, \u201cbut she might\nfind some one who wouldn\u2019t mind that, seeing she\u2019s so pretty.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt would be awful splendid and exciting to have a wedding in the\nfamily, wouldn\u2019t it?\u201d said Cecily. \u201cI\u2019ve never seen any one married,\nand I\u2019d just love to. I\u2019ve been to four funerals, but not to one single\nwedding.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019ve never even got to a funeral,\u201d said Sara Ray gloomily.\n\n\u201cThere\u2019s the wedding veil of the proud princess,\u201d said Cecily, pointing\nto a long drift of filmy vapour in the southwestern sky.\n\n\u201cAnd look at that sweet pink cloud below it,\u201d added Felicity.\n\n\u201cMaybe that little pink cloud is a dream, getting all ready to float\ndown into somebody\u2019s sleep,\u201d suggested the Story Girl.\n\n\u201cI had a perfectly awful dream last night,\u201d said Cecily, with a shudder\nof remembrance. \u201cI dreamed I was on a desert island inhabited by tigers\nand natives with two heads.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh!\u201d the Story Girl looked at Cecily half reproachfully. \u201cWhy couldn\u2019t\nyou tell it better than that? If I had such a dream I could tell it so\nthat everybody else would feel as if they had dreamed it, too.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, I\u2019m not you,\u201d countered Cecily, \u201cand I wouldn\u2019t want to frighten\nany one as I was frightened. It was an awful dream--but it was kind of\ninteresting, too.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019ve had some real int\u2019resting dreams,\u201d said Peter, \u201cbut I can\u2019t\nremember them long. I wish I could.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy don\u2019t you write them down?\u201d suggested the Story Girl. \u201cOh--\u201d she\nturned upon us a face illuminated with a sudden inspiration. \u201cI\u2019ve an\nidea. Let us each get an exercise book and write down all our dreams,\njust as we dream them. We\u2019ll see who\u2019ll have the most interesting\ncollection. And we\u2019ll have them to read and laugh over when we\u2019re old\nand gray.\u201d\n\nInstantly we all saw ourselves and each other by inner vision, old and\ngray--all but the Story Girl. We could not picture her as old. Always,\nas long as she lived, so it seemed to us, must she have sleek brown\ncurls, a voice like the sound of a harpstring in the wind, and eyes that\nwere stars of eternal youth.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII. THE DREAM BOOKS\n\nThe next day the Story Girl coaxed Uncle Roger to take her to Markdale,\nand there she bought our dream books. They were ten cents apiece, with\nruled pages and mottled green covers. My own lies open beside me as I\nwrite, its yellowed pages inscribed with the visions that haunted my\nchildish slumbers on those nights of long ago.\n\nOn the cover is pasted a lady\u2019s visiting card, on which is written,\n\u201cThe Dream Book of Beverley King.\u201d Cecily had a packet of visiting cards\nwhich she was hoarding against the day when she would be grown up and\ncould put the calling etiquette of the _Family Guide_ into practice; but\nshe generously gave us all one apiece for the covers of our dream books.\n\nAs I turn the pages and glance over the (----) records, each one\nbeginning, \u201cLast night I dreamed,\u201d the past comes very vividly back to\nme. I see that bowery orchard, shining in memory with a soft glow of\nbeauty--\u201cthe light that never was on land or sea,\u201d--where we sat on\nthose September evenings and wrote down our dreams, when the cares of\nthe day were over and there was nothing to interfere with the pleasing\nthroes of composition. Peter--Dan--Felix--Cecily--Felicity--Sara\nRay--the Story Girl--they are all around me once more, in the\nsweet-scented, fading grasses, each with open dream books and pencil in\nhand, now writing busily, now staring fixedly into space in search of\nsome elusive word or phrase which might best describe the indescribable.\nI hear their laughing voices, I see their bright, unclouded eyes. In\nthis little, old book, filled with cramped, boyish writing, there is a\nspell of white magic that sets the years at naught. Beverley King is a\nboy once more, writing down his dreams in the old King orchard on the\nhomestead hill, blown over by musky winds.\n\nOpposite to him sits the Story Girl, with her scarlet rosetted head, her\nbeautiful bare feet crossed before her, one slender hand propping her\nhigh, white brow, on either side of which fall her glossy curls.\n\nThere, to the right, is sweet Cecily of the dear, brown eyes, with a\nlittle bloated dictionary beside her--for you dream of so many things\nyou can\u2019t spell, or be expected to spell, when you are only eleven. Next\nto her sits Felicity, beautiful, and conscious that she is beautiful,\nwith hair of spun sunshine, and sea-blue eyes, and all the roses of that\nvanished summer abloom in her cheeks.\n\nPeter is beside her, of course, sprawled flat on his stomach among the\ngrasses, one hand clutching his black curls, with his dream book on a\nsmall, round stone before him--for only so can Peter compose at all, and\neven then he finds it hard work. He can handle a hoe more deftly than a\npencil, and his spelling, even with all his frequent appeals to Cecily,\nis a fearful and wonderful thing. As for punctuation, he never attempts\nit, beyond an occasion period, jotted down whenever he happens to think\nof it, whether in the right place or not. The Story Girl goes over\nhis dreams after he has written them out, and puts in the commas and\nsemicolons, and straightens out the sentences.\n\nFelix sits on the right of the Story Girl, fat and stodgy, grimly in\nearnest even over dreams. He writes with his knees stuck up to form a\nwriting-desk, and he always frowns fiercely the whole time.\n\nDan, like Peter, writes lying down flat, but with his back towards us;\nand he has a dismal habit of groaning aloud, writhing his whole body,\nand digging his toes into the grass, when he cannot turn a sentence to\nsuit him.\n\nSara Ray is at his left. There is seldom anything to be said of Sara\nexcept to tell where she is. Like Tennyson\u2019s Maud, in one respect at\nleast, Sara is splendidly null.\n\nWell, there we sit and write in our dream books, and Uncle Roger passes\nby and accuses us of being up to dev--to very bad mischief.\n\nEach of us was very anxious to possess the most exciting record; but\nwe were an honourable little crew, and I do not think anything was ever\nwritten down in those dream books which had not really been dreamed. We\nhad expected that the Story Girl would eclipse us all in the matter\nof dreams; but, at least in the beginning, her dreams were no more\nremarkable than those of the rest of us. In dreamland we were all equal.\nCecily, indeed, seemed to have the most decided talent for dramatic\ndreams. That meekest and mildest of girls was in the habit of dreaming\ntruly terrible things. Almost every night battle, murder, or sudden\ndeath played some part in her visions. On the other hand, Dan, who was a\nsomewhat truculent fellow, addicted to the perusal of lurid dime novels\nwhich he borrowed from the other boys in school, dreamed dreams of such\na peaceful and pastoral character that he was quite disgusted with the\nresulting tame pages of his dream book.\n\nBut if the Story Girl could not dream anything more wonderful than the\nrest of us, she scored when it came to the telling. To hear her tell a\ndream was as good--or as bad--as dreaming it yourself.\n\nAs far as writing them down was concerned, I believe that I, Beverley\nKing, carried off the palm. I was considered to possess a pretty knack\nof composition. But the Story Girl went me one better even there,\nbecause, having inherited something of her father\u2019s talent for drawing,\nshe illustrated her dreams with sketches that certainly caught the\nspirit of them, whatever might be said of their technical excellence.\nShe had an especial knack for drawing monstrosities; and I vividly\nrecall the picture of an enormous and hideous lizard, looking like a\nreptile of the pterodactyl period, which she had dreamed of seeing crawl\nacross the roof of the house. On another occasion she had a frightful\ndream--at least, it seemed frightful while she told us and described the\ndreadful feeling it had given her--of being chased around the parlour\nby the ottoman, which made faces at her. She drew a picture of the\ngrimacing ottoman on the margin of her dream book which so scared Sara\nRay when she beheld it that she cried all the way home, and insisted on\nsleeping that night with Judy Pineau lest the furniture take to pursuing\nher also.\n\nSara Ray\u2019s own dreams never amounted to much. She was always in trouble\nof some sort--couldn\u2019t get her hair braided, or her shoes on the right\nfeet. Consequently, her dream book was very monotonous. The only thing\nworth mentioning in the way of dreams that Sara Ray ever achieved was\nwhen she dreamed that she went up in a balloon and fell out.\n\n\u201cI expected to come down with an awful thud,\u201d she said shuddering, \u201cbut\nI lit as light as a feather and woke right up.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf you hadn\u2019t woke up you\u2019d have died,\u201d said Peter with a dark\nsignificance. \u201cIf you dream of falling and DON\u2019T wake you DO land with\na thud and it kills you. That\u2019s what happens to people who die in their\nsleep.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow do you know?\u201d asked Dan skeptically. \u201cNobody who died in his sleep\ncould ever tell it.\u201d\n\n\u201cMy Aunt Jane told me so,\u201d said Peter.\n\n\u201cI suppose that settles it,\u201d said Felicity disagreeably.\n\n\u201cYou always say something nasty when I mention my Aunt Jane,\u201d said Peter\nreproachfully.\n\n\u201cWhat did I say that was nasty?\u201d cried Felicity. \u201cI didn\u2019t say a single\nthing.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, it sounded nasty,\u201d said Peter, who knew that it is the tone that\nmakes the music.\n\n\u201cWhat did your Aunt Jane look like?\u201d asked Cecily sympathetically. \u201cWas\nshe pretty?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d conceded Peter reluctantly, \u201cshe wasn\u2019t pretty--but she looked\nlike the woman in that picture the Story Girl\u2019s father sent her last\nweek--the one with the shiny ring round her head and the baby in her\nlap. I\u2019ve seen Aunt Jane look at me just like that woman looks at her\nbaby. Ma never looks so. Poor ma is too busy washing. I wish I could\ndream of my Aunt Jane. I never do.\u201d\n\n\u201c\u2018Dream of the dead, you\u2019ll hear of the living,\u2019\u201d quoted Felix\noracularly.\n\n\u201cI dreamed last night that I threw a lighted match into that keg of\ngunpowder in Mr. Cook\u2019s store at Markdale,\u201d said Peter. \u201cIt blew up--and\neverything blew up--and they fished me out of the mess--but I woke up\nbefore I\u2019d time to find out if I was killed or not.\u201d\n\n\u201cOne is so apt to wake up just as things get interesting,\u201d remarked the\nStory Girl discontentedly.\n\n\u201cI dreamed last night that I had really truly curly hair,\u201d said Cecily\nmournfully. \u201cAnd oh, I was so happy! It was dreadful to wake up and find\nit as straight as ever.\u201d\n\nFelix, that sober, solid fellow, dreamed constantly of flying through\nthe air. His descriptions of his aerial flights over the tree-tops of\ndreamland always filled us with envy. None of the rest of us could\never compass such a dream, not even the Story Girl, who might have\nbeen expected to dream of flying if anybody did. Felix had a knack\nof dreaming anyhow, and his dream book, while suffering somewhat in\ncomparison of literary style, was about the best of the lot when it came\nto subject matter. Cecily\u2019s might be more dramatic, but Felix\u2019s was more\namusing. The dream which we all counted his masterpiece was the one in\nwhich a menagerie had camped in the orchard and the rhinoceros chased\nAunt Janet around and around the Pulpit Stone, but turned into an\ninoffensive pig when it was on the point of catching her.\n\nFelix had a sick spell soon after we began our dream books, and Aunt\nJanet essayed to cure him by administering a dose of liver pills which\nElder Frewen had assured her were a cure-all for every disease the flesh\nis heir to. But Felix flatly refused to take liver pills; Mexican Tea\nhe would drink, but liver pills he would not take, in spite of his\nown suffering and Aunt Janet\u2019s commands and entreaties. I could not\nunderstand his antipathy to the insignificant little white pellets,\nwhich were so easy to swallow; but he explained the matter to us in the\norchard when he had recovered his usual health and spirits.\n\n\u201cI was afraid to take the liver pills for fear they\u2019d prevent me from\ndreaming,\u201d he said. \u201cDon\u2019t you remember old Miss Baxter in Toronto, Bev?\nAnd how she told Mrs. McLaren that she was subject to terrible dreams,\nand finally she took two liver pills and never had any more dreams after\nthat. I\u2019d rather have died than risk it,\u201d concluded Felix solemnly.\n\n\u201cI\u2019d an exciting dream last night for once,\u201d said Dan triumphantly. \u201cI\ndreamt old Peg Bowen chased me. I thought I was up to her house and she\ntook after me. You bet I scooted. And she caught me--yes, sir! I\nfelt her skinny hand reach out and clutch my shoulder. I let out a\nscreech--and woke up.\u201d\n\n\u201cI should think you did screech,\u201d said Felicity. \u201cWe heard you clean\nover into our room.\u201d\n\n\u201cI hate to dream of being chased because I can never run,\u201d said Sara\nRay with a shiver. \u201cI just stand rooted to the ground--and see it\ncoming--and can\u2019t stir. It don\u2019t sound much written out, but it\u2019s awful\nto go through. I\u2019m sure I hope I\u2019ll never dream Peg Bowen chases me.\nI\u2019ll die if I do.\u201d\n\n\u201cI wonder what Peg Bowen would really do to a fellow if she caught him,\u201d\n speculated Dan.\n\n\u201cPeg Bowen doesn\u2019t need to catch you to do things to you,\u201d said Peter\nominously. \u201cShe can put ill-luck on you just by looking at you--and she\nwill if you offend her.\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t believe that,\u201d said the Story Girl airily.\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t you? All right, then! Last summer she called at Lem Hill\u2019s in\nMarkdale, and he told her to clear out or he\u2019d set the dog on her. Peg\ncleared out, and she went across his pasture, muttering to herself and\nthrowing her arms round. And next day his very best cow took sick and\ndied. How do you account for that?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt might have happened anyhow,\u201d said the Story Girl--somewhat less\nassuredly, though.\n\n\u201cIt might. But I\u2019d just as soon Peg Bowen didn\u2019t look at MY cows,\u201d said\nPeter.\n\n\u201cAs if you had any cows!\u201d giggled Felicity.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m going to have cows some day,\u201d said Peter, flushing. \u201cI don\u2019t mean\nto be a hired boy all my life. I\u2019ll have a farm of my own and cows and\neverything. You\u2019ll see if I won\u2019t.\u201d\n\n\u201cI dreamed last night that we opened the blue chest,\u201d said the Story\nGirl, \u201cand all the things were there--the blue china candlestick--only\nit was brass in the dream--and the fruit basket with the apple on\nit, and the wedding dress, and the embroidered petticoat. And we were\nlaughing, and trying the things on, and having such fun. And Rachel Ward\nherself came and looked at us--so sad and reproachful--and we all felt\nashamed, and I began to cry, and woke up crying.\u201d\n\n\u201cI dreamed last night that Felix was thin,\u201d said Peter, laughing. \u201cHe\ndid look so queer. His clothes just hung loose, and he was going round\ntrying to hold them on.\u201d\n\nEverybody thought this was funny, except Felix. He would not speak to\nPeter for two days because of it. Felicity also got into trouble because\nof her dreams. One night she woke up, having just had a very exciting\ndream; but she went to sleep again, and in the morning she could not\nremember the dream at all. Felicity determined she would never let\nanother dream get away from her in such a fashion; and the next time she\nwakened in the night--having dreamed that she was dead and buried--she\npromptly arose, lighted a candle, and proceeded to write the dream down\nthen and there. While so employed she contrived to upset the candle and\nset fire to her nightgown--a brand-new one, trimmed with any quantity\nof crocheted lace. A huge hole was burned in it, and when Aunt Janet\ndiscovered it she lifted up her voice with no uncertain sound.\nFelicity had never received a sharper scolding. But she took it very\nphilosophically. She was used to her mother\u2019s bitter tongue, and she was\nnot unduly sensitive.\n\n\u201cAnyhow, I saved my dream,\u201d she said placidly.\n\nAnd that, of course, was all that really mattered. Grown people were so\nstrangely oblivious to the truly important things of life. Material\nfor new garments, of night or day, could be bought in any shop for a\ntrifling sum and made up out of hand. But if a dream escape you, in what\nmarket-place the wide world over can you hope to regain it? What coin of\nearthly minting will ever buy back for you that lost and lovely vision?\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIII. SUCH STUFF AS DREAMS ARE MADE ON\n\nPeter took Dan and me aside one evening, as we were on our way to the\norchard with our dream books, saying significantly that he wanted our\nadvice. Accordingly, we went round to the spruce wood, where the girls\nwould not see us to the rousing of their curiosity, and then Peter told\nus of his dilemma.\n\n\u201cLast night I dreamed I was in church,\u201d he said. \u201cI thought it was\nfull of people, and I walked up the aisle to your pew and set down, as\nunconcerned as a pig on ice. And then I found that I hadn\u2019t a stitch of\nclothes on--NOT ONE BLESSED STITCH. Now\u201d--Peter dropped his voice--\u201cwhat\nis bothering me is this--would it be proper to tell a dream like that\nbefore the girls?\u201d\n\nI was of the opinion that it would be rather questionable; but Dan vowed\nhe didn\u2019t see why. HE\u2019D tell it quick as any other dream. There was\nnothing bad in it.\n\n\u201cBut they\u2019re your own relations,\u201d said Peter. \u201cThey\u2019re no relation to\nme, and that makes a difference. Besides, they\u2019re all such ladylike\ngirls. I guess I\u2019d better not risk it. I\u2019m pretty sure Aunt Jane\nwouldn\u2019t think it was proper to tell such a dream. And I don\u2019t want to\noffend Fel--any of them.\u201d\n\nSo Peter never told that dream, nor did he write it down. Instead,\nI remember seeing in his dream book, under the date of September\nfifteenth, an entry to this effect:--\n\n\u201cLast nite i dremed a drem. it wasent a polit drem so i won\u2019t rite it\ndown.\u201d\n\nThe girls saw this entry but, to their credit be it told, they never\ntried to find out what the \u201cdrem\u201d was. As Peter said, they were \u201cladies\u201d\n in the best and truest sense of that much abused appellation. Full of\nfun and frolic and mischief they were, with all the defects of their\nqualities and all the wayward faults of youth. But no indelicate thought\nor vulgar word could have been shaped or uttered in their presence. Had\nany of us boys ever been guilty of such, Cecily\u2019s pale face would have\ncoloured with the blush of outraged purity, Felicity\u2019s golden head would\nhave lifted itself in the haughty indignation of insulted womanhood, and\nthe Story Girl\u2019s splendid eyes would have flashed with such anger and\nscorn as would have shrivelled the very soul of the wretched culprit.\n\nDan was once guilty of swearing. Uncle Alec whipped him for it--the only\ntime he ever so punished any of his children. But it was because Cecily\ncried all night that Dan was filled with saving remorse and repentance.\nHe vowed next day to Cecily that he would never swear again, and he kept\nhis word.\n\nAll at once the Story Girl and Peter began to forge ahead in the matter\nof dreaming. Their dreams suddenly became so lurid and dreadful and\npicturesque that it was hard for the rest of us to believe that they\nwere not painting the lily rather freely in their accounts of them. But\nthe Story Girl was the soul of honour; and Peter, early in life, had had\nhis feet set in the path of truthfulness by his Aunt Jane and had never\nbeen known to stray from it. When they assured us solemnly that their\ndreams all happened exactly as they described them we were compelled to\nbelieve them. But there was something up, we felt sure of that. Peter\nand the Story Girl certainly had a secret between them, which they kept\nfor a whole fortnight. There was no finding it out from the Story Girl.\nShe had a knack of keeping secrets, anyhow; and, moreover, all that\nfortnight she was strangely cranky and petulant, and we found it was not\nwise to tease her. She was not well, so Aunt Olivia told Aunt Janet.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t know what is the matter with the child,\u201d said the former\nanxiously. \u201cShe hasn\u2019t seemed like herself the past two weeks. She\ncomplains of headache, and she has no appetite, and she is a dreadful\ncolour. I\u2019ll have to see a doctor about her if she doesn\u2019t get better\nsoon.\u201d\n\n\u201cGive her a good dose of Mexican Tea and try that first,\u201d said Aunt\nJanet. \u201cI\u2019ve saved many a doctor\u2019s bill in my family by using Mexican\nTea.\u201d\n\nThe Mexican Tea was duly administered, but produced no improvement in\nthe condition of the Story Girl, who, however, went on dreaming after\na fashion which soon made her dream book a veritable curiosity of\nliterature.\n\n\u201cIf we can\u2019t soon find out what makes Peter and the Story Girl dream\nlike that, the rest of us might as well give up trying to write dream\nbooks,\u201d said Felix discontentedly.\n\nFinally, we did find out. Felicity wormed the secret out of Peter by\nthe employment of Delilah wiles, such as have been the undoing of many\na miserable male creature since Samson\u2019s day. She first threatened that\nshe would never speak to him again if he didn\u2019t tell her; and then she\npromised him that, if he did, she would let him walk beside her to and\nfrom Sunday School all the rest of the summer, and carry her books for\nher. Peter was not proof against this double attack. He yielded and told\nthe secret.\n\nI expected the Story Girl would overwhelm him with scorn and\nindignation. But she took it very coolly.\n\n\u201cI knew Felicity would get it out of him sometime,\u201d she said. \u201cI think\nhe has done well to hold out this long.\u201d\n\nPeter and the Story Girl, so it appeared, had wooed wild dreams to their\npillows by the simple device of eating rich, indigestible things before\nthey went to bed. Aunt Olivia knew nothing about it, of course. She\npermitted them only a plain, wholesome lunch at bed-time. But during\nthe day the Story Girl would smuggle upstairs various tidbits from the\npantry, putting half in Peter\u2019s room and half in her own; and the result\nwas these visions which had been our despair.\n\n\u201cLast night I ate a piece of mince pie,\u201d she said, \u201cand a lot of\npickles, and two grape jelly tarts. But I guess I overdid it, because I\ngot real sick and couldn\u2019t sleep at all, so of course I didn\u2019t have\nany dreams. I should have stopped with the pie and pickles and left\nthe tarts alone. Peter did, and he had an elegant dream that Peg Bowen\ncaught him and put him on to boil alive in that big black pot that hangs\noutside her door. He woke up before the water got hot, though. Well,\nMiss Felicity, you\u2019re pretty smart. But how will you like to walk to\nSunday School with a boy who wears patched trousers?\u201d\n\n\u201cI won\u2019t have to,\u201d said Felicity triumphantly. \u201cPeter is having a new\nsuit made. It\u2019s to be ready by Saturday. I knew that before I promised.\u201d\n\nHaving discovered how to produce exciting dreams, we all promptly\nfollowed the example of Peter and the Story Girl.\n\n\u201cThere is no chance for me to have any horrid dreams,\u201d lamented Sara\nRay, \u201cbecause ma won\u2019t let me having anything at all to eat before I go\nto bed. I don\u2019t think it\u2019s fair.\u201d\n\n\u201cCan\u2019t you hide something away through the day as we do?\u201d asked\nFelicity.\n\n\u201cNo.\u201d Sara shook her fawn-coloured head mournfully. \u201cMa always keeps the\npantry locked, for fear Judy Pineau will treat her friends.\u201d\n\nFor a week we ate unlawful lunches and dreamed dreams after our own\nhearts--and, I regret to say, bickered and squabbled incessantly\nthroughout the daytime, for our digestions went out of order and our\ntempers followed suit. Even the Story Girl and I had a fight--something\nthat had never happened before. Peter was the only one who kept his\nnormal poise. Nothing could upset that boy\u2019s stomach.\n\nOne night Cecily came into the pantry with a large cucumber, and\nproceeded to devour the greater part of it. The grown-ups were away that\nevening, attending a lecture at Markdale, so we ate our snacks openly,\nwithout any recourse to ways that were dark. I remember I supped that\nnight off a solid hunk of fat pork, topped off with a slab of cold plum\npudding.\n\n\u201cI thought you didn\u2019t like cucumber, Cecily,\u201d Dan remarked.\n\n\u201cNeither I do,\u201d said Cecily with a grimace. \u201cBut Peter says they\u2019re\nsplendid for dreaming. He et one that night he had the dream about being\ncaught by cannibals. I\u2019d eat three cucumbers if I could have a dream\nlike that.\u201d\n\nCecily finished her cucumber, and then drank a glass of milk, just as we\nheard the wheels of Uncle Alec\u2019s buggy rambling over the bridge in the\nhollow. Felicity quickly restored pork and pudding to their own places,\nand by the time Aunt Janet came in we were all in our respective beds.\nSoon the house was dark and silent. I was just dropping into an uneasy\nslumber when I heard a commotion in the girls\u2019 room across the hall.\n\nTheir door opened and through our own open door I saw Felicity\u2019s\nwhite-clad figure flit down the stairs to Aunt Janet\u2019s room. From the\nroom she had left came moans and cries.\n\n\u201cCecily\u2019s sick,\u201d said Dan, springing out of bed. \u201cThat cucumber must\nhave disagreed with her.\u201d\n\nIn a few minutes the whole house was astir. Cecily was sick--very, very\nsick, there was no doubt of that. She was even worse than Dan had been\nwhen he had eaten the bad berries. Uncle Alec, tired as he was from his\nhard day\u2019s work and evening outing, was despatched for the doctor. Aunt\nJanet and Felicity administered all the homely remedies they could think\nof, but to no effect. Felicity told Aunt Janet of the cucumber, but Aunt\nJanet did not think the cucumber alone could be responsible for Cecily\u2019s\nalarming condition.\n\n\u201cCucumbers are indigestible, but I never knew of them making any one as\nsick as this,\u201d she said anxiously. \u201cWhat made the child eat a cucumber\nbefore going to bed? I didn\u2019t think she liked them.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt was that wretched Peter,\u201d sobbed Felicity indignantly. \u201cHe told her\nit would make her dream something extra.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat on earth did she want to dream for?\u201d demanded Aunt Janet in\nbewilderment.\n\n\u201cOh, to have something worth while to write in her dream book, ma. We\nall have dream books, you know, and every one wants their own to be the\nmost exciting--and we\u2019ve been eating rich things to make us dream--and\nit does--but if Cecily--oh, I\u2019ll never forgive myself,\u201d said Felicity,\nincoherently, letting all kinds of cats out of the bag in her excitement\nand alarm.\n\n\u201cWell, I wonder what on earth you young ones will do next,\u201d said Aunt\nJanet in the helpless tone of a woman who gives it up.\n\nCecily was no better when the doctor came. Like Aunt Janet, he declared\nthat cucumbers alone would not have made her so ill; but when he found\nout that she had drunk a glass of milk also the mystery was solved.\n\n\u201cWhy, milk and cucumbers together make a rank poison,\u201d he said. \u201cNo\nwonder the child is sick. There--there now--\u201d seeing the alarmed faces\naround him, \u201cdon\u2019t be frightened. As old Mrs. Fraser says, \u2018It\u2019s no\ndeidly.\u2019 It won\u2019t kill her, but she\u2019ll probably be a pretty miserable\ngirl for two or three days.\u201d\n\nShe was. And we were all miserable in company. Aunt Janet investigated\nthe whole affair and the matter of our dream books was aired in family\nconclave. I do not know which hurt our feelings most--the scolding\nwe got from Aunt Janet, or the ridicule which the other grown-ups,\nespecially Uncle Roger, showered on us. Peter received an extra \u201csetting\ndown,\u201d which he considered rank injustice.\n\n\u201cI didn\u2019t tell Cecily to drink the milk, and the cucumber alone wouldn\u2019t\nhave hurt her,\u201d he grumbled. Cecily was able to be out with us again\nthat day, so Peter felt that he might venture on a grumble. \u201c\u2018Sides, she\ncoaxed me to tell her what would be good for dreams. I just told her as\na favour. And now your Aunt Janet blames me for the whole trouble.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd Aunt Janet says we are never to have anything to eat before we go\nto bed after this except plain bread and milk,\u201d said Felix sadly.\n\n\u201cThey\u2019d like to stop us from dreaming altogether if they could,\u201d said\nthe Story Girl wrathfully.\n\n\u201cWell, anyway, they can\u2019t prevent us from growing up,\u201d consoled Dan.\n\n\u201cWe needn\u2019t worry about the bread and milk rule,\u201d added Felicity. \u201cMa\nmade a rule like that once before, and kept it for a week, and then we\njust slipped back to the old way. That will be what will happen this\ntime, too. But of course we won\u2019t be able to get any more rich things\nfor supper, and our dreams will be pretty flat after this.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, let\u2019s go down to the Pulpit Stone and I\u2019ll tell you a story I\nknow,\u201d said the Story Girl.\n\nWe went--and straightway drank of the waters of forgetfulness. In a\nbrief space we were laughing right merrily, no longer remembering our\nwrongs at the hands of those cruel grown-ups. Our laughter echoed back\nfrom the barns and the spruce grove, as if elfin denizens of upper air\nwere sharing in our mirth.\n\nPresently, also, the laughter of the grown-ups mingled with ours.\nAunt Olivia and Uncle Roger, Aunt Janet and Uncle Alec, came strolling\nthrough the orchard and joined our circle, as they sometimes did when\nthe toil of the day was over, and the magic time \u2018twixt light and dark\nbrought truce of care and labour. \u2018Twas then we liked our grown-ups\nbest, for then they seemed half children again. Uncle Roger and Uncle\nAlec lolled in the grass like boys; Aunt Olivia, looking more like a\npansy than ever in the prettiest dress of pale purple print, with a knot\nof yellow ribbon at her throat, sat with her arm about Cecily and smiled\non us all; and Aunt Janet\u2019s motherly face lost its every-day look of\nanxious care.\n\nThe Story Girl was in great fettle that night. Never had her tales\nsparkled with such wit and archness.\n\n\u201cSara Stanley,\u201d said Aunt Olivia, shaking her finger at her after a\nside-splitting yarn, \u201cif you don\u2019t watch out you\u2019ll be famous some day.\u201d\n\n\u201cThese funny stories are all right,\u201d said Uncle Roger, \u201cbut for real\nenjoyment give me something with a creep in it. Sara, tell us that story\nof the Serpent Woman I heard you tell one day last summer.\u201d\n\nThe Story Girl began it glibly. But before she had gone far with it,\nI, who was sitting beside her, felt an unaccountable repulsion creeping\nover me. For the first time since I had known her I wanted to draw away\nfrom the Story Girl. Looking around on the faces of the group, I saw\nthat they all shared my feeling. Cecily had put her hands over her eyes.\nPeter was staring at the Story Girl with a fascinated, horror-strickened\ngaze. Aunt Olivia was pale and troubled. All looked as if they were held\nprisoners in the bonds of a fearsome spell which they would gladly break\nbut could not.\n\nIt was not our Story Girl who sat there, telling that weird tale in\na sibilant, curdling voice. She had put on a new personality like a\ngarment, and that personality was a venomous, evil, loathly thing. I\nwould rather have died than have touched the slim, brown wrist on which\nshe supported herself. The light in her narrowed orbs was the cold,\nmerciless gleam of the serpent\u2019s eye. I felt frightened of this unholy\ncreature who had suddenly come in our dear Story Girl\u2019s place.\n\nWhen the tale ended there was a brief silence. Then Aunt Janet said\nseverely, but with a sigh of relief,\n\n\u201cLittle girls shouldn\u2019t tell such horrible stories.\u201d\n\nThis truly Aunt Janetian remark broke the spell. The grown-ups laughed,\nrather shakily, and the Story Girl--our own dear Story Girl once more,\nand no Serpent Woman--said protestingly,\n\n\u201cWell, Uncle Roger asked me to tell it. I don\u2019t like telling such\nstories either. They make me feel dreadful. Do you know, for just a\nlittle while, I felt exactly like a snake.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou looked like one,\u201d said Uncle Roger. \u201cHow on earth do you do it?\u201d\n\n\u201cI can\u2019t explain how I do it,\u201d said the Story Girl perplexedly. \u201cIt just\ndoes itself.\u201d\n\nGenius can never explain how it does it. It would not be genius if it\ncould. And the Story Girl had genius.\n\nAs we left the orchard I walked along behind Uncle Roger and Aunt\nOlivia.\n\n\u201cThat was an uncanny exhibition for a girl of fourteen, you know,\nRoger,\u201d said Aunt Olivia musingly. \u201cWhat is in store for that child?\u201d\n\n\u201cFame,\u201d said Uncle Roger. \u201cIf she ever has a chance, that is, and I\nsuppose her father will see to that. At least, I hope he will. You and\nI, Olivia, never had our chance. I hope Sara will have hers.\u201d\n\nThis was my first inkling of what I was to understand more fully in\nlater years. Uncle Roger and Aunt Olivia had both cherished certain\ndreams and ambitions in youth, but circumstances had denied them their\n\u201cchance\u201d and those dreams had never been fulfilled.\n\n\u201cSome day, Olivia,\u201d went on Uncle Roger, \u201cyou and I may find ourselves\nthe aunt and uncle of the foremost actress of her day. If a girl\nof fourteen can make a couple of practical farmers and a pair of\nmatter-of-fact housewives half believe for ten minutes that she really\nis a snake, what won\u2019t she be able to do when she is thirty? Here, you,\u201d\n added Uncle Roger, perceiving me, \u201ccut along and get off to your bed.\nAnd mind you don\u2019t eat cucumbers and milk before you go.\u201d\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIV. THE BEWITCHMENT OF PAT\n\nWe were all in the doleful dumps--at least, all we \u201cyoung fry\u201d were, and\neven the grown-ups were sorry and condescended to take an interest\nin our troubles. Pat, our own, dear, frolicsome Paddy, was sick\nagain--very, very sick.\n\nOn Friday he moped and refused his saucer of new milk at milking time.\nThe next morning he stretched himself down on the platform by Uncle\nRoger\u2019s back door, laid his head on his black paws, and refused to take\nany notice of anything or anybody. In vain we stroked and entreated and\nbrought him tidbits. Only when the Story Girl caressed him did he give\none plaintive little mew, as if to ask piteously why she could not do\nsomething for him. At that Cecily and Felicity and Sara Ray all began\ncrying, and we boys felt choky. Indeed, I caught Peter behind Aunt\nOlivia\u2019s dairy later in the day, and if ever a boy had been crying I vow\nthat boy was Peter. Nor did he deny it when I taxed him with it, but he\nwould not give in that he was crying about Paddy. Nonsense!\n\n\u201cWhat were you crying for, then?\u201d I said.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m crying because--because my Aunt Jane is dead,\u201d said Peter\ndefiantly.\n\n\u201cBut your Aunt Jane died two years ago,\u201d I said skeptically.\n\n\u201cWell, ain\u2019t that all the more reason for crying?\u201d retorted Peter. \u201cI\u2019ve\nhad to do without her for two years, and that\u2019s worse than if it had\njust been a few days.\u201d\n\n\u201cI believe you were crying because Pat is so sick,\u201d I said firmly.\n\n\u201cAs if I\u2019d cry about a cat!\u201d scoffed Peter. And he marched off\nwhistling.\n\nOf course we had tried the lard and powder treatment again, smearing\nPat\u2019s paws and sides liberally. But to our dismay, Pat made no effort to\nlick it off.\n\n\u201cI tell you he\u2019s a mighty sick cat,\u201d said Peter darkly. \u201cWhen a cat\ndon\u2019t care what he looks like he\u2019s pretty far gone.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf we only knew what was the matter with him we might do something,\u201d\n sobbed the Story Girl, stroking her poor pet\u2019s unresponsive head.\n\n\u201cI could tell you what\u2019s the matter with him, but you\u2019d only laugh at\nme,\u201d said Peter.\n\nWe all looked at him.\n\n\u201cPeter Craig, what do you mean?\u201d asked Felicity.\n\n\u201c\u2018Zackly what I say.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen, if you know what is the matter with Paddy, tell us,\u201d commanded\nthe Story Girl, standing up. She said it quietly; but Peter obeyed. I\nthink he would have obeyed if she, in that tone and with those eyes, had\nordered him to cast himself into the depths of the sea. I know I should.\n\n\u201cHe\u2019s BEWITCHED--that\u2019s what\u2019s the matter with him,\u201d said Peter, half\ndefiantly, half shamefacedly.\n\n\u201cBewitched? Nonsense!\u201d\n\n\u201cThere now, what did I tell you?\u201d complained Peter.\n\nThe Story Girl looked at Peter, at the rest of us, and then at poor Pat.\n\n\u201cHow could he be bewitched?\u201d she asked irresolutely, \u201cand who could\nbewitch him?\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t know HOW he was bewitched,\u201d said Peter. \u201cI\u2019d have to be a witch\nmyself to know that. But Peg Bowen bewitched him.\u201d\n\n\u201cNonsense!\u201d said the Story Girl again.\n\n\u201cAll right,\u201d said Peter. \u201cYou don\u2019t have to believe me.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf Peg Bowen could bewitch anything--and I don\u2019t believe she could--why\nshould she bewitch Pat?\u201d asked the Story Girl. \u201cEverybody here and at\nUncle Alec\u2019s is always kind to her.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll tell you why,\u201d said Peter. \u201cThursday afternoon, when you fellows\nwere all in school, Peg Bowen came here. Your Aunt Olivia gave her a\nlunch--a good one. You may laugh at the notion of Peg being a witch,\nbut I notice your folks are always awful good to her when she comes, and\nawful careful never to offend her.\u201d\n\n\u201cAunt Olivia would be good to any poor creature, and so would mother,\u201d\n said Felicity. \u201cAnd of course nobody wants to offend Peg, because she\nis spiteful, and she once set fire to a man\u2019s barn in Markdale when he\noffended her. But she isn\u2019t a witch--that\u2019s ridiculous.\u201d\n\n\u201cAll right. But wait till I tell you. When Peg Bowen was leaving Pat\nstretched out on the steps. She tramped on his tail. You know Pat\ndoesn\u2019t like to have his tail meddled with. He slewed himself round and\nclawed her bare foot. If you\u2019d just seen the look she gave him you\u2019d\nknow whether she was a witch or not. And she went off down the lane,\nmuttering and throwing her hands round, just like she did in Lem Hill\u2019s\ncow pasture. She put a spell on Pat, that\u2019s what she did. He was sick\nthe next morning.\u201d\n\nWe looked at each other in miserable, perplexed silence. We were only\nchildren--and we believed that there had been such things as witches\nonce upon a time--and Peg Bowen WAS an eerie creature.\n\n\u201cIf that\u2019s so--though I can\u2019t believe it--we can\u2019t do anything,\u201d said\nthe Story Girl drearily. \u201cPat must die.\u201d\n\nCecily began to weep afresh.\n\n\u201cI\u2019d do anything to save Pat\u2019s life,\u201d she said. \u201cI\u2019d BELIEVE anything.\u201d\n\n\u201cThere\u2019s nothing we can do,\u201d said Felicity impatiently.\n\n\u201cI suppose,\u201d sobbed Cecily, \u201cwe might go to Peg Bowen and ask her to\nforgive Pat and take the spell off him. She might, if we apologized real\nhumble.\u201d\n\nAt first we were appalled by the suggestion. We didn\u2019t believe that Peg\nBowen was a witch. But to go to her--to seek her out in that mysterious\nwoodland retreat of hers which was invested with all the terrors of the\nunknown! And that this suggestion should come from timid Cecily, of all\npeople! But then, there was poor Pat!\n\n\u201cWould it do any good?\u201d said the Story Girl desperately. \u201cEven if she\ndid make Pat sick I suppose it would only make her crosser if we went\nand accused her of bewitching him. Besides, she didn\u2019t do anything of\nthe sort.\u201d\n\nBut there was some uncertainty in the Story Girl\u2019s voice.\n\n\u201cIt wouldn\u2019t do any harm to try,\u201d said Cecily. \u201cIf she didn\u2019t make him\nsick it won\u2019t matter if she is cross.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt won\u2019t matter to Pat, but it might to the one who goes to her,\u201d\n said Felicity. \u201cShe isn\u2019t a witch, but she\u2019s a spiteful old woman, and\ngoodness knows what she\u2019d do to us if she caught us. I\u2019m scared of Peg\nBowen, and I don\u2019t care who knows it. Ever since I can mind ma\u2019s been\nsaying, \u2018If you\u2019re not good Peg Bowen will catch you.\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cIf I thought she really made Pat sick and could make him better,\nI\u2019d try to pacify her somehow,\u201d said the Story Girl decidedly. \u201cI\u2019m\nfrightened of her, too--but just look at poor, darling Paddy.\u201d\n\nWe looked at Paddy who continued to stare fixedly before him with\nunwinking eyes. Uncle Roger came out and looked at him also, with what\nseemed to us positively brutal unconcern.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m afraid it\u2019s all up with Pat,\u201d he said.\n\n\u201cUncle Roger,\u201d said Cecily imploringly, \u201cPeter says Peg Bowen has\nbewitched Pat for scratching her. Do you think it can be so?\u201d\n\n\u201cDid Pat scratch Peg?\u201d asked Uncle Roger, with a horror-stricken face.\n\u201cDear me! Dear me! That mystery is solved. Poor Pat!\u201d\n\nUncle Roger nodded his head, as if resigning himself and Pat to the\nworst.\n\n\u201cDo you really think Peg Bowen is a witch, Uncle Roger?\u201d demanded the\nStory Girl incredulously.\n\n\u201cDo I think Peg Bowen is a witch? My dear Sara, what do YOU think of a\nwoman who can turn herself into a black cat whenever she likes? Is she a\nwitch? Or is she not? I leave it to you.\u201d\n\n\u201cCan Peg Bowen turn herself into a black cat?\u201d asked Felix, staring.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s my belief that that is the least of Peg Bowen\u2019s accomplishments,\u201d\n answered Uncle Roger. \u201cIt\u2019s the easiest thing in the world for a witch\nto turn herself into any animal you choose to mention. Yes, Pat is\nbewitched--no doubt of that--not the least in the world.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat are you telling those children such stuff for?\u201d asked Aunt Olivia,\npassing on her way to the well.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s an irresistible temptation,\u201d answered Uncle Roger, strolling over\nto carry her pail.\n\n\u201cYou can see your Uncle Roger believes Peg is a witch,\u201d said Peter.\n\n\u201cAnd you can see Aunt Olivia doesn\u2019t,\u201d I said, \u201cand I don\u2019t either.\u201d\n\n\u201cSee here,\u201d said the Story Girl resolutely, \u201cI don\u2019t believe it, but\nthere MAY be something in it. Suppose there is. The question is, what\ncan we do?\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll tell you what I\u2019D do,\u201d said Peter. \u201cI\u2019d take a present for Peg,\nand ask her to make Pat well. I wouldn\u2019t let on I thought she\u2019d made\nhim sick. Then she couldn\u2019t be offended--and maybe she\u2019d take the spell\noff.\u201d\n\n\u201cI think we\u2019d better all give her something,\u201d said Felicity. \u201cI\u2019m\nwilling to do that. But who\u2019s going to take the presents to her?\u201d\n\n\u201cWe must all go together,\u201d said the Story Girl.\n\n\u201cI won\u2019t,\u201d cried Sara Ray in terror. \u201cI wouldn\u2019t go near Peg Bowen\u2019s\nhouse for the world, no matter who was with me.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019ve thought of a plan,\u201d said the Story Girl. \u201cLet\u2019s all give her\nsomething, as Felicity says. And let us all go up to her place this\nevening, and if we see her outside we\u2019ll just go quietly and set\nthe things down before her with the letter, and say nothing but come\nrespectfully away.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf she\u2019ll let us,\u201d said Dan significantly.\n\n\u201cCan Peg read a letter?\u201d I asked.\n\n\u201cOh, yes. Aunt Olivia says she is a good scholar. She went to school and\nwas a smart girl until she became crazy. We\u2019ll write it very plain.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat if we don\u2019t see her?\u201d asked Felicity.\n\n\u201cWe\u2019ll put the things on her doorstep then and leave them.\u201d\n\n\u201cShe may be miles away over the country by this time,\u201d sighed Cecily,\n\u201cand never find them until it\u2019s too late for Pat. But it\u2019s the only\nthing to do. What can we give her?\u201d\n\n\u201cWe mustn\u2019t offer her any money,\u201d said the Story Girl. \u201cShe\u2019s very\nindignant when any one does that. She says she isn\u2019t a beggar. But\nshe\u2019ll take anything else. I shall give her my string of blue beads.\nShe\u2019s fond of finery.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll give her that sponge cake I made this morning,\u201d said Felicity. \u201cI\nguess she doesn\u2019t get sponge cake very often.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019ve nothing but the rheumatism ring I got as a premium for selling\nneedles last winter,\u201d said Peter. \u201cI\u2019ll give her that. Even if she\nhasn\u2019t got rheumatism it\u2019s a real handsome ring. It looks like solid\ngold.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll give her a roll of peppermint candy,\u201d said Felix.\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll give one of those little jars of cherry preserve I made,\u201d said\nCecily.\n\n\u201cI won\u2019t go near her,\u201d quavered Sara Ray, \u201cbut I want to do something\nfor Pat, and I\u2019ll send that piece of apple leaf lace I knit last week.\u201d\n\nI decided to give the redoubtable Peg some apples from my birthday tree,\nand Dan declared he would give her a plug of tobacco.\n\n\u201cOh, won\u2019t she be insulted?\u201d exclaimed Felix, rather horrified.\n\n\u201cNaw,\u201d grinned Dan. \u201cPeg chews tobacco like a man. She\u2019d rather have\nit than your rubbishy peppermints, I can tell you. I\u2019ll run down to old\nMrs. Sampson\u2019s and get a plug.\u201d\n\n\u201cNow, we must write the letter and take it and the presents to her right\naway, before it gets dark,\u201d said the Story Girl.\n\nWe adjourned to the granary to indite the important document, which the\nStory Girl was to compose.\n\n\u201cHow shall I begin it?\u201d she asked in perplexity. \u201cIt would never do to\nsay, \u2018Dear Peg,\u2019 and \u2018Dear Miss Bowen\u2019 sounds too ridiculous.\u201d\n\n\u201cBesides, nobody knows whether she is Miss Bowen or not,\u201d said Felicity.\n\u201cShe went to Boston when she grew up, and some say she was married there\nand her husband deserted her, and that\u2019s why she went crazy. If she\u2019s\nmarried, she won\u2019t like being called Miss.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, how am I to address her?\u201d asked the Story Girl in despair.\n\nPeter again came to the rescue with a practical suggestion.\n\n\u201cBegin it, \u2018Respected Madam,\u2019\u201d he said. \u201cMa has a letter a school\ntrustee once writ to my Aunt Jane and that\u2019s how it begins.\u201d\n\n\u201cRespected Madam,\u201d wrote the Story Girl. \u201cWe want to ask a very great\nfavour of you and we hope you will kindly grant it if you can. Our\nfavourite cat, Paddy, is very sick, and we are afraid he is going to\ndie. Do you think you could cure him? And will you please try? We are\nall so fond of him, and he is such a good cat, and has no bad habits. Of\ncourse, if any of us tramps on his tail he will scratch us, but you know\na cat can\u2019t bear to have his tail tramped on. It\u2019s a very tender part\nof him, and it\u2019s his only way of preventing it, and he doesn\u2019t mean any\nharm. If you can cure Paddy for us we will always be very, very grateful\nto you. The accompanying small offerings are a testimonial of our\nrespect and gratitude, and we entreat you to honour us by accepting\nthem.\n\n\u201cVery respectfully yours,\n\n\u201cSARA STANLEY.\u201d\n\n\u201cI tell you that last sentence has a fine sound,\u201d said Peter admiringly.\n\n\u201cI didn\u2019t make that up,\u201d admitted the Story Girl honestly. \u201cI read it\nsomewhere and remembered it.\u201d\n\n\u201cI think it\u2019s TOO fine,\u201d criticized Felicity. \u201cPeg Bowen won\u2019t know the\nmeaning of such big words.\u201d\n\nBut it was decided to leave them in and we all signed the letter.\n\nThen we got our \u201ctestimonials,\u201d and started on our reluctant journey\nto the domains of the witch. Sara Ray would not go, of course, but she\nvolunteered to stay with Pat while we were away. We did not think\nit necessary to inform the grown-ups of our errand, or its nature.\nGrown-ups had such peculiar views. They might forbid our going at\nall--and they would certainly laugh at us.\n\nPeg Bowen\u2019s house was nearly a mile away, even by the short cut past the\nswamp and up the wooded hill. We went down through the brook field and\nover the little plank bridge in the hollow, half lost in its surrounding\nsea of farewell summers. When we reached the green gloom of the woods\nbeyond we began to feel frightened, but nobody would admit it. We\nwalked very closely together, and we did not talk. When you are near the\nretreat of witches and folk of that ilk the less you say the better, for\ntheir feelings are so notoriously touchy. Of course, Peg wasn\u2019t a witch,\nbut it was best to be on the safe side.\n\nFinally we came to the lane which led directly to her abode. We were all\nvery pale now, and our hearts were beating. The red September sun hung\nlow between the tall spruces to the west. It did not look to me just\nright for a sun. In fact, everything looked uncanny. I wished our errand\nwere well over.\n\nA sudden bend in the lane brought us out to the little clearing where\nPeg\u2019s house was before we were half ready to see it. In spite of my fear\nI looked at it with some curiosity. It was a small, shaky building with\na sagging roof, set amid a perfect jungle of weeds. To our eyes, the odd\nthing about it was that there was no entrance on the ground floor, as\nthere should be in any respectable house. The only door was in the upper\nstory, and was reached by a flight of rickety steps. There was no sign\nof life about the place except--sight of ill omen--a large black cat,\nsitting on the topmost step. We thought of Uncle Roger\u2019s gruesome hints.\nCould that black cat be Peg? Nonsense! But still--it didn\u2019t look like\nan ordinary cat. It was so large--and had such green, malicious eyes!\nPlainly, there was something out of the common about the beastie!\n\nIn a tense, breathless silence the Story Girl placed our parcels on\nthe lowest step, and laid her letter on the top of the pile. Her brown\nfingers trembled and her face was very pale.\n\nSuddenly the door above us opened, and Peg Bowen herself appeared on the\nthreshold. She was a tall, sinewy old woman, wearing a short, ragged,\ndrugget skirt which reached scantly below her knees, a scarlet print\nblouse, and a man\u2019s hat. Her feet, arms, and neck were bare, and she had\na battered old clay pipe in her mouth. Her brown face was seamed with a\nhundred wrinkles, and her tangled, grizzled hair fell unkemptly over\nher shoulders. She was scowling, and her flashing black eyes held no\nfriendly light.\n\nWe had borne up bravely enough hitherto, in spite of our inward,\nunconfessed quakings. But now our strained nerves gave way, and sheer\npanic seized us. Peter gave a little yelp of pure terror. We turned and\nfled across the clearing and into the woods. Down the long hill we tore,\nlike mad, hunted creatures, firmly convinced that Peg Bowen was after\nus. Wild was that scamper, as nightmare-like as any recorded in our\ndream books. The Story Girl was in front of me, and I can recall the\ntremendous leaps she made over fallen logs and little spruce bushes,\nwith her long brown curls streaming out behind her from their scarlet\nfillet. Cecily, behind me, kept gasping out the contradictory sentences,\n\u201cOh, Bev, wait for me,\u201d and \u201cOh, Bev, hurry, hurry!\u201d More by blind\ninstinct than anything else we kept together and found our way out of\nthe woods. Presently we were in the field beyond the brook. Over us was\na dainty sky of shell pink, placid cows were pasturing around us; the\nfarewell summers nodded to us in the friendly breezes. We halted, with a\nglad realization that we were back in our own haunts and that Peg Bowen\nhad not caught us.\n\n\u201cOh, wasn\u2019t that an awful experience?\u201d gasped Cecily, shuddering. \u201cI\nwouldn\u2019t go through it again--I couldn\u2019t, not even for Pat.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt come on a fellow so suddent,\u201d said Peter shamefacedly. \u201cI think I\ncould a-stood my ground if I\u2019d known she was going to come out. But when\nshe popped out like that I thought I was done for.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe shouldn\u2019t have run,\u201d said Felicity gloomily. \u201cIt showed we were\nafraid of her, and that always makes her awful cross. She won\u2019t do a\nthing for Pat now.\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t believe she could do anything, anyway,\u201d said the Story Girl. \u201cI\nthink we\u2019ve just been a lot of geese.\u201d\n\nWe were all, except Peter, more or less inclined to agree with her. And\nthe conviction of our folly deepened when we reached the granary and\nfound that Pat, watched over by the faithful Sara Ray, was no better.\nThe Story Girl announced that she would take him into the kitchen and\nsit up all night with him.\n\n\u201cHe sha\u2019n\u2019t die alone, anyway,\u201d she said miserably, gathering his limp\nbody up in her arms.\n\nWe did not think Aunt Olivia would give her permission to stay up; but\nAunt Olivia did. Aunt Olivia really was a duck. We wanted to stay with\nher also, but Aunt Janet wouldn\u2019t hear of such a thing. She ordered us\noff to bed, saying that it was positively sinful in us to be so worked\nup over a cat. Five heart-broken children, who knew that there are many\nworse friends than dumb, furry folk, climbed Uncle Alec\u2019s stairs to bed\nthat night.\n\n\u201cThere\u2019s nothing we can do now, except pray God to make Pat better,\u201d\n said Cecily.\n\nI must candidly say that her tone savoured strongly of a last resort;\nbut this was owing more to early training than to any lack of faith on\nCecily\u2019s part. She knew and we knew, that prayer was a solemn rite, not\nto be lightly held, nor degraded to common uses. Felicity voiced this\nconviction when she said,\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t believe it would be right to pray about a cat.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019d like to know why not,\u201d retorted Cecily, \u201cGod made Paddy just as\nmuch as He made you, Felicity King, though perhaps He didn\u2019t go to\nso much trouble. And I\u2019m sure He\u2019s abler to help him than Peg Bowen.\nAnyhow, I\u2019m going to pray for Pat with all my might and main, and I\u2019d\nlike to see you try to stop me. Of course I won\u2019t mix it up with more\nimportant things. I\u2019ll just tack it on after I\u2019ve finished asking the\nblessings, but before I say amen.\u201d\n\nMore petitions than Cecily\u2019s were offered up that night on behalf of\nPaddy. I distinctly heard Felix--who always said his prayers in a loud\nwhisper, owing to some lasting conviction of early life that God could\nnot hear him if he did not pray audibly--mutter pleadingly, after the\n\u201cimportant\u201d part of his devotions was over, \u201cOh, God, please make Pat\nbetter by the morning. PLEASE do.\u201d\n\nAnd I, even in these late years of irreverence for the dreams of youth,\nam not in the least ashamed to confess that when I knelt down to say my\nboyish prayer, I thought of our little furry comrade in his extremity,\nand prayed as reverently as I knew how for his healing. Then I went to\nsleep, comforted by the simple hope that the Great Father would, after\n\u201cimportant things\u201d were all attended to, remember poor Pat.\n\nAs soon as we were up the next morning we rushed off to Uncle Roger\u2019s.\nBut we met Peter and the Story Girl in the lane, and their faces were as\nthe faces of those who bring glad tidings upon the mountains.\n\n\u201cPat\u2019s better,\u201d cried the Story Girl, blithe, triumphant. \u201cLast night,\njust at twelve, he began to lick his paws. Then he licked himself all\nover and went to sleep, too, on the sofa. When I woke Pat was washing\nhis face, and he has taken a whole saucerful of milk. Oh, isn\u2019t it\nsplendid?\u201d\n\n\u201cYou see Peg Bowen did put a spell on him,\u201d said Peter, \u201cand then she\ntook it off.\u201d\n\n\u201cI guess Cecily\u2019s prayer had more to do with Pat\u2019s getting better than\nPeg Bowen,\u201d said Felicity. \u201cShe prayed for Pat over and over again. That\nis why he\u2019s better.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, all right,\u201d said Peter, \u201cbut I\u2019d advise Pat not to scratch Peg\nBowen again, that\u2019s all.\u201d\n\n\u201cI wish I knew whether it was the praying or Peg Bowen that cured Pat,\u201d\n said Felix in perplexity.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t believe it was either of them,\u201d said Dan. \u201cPat just got sick\nand got better again of his own accord.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019m going to believe that it was the praying,\u201d said Cecily decidedly.\n\u201cIt\u2019s so much nicer to believe that God cured Pat than that Peg Bowen\ndid.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut you oughtn\u2019t to believe a thing just \u2018cause it would be more\ncomfortable,\u201d objected Peter. \u201cMind you, I ain\u2019t saying God couldn\u2019t\ncure Pat. But nothing and nobody can\u2019t ever make me believe that Peg\nBowen wasn\u2019t at the bottom of it all.\u201d\n\nThus faith, superstition, and incredulity strove together amongst us, as\nin all history.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXV. A CUP OF FAILURE\n\nOne warm Sunday evening in the moon of golden-rod, we all, grown-ups and\nchildren, were sitting in the orchard by the Pulpit Stone singing sweet\nold gospel hymns. We could all sing more or less, except poor Sara Ray,\nwho had once despairingly confided to me that she didn\u2019t know what she\u2019d\never do when she went to heaven, because she couldn\u2019t sing a note.\n\nThat whole scene comes out clearly for me in memory--the arc of primrose\nsky over the trees behind the old house, the fruit-laden boughs of the\norchard, the bank of golden-rod, like a wave of sunshine, behind the\nPulpit Stone, the nameless colour seen on a fir wood in a ruddy sunset.\nI can see Uncle Alec\u2019s tired, brilliant, blue eyes, Aunt Janet\u2019s\nwholesome, matronly face, Uncle Roger\u2019s sweeping blond beard and red\ncheeks, and Aunt Olivia\u2019s full-blown beauty. Two voices ring out for\nme above all others in the music that echoes through the halls of\nrecollection. Cecily\u2019s sweet and silvery, and Uncle Alec\u2019s fine tenor.\n\u201cIf you\u2019re a King, you sing,\u201d was a Carlisle proverb in those days. Aunt\nJulia had been the flower of the flock in that respect and had become a\nnoted concert singer. The world had never heard of the rest. Their music\nechoed only along the hidden ways of life, and served but to lighten the\ncares of the trivial round and common task.\n\nThat evening, after they tired of singing, our grown-ups began talking\nof their youthful days and doings.\n\nThis was always a keen delight to us small fry. We listened avidly to\nthe tales of our uncles and aunts in the days when they, too--hard fact\nto realize--had been children. Good and proper as they were now, once,\nso it seemed, they had gotten into mischief and even had their quarrels\nand disagreements. On this particular evening Uncle Roger told many\nstories of Uncle Edward, and one in which the said Edward had preached\nsermons at the mature age of ten from the Pulpit Stone fired, as the\nsequel will show, the Story Girl\u2019s imagination.\n\n\u201cCan\u2019t I just see him at it now,\u201d said Uncle Roger, \u201cleaning over\nthat old boulder, his cheeks red and his eyes burning with excitement,\nbanging the top of it as he had seen the ministers do in church. It\nwasn\u2019t cushioned, however, and he always bruised his hands in his\nself-forgetful earnestness. We thought him a regular wonder. We loved to\nhear him preach, but we didn\u2019t like to hear him pray, because he\nalways insisted on praying for each of us by name, and it made us feel\nwretchedly uncomfortable, somehow. Alec, do you remember how furious\nJulia was because Edward prayed one day that she might be preserved from\nvanity and conceit over her singing?\u201d\n\n\u201cI should think I do,\u201d laughed Uncle Alec. \u201cShe was sitting right there\nwhere Cecily is now, and she got up at once and marched right out of the\norchard, but at the gate she turned to call back indignantly, \u2018I guess\nyou\u2019d better wait till you\u2019ve prayed the conceit out of yourself before\nyou begin on me, Ned King. I never heard such stuck-up sermons as you\npreach.\u2019 Ned went on praying and never let on he heard her, but at the\nend of his prayer he wound up with \u2018Oh, God, I pray you to keep an\neye on us all, but I pray you to pay particular attention to my sister\nJulia, for I think she needs it even more than the rest of us, world\nwithout end, Amen.\u2019\u201d\n\nOur uncles roared with laughter over the recollection. We all laughed,\nindeed, especially over another tale in which Uncle Edward, leaning too\nfar over the \u201cpulpit\u201d in his earnestness, lost his balance altogether\nand tumbled ingloriously into the grass below.\n\n\u201cHe lit on a big Scotch thistle,\u201d said Uncle Roger, chuckling, \u201cand\nbesides that, he skinned his forehead on a stone. But he was determined\nto finish his sermon, and finish it he did. He climbed back into the\npulpit, with the tears rolling over his cheeks, and preached for\nten minutes longer, with sobs in his voice and drops of blood on his\nforehead. He was a plucky little beggar. No wonder he succeeded in\nlife.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd his sermons and prayers were always just about as outspoken as\nthose Julia objected to,\u201d said Uncle Alec. \u201cWell, we\u2019re all getting on\nin life and Edward is gray; but when I think of him I always see him\na little, rosy, curly-headed chap, laying down the law to us from\nthe Pulpit Stone. It seems like the other day that we were all\nhere together, just as these children are, and now we are scattered\neverywhere. Julia in California, Edward in Halifax, Alan in South\nAmerica, Felix and Felicity and Stephen gone to the land that is very\nfar off.\u201d\n\nThere was a little space of silence; and then Uncle Alec began, in a\nlow, impressive voice, to repeat the wonderful verses of the ninetieth\nPsalm--verses which were thenceforth bound up for us with the beauty\nof that night and the memories of our kindred. Very reverently we all\nlistened to the majestic words.\n\n\u201cLord, thou hast been our dwelling place in all generations. Before the\nmountains were brought forth, or ever thou hadst formed the earth and\nthe world, even from everlasting to everlasting thou art God.... For a\nthousand years in thy sight are but as yesterday when it is past, and as\na watch in the night.... For all our days are passed away in thy wrath;\nwe spend our years as a tale that is told. The days of our years are\nthreescore and ten; and if by reason of strength they be fourscore years\nyet is their strength, labour and sorrow; for it is soon cut off and we\nfly away.... So teach us to number our days that we may apply our hearts\nunto wisdom.... Oh, satisfy us early with thy mercy; that we may rejoice\nand be glad all our days.... And let the beauty of the Lord our God be\nupon us; and establish thou the work of our hands upon us; yea, the work\nof our hands establish thou it.\u201d\n\nThe dusk crept into the orchard like a dim, bewitching personality. You\ncould see her--feel her--hear her. She tiptoed softly from tree to\ntree, ever drawing nearer. Presently her filmy wings hovered over us and\nthrough them gleamed the early stars of the autumn night.\n\nThe grown-ups rose reluctantly and strolled away; but we children\nlingered for a moment to talk over an idea the Story Girl broached--a\ngood idea, we thought enthusiastically, and one that promised to add\nconsiderable spice to life.\n\nWe were on the lookout for some new amusement. Dream books had begun to\npall. We no longer wrote in them very regularly, and our dreams were not\nwhat they used to be before the mischance of the cucumber. So the Story\nGirl\u2019s suggestion came pat to the psychological moment.\n\n\u201cI\u2019ve thought of a splendid plan,\u201d she said. \u201cIt just flashed into my\nmind when the uncles were talking about Uncle Edward. And the beauty of\nit is we can play it on Sundays, and you know there are so few things it\nis proper to play on Sundays. But this is a Christian game, so it will\nbe all right.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt isn\u2019t like the religious fruit basket game, is it?\u201d asked Cecily\nanxiously.\n\nWe had good reason to hope that it wasn\u2019t. One desperate Sunday\nafternoon, when we had nothing to read and the time seemed endless,\nFelix had suggested that we have a game of fruit-basket; only instead\nof taking the names of fruits, we were to take the names of Bible\ncharacters. This, he argued, would make it quite lawful and proper to\nplay on Sunday. We, too desirous of being convinced, also thought so;\nand for a merry hour Lazarus and Martha and Moses and Aaron and sundry\nother worthies of Holy Writ had a lively time of it in the King orchard.\nPeter having a Scriptural name of his own, did not want to take another;\nbut we would not allow this, because it would give him an unfair\nadvantage over the rest of us. It would be so much easier to call\nout your own name than fit your tongue to an unfamiliar one. So Peter\nretaliated by choosing Nebuchadnezzar, which no one could ever utter\nthree times before Peter shrieked it out once.\n\nIn the midst of our hilarity, however, Uncle Alec and Aunt Janet came\ndown upon us. It is best to draw a veil over what followed. Suffice it\nto say that the recollection gave point to Cecily\u2019s question.\n\n\u201cNo, it isn\u2019t that sort of game at all,\u201d said the Story Girl. \u201cIt is\nthis; each of you boys must preach a sermon, as Uncle Edward used to\ndo. One of you next Sunday, and another the next, and so on. And whoever\npreaches the best sermon is to get a prize.\u201d\n\nDan promptly declared he wouldn\u2019t try to preach a sermon; but Peter,\nFelix and I thought the suggestion a very good one. Secretly, I believed\nI could cut quite a fine figure preaching a sermon.\n\n\u201cWho\u2019ll give the prize?\u201d asked Felix.\n\n\u201cI will,\u201d said the Story Girl. \u201cI\u2019ll give that picture father sent me\nlast week.\u201d\n\nAs the said picture was an excellent copy of one of Landseer\u2019s stags,\nFelix and I were well pleased; but Peter averred that he would rather\nhave the Madonna that looked like his Aunt Jane, and the Story Girl\nagreed that if his sermon was the best she would give him that.\n\n\u201cBut who\u2019s to be the judge?\u201d I said, \u201cand what kind of a sermon would\nyou call the best?\u201d\n\n\u201cThe one that makes the most impression,\u201d answered the Story Girl\npromptly. \u201cAnd we girls must be the judges, because there\u2019s nobody else.\nNow, who is to preach next Sunday?\u201d\n\nIt was decided that I should lead off, and I lay awake for an extra hour\nthat night thinking what text I should take for the following Sunday.\nThe next day I bought two sheets of foolscap from the schoolmaster, and\nafter tea I betook myself to the granary, barred the door, and fell\nto writing my sermon. I did not find it as easy a task as I had\nanticipated; but I pegged grimly away at it, and by dint of severe\nlabour for two evenings I eventually got my four pages of foolscap\nfilled, although I had to pad the subject-matter not a little with\nverses of quotable hymns. I had decided to preach on missions, as being\na topic more within my grasp than abstruse theological doctrines\nor evangelical discourses; and, mindful of the need of making an\nimpression, I drew a harrowing picture of the miserable plight of the\nheathen who in their darkness bowed down to wood and stone. Then I urged\nour responsibility concerning them, and meant to wind up by reciting,\nin a very solemn and earnest voice, the verse beginning, \u201cCan we whose\nsouls are lighted.\u201d When I had completed my sermon I went over it very\ncarefully again and wrote with red ink--Cecily made it for me out of an\naniline dye--the word \u201cthump\u201d wherever I deemed it advisable to chastise\nthe pulpit.\n\nI have that sermon still, all its red thumps unfaded, lying beside my\ndream book; but I am not going to inflict it on my readers. I am not so\nproud of it as I once was. I was really puffed up with earthly vanity\nover it at that time. Felix, I thought, would be hard put to it to beat\nit. As for Peter, I did not consider him a rival to be feared. It was\nunsupposable that a hired boy, with little education and less experience\nof church-going, should be able to preach better than could I, in whose\nfamily there was a real minister.\n\nThe sermon written, the next thing was to learn it off by heart and then\npractise it, thumps included, until I was letter and gesture perfect. I\npreached it over several times in the granary with only Paddy, sitting\nimmovably on a puncheon, for audience. Paddy stood the test fairly well.\nAt least, he made an adorable listener, save at such times as imaginary\nrats distracted his attention.\n\nMr. Marwood had at least three absorbed listeners the next Sunday\nmorning. Felix, Peter and I were all among the chiels who were taking\nmental notes on the art of preaching a sermon. Not a motion, or glance,\nor intonation escaped us. To be sure, none of us could remember the text\nwhen we got home; but we knew just how you should throw back your head\nand clutch the edge of the pulpit with both hands when you announced it.\n\nIn the afternoon we all repaired to the orchard, Bibles and hymn books\nin hand. We did not think it necessary to inform the grown-ups of what\nwas in the wind. You could never tell what kink a grown-up would take.\nThey might not think it proper to play any sort of a game on Sunday,\nnot even a Christian game. Least said was soonest mended where grown-ups\nwere concerned.\n\nI mounted the pulpit steps, feeling rather nervous, and my audience sat\ngravely down on the grass before me. Our opening exercises consisted\nsolely of singing and reading. We had agreed to omit prayer. Neither\nFelix, Peter nor I felt equal to praying in public. But we took up\na collection. The proceeds were to go to missions. Dan passed the\nplate--Felicity\u2019s rosebud plate--looking as preternaturally solemn as\nElder Frewen himself. Every one put a cent on it.\n\nWell, I preached my sermon. And it fell horribly flat. I realized that,\nbefore I was half way through it. I think I preached it very well; and\nnever a thump did I forget or misplace. But my audience was plainly\nbored. When I stepped down from the pulpit, after demanding passionately\nif we whose souls were lighted and so forth, I felt with secret\nhumiliation that my sermon was a failure. It had made no impression at\nall. Felix would be sure to get the prize.\n\n\u201cThat was a very good sermon for a first attempt,\u201d said the Story Girl\ngraciously. \u201cIt sounded just like real sermons I have heard.\u201d\n\nFor a moment the charm of her voice made me feel that I had not done so\nbadly after all; but the other girls, thinking it their duty to pay\nme some sort of a compliment also, quickly dispelled that pleasing\ndelusion.\n\n\u201cEvery word of it was true,\u201d said Cecily, her tone unconsciously\nimplying that this was its sole merit.\n\n\u201cI often feel,\u201d said Felicity primly, \u201cthat we don\u2019t think enough about\nthe heathens. We ought to think a great deal more.\u201d\n\nSara Ray put the finishing touch to my mortification.\n\n\u201cIt was so nice and short,\u201d she said.\n\n\u201cWhat was the matter with my sermon?\u201d I asked Dan that night. Since he\nwas neither judge nor competitor I could discuss the matter with him.\n\n\u201cIt was too much like a reg\u2019lar sermon to be interesting,\u201d said Dan\nfrankly.\n\n\u201cI should think the more like a regular sermon it was, the better,\u201d I\nsaid.\n\n\u201cNot if you want to make an impression,\u201d said Dan seriously. \u201cYou\nmust have something sort of different for that. Peter, now, HE\u2019LL have\nsomething different.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, Peter! I don\u2019t believe he can preach a sermon,\u201d I said.\n\n\u201cMaybe not, but you\u2019ll see he\u2019ll make an impression,\u201d said Dan.\n\nDan was neither the prophet nor the son of a prophet, but he had the\nsecond sight for once; Peter DID make an impression.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVI. PETER MAKES AN IMPRESSION\n\nPeter\u2019s turn came next. He did not write his sermon out. That, he\naverred, was too hard work. Nor did he mean to take a text.\n\n\u201cWhy, who ever heard of a sermon without a text?\u201d asked Felix blankly.\n\n\u201cI am going to take a SUBJECT instead of a text,\u201d said Peter loftily. \u201cI\nain\u2019t going to tie myself down to a text. And I\u2019m going to have heads in\nit--three heads. You hadn\u2019t a single head in yours,\u201d he added to me.\n\n\u201cUncle Alec says that Uncle Edward says that heads are beginning to go\nout of fashion,\u201d I said defiantly--all the more defiantly that I felt I\nshould have had heads in my sermon. It would doubtless have made a much\ndeeper impression. But the truth was I had forgotten all about such\nthings.\n\n\u201cWell, I\u2019m going to have them, and I don\u2019t care if they are\nunfashionable,\u201d said Peter. \u201cThey\u2019re good things. Aunt Jane used to say\nif a man didn\u2019t have heads and stick to them he\u2019d go wandering all over\nthe Bible and never get anywhere in particular.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat are you going to preach on?\u201d asked Felix.\n\n\u201cYou\u2019ll find out next Sunday,\u201d said Peter significantly.\n\nThe next Sunday was in October, and a lovely day it was, warm and bland\nas June. There was something in the fine, elusive air, that recalled\nbeautiful, forgotten things and suggested delicate future hopes. The\nwoods had wrapped fine-woven gossamers about them and the westering hill\nwas crimson and gold.\n\nWe sat around the Pulpit Stone and waited for Peter and Sara Ray. It was\nthe former\u2019s Sunday off and he had gone home the night before, but he\nassured us he would be back in time to preach his sermon. Presently he\narrived and mounted the granite boulder as if to the manor born. He was\ndressed in his new suit and I, perceiving this, felt that he had the\nadvantage of me. When I preached I had to wear my second best suit, for\nit was one of Aunt Janet\u2019s laws that we should take our good suits off\nwhen we came home from church. There were, I saw, compensations for\nbeing a hired boy.\n\nPeter made quite a handsome little minister, in his navy blue coat,\nwhite collar, and neatly bowed tie. His black eyes shone, and his black\ncurls were brushed up in quite a ministerial pompadour, but threatened\nto tumble over at the top in graceless ringlets.\n\nIt was decided that there was no use in waiting for Sara Ray, who might\nor might not come, according to the humour in which her mother was.\nTherefore Peter proceeded with the service.\n\nHe read the chapter and gave out the hymn with as much SANG FROID as if\nhe had been doing it all his life. Mr. Marwood himself could not have\nbettered the way in which Peter said,\n\n\u201cWe will sing the whole hymn, omitting the fourth stanza.\u201d\n\nThat was a fine touch which I had not thought of. I began to think that,\nafter all, Peter might be a foeman worthy of my steel.\n\nWhen Peter was ready to begin he thrust his hands into his pockets--a\ntotally unorthodox thing. Then he plunged in without further ado,\nspeaking in his ordinary conversational tone--another unorthodox thing.\nThere was no shorthand reporter present to take that sermon down; but,\nif necessary, I could preach it over verbatim, and so, I doubt not,\ncould everyone that heard it. It was not a forgettable kind of sermon.\n\n\u201cDearly beloved,\u201d said Peter, \u201cmy sermon is about the bad place--in\nshort, about hell.\u201d\n\nAn electric shock seemed to run through the audience. Everybody looked\nsuddenly alert. Peter had, in one sentence, done what my whole sermon\nhad failed to do. He had made an impression.\n\n\u201cI shall divide my sermon into three heads,\u201d pursued Peter. \u201cThe first\nhead is, what you must not do if you don\u2019t want to go to the bad place.\nThe second head is, what the bad place is like\u201d--sensation in the\naudience--\u201cand the third head is, how to escape going there.\n\n\u201cNow, there\u2019s a great many things you must not do, and it\u2019s very\nimportant to know what they are. You ought not to lose no time in\nfinding out. In the first place you mustn\u2019t ever forget to mind what\ngrown-up people tell you--that is, GOOD grown-up people.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut how are you going to tell who are the good grown-up people?\u201d asked\nFelix suddenly, forgetting that he was in church.\n\n\u201cOh, that is easy,\u201d said Peter. \u201cYou can always just FEEL who is good\nand who isn\u2019t. And you mustn\u2019t tell lies and you mustn\u2019t murder any\none. You must be specially careful not to murder any one. You might be\nforgiven for telling lies, if you was real sorry for them, but if you\nmurdered any one it would be pretty hard to get forgiven, so you\u2019d\nbetter be on the safe side. And you mustn\u2019t commit suicide, because\nif you did that you wouldn\u2019t have any chance of repenting it; and you\nmustn\u2019t forget to say your prayers and you mustn\u2019t quarrel with your\nsister.\u201d\n\nAt this point Felicity gave Dan a significant poke with her elbow, and\nDan was up in arms at once.\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t you be preaching at me, Peter Craig,\u201d he cried out. \u201cI won\u2019t\nstand it. I don\u2019t quarrel with my sister any oftener than she quarrels\nwith me. You can just leave me alone.\u201d\n\n\u201cWho\u2019s touching you?\u201d demanded Peter. \u201cI didn\u2019t mention no names. A\nminister can say anything he likes in the pulpit, as long as he doesn\u2019t\nmention any names, and nobody can answer back.\u201d\n\n\u201cAll right, but just you wait till to-morrow,\u201d growled Dan, subsiding\nreluctantly into silence under the reproachful looks of the girls.\n\n\u201cYou must not play any games on Sunday,\u201d went on Peter, \u201cthat is, any\nweek-day games--or whisper in church, or laugh in church--I did that\nonce but I was awful sorry--and you mustn\u2019t take any notice of Paddy--I\nmean of the family cat at family prayers, not even if he climbs up on\nyour back. And you mustn\u2019t call names or make faces.\u201d\n\n\u201cAmen,\u201d cried Felix, who had suffered many things because Felicity so\noften made faces at him.\n\nPeter stopped and glared at him over the edge of the Pulpit Stone.\n\n\u201cYou haven\u2019t any business to call out a thing like that right in the\nmiddle of a sermon,\u201d he said.\n\n\u201cThey do it in the Methodist church at Markdale,\u201d protested Felix,\nsomewhat abashed. \u201cI heard them.\u201d\n\n\u201cI know they do. That\u2019s the Methodist way and it is all right for them.\nI haven\u2019t a word to say against Methodists. My Aunt Jane was one, and\nI might have been one myself if I hadn\u2019t been so scared of the Judgment\nDay. But you ain\u2019t a Methodist. You\u2019re a Presbyterian, ain\u2019t you?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, of course. I was born that way.\u201d\n\n\u201cVery well then, you\u2019ve got to do things the Presbyterian way. Don\u2019t let\nme hear any more of your amens or I\u2019ll amen you.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, don\u2019t anybody interrupt again,\u201d implored the Story Girl. \u201cIt\nisn\u2019t fair. How can any one preach a good sermon if he is always being\ninterrupted? Nobody interrupted Beverley.\u201d\n\n\u201cBev didn\u2019t get up there and pitch into us like that,\u201d muttered Dan.\n\n\u201cYou mustn\u2019t fight,\u201d resumed Peter undauntedly. \u201cThat is, you mustn\u2019t\nfight for the fun of fighting, nor out of bad temper. You must not\nsay bad words or swear. You mustn\u2019t get drunk--although of course you\nwouldn\u2019t be likely to do that before you grow up, and the girls never.\nThere\u2019s prob\u2019ly a good many other things you mustn\u2019t do, but these I\u2019ve\nnamed are the most important. Of course, I\u2019m not saying you\u2019ll go to the\nbad place for sure if you do them. I only say you\u2019re running a risk.\nThe devil is looking out for the people who do these things and he\u2019ll\nbe more likely to get after them than to waste time over the people who\ndon\u2019t do them. And that\u2019s all about the first head of my sermon.\u201d\n\nAt this point Sara Ray arrived, somewhat out of breath. Peter looked at\nher reproachfully.\n\n\u201cYou\u2019ve missed my whole first head, Sara,\u201d he said, \u201cthat isn\u2019t fair,\nwhen you\u2019re to be one of the judges. I think I ought to preach it over\nagain for you.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat was really done once. I know a story about it,\u201d said the Story\nGirl.\n\n\u201cWho\u2019s interrupting now?\u201d aid Dan slyly.\n\n\u201cNever mind, tell us the story,\u201d said the preacher himself, eagerly\nleaning over the pulpit.\n\n\u201cIt was Mr. Scott who did it,\u201d said the Story Girl. \u201cHe was preaching\nsomewhere in Nova Scotia, and when he was more than half way through his\nsermon--and you know sermons were VERY long in those days--a man walked\nin. Mr. Scott stopped until he had taken his seat. Then he said, \u2018My\nfriend, you are very late for this service. I hope you won\u2019t be late for\nheaven. The congregation will excuse me if I recapitulate the sermon for\nour friend\u2019s benefit.\u2019 And then he just preached the sermon over again\nfrom the beginning. It is said that that particular man was never known\nto be late for church again.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt served him right,\u201d said Dan, \u201cbut it was pretty hard lines on the\nrest of the congregation.\u201d\n\n\u201cNow, let\u2019s be quiet so Peter can go on with his sermon,\u201d said Cecily.\n\nPeter squared his shoulders and took hold of the edge of the pulpit.\nNever a thump had he thumped, but I realized that his way of leaning\nforward and fixing this one or that one of his hearers with his eye was\nmuch more effective.\n\n\u201cI\u2019ve come now to the second head of my sermon--what the bad place is\nlike.\u201d\n\nHe proceeded to describe the bad place. Later on we discovered that\nhe had found his material in an illustrated translation of Dante\u2019s\n_Inferno_ which had once been given to his Aunt Jane as a school prize.\nBut at the time we supposed he must be drawing from Biblical sources.\nPeter had been reading the Bible steadily ever since what we always\nreferred to as \u201cthe Judgment Sunday,\u201d and he was by now almost through\nit. None of the rest of us had ever read the Bible completely through,\nand we thought Peter must have found his description of the world of the\nlost in some portion with which we were not acquainted. Therefore, his\nutterances carried all the weight of inspiration, and we sat appalled\nbefore his lurid phrases. He used his own words to clothe the ideas he\nhad found, and the result was a force and simplicity that struck home to\nour imaginations.\n\nSuddenly Sara Ray sprang to her feet with a scream--a scream that\nchanged into strange laughter. We all, preacher included, looked at her\naghast. Cecily and Felicity sprang up and caught hold of her. Sara Ray\nwas really in a bad fit of hysterics, but we knew nothing of such a\nthing in our experience, and we thought she had gone mad. She shrieked,\ncried, laughed, and flung herself about.\n\n\u201cShe\u2019s gone clean crazy,\u201d said Peter, coming down out of his pulpit with\na very pale face.\n\n\u201cYou\u2019ve frightened her crazy with your dreadful sermon,\u201d said Felicity\nindignantly.\n\nShe and Cecily each took Sara by an arm and, half leading, half\ncarrying, got her out of the orchard and up to the house. The rest of us\nlooked at each other in terrified questioning.\n\n\u201cYou\u2019ve made rather too much of an impression, Peter,\u201d said the Story\nGirl miserably.\n\n\u201cShe needn\u2019t have got so scared. If she\u2019d only waited for the third head\nI\u2019d have showed her how easy it was to get clear of going to the bad\nplace and go to heaven instead. But you girls are always in such a\nhurry,\u201d said Peter bitterly.\n\n\u201cDo you s\u2019pose they\u2019ll have to take her to the asylum?\u201d said Dan in a\nwhisper.\n\n\u201cHush, here\u2019s your father,\u201d said Felix.\n\nUncle Alec came striding down the orchard. We had never before seen\nUncle Alec angry. But there was no doubt that he was very angry. His\nblue eyes fairly blazed at us as he said,\n\n\u201cWhat have you been doing to frighten Sara Ray into such a condition?\u201d\n\n\u201cWe--we were just having a sermon contest,\u201d explained the Story Girl\ntremulously. \u201cAnd Peter preached about the bad place, and it frightened\nSara. That is all, Uncle Alec.\u201d\n\n\u201cAll! I don\u2019t know what the result will be to that nervous delicate\nchild. She is shrieking in there and nothing will quiet her. What do\nyou mean by playing such a game on Sunday, and making a jest of sacred\nthings? No, not a word--\u201d for the Story Girl had attempted to speak.\n\u201cYou and Peter march off home. And the next time I find you up to such\ndoings on Sunday or any other day I\u2019ll give you cause to remember it to\nyour latest hour.\u201d\n\nThe Story Girl and Peter went humbly home and we went with them.\n\n\u201cI CAN\u2019T understand grown-up people,\u201d said Felix despairingly. \u201cWhen\nUncle Edward preached sermons it was all right, but when we do it it is\n\u2018making a jest of sacred things.\u2019 And I heard Uncle Alec tell a story\nonce about being nearly frightened to death when he was a little boy,\nby a minister preaching on the end of the world; and he said, \u2018That was\nsomething like a sermon. You don\u2019t hear such sermons nowadays.\u2019 But when\nPeter preaches just such a sermon, it\u2019s a very different story.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s no wonder we can\u2019t understand the grown-ups,\u201d said the Story Girl\nindignantly, \u201cbecause we\u2019ve never been grown-up ourselves. But THEY have\nbeen children, and I don\u2019t see why they can\u2019t understand us. Of course,\nperhaps we shouldn\u2019t have had the contest on Sundays. But all the same\nI think it\u2019s mean of Uncle Alec to be so cross. Oh, I do hope poor Sara\nwon\u2019t have to be taken to the asylum.\u201d\n\nPoor Sara did not have to be. She was eventually quieted down, and was\nas well as usual the next day; and she humbly begged Peter\u2019s pardon for\nspoiling his sermon. Peter granted it rather grumpily, and I fear that\nhe never really quite forgave Sara for her untimely outburst. Felix,\ntoo, felt resentment against her, because he had lost the chance of\npreaching his sermon.\n\n\u201cOf course I know I wouldn\u2019t have got the prize, for I couldn\u2019t have\nmade such an impression as Peter,\u201d he said to us mournfully, \u201cbut I\u2019d\nlike to have had a chance to show what I could do. That\u2019s what comes\nof having those cry-baby girls mixed up in things. Cecily was just as\nscared as Sara Ray, but she\u2019d more sense than to show it like that.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, Sara couldn\u2019t help it,\u201d said the Story Girl charitably, \u201cbut it\ndoes seem as if we\u2019d had dreadful luck in everything we\u2019ve tried lately.\nI thought of a new game this morning, but I\u2019m almost afraid to mention\nit, for I suppose something dreadful will come of it, too.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, tell us, what is it?\u201d everybody entreated.\n\n\u201cWell, it\u2019s a trial by ordeal, and we\u2019re to see which of us can pass it.\nThe ordeal is to eat one of the bitter apples in big mouthfuls without\nmaking a single face.\u201d\n\nDan made a face to begin with.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t believe any of us can do that,\u201d he said.\n\n\u201cYOU can\u2019t, if you take bites big enough to fill your mouth,\u201d giggled\nFelicity, with cruelty and without provocation.\n\n\u201cWell, maybe you could,\u201d retorted Dan sarcastically. \u201cYou\u2019d be so afraid\nof spoiling your looks that you\u2019d rather die than make a face, I s\u2019pose,\nno matter what you et.\u201d\n\n\u201cFelicity makes enough faces when there\u2019s nothing to make faces at,\u201d\n said Felix, who had been grimaced at over the breakfast table that\nmorning and hadn\u2019t liked it.\n\n\u201cI think the bitter apples would be real good for Felix,\u201d said Felicity.\n\u201cThey say sour things make people thin.\u201d\n\n\u201cLet\u2019s go and get the bitter apples,\u201d said Cecily hastily, seeing that\nFelix, Felicity and Dan were on the verge of a quarrel more bitter than\nthe apples.\n\nWe went to the seedling tree and got an apple apiece. The game was that\nevery one must take a bite in turn, chew it up, and swallow it, without\nmaking a face. Peter again distinguished himself. He, and he alone,\npassed the ordeal, munching those dreadful mouthfuls without so much as\na change of expression on his countenance, while the facial contortions\nthe rest of us went through baffled description. In every subsequent\ntrial it was the same. Peter never made a face, and no one else\ncould help making them. It sent him up fifty per cent in Felicity\u2019s\nestimation.\n\n\u201cPeter is a real smart boy,\u201d she said to me. \u201cIt\u2019s such a pity he is a\nhired boy.\u201d\n\nBut, if we could not pass the ordeal, we got any amount of fun out of\nit, at least. Evening after evening the orchard re-echoed to our peals\nof laughter.\n\n\u201cBless the children,\u201d said Uncle Alec, as he carried the milk pails\nacross the yard. \u201cNothing can quench their spirits for long.\u201d\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVII. THE ORDEAL OF BITTER APPLES\n\nI could never understand why Felix took Peter\u2019s success in the Ordeal\nof Bitter Apples so much to heart. He had not felt very keenly over the\nmatter of the sermons, and certainly the mere fact that Peter could\neat sour apples without making faces did not cast any reflection on\nthe honour or ability of the other competitors. But to Felix everything\nsuddenly became flat, stale, and unprofitable, because Peter continued\nto hold the championship of bitter apples. It haunted his waking hours\nand obsessed his nights. I heard him talking in his sleep about it. If\nanything could have made him thin the way he worried over this matter\nwould have done it.\n\nFor myself, I cared not a groat. I had wished to be successful in the\nsermon contest, and felt sore whenever I thought of my failure. But I\nhad no burning desire to eat sour apples without grimacing, and I did\nnot sympathize over and above with my brother. When, however, he took\nto praying about it, I realized how deeply he felt on the subject, and\nhoped he would be successful.\n\nFelix prayed earnestly that he might be enabled to eat a bitter apple\nwithout making a face. And when he had prayed three nights after this\nmanner, he contrived to eat a bitter apple without a grimace until he\ncame to the last bite, which proved too much for him. But Felix was\nvastly encouraged.\n\n\u201cAnother prayer or two, and I\u2019ll be able to eat a whole one,\u201d he said\njubilantly.\n\nBut this devoutly desired consummation did not come to pass. In spite\nof prayers and heroic attempts, Felix could never get beyond that last\nbite. Not even faith and works in combination could avail. For a time\nhe could not understand this. But he thought the mystery was solved when\nCecily came to him one day and told him that Peter was praying against\nhim.\n\n\u201cHe\u2019s praying that you\u2019ll never be able to eat a bitter apple without\nmaking a face,\u201d she said. \u201cHe told Felicity and Felicity told me. She\nsaid she thought it was real cute of him. I think that is a dreadful way\nto talk about praying and I told her so. She wanted me to promise not to\ntell you, but I wouldn\u2019t promise, because I think it\u2019s fair for you to\nknow what is going on.\u201d\n\nFelix was very indignant--and aggrieved as well.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t see why God should answer Peter\u2019s prayers instead of mine,\u201d he\nsaid bitterly. \u201cI\u2019ve gone to church and Sunday School all my life, and\nPeter never went till this summer. It isn\u2019t fair.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, Felix, don\u2019t talk like that,\u201d said Cecily, shocked. \u201cGod MUST be\nfair. I\u2019ll tell you what I believe is the reason. Peter prays three\ntimes a day regular--in the morning and at dinner time and at night--and\nbesides that, any time through the day when he happens to think of it,\nhe just prays, standing up. Did you ever hear of such goings-on?\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, he\u2019s got to stop praying against me, anyhow,\u201d said Felix\nresolutely. \u201cI won\u2019t put up with it, and I\u2019ll go and tell him so right\noff.\u201d\n\nFelix marched over to Uncle Roger\u2019s, and we trailed after, scenting\na scene. We found Peter shelling beans in the granary, and whistling\ncheerily, as with a conscience void of offence towards all men.\n\n\u201cLook here, Peter,\u201d said Felix ominously, \u201cthey tell me that you\u2019ve\nbeen praying right along that I couldn\u2019t eat a bitter apple. Now, I tell\nyou--\u201d\n\n\u201cI never did!\u201d exclaimed Peter indignantly. \u201cI never mentioned your\nname. I never prayed that you couldn\u2019t eat a bitter apple. I just prayed\nthat I\u2019d be the only one that could.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, that\u2019s the same thing,\u201d cried Felix. \u201cYou\u2019ve just been praying\nfor the opposite to me out of spite. And you\u2019ve got to stop it, Peter\nCraig.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, I just guess I won\u2019t,\u201d said Peter angrily. \u201cI\u2019ve just as good\na right to pray for what I want as you, Felix King, even if you was\nbrought up in Toronto. I s\u2019pose you think a hired boy hasn\u2019t any\nbusiness to pray for particular things, but I\u2019ll show you. I\u2019ll just\npray for what I please, and I\u2019d like to see you try and stop me.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou\u2019ll have to fight me, if you keep on praying against me,\u201d said\nFelix.\n\nThe girls gasped; but Dan and I were jubilant, snuffing battle afar off.\n\n\u201cAll right. I can fight as well as pray.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, don\u2019t fight,\u201d implored Cecily. \u201cI think it would be dreadful.\nSurely you can arrange it some other way. Let\u2019s all give up the Ordeal,\nanyway. There isn\u2019t much fun in it. And then neither of you need pray\nabout it.\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t want to give up the Ordeal,\u201d said Felix, \u201cand I won\u2019t.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, well, surely you can settle it some way without fighting,\u201d\n persisted Cecily.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m not wanting to fight,\u201d said Peter. \u201cIt\u2019s Felix. If he don\u2019t\ninterfere with my prayers there\u2019s no need of fighting. But if he does\nthere\u2019s no other way to settle it.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut how will that settle it?\u201d asked Cecily.\n\n\u201cOh, whoever\u2019s licked will have to give in about the praying,\u201d said\nPeter. \u201cThat\u2019s fair enough. If I\u2019m licked I won\u2019t pray for that\nparticular thing any more.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s dreadful to fight about anything so religious as praying,\u201d sighed\npoor Cecily.\n\n\u201cWhy, they were always fighting about religion in old times,\u201d said\nFelix. \u201cThe more religious anything was the more fighting there was\nabout it.\u201d\n\n\u201cA fellow\u2019s got a right to pray as he pleases,\u201d said Peter, \u201cand if\nanybody tries to stop him he\u2019s bound to fight. That\u2019s my way of looking\nat it.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat would Miss Marwood say if she knew you were going to fight?\u201d asked\nFelicity.\n\nMiss Marwood was Felix\u2019 Sunday School teacher and he was very fond of\nher. But by this time Felix was quite reckless.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t care what she would say,\u201d he retorted.\n\nFelicity tried another tack.\n\n\u201cYou\u2019ll be sure to get whipped if you fight with Peter,\u201d she said.\n\u201cYou\u2019re too fat to fight.\u201d\n\nAfter that, no moral force on earth could have prevented Felix from\nfighting. He would have faced an army with banners.\n\n\u201cYou might settle it by drawing lots,\u201d said Cecily desperately.\n\n\u201cDrawing lots is wickeder that fighting,\u201d said Dan. \u201cIt\u2019s a kind of\ngambling.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat would Aunt Jane say if she knew you were going to fight?\u201d Cecily\ndemanded of Peter.\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t you drag my Aunt Jane into this affair,\u201d said Peter darkly.\n\n\u201cYou said you were going to be a Presbyterian,\u201d persisted Cecily. \u201cGood\nPresbyterians don\u2019t fight.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, don\u2019t they! I heard your Uncle Roger say that Presbyterians were\nthe best for fighting in the world--or the worst, I forget which he\nsaid, but it means the same thing.\u201d\n\nCecily had but one more shot in her locker.\n\n\u201cI thought you said in your sermon, Master Peter, that people shouldn\u2019t\nfight.\u201d\n\n\u201cI said they oughtn\u2019t to fight for fun, or for bad temper,\u201d retorted\nPeter. \u201cThis is different. I know what I\u2019m fighting for but I can\u2019t\nthink of the word.\u201d\n\n\u201cI guess you mean principle,\u201d I suggested.\n\n\u201cYes, that\u2019s it,\u201d agreed Peter. \u201cIt\u2019s all right to fight for principle.\nIt\u2019s kind of praying with your fists.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, can\u2019t you do something to prevent them from fighting, Sara?\u201d\n pleaded Cecily, turning to the Story Girl, who was sitting on a bin,\nswinging her shapely bare feet to and fro.\n\n\u201cIt doesn\u2019t do to meddle in an affair of this kind between boys,\u201d said\nthe Story Girl sagely.\n\nI may be mistaken, but I do not believe the Story Girl wanted that fight\nstopped. And I am far from being sure that Felicity did either.\n\nIt was ultimately arranged that the combat should take place in the fir\nwood behind Uncle Roger\u2019s granary. It was a nice, remote, bosky place\nwhere no prowling grown-up would be likely to intrude. And thither we\nall resorted at sunset.\n\n\u201cI hope Felix will beat,\u201d said the Story Girl to me, \u201cnot only for the\nfamily honour, but because that was a mean, mean prayer of Peter\u2019s. Do\nyou think he will?\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t know,\u201d I confessed dubiously. \u201cFelix is too fat. He\u2019ll get out\nof breath in no time. And Peter is such a cool customer, and he\u2019s a year\nolder than Felix. But then Felix has had some practice. He has fought\nboys in Toronto. And this is Peter\u2019s first fight.\u201d\n\n\u201cDid you ever fight?\u201d asked the Story Girl.\n\n\u201cOnce,\u201d I said briefly, dreading the next question, which promptly came.\n\n\u201cWho beat?\u201d\n\nIt is sometimes a bitter thing to tell the truth, especially to a\nyoung lady for whom you have a great admiration. I had a struggle with\ntemptation in which I frankly confess I might have been worsted had it\nnot been for a saving and timely remembrance of a certain resolution\nmade on the day preceding Judgment Sunday.\n\n\u201cThe other fellow,\u201d I said with reluctant honesty.\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d said the Story Girl, \u201cI think it doesn\u2019t matter whether you get\nwhipped or not so long as you fight a good, square fight.\u201d\n\nHer potent voice made me feel that I was quite a hero after all, and the\nsting went out of my recollection of that old fight.\n\nWhen we arrived behind the granary the others were all there. Cecily was\nvery pale, and Felix and Peter were taking off their coats. There was\na pure yellow sunset that evening, and the aisles of the fir wood were\nflooded with its radiance. A cool, autumnal wind was whistling among the\ndark boughs and scattering blood red leaves from the maple at the end of\nthe granary.\n\n\u201cNow,\u201d said Dan, \u201cI\u2019ll count, and when I say three you pitch in, and\nhammer each other until one of you has had enough. Cecily, keep quiet.\nNow, one--two--three!\u201d\n\nPeter and Felix \u201cpitched in,\u201d with more zeal than discretion on both\nsides. As a result, Peter got what later developed into a black eye,\nand Felix\u2019s nose began to bleed. Cecily gave a shriek and ran out of the\nwood. We thought she had fled because she could not endure the sight of\nblood, and we were not sorry, for her manifest disapproval and anxiety\nwere damping the excitement of the occasion.\n\nFelix and Peter drew apart after that first onset, and circled about one\nanother warily. Then, just as they had come to grips again, Uncle Alec\nwalked around the corner of the granary, with Cecily behind him.\n\nHe was not angry. There was a quizzical look in his eyes. But he took\nthe combatants by their shirt collars and dragged them apart.\n\n\u201cThis stops right here, boys,\u201d he said. \u201cYou know I don\u2019t allow\nfighting.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, but Uncle Alec, it was this way,\u201d began Felix eagerly. \u201cPeter--\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, I don\u2019t want to hear about it,\u201d said Uncle Alec sternly. \u201cI don\u2019t\ncare what you were fighting about, but you must settle your quarrels\nin a different fashion. Remember my commands, Felix. Peter, Roger is\nlooking for you to wash his buggy. Be off.\u201d\n\nPeter went off rather sullenly, and Felix, also sullenly, sat down and\nbegan to nurse his nose. He turned his back on Cecily.\n\nCecily \u201ccaught it\u201d after Uncle Alec had gone. Dan called her a tell-tale\nand a baby, and sneered at her until Cecily began to cry.\n\n\u201cI couldn\u2019t stand by and watch Felix and Peter pound each other all to\npieces,\u201d she sobbed. \u201cThey\u2019ve been such friends, and it was dreadful to\nsee them fighting.\u201d\n\n\u201cUncle Roger would have let them fight it out,\u201d said the Story Girl\ndiscontentedly. \u201cUncle Roger believes in boys fighting. He says it\u2019s as\nharmless a way as any of working off their original sin. Peter and Felix\nwouldn\u2019t have been any worse friends after it. They\u2019d have been better\nfriends because the praying question would have been settled. And now\nit can\u2019t be--unless Felicity can coax Peter to give up praying against\nFelix.\u201d\n\nFor once in her life the Story Girl was not as tactful as her wont.\nOr--is it possible that she said it out of malice prepense? At all\nevents, Felicity resented the imputation that she had more influence\nwith Peter than any one else.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t meddle with hired boys\u2019 prayers,\u201d she said haughtily.\n\n\u201cIt was all nonsense fighting about such prayers, anyhow,\u201d said Dan, who\nprobably thought that since all chance of a fight was over, he might as\nwell avow his real sentiments as to its folly. \u201cJust as much nonsense as\npraying about the bitter apples in the first place.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, Dan, don\u2019t you believe there is some good in praying?\u201d said Cecily\nreproachfully.\n\n\u201cYes, I believe there\u2019s some good in some kinds of praying, but not\nin that kind,\u201d said Dan sturdily. \u201cI don\u2019t believe God cares whether\nanybody can eat an apple without making a face or not.\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t believe it\u2019s right to talk of God as if you were well\nacquainted with Him,\u201d said Felicity, who felt that it was a good chance\nto snub Dan.\n\n\u201cThere\u2019s something wrong somewhere,\u201d said Cecily perplexedly. \u201cWe ought\nto pray for what we want, of that I\u2019m sure--and Peter wanted to be the\nonly one who could pass the Ordeal. It seems as if he must be right--and\nyet it doesn\u2019t seem so. I wish I could understand it.\u201d\n\n\u201cPeter\u2019s prayer was wrong because it was a selfish prayer, I guess,\u201d\n said the Story Girl thoughtfully. \u201cFelix\u2019s prayer was all right, because\nit wouldn\u2019t have hurt any one else; but it was selfish of Peter to want\nto be the only one. We mustn\u2019t pray selfish prayers.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, I see through it now,\u201d said Cecily joyfully.\n\n\u201cYes, but,\u201d said Dan triumphantly, \u201cif you believe God answers prayers\nabout particular things, it was Peter\u2019s prayer He answered. What do you\nmake of that?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh!\u201d the Story Girl shook her head impatiently. \u201cThere\u2019s no use trying\nto make such things out. We only get more mixed up all the time. Let\u2019s\nleave it alone and I\u2019ll tell you a story. Aunt Olivia had a letter today\nfrom a friend in Nova Scotia, who lives in Shubenacadie. When I said I\nthought it a funny name, she told me to go and look in her scrap book,\nand I would find a story about the origin of the name. And I did. Don\u2019t\nyou want to hear it?\u201d\n\nOf course we did. We all sat down at the roots of the firs. Felix,\nhaving finally squared matters with his nose, turned around and listened\nalso. He would not look at Cecily, but every one else had forgiven her.\n\nThe Story Girl leaned that brown head of hers against the fir trunk\nbehind her, and looked up at the apple-green sky through the dark boughs\nabove us. She wore, I remember, a dress of warm crimson, and she had\nwound around her head a string of waxberries, that looked like a fillet\nof pearls. Her cheeks were still flushed with the excitement of the\nevening. In the dim light she was beautiful, with a wild, mystic\nloveliness, a compelling charm that would not be denied.\n\n\u201cMany, many moons ago, an Indian tribe lived on the banks of a river\nin Nova Scotia. One of the young braves was named Accadee. He was the\ntallest and bravest and handsomest young man in the tribe--\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy is it they\u2019re always so handsome in stories?\u201d asked Dan. \u201cWhy are\nthere never no stories about ugly people?\u201d\n\n\u201cPerhaps ugly people never have stories happen to them,\u201d suggested\nFelicity.\n\n\u201cI think they\u2019re just as interesting as the handsome people,\u201d retorted\nDan.\n\n\u201cWell, maybe they are in real life,\u201d said Cecily, \u201cbut in stories it\u2019s\njust as easy to make them handsome as not. I like them best that way. I\njust love to read a story where the heroine is beautiful as a dream.\u201d\n\n\u201cPretty people are always conceited,\u201d said Felix, who was getting tired\nof holding his tongue.\n\n\u201cThe heroes in stories are always nice,\u201d said Felicity, with apparent\nirrelevance. \u201cThey\u2019re always so tall and slender. Wouldn\u2019t it be awful\nfunny if any one wrote a story about a fat hero--or about one with too\nbig a mouth?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt doesn\u2019t matter what a man LOOKS like,\u201d I said, feeling that Felix\nand Dan were catching it rather too hotly. \u201cHe must be a good sort of\nchap and DO heaps of things. That\u2019s all that\u2019s necessary.\u201d\n\n\u201cDo any of you happen to want to hear the rest of my story?\u201d asked the\nStory Girl in an ominously polite voice that recalled us to a sense of\nour bad manners. We apologized and promised to behave better; she went\non, appeased:\n\n\u201cAccadee was all these things that I have mentioned, and he was the\nbest hunter in the tribe besides. Never an arrow of his that did not go\nstraight to the mark. Many and many a snow white moose he shot, and gave\nthe beautiful skin to his sweetheart. Her name was Shuben and she was\nas lovely as the moon when it rises from the sea, and as pleasant as a\nsummer twilight. Her eyes were dark and soft, her foot was as light as\na breeze, and her voice sounded like a brook in the woods, or the wind\nthat comes over the hills at night. She and Accadee were very much in\nlove with each other, and often they hunted together, for Shuben was\nalmost as skilful with her bow and arrow as Accadee himself. They had\nloved each other ever since they were small pappooses, and they had\nvowed to love each other as long as the river ran.\n\n\u201cOne twilight, when Accadee was out hunting in the woods, he shot a snow\nwhite moose; and he took off its skin and wrapped it around him. Then\nhe went on through the woods in the starlight; and he felt so happy and\nlight of heart that he sometimes frisked and capered about just as a\nreal moose would do. And he was doing this when Shuben, who was also out\nhunting, saw him from afar and thought he was a real moose. She stole\ncautiously through the woods until she came to the brink of a little\nvalley. Below her stood the snow white moose. She drew her arrow to her\neye--alas, she knew the art only too well!--and took careful aim. The\nnext moment Accadee fell dead with her arrow in his heart.\u201d\n\nThe Story Girl paused--a dramatic pause. It was quite dark in the fir\nwood. We could see her face and eyes but dimly through the gloom. A\nsilvery moon was looking down on us over the granary. The stars twinkled\nthrough the softly waving boughs. Beyond the wood we caught a glimpse of\na moonlit world lying in the sharp frost of the October evening. The sky\nabove it was chill and ethereal and mystical.\n\nBut all about us were shadows; and the weird little tale, told in a\nvoice fraught with mystery and pathos, had peopled them for us with\nfurtive folk in belt and wampum, and dark-tressed Indian maidens.\n\n\u201cWhat did Shuben do when she found out she had killed Accadee?\u201d asked\nFelicity.\n\n\u201cShe died of a broken heart before the spring, and she and Accadee were\nburied side by side on the bank of the river which has ever since borne\ntheir names--the river Shubenacadie,\u201d said the Story Girl.\n\nThe sharp wind blew around the granary and Cecily shivered. We heard\nAunt Janet\u2019s voice calling \u201cChildren, children.\u201d Shaking off the spell\nof firs and moonlight and romantic tale, we scrambled to our feet and\nwent homeward.\n\n\u201cI kind of wish I\u2019d been born an Injun,\u201d said Dan. \u201cIt must have been a\njolly life--nothing to do but hunt and fight.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt wouldn\u2019t be so nice if they caught you and tortured you at the\nstake,\u201d said Felicity.\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d said Dan reluctantly. \u201cI suppose there\u2019d be some drawback to\neverything, even being an Injun.\u201d\n\n\u201cIsn\u2019t it cold?\u201d said Cecily, shivering again. \u201cIt will soon be winter.\nI wish summer could last forever. Felicity likes the winter, and so does\nthe Story Girl, but I don\u2019t. It always seems so long till spring.\u201d\n\n\u201cNever mind, we\u2019ve had a splendid summer,\u201d I said, slipping my arm\nabout her to comfort some childish sorrow that breathed in her plaintive\nvoice.\n\nTruly, we had had a delectable summer; and, having had it, it was ours\nforever. \u201cThe gods themselves cannot recall their gifts.\u201d They may rob\nus of our future and embitter our present, but our past they may not\ntouch. With all its laughter and delight and glamour it is our eternal\npossession.\n\nNevertheless, we all felt a little of the sadness of the waning year.\nThere was a distinct weight on our spirits until Felicity took us into\nthe pantry and stayed us with apple tarts and comforted us with cream.\nThen we brightened up. It was really a very decent world after all.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVIII. THE TALE OF THE RAINBOW BRIDGE\n\nFelix, so far as my remembrance goes, never attained to success in the\nOrdeal of Bitter Apples. He gave up trying after awhile; and he also\ngave up praying about it, saying in bitterness of spirit that there was\nno use in praying when other fellows prayed against you out of spite. He\nand Peter remained on bad terms for some time, however.\n\nWe were all of us too tired those nights to do any special praying.\nSometimes I fear our \u201cregular\u201d prayers were slurred over, or mumbled in\nanything but reverent haste. October was a busy month on the hill farms.\nThe apples had to be picked, and this work fell mainly to us children.\nWe stayed home from school to do it. It was pleasant work and there was\na great deal of fun in it; but it was hard, too, and our arms and backs\nached roundly at night. In the mornings it was very delightful; in the\nafternoons tolerable; but in the evenings we lagged, and the laughter\nand zest of fresher hours were lacking.\n\nSome of the apples had to be picked very carefully. But with others it\ndid not matter; we boys would climb the trees and shake the apples down\nuntil the girls shrieked for mercy. The days were crisp and mellow, with\nwarm sunshine and a tang of frost in the air, mingled with the woodsy\nodours of the withering grasses. The hens and turkeys prowled about,\npecking at windfalls, and Pat made mad rushes at them amid the fallen\nleaves. The world beyond the orchard was in a royal magnificence of\ncolouring, under the vivid blue autumn sky. The big willow by the gate\nwas a splendid golden dome, and the maples that were scattered through\nthe spruce grove waved blood-red banners over the sombre cone-bearers.\nThe Story Girl generally had her head garlanded with their leaves. They\nbecame her vastly. Neither Felicity nor Cecily could have worn them.\nThose two girls were of a domestic type that assorted ill with the\nwildfire in Nature\u2019s veins. But when the Story Girl wreathed her nut\nbrown tresses with crimson leaves it seemed, as Peter said, that they\ngrew on her--as if the gold and flame of her spirit had broken out in\na coronal, as much a part of her as the pale halo seems a part of the\nMadonna it encircles.\n\nWhat tales she told us on those far-away autumn days, peopling the\nrusset arcades with folk of an elder world. Many a princess rode by us\non her palfrey, many a swaggering gallant ruffled it bravely in velvet\nand plume adown Uncle Stephen\u2019s Walk, many a stately lady, silken clad,\nwalked in that opulent orchard!\n\nWhen we had filled our baskets they had to be carried to the granary\nloft, and the contents stored in bins or spread on the floor to ripen\nfurther. We ate a good many, of course, feeling that the labourer was\nworthy of his hire. The apples from our own birthday trees were stored\nin separate barrels inscribed with our names. We might dispose of them\nas we willed. Felicity sold hers to Uncle Alec\u2019s hired man--and was\nbadly cheated to boot, for he levanted shortly afterwards, taking the\napples with him, having paid her only half her rightful due. Felicity\nhas not gotten over that to this day.\n\nCecily, dear heart, sent most of hers to the hospital in town, and no\ndoubt gathered in therefrom dividends of gratitude and satisfaction of\nsoul, such as can never be purchased by any mere process of bargain and\nsale. The rest of us ate our apples, or carried them to school where\nwe bartered them for such treasures as our schoolmates possessed and we\ncoveted.\n\nThere was a dusky, little, pear-shaped apple--from one of Uncle\nStephen\u2019s trees--which was our favourite; and next to it a delicious,\njuicy yellow apple from Aunt Louisa\u2019s tree. We were also fond of the big\nsweet apples; we used to throw them up in the air and let them fall on\nthe ground until they were bruised and battered to the bursting point.\nThen we sucked on the juice; sweeter was it than the nectar drunk by\nblissful gods on the Thessalian hill.\n\nSometimes we worked until the cold yellow sunsets faded out over the\ndarkening distances, and the hunter\u2019s moon looked down on us through the\nsparkling air. The constellations of autumn scintillated above us. Peter\nand the Story Girl knew all about them, and imparted their knowledge to\nus generously. I recall Peter standing on the Pulpit Stone, one night\nere moonrise, and pointing them out to us, occasionally having a\ndifference of opinion with the Story Girl over the name of some\nparticular star. Job\u2019s Coffin and the Northern Cross were to the west of\nus; south of us flamed Fomalhaut. The Great Square of Pegasus was\nover our heads. Cassiopeia sat enthroned in her beautiful chair in the\nnorth-east; and north of us the Dippers swung untiringly around the\nPole Star. Cecily and Felix were the only ones who could distinguish the\ndouble star in the handle of the Big Dipper, and greatly did they plume\nthemselves thereon. The Story Girl told us the myths and legends woven\naround these immemorial clusters, her very voice taking on a clear,\nremote, starry sound as she talked of them. When she ceased, we came\nback to earth, feeling as if we had been millions of miles away in the\nblue ether, and that all our old familiar surroundings were momentarily\nforgotten and strange.\n\nThat night when he pointed out the stars to us from the Pulpit Stone was\nthe last time for several weeks that Peter shared our toil and pastime.\nThe next day he complained of headache and sore throat, and seemed to\nprefer lying on Aunt Olivia\u2019s kitchen sofa to doing any work. As it was\nnot in Peter to be a malingerer he was left in peace, while we picked\napples. Felix alone, must unjustly and spitefully, declared that Peter\nwas simply shirking.\n\n\u201cHe\u2019s just lazy, that\u2019s what\u2019s the matter with him,\u201d he said.\n\n\u201cWhy don\u2019t you talk sense, if you must talk?\u201d said Felicity. \u201cThere\u2019s no\nsense in calling Peter lazy. You might as well say I had black hair. Of\ncourse, Peter, being a Craig, has his faults, but he\u2019s a smart boy. His\nfather was lazy but his mother hasn\u2019t a lazy bone in her body, and Peter\ntakes after her.\u201d\n\n\u201cUncle Roger says Peter\u2019s father wasn\u2019t exactly lazy,\u201d said the Story\nGirl. \u201cThe trouble was, there were so many other things he liked better\nthan work.\u201d\n\n\u201cI wonder if he\u2019ll ever come back to his family,\u201d said Cecily. \u201cJust\nthink how dreadful it would be if OUR father had left us like that!\u201d\n\n\u201cOur father is a King,\u201d said Felicity loftily, \u201cand Peter\u2019s father was\nonly a Craig. A member of our family COULDN\u2019T behave like that.\u201d\n\n\u201cThey say there must be a black sheep in every family,\u201d said the Story\nGirl.\n\n\u201cThere isn\u2019t any in ours,\u201d said Cecily loyally.\n\n\u201cWhy do white sheep eat more than black?\u201d asked Felix.\n\n\u201cIs that a conundrum?\u201d asked Cecily cautiously. \u201cIf it is I won\u2019t try to\nguess the reason. I never can guess conundrums.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt isn\u2019t a conundrum,\u201d said Felix. \u201cIt\u2019s a fact. They do--and there\u2019s a\ngood reason for it.\u201d\n\nWe stopped picking apples, sat down on the grass, and tried to reason\nit out--with the exception of Dan, who declared that he knew there was\na catch somewhere and he wasn\u2019t going to be caught. The rest of us could\nnot see where any catch could exist, since Felix solemnly vowed, \u2018cross\nhis heart, white sheep did eat more than black. We argued over it\nseriously, but finally had to give it up.\n\n\u201cWell, what is the reason?\u201d asked Felicity.\n\n\u201cBecause there\u2019s more of them,\u201d said Felix, grinning.\n\nI forget what we did to Felix.\n\nA shower came up in the evening and we had to stop picking. After the\nshower there was a magnificent double rainbow. We watched it from the\ngranary window, and the Story Girl told us an old legend, culled from\none of Aunt Olivia\u2019s many scrapbooks.\n\n\u201cLong, long ago, in the Golden Age, when the gods used to visit the\nearth so often that it was nothing uncommon to see them, Odin made a\npilgrimage over the world. Odin was the great god of the northland,\nyou know. And wherever he went among men he taught them love and\nbrotherhood, and skilful arts; and great cities sprang up where he had\ntrodden, and every land through which he passed was blessed because one\nof the gods had come down to men. But many men and women followed Odin\nhimself, giving up all their worldly possessions and ambitions; and to\nthese he promised the gift of eternal life. All these people were good\nand noble and unselfish and kind; but the best and noblest of them all\nwas a youth named Ving; and this youth was beloved by Odin above all\nothers, for his beauty and strength and goodness. Always he walked on\nOdin\u2019s right hand, and always the first light of Odin\u2019s smile fell on\nhim. Tall and straight was he as a young pine, and his long hair was\nthe colour of ripe wheat in the sun; and his blue eyes were like the\nnorthland heavens on a starry night.\n\n\u201cIn Odin\u2019s band was a beautiful maiden named Alin. She was as fair and\ndelicate as a young birch tree in spring among the dark old pines and\nfirs, and Ving loved her with all his heart. His soul thrilled with\nrapture at the thought that he and she together should drink from the\nfountain of immortality, as Odin had promised, and be one thereafter in\neternal youth.\n\n\u201cAt last they came to the very place where the rainbow touched the\nearth. And the rainbow was a great bridge, built of living colours, so\ndazzling and wonderful that beyond it the eye could see nothing, only\nfar away a great, blinding, sparkling glory, where the fountain of life\nsprang up in a shower of diamond fire. But under the Rainbow Bridge\nrolled a terrible flood, deep and wide and violent, full of rocks and\nrapids and whirlpools.\n\n\u201cThere was a Warder of the bridge, a god, dark and stern and sorrowful.\nAnd to him Odin gave command that he should open the gate and allow\nhis followers to cross the Rainbow Bridge, that they might drink of the\nfountain of life beyond. And the Warder set open the gate.\n\n\u201c\u2018Pass on and drink of the fountain,\u2019 he said. \u2018To all who taste of it\nshall immortality be given. But only to that one who shall drink of it\nfirst shall be permitted to walk at Odin\u2019s right hand forever.\u2019\n\n\u201cThen the company passed through in great haste, all fired with a desire\nto be the first to drink of the fountain and win so marvellous a boon.\nLast of all came Ving. He had lingered behind to pluck a thorn from the\nfoot of a beggar child he had met on the highway, and he had not heard\nthe Warder\u2019s words. But when, eager, joyous, radiant, he set his foot\non the rainbow, the stern, sorrowful Warder took him by the arm and drew\nhim back.\n\n\u201c\u2018Ving, strong, noble, and valiant,\u2019 he said, \u2018Rainbow Bridge is not for\nthee.\u2019\n\n\u201cVery dark grew Ving\u2019s face. Hot rebellion rose in his heart and rushed\nover his pale lips.\n\n\u201c\u2018Why dost thou keep back the draught of immortality from me?\u2019 he\ndemanded passionately.\n\n\u201cThe Warder pointed to the dark flood that rolled under the bridge.\n\n\u201c\u2018The path of the rainbow is not for thee,\u2019 he said, \u2018but yonder way is\nopen. Ford that flood. On the furthest bank is the fountain of life.\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018Thou mockest me,\u2019 muttered Ving sullenly. \u2018No mortal could cross that\nflood. Oh, Master,\u2019 he prayed, turning beseechingly to Odin, \u2018thou didst\npromise to me eternal life as to the others. Wilt thou not keep that\npromise? Command the Warder to let me pass. He must obey thee.\u2019\n\n\u201cBut Odin stood silent, with his face turned from his beloved, and\nVing\u2019s heart was filled with unspeakable bitterness and despair.\n\n\u201c\u2018Thou mayest return to earth if thou fearest to essay the flood,\u2019 said\nthe Warder.\n\n\u201c\u2018Nay,\u2019 said Ving wildly, \u2018earthly life without Alin is more dreadful\nthan the death which awaits me in yon dark river.\u2019\n\n\u201cAnd he plunged fiercely in. He swam, and struggled, he buffetted the\nturmoil. The waves went over his head again and again, the whirlpools\ncaught him and flung him on the cruel rocks. The wild, cold spray beat\non his eyes and blinded him, so that he could see nothing, and the roar\nof the river deafened him so that he could hear nothing; but he felt\nkeenly the wounds and bruises of the cruel rocks, and many a time he\nwould have given up the struggle had not the thought of sweet Alin\u2019s\nloving eyes brought him the strength and desire to struggle as long\nas it was possible. Long, long, long, to him seemed that bitter and\nperilous passage; but at last he won through to the furthest side.\nBreathless and reeling, his vesture torn, his great wounds bleeding, he\nfound himself on the shore where the fountain of immortality sprang up.\nHe staggered to its brink and drank of its clear stream. Then all pain\nand weariness fell away from him, and he rose up, a god, beautiful with\nimmortality. And as he did there came rushing over the Rainbow Bridge a\ngreat company--the band of fellow travellers. But all were too late to\nwin the double boon. Ving had won to it through the danger and suffering\nof the dark river.\u201d\n\nThe rainbow had faded out, and the darkness of the October dusk was\nfalling.\n\n\u201cI wonder,\u201d said Dan meditatively, as we went away from that redolent\nspot, \u201cwhat it would be like to live for ever in this world.\u201d\n\n\u201cI expect we\u2019d get tired of it after awhile,\u201d said the Story Girl.\n\u201cBut,\u201d she added, \u201cI think it would be a goodly while before I would.\u201d\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIX. THE SHADOW FEARED OF MAN\n\nWe were all up early the next morning, dressing by candlelight. But\nearly as it was we found the Story Girl in the kitchen when we went\ndown, sitting on Rachel Ward\u2019s blue chest and looking important.\n\n\u201cWhat do you think?\u201d she exclaimed. \u201cPeter has the measles! He was\ndreadfully sick all night, and Uncle Roger had to go for the doctor. He\nwas quite light-headed, and didn\u2019t know any one. Of course he\u2019s far too\nsick to be taken home, so his mother has come up to wait on him, and I\u2019m\nto live over here until he is better.\u201d\n\nThis was mingled bitter and sweet. We were sorry to hear that Peter had\nthe measles; but it would be jolly to have the Story Girl living with us\nall the time. What orgies of story telling we should have!\n\n\u201cI suppose we\u2019ll all have the measles now,\u201d grumbled Felicity. \u201cAnd\nOctober is such an inconvenient time for measles--there\u2019s so much to\ndo.\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t believe any time is very convenient to have the measles,\u201d\n Cecily said.\n\n\u201cOh, perhaps we won\u2019t have them,\u201d said the Story Girl cheerfully. \u201cPeter\ncaught them at Markdale, the last time he was home, his mother says.\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t want to catch the measles from Peter,\u201d said Felicity decidedly.\n\u201cFancy catching them from a hired boy!\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, Felicity, don\u2019t call Peter a hired boy when he\u2019s sick,\u201d protested\nCecily.\n\nDuring the next two days we were very busy--too busy to tell tales or\nlisten to them. Only in the frosty dusk did we have time to wander afar\nin realms of gold with the Story Girl. She had recently been digging\ninto a couple of old volumes of classic myths and northland folklore\nwhich she had found in Aunt Olivia\u2019s attic; and for us, god and goddess,\nlaughing nymph and mocking satyr, norn and valkyrie, elf and troll, and\n\u201cgreen folk\u201d generally, were real creatures once again, inhabiting the\norchards and woods and meadows around us, until it seemed as if the\nGolden Age had returned to earth.\n\nThen, on the third day, the Story Girl came to us with a very white\nface. She had been over to Uncle Roger\u2019s yard to hear the latest\nbulletin from the sick room. Hitherto they had been of a non-committal\nnature; but now it was only too evident that she had bad news.\n\n\u201cPeter is very, very sick,\u201d she said miserably. \u201cHe has caught cold\nsomeway--and the measles have struck in--and--and--\u201d the Story Girl\nwrung her brown hands together--\u201cthe doctor is afraid he--he--won\u2019t get\nbetter.\u201d\n\nWe all stood around, stricken, incredulous.\n\n\u201cDo you mean,\u201d said Felix, finding voice at length, \u201cthat Peter is going\nto die?\u201d\n\nThe Story Girl nodded miserably.\n\n\u201cThey\u2019re afraid so.\u201d\n\nCecily sat down by her half filled basket and began to cry. Felicity\nsaid violently that she didn\u2019t believe it.\n\n\u201cI can\u2019t pick another apple to-day and I ain\u2019t going to try,\u201d said Dan.\n\nNone of us could. We went to the grown-ups and told them so; and the\ngrown-ups, with unaccustomed understanding and sympathy, told us that we\nneed not. Then we roamed about in our wretchedness and tried to comfort\none another. We avoided the orchard; it was for us too full of happy\nmemories to accord with our bitterness of soul. Instead, we resorted\nto the spruce wood, where the hush and the sombre shadows and the soft,\nmelancholy sighing of the wind in the branches over us did not jar\nharshly on our new sorrow.\n\nWe could not really believe that Peter was going to die--to DIE. Old\npeople died. Grown-up people died. Even children of whom we had heard\ndied. But that one of US--of our merry little band--should die was\nunbelievable. We could not believe it. And yet the possibility struck us\nin the face like a blow. We sat on the mossy stones under the dark old\nevergreens and gave ourselves up to wretchedness. We all, even Dan,\ncried, except the Story Girl.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t see how you can be so unfeeling, Sara Stanley,\u201d said Felicity\nreproachfully. \u201cYou\u2019ve always been such friends with Peter--and made out\nyou thought so much of him--and now you ain\u2019t shedding a tear for him.\u201d\n\nI looked at the Story Girl\u2019s dry, piteous eyes, and suddenly remembered\nthat I had never seen her cry. When she told us sad tales, in a voice\nladen with all the tears that had ever been shed, she had never shed one\nof her own.\n\n\u201cI can\u2019t cry,\u201d she said drearily. \u201cI wish I could. I\u2019ve a dreadful\nfeeling here--\u201d she touched her slender throat--\u201cand if I could cry I\nthink it would make it better. But I can\u2019t.\u201d\n\n\u201cMaybe Peter will get better after all,\u201d said Dan, swallowing a sob.\n\u201cI\u2019ve heard of lots of people who went and got better after the doctor\nsaid they were going to die.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhile there\u2019s life there\u2019s hope, you know,\u201d said Felix. \u201cWe shouldn\u2019t\ncross bridges till we come to them.\u201d\n\n\u201cThose are only proverbs,\u201d said the Story Girl bitterly. \u201cProverbs are\nall very fine when there\u2019s nothing to worry you, but when you\u2019re in real\ntrouble they\u2019re not a bit of help.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, I wish I\u2019d never said Peter wasn\u2019t fit to associate with,\u201d\n moaned Felicity. \u201cIf he ever gets better I\u2019ll never say such a thing\nagain--I\u2019ll never THINK it. He\u2019s just a lovely boy and twice as smart as\nlots that aren\u2019t hired out.\u201d\n\n\u201cHe was always so polite and good-natured and obliging,\u201d sighed Cecily.\n\n\u201cHe was just a real gentleman,\u201d said the Story Girl.\n\n\u201cThere ain\u2019t many fellows as fair and square as Peter,\u201d said Dan.\n\n\u201cAnd such a worker,\u201d said Felix.\n\n\u201cUncle Roger says he never had a boy he could depend on like Peter,\u201d I\nsaid.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s too late to be saying all these nice things about him now,\u201d said\nthe Story Girl. \u201cHe won\u2019t ever know how much we thought of him. It\u2019s too\nlate.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf he gets better I\u2019ll tell him,\u201d said Cecily resolutely.\n\n\u201cI wish I hadn\u2019t boxed his ears that day he tried to kiss me,\u201d went on\nFelicity, who was evidently raking her conscience for past offences in\nregard to Peter. \u201cOf course I couldn\u2019t be expected to let a hir--to let\na boy kiss me. But I needn\u2019t have been so cross about it. I might have\nbeen more dignified. And I told him I just hated him. That wasn\u2019t true,\nbut I s\u2019pose he\u2019ll die thinking it is. Oh, dear me, what makes people\nsay things they\u2019ve got to be so sorry for afterwards?\u201d\n\n\u201cI suppose if Peter d-d-dies he\u2019ll go to heaven anyhow,\u201d sobbed Cecily.\n\u201cHe\u2019s been real good all this summer, but he isn\u2019t a church member.\u201d\n\n\u201cHe\u2019s a Presbyterian, you know,\u201d said Felicity reassuringly. Her tone\nexpressed her conviction that that would carry Peter through if anything\nwould. \u201cWe\u2019re none of us church members. But of course Peter couldn\u2019t be\nsent to the bad place. That would be ridiculous. What would they do with\nhim there, when he\u2019s so good and polite and honest and kind?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, I think he\u2019ll be all right, too,\u201d sighed Cecily, \u201cbut you know he\nnever did go to church and Sunday School before this summer.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, his father run away, and his mother was too busy earning a\nliving to bring him up right,\u201d argued Felicity. \u201cDon\u2019t you suppose that\nanybody, even God, would make allowances for that?\u201d\n\n\u201cOf course Peter will go to heaven,\u201d said the Story Girl. \u201cHe\u2019s not\ngrown up enough to go anywhere else. Children always go to heaven. But\nI don\u2019t want him to go there or anywhere else. I want him to stay right\nhere. I know heaven must be a splendid place, but I\u2019m sure Peter would\nrather be here, having fun with us.\u201d\n\n\u201cSara Stanley,\u201d rebuked Felicity. \u201cI should think you wouldn\u2019t say such\nthings at such a solemn time. You\u2019re such a queer girl.\u201d\n\n\u201cWouldn\u2019t you rather be here yourself than in heaven?\u201d said the Story\nGirl bluntly. \u201cWouldn\u2019t you now, Felicity King? Tell the truth, \u2018cross\nyour heart.\u201d\n\nBut Felicity took refuge from this inconvenient question in tears.\n\n\u201cIf we could only DO something to help Peter!\u201d I said desperately. \u201cIt\nseems dreadful not to be able to do a single thing.\u201d\n\n\u201cThere\u2019s one thing we can do,\u201d said Cecily gently. \u201cWe can pray for\nhim.\u201d\n\n\u201cSo we can,\u201d I agreed.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m going to pray like sixty,\u201d said Felix energetically.\n\n\u201cWe\u2019ll have to be awful good, you know,\u201d warned Cecily. \u201cThere\u2019s no use\npraying if you\u2019re not good.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat will be easy,\u201d sighed Felicity. \u201cI don\u2019t feel a bit like being\nbad. If anything happens to Peter I feel sure I\u2019ll never be naughty\nagain. I won\u2019t have the heart.\u201d\n\nWe did, indeed, pray most sincerely for Peter\u2019s recovery. We did not, as\nin the case of Paddy, \u201ctack it on after more important things,\u201d but put\nit in the very forefront of our petitions. Even skeptical Dan prayed,\nhis skepticism falling away from him like a discarded garment in this\nvalley of the shadow, which sifts out hearts and tries souls, until we\nall, grown-up or children, realize our weakness, and, finding that our\nown puny strength is as a reed shaken in the wind, creep back humbly to\nthe God we have vainly dreamed we could do without.\n\nPeter was no better the next day. Aunt Olivia reported that his mother\nwas broken-hearted. We did not again ask to be released from work.\nInstead, we went at it with feverish zeal. If we worked hard there was\nless time for grief and grievious thoughts. We picked apples and dragged\nthem to the granary doggedly. In the afternoon Aunt Janet brought us a\nlunch of apple turnovers; but we could not eat them. Peter, as Felicity\nreminded us with a burst of tears, had been so fond of apple turnovers.\n\nAnd, oh, how good we were! How angelically and unnaturally good! Never\nwas there such a band of kind, sweet-tempered, unselfish children in any\norchard. Even Felicity and Dan, for once in their lives, got through the\nday without any exchange of left-handed compliments. Cecily confided to\nme that she never meant to put her hair up in curlers on Saturday\nnights again, because it was pretending. She was so anxious to repent of\nsomething, sweet girl, and this was all she could think of.\n\nDuring the afternoon Judy Pineau brought up a tear-blotted note from\nSara Ray. Sara had not been allowed to visit the hill farm since Peter\nhad developed measles. She was an unhappy little exile, and could\nonly relieve her anguish of soul by daily letters to Cecily, which the\nfaithful and obliging Judy Pineau brought up for her. These epistles\nwere as gushingly underlined as if Sara had been a correspondent of\nearly Victorian days.\n\nCecily did not write back, because Mrs. Ray had decreed that no letters\nmust be taken down from the hill farm lest they carry infection. Cecily\nhad offered to bake every epistle thoroughly in the oven before sending\nit; but Mrs. Ray was inexorable, and Cecily had to content herself by\nsending long verbal messages with Judy Pineau.\n\n\u201cMy OWN DEAREST Cecily,\u201d ran Sara\u2019s letter. \u201cI have just heard the\nsad news about POOR DEAR PETER. I can\u2019t describe MY FEELINGS. They are\nDREADFUL. I have been crying ALL THE AFTERNOON. I wish I could FLY to\nyou, but ma will not let me. She is afraid I will catch the measles, but\nI would rather have the measles A DOZEN TIMES OVER than be sepparated\nfrom you all like this. But I have felt, ever since the Judgment Sunday\nthat I MUST OBEY MA BETTER than I used to do. If ANYTHING HAPPENS to\nPeter and you are let see him BEFORE IT HAPPENS give him MY LOVE and\ntell him HOW SORRY I AM, and that I hope we will ALL meet in A BETTER\nWORLD Everything in school is about the same. The master is awful cross\nby spells. Jimmy Frewen walked home with Nellie Bowan last night\nfrom prayer-meeting and HER ONLY FOURTEEN. Don\u2019t you think it horrid\nBEGINNING SO YOUNG? YOU AND ME would NEVER do anything like that till we\nwere GROWN UP, would we? Willy Fraser looks SO LONESOME in school these\ndays. I must stop for ma says I waste FAR TOO MUCH TIME writing letters.\nTell Judy ALL THE NEWS for me.\n\n\u201cYour OWN TRUE FRIEND,\n\n\u201cSARA RAY.\n\n\u201cP.S. Oh I DO hope Peter will get better. Ma is going to get me a new\nbrown dress for the winter.\n\n\u201cS. R.\u201d\n\nWhen evening came we went to our seats under the whispering, sighing\nfir trees. It was a beautiful night--clear, windless, frosty. Some one\ngalloped down the road on horseback, lustily singing a comic song. How\ndared he? We felt that it was an insult to our wretchedness. If Peter\nwere going to--going to--well, if anything happened to Peter, we felt so\nmiserably sure that the music of life would be stilled for us for ever.\nHow could any one in the world be happy when we were so unhappy?\n\nPresently Aunt Olivia came down the long twilight arcade. Her bright\nhair was uncovered and she looked slim and queen-like in her light\ndress. We thought Aunt Olivia very pretty then. Looking back from\na mature standpoint I realize that she must have been an unusually\nbeautiful woman; and she looked her prettiest as she stood under the\nswaying boughs in the last faint light of the autumn dusk and smiled\ndown at our woebegone faces.\n\n\u201cDear, sorrowful little people, I bring you glad tidings of great\njoy,\u201d she said. \u201cThe doctor has just been here, and he finds Peter much\nbetter, and thinks he will pull through after all.\u201d\n\nWe gazed up at her in silence for a few moments. When we had heard the\nnews of Paddy\u2019s recovery we had been noisy and jubilant; but we were\nvery quiet now. We had been too near something dark and terrible and\nmenacing; and though it was thus suddenly removed the chill and shadow\nof it were about us still. Presently the Story Girl, who had been\nstanding up, leaning against a tall fir, slipped down to the ground in\na huddled fashion and broke into a very passion of weeping. I had never\nheard any one cry so, with dreadful, rending sobs. I was used to hearing\ngirls cry. It was as much Sara Ray\u2019s normal state as any other, and even\nFelicity and Cecily availed themselves occasionally of the privilege of\nsex. But I had never heard any girl cry like this. It gave me the same\nunpleasant sensation which I had felt one time when I had seen my father\ncry.\n\n\u201cOh, don\u2019t, Sara, don\u2019t,\u201d I said gently, patting her convulsed shoulder.\n\n\u201cYou ARE a queer girl,\u201d said Felicity--more tolerantly than usual\nhowever--\u201cyou never cried a speck when you thought Peter was going to\ndie--and now when he is going to get better you cry like that.\u201d\n\n\u201cSara, child, come with me,\u201d said Aunt Olivia, bending over her. The\nStory Girl got up and went away, with Aunt Olivia\u2019s arms around her. The\nsound of her crying died away under the firs, and with it seemed to go\nthe dread and grief that had been our portion for hours. In the reaction\nour spirits rose with a bound.\n\n\u201cOh, ain\u2019t it great that Peter\u2019s going to be all right?\u201d said Dan,\nspringing up.\n\n\u201cI never was so glad of anything in my whole life,\u201d declared Felicity in\nshameless rapture.\n\n\u201cCan\u2019t we send word somehow to Sara Ray to-night?\u201d asked Cecily, the\never-thoughtful. \u201cShe\u2019s feeling so bad--and she\u2019ll have to feel that way\ntill to-morrow if we can\u2019t.\u201d\n\n\u201cLet\u2019s all go down to the Ray gate and holler to Judy Pineau till she\ncomes out,\u201d suggested Felix.\n\nAccordingly, we went and \u201chollered,\u201d with a right good will. We were\nmuch taken aback to find that Mrs. Ray came to the gate instead of Judy,\nand rather sourly demanded what we were yelling about. When she heard\nour news, however, she had the decency to say she was glad, and to\npromise she would convey the good tidings to Sara--\u201cwho is already in\nbed, where all children of her age should be,\u201d added Mrs. Ray severely.\n\nWE had no intention of going to bed for a good two hours yet. Instead,\nafter devoutly thanking goodness that our grown-ups, in spite of some\nimperfections, were not of the Mrs. Ray type, we betook ourselves to the\ngranary, lighted a huge lantern which Dan had made out of a turnip, and\nproceeded to devour all the apples we might have eaten through the day\nbut had not. We were a blithe little crew, sitting there in the light of\nour goblin lantern. We had in very truth been given beauty for ashes and\nthe oil of joy for mourning. Life was as a red rose once more.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m going to make a big batch of patty-pans, first thing in the\nmorning,\u201d said Felicity jubilantly. \u201cIsn\u2019t it queer? Last night I felt\njust like praying, and tonight I feel just like cooking.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe mustn\u2019t forget to thank God for making Peter better,\u201d said Cecily,\nas we finally went to the house.\n\n\u201cDo you s\u2019pose Peter wouldn\u2019t have got better anyway?\u201d said Dan.\n\n\u201cOh, Dan, what makes you ask such questions?\u201d exclaimed Cecily in real\ndistress.\n\n\u201cI dunno,\u201d said Dan. \u201cThey just kind of come into my head, like. But of\ncourse I mean to thank God when I say my prayers to-night. That\u2019s only\ndecent.\u201d\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXX. A COMPOUND LETTER\n\nOnce Peter was out of danger he recovered rapidly, but he found his\nconvalescence rather tedious; and Aunt Olivia suggested to us one day\nthat we write a \u201ccompound letter\u201d to amuse him, until he could come to\nthe window and talk to us from a safe distance. The idea appealed to\nus; and, the day being Saturday and the apples all picked, we betook\nourselves to the orchard to compose our epistles, Cecily having first\nsent word by a convenient caller to Sara Ray, that she, too, might have\na letter ready. Later, I, having at that time a mania for preserving all\ndocuments relating to our life in Carlisle, copied those letters in the\nblank pages at the back of my dream book. Hence I can reproduce them\nverbatim, with the bouquet they have retained through all the long years\nsince they were penned in that autumnal orchard on the hill, with\nits fading leaves and frosted grasses, and the \u201cmild, delightsome\nmelancholy\u201d of the late October day enfolding.\n\n\nCECILY\u2019S LETTER\n\n\u201cDEAR PETER:--I am so very glad and thankful that you are going to\nget better. We were so afraid you would not last Tuesday, and we felt\ndreadful, even Felicity. We all prayed for you. I think the others have\nstopped now, but I keep it up every night still, for fear you might have\na relaps. (I don\u2019t know if that is spelled right. I haven\u2019t the dixonary\nhandy, and if I ask the others Felicity will laugh at me, though she\ncannot spell lots of words herself.) I am saving some of the Honourable\nMr. Whalen\u2019s pears for you. I\u2019ve got them hid where nobody can find\nthem. There\u2019s only a dozen because Dan et all the rest, but I guess you\nwill like them. We have got all the apples picked, and are all ready to\ntake the measles now, if we have to, but I hope we won\u2019t. If we have to,\nthough, I\u2019d rather catch them from you than from any one else, because\nwe are acquainted with you. If I do take the measles and anything\nhappens to me Felicity is to have my cherry vase. I\u2019d rather give it to\nthe Story Girl, but Dan says it ought to be kept in the family, even if\nFelicity is a crank. I haven\u2019t anything else valuable, since I gave Sara\nRay my forget-me-not jug, but if you would like anything I\u2019ve got let me\nknow and I\u2019ll leave instructions for you to have it. The Story Girl has\ntold us some splendid stories lately. I wish I was clever like her. Ma\nsays it doesn\u2019t matter if you\u2019re not clever as long as you are good, but\nI am not even very good.\n\n\u201cI think this is all my news, except that I want to tell you how much\nwe all think of you, Peter. When we heard you were sick we all said nice\nthings about you, but we were afraid it was too late, and I said if you\ngot better I\u2019d tell you. It is easier to write it than to tell it out\nto your face. We think you are smart and polite and obliging and a great\nworker and a gentleman.\n\n\u201cYour true friend,\n\n\u201cCECILY KING.\n\n\u201cP.S. If you answer my letter don\u2019t say anything about the pears,\nbecause I don\u2019t want Dan to find out there\u2019s any left. C. K.\u201d\n\n\nFELICITY\u2019S LETTER\n\n\u201cDEAR PETER:--Aunt Olivia says for us all to write a compound letter to\ncheer you up. We are all awful glad you are getting better. It gave us\nan awful scare when we heard you were going to die. But you will soon be\nall right and able to get out again. Be careful you don\u2019t catch cold. I\nam going to bake some nice things for you and send them over, now that\nthe doctor says you can eat them. And I\u2019ll send you my rosebud plate to\neat off of. I\u2019m only lending it, you know, not giving it. I let very few\npeople use it because it is my greatest treasure. Mind you don\u2019t break\nit. Aunt Olivia must always wash it, not your mother.\n\n\u201cI do hope the rest of us won\u2019t catch the measles. It must look horrid\nto have red spots all over your face. We all feel pretty well yet. The\nStory Girl says as many queer things as ever. Felix thinks he is getting\nthin, but he is fatter than ever, and no wonder, with all the apples he\neats. He has give up trying to eat the bitter apples at last. Beverley\nhas grown half an inch since July, by the mark on the hall door, and\nhe is awful pleased about it. I told him I guessed the magic seed was\ntaking effect at last, and he got mad. He never gets mad at anything\nthe Story Girl says, and yet she is so sarkastic by times. Dan is pretty\nhard to get along with as usul, but I try to bear pashently with him.\nCecily is well and says she isn\u2019t going to curl her hair any more. She\nis so conscienshus. I am glad my hair curls of itself, ain\u2019t you?\n\n\u201cWe haven\u2019t seen Sara Ray since you got sick. She is awful lonesome,\nand Judy says she cries nearly all the time but that is nothing new. I\u2019m\nawful sorry for Sara but I\u2019m glad I\u2019m not her. She is going to write you\na letter too. You\u2019ll let me see what she puts in it, won\u2019t you? You\u2019d\nbetter take some Mexican Tea now. It\u2019s a great blood purifyer.\n\n\u201cI am going to get a lovely dark blue dress for the winter. It is ever\nso much prettier than Sara Ray\u2019s brown one. Sara Ray\u2019s mother has no\ntaste. The Story Girl\u2019s father is sending her a new red dress, and a red\nvelvet cap from Paris. She is so fond of red. I can\u2019t bear it, it looks\nso common. Mother says I can get a velvet hood too. Cecily says she\ndoesn\u2019t believe it\u2019s right to wear velvet when it\u2019s so expensive and\nthe heathen are crying for the gospel. She got that idea from a Sunday\nSchool paper but I am going to get my hood all the same.\n\n\u201cWell, Peter, I have no more news so I will close for this time.\n\n\u201choping you will soon be quite well, I remain\n\n\u201cyours sincerely,\n\n\u201cFELICITY KING.\n\n\u201cP.S. The Story Girl peeked over my shoulder and says I ought to have\nsigned it \u2018yours affeckshunately,\u2019 but I know better, because the\n_Family Guide_ has told lots of times how you should sign yourself when\nyou are writing to a young man who is only a friend. F. K.\u201d\n\n\nFELIX\u2019 LETTER\n\n\u201cDEAR PETER:--I am awful glad you are getting better. We all felt bad\nwhen we thought you wouldn\u2019t, but I felt worse than the others because\nwe hadn\u2019t been on very good terms lately and I had said mean things\nabout you. I\u2019m sorry and, Peter, you can pray for anything you like and\nI won\u2019t ever object again. I\u2019m glad Uncle Alec interfered and stopped\nthe fight. If I had licked you and you had died of the measles it would\nhave been a dreadful thing.\n\n\u201cWe have all the apples in and haven\u2019t much to do just now and we are\nhaving lots of fun but we wish you were here to join in. I\u2019m a lot\nthinner than I was. I guess working so hard picking apples is a good\nthing to make you thin. The girls are all well. Felicity puts on as\nmany airs as ever, but she makes great things to eat. I have had some\nsplendid dreams since we gave up writing them down. That is always the\nway. We ain\u2019t going to school till we\u2019re sure we are not going to have\nthe measles. This is all I can think of, so I will draw to a close.\nRemember, you can pray for anything you like. FELIX KING.\u201d\n\n\nSARA RAY\u2019S LETTER\n\n\u201cDEAR PETER:--I never wrote to A BOY before, so PLEASE excuse ALL\nmistakes. I am SO glad you are getting better. We were SO afraid you\nwere GOING TO DIE. I CRIED ALL NIGHT about it. But now that you are OUT\nOF DANGER will you tell me WHAT IT REALLY FEELS LIKE to think you are\ngoing to die? Does it FEEL QUEER? Were you VERY badly frightened?\n\n\u201cMa won\u2019t let me go up the hill AT ALL now. I would DIE if it was not\nfor Judy Pinno. (The French names are SO HARD TO SPELL.) JUDY IS VERY\nOBLIGING and I feel that she SIMPATHISES WITH ME. In my LONELY HOURS I\nread my dream book and Cecily\u2019s old letters and they are SUCH A COMFORT\nto me. I have been reading one of the school library books too. I is\nPRETTY GOOD but I wish they had got more LOVE STORIES because they are\nso exciting. But the master would not let them.\n\n\u201cIf you had DIED, Peter, and YOUR FATHER had heard it wouldn\u2019t he have\nFELT DREADFUL? We are having BEAUTIFUL WEATHER and the seenary is fine\nsince the leaves turned. I think there is nothing so pretty as Nature\nafter all.\n\n\u201cI hope ALL DANGER from the measles will soon be over and we can ALL\nMEET AGAIN AT THE HOME ON THE HILL. Till then FAREWELL.\n\n\u201cYour true friend,\n\n\u201cSARA RAY.\n\n\u201cP. S. Don\u2019t let Felicity see this letter. S. R.\u201d\n\n\nDAN\u2019S LETTER\n\n\u201cDEAR OLD PETE:--Awful glad you cheated the doctor. I thought you\nweren\u2019t the kind to turn up your toes so easy. You should of heard the\ngirls crying.\n\n\u201cThey\u2019re all getting their winter finery now and the talk about it would\nmake you sick. The Story Girl is getting hers from Paris and Felicity is\nawful jealous though she pretends she isn\u2019t. I can see through her.\n\n\u201cKitt Mar was up here Thursday to see the girls. She\u2019s had the measles\nso she isn\u2019t scared. She\u2019s a great girl to laugh. I like a girl that\nlaughs, don\u2019t you?\n\n\u201cWe had a call from Peg Bowen yesterday. You should of seen the Story\nGirl hustling Pat out of the way, for all she says she don\u2019t believe he\nwas bewitched. Peg had your rheumatism ring on and the Story Girl\u2019s blue\nbeads and Sara Ray\u2019s lace soed across the front of her dress. She wanted\nsome tobacco and some pickles. Ma gave her some pickles but said we\ndidn\u2019t have no tobacco and Peg went off mad but I guess she wouldn\u2019t\nbewitch anything on account of the pickles.\n\n\u201cI ain\u2019t any hand to write letters so I guess I\u2019ll stop. Hope you\u2019ll be\nout soon. DAN.\u201d\n\n\nTHE STORY GIRL\u2019S LETTER\n\n\u201cDEAR PETER:--Oh, how glad I am that you are getting better! Those\ndays when we thought you wouldn\u2019t were the hardest of my whole life. It\nseemed too dreadful to be true that perhaps you would die. And then when\nwe heard you were going to get better that seemed too good to be true.\nOh, Peter, hurry up and get well, for we are having such good times and\nwe miss you so much. I have coaxed Uncle Alec not to burn his potato\nstalks till you are well, because I remember how you always liked to see\nthe potato stalks burn. Uncle Alec consented, though Aunt Janet said it\nwas high time they were burned. Uncle Roger burned his last night and it\nwas such fun.\n\n\u201cPat is splendid. He has never had a sick spell since that bad one.\nI would send him over to be company for you, but Aunt Janet says no,\nbecause he might carry the measles back. I don\u2019t see how he could, but\nwe must obey Aunt Janet. She is very good to us all, but I know she\ndoes not approve of me. She says I\u2019m my father\u2019s own child. I know that\ndoesn\u2019t mean anything complimentary because she looked so queer when she\nsaw that I had heard her, but I don\u2019t care. I\u2019m glad I\u2019m like father. I\nhad a splendid letter from him this week, with the darlingest pictures\nin it. He is painting a new picture which is going to make him famous. I\nwonder what Aunt Janet will say then.\n\n\u201cDo you know, Peter, yesterday I thought I saw the Family Ghost at last.\nI was coming through the gap in the hedge, and I saw somebody in blue\nstanding under Uncle Alec\u2019s tree. How my heart beat! My hair should have\nstood up on end with terror but it didn\u2019t. I felt to see, and it was\nlying down quite flat. But it was only a visitor after all. I don\u2019t know\nwhether I was glad or disappointed. I don\u2019t think it would be a pleasant\nexperience to see the ghost. But after I had seen it think what a\nheroine I would be!\n\n\u201cOh, Peter, what do you think? I have got acquainted with the Awkward\nMan at last. I never thought it would be so easy. Yesterday Aunt Olivia\nwanted some ferns, so I went back to the maple woods to get them for\nher, and I found some lovely ones by the spring. And while I was sitting\nthere, looking into the spring who should come along but the Awkward Man\nhimself. He sat right down beside me and began to talk. I never was so\nsurprised in my life. We had a very interesting talk, and I told him\ntwo of my best stories, and a great many of my secrets into the bargain.\nThey may say what they like, but he was not one bit shy or awkward,\nand he has beautiful eyes. He did not tell me any of his secrets, but\nI believe he will some day. Of course I never said a word about his\nAlice-room. But I gave him a hint about his little brown book. I said\nI loved poetry and often felt like writing it, and then I said, \u2018Do you\never feel like that, Mr. Dale?\u2019 He said, yes, he sometimes felt that\nway, but he did not mention the brown book. I thought he might have. But\nafter all I don\u2019t like people who tell you everything the first time\nyou meet them, like Sara Ray. When he went away he said, \u2018I hope I shall\nhave the pleasure of meeting you again,\u2019 just as seriously and politely\nas if I was a grown-up young lady. I am sure he could never have said\nit if I had been really grown up. I told him it was likely he would and\nthat he wasn\u2019t to mind if I had a longer skirt on next time, because I\u2019d\nbe just the same person.\n\n\u201cI told the children a beautiful new fairy story to-day. I made them go\nto the spruce wood to hear it. A spruce wood is the proper place to\ntell fairy stories in. Felicity says she can\u2019t see that it makes any\ndifference where you tell them, but oh, it does. I wish you had been\nthere to hear it too, but when you are well I will tell it over again\nfor you.\n\n\u201cI am going to call the southernwood \u2018appleringie\u2019 after this. Beverley\nsays that is what they call it in Scotland, and I think it sounds so\nmuch more poetical than southernwood. Felicity says the right name is\n\u2018Boy\u2019s Love,\u2019 but I think that sounds silly.\n\n\u201cOh, Peter, shadows are such pretty things. The orchard is full of\nthem this very minute. Sometimes they are so still you would think them\nasleep. Then they go laughing and skipping. Outside, in the oat field,\nthey are always chasing each other. They are the wild shadows. The\nshadows in the orchard are the tame shadows.\n\n\u201cEverything seems to be rather tired growing except the spruces and\nchrysanthemums in Aunt Olivia\u2019s garden. The sunshine is so thick and\nyellow and lazy, and the crickets sing all day long. The birds are\nnearly all gone and most of the maple leaves have fallen.\n\n\u201cJust to make you laugh I\u2019ll write you a little story I heard Uncle Alec\ntelling last night. It was about Elder Frewen\u2019s grandfather taking a\npair of rope reins to lead a piano home. Everybody laughed except Aunt\nJanet. Old Mr. Frewen was HER grandfather too, and she wouldn\u2019t laugh.\nOne day when old Mr. Frewen was a young man of eighteen his father came\nhome and said, \u2018Sandy, I bought a piano at Simon Ward\u2019s sale to-day.\nYou\u2019re to go to-morrow and bring it home.\u2019 So next day Sandy started\noff on horseback with a pair of rope reins to lead the piano home. He\nthought it was some kind of livestock.\n\n\u201cAnd then Uncle Roger told about old Mark Ward who got up to make a\nspeech at a church missionary social when he was drunk. (Of course he\ndidn\u2019t get drunk at the social. He went there that way.) And this was\nhis speech.\n\n\u201c\u2018Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Chairman, I can\u2019t express my thoughts\non this grand subject of missions. It\u2019s in this poor human\ncritter\u2019--patting himself on the breast--\u2018but he can\u2019t git it out.\u2019\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll tell you these stories when you get well. I can tell them ever so\nmuch better than I can write them.\n\n\u201cI know Felicity is wondering why I\u2019m writing such a long letter, so\nperhaps I\u2019d better stop. If your mother reads it to you there is a good\ndeal of it she may not understand, but I think your Aunt Jane would.\n\n\u201cI remain\n\n\u201cyour very affectionate friend,\n\n\u201cSARA STANLEY.\u201d\n\n\nI did not keep a copy of my own letter, and I have forgotten everything\nthat was in it, except the first sentence, in which I told Peter I was\nawful glad he was getting better.\n\nPeter\u2019s delight on receiving our letters knew no bounds. He insisted\non answering them and his letter, painstakingly disinfected, was duly\ndelivered to us. Aunt Olivia had written it at his dictation, which\nwas a gain, as far as spelling and punctuation went. But Peter\u2019s\nindividuality seemed merged and lost in Aunt Olivia\u2019s big, dashing\nscript. Not until the Story Girl read the letter to us in the granary by\njack-o-lantern light, in a mimicry of Peter\u2019s very voice, did we savour\nthe real bouquet of it.\n\n\nPETER\u2019S LETTER\n\n\u201cDEAR EVERYBODY, BUT ESPECIALLY FELICITY:--I was awful glad to get your\nletters. It makes you real important to be sick, but the time seems\nawful long when you\u2019re getting better. Your letters were all great, but\nI liked Felicity\u2019s best, and next to hers the Story Girl\u2019s. Felicity,\nit will be awful good of you to send me things to eat and the rosebud\nplate. I\u2019ll be awful careful of it. I hope you won\u2019t catch the measles,\nfor they are not nice, especially when they strike in, but you would\nlook all right, even if you did have red spots on your face. I would\nlike to try the Mexican Tea, because you want me to, but mother says\nno, she doesn\u2019t believe in it, and Burtons Bitters are a great deal\nhealthier. If I was you I would get the velvet hood all right. The\nheathen live in warm countries so they don\u2019t want hoods.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m glad you are still praying for me, Cecily, for you can\u2019t trust\nthe measles. And I\u2019m glad you\u2019re keeping you know what for me. I don\u2019t\nbelieve anything will happen to you if you do take the measles; but\nif anything does I\u2019d like that little red book of yours, _The Safe\nCompass_, just to remember you by. It\u2019s such a good book to read on\nSundays. It is interesting and religious, too. So is the Bible. I hadn\u2019t\nquite finished the Bible before I took the measles, but ma is reading\nthe last chapters to me. There\u2019s an awful lot in that book. I can\u2019t\nunderstand the whole of it, since I\u2019m only a hired boy, but some parts\nare real easy.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m awful glad you have such a good opinion of me. I don\u2019t deserve it,\nbut after this I\u2019ll try to. I can\u2019t tell you how I feel about all your\nkindness. I\u2019m like the fellow the Story Girl wrote about who couldn\u2019t\nget it out. I have the picture the Story Girl gave me for my sermon on\nthe wall at the foot of my bed. I like to look at it, it looks so much\nlike Aunt Jane.\n\n\u201cFelix, I\u2019ve given up praying that I\u2019d be the only one to eat the bitter\napples, and I\u2019ll never pray for anything like that again. It was a\nhorrid mean prayer. I didn\u2019t know it then, but after the measles struck\nin I found out it was. Aunt Jane wouldn\u2019t have liked it. After this I\u2019m\ngoing to pray prayers I needn\u2019t be ashamed of.\n\n\u201cSara Ray, I don\u2019t know what it feels like to be going to die because I\ndidn\u2019t know I was going to die till I got better. Mother says I was luny\nmost of the time after they struck in. It was just because they struck\nin I was luny. I ain\u2019t luny naturally, Felicity. I will do what you\nasked in your postscript, Sara, although it will be hard.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m glad Peg Bowen didn\u2019t catch you, Dan. Maybe she bewitched me that\nnight we were at her place, and that is why the measles struck in. I\u2019m\nawful glad Mr. King is going to leave the potato stalks until I get\nwell, and I\u2019m obliged to the Story Girl for coaxing him. I guess she\nwill find out about Alice yet. There were some parts of her letter I\ncouldn\u2019t see through, but when the measles strike in, they leave you\nstupid for a spell. Anyhow, it was a fine letter, and they were all\nfine, and I\u2019m awful glad I have so many nice friends, even if I am only\na hired boy. Perhaps I\u2019d never have found it out if the measles hadn\u2019t\nstruck in. So I\u2019m glad they did but I hope they never will again.\n\n\u201cYour obedient servant,\n\n\u201cPETER CRAIG.\u201d\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXI. ON THE EDGE OF LIGHT AND DARK\n\nWe celebrated the November day when Peter was permitted to rejoin us\nby a picnic in the orchard. Sara Ray was also allowed to come, under\nprotest; and her joy over being among us once more was almost pathetic.\nShe and Cecily cried in one another\u2019s arms as if they had been parted\nfor years.\n\nWe had a beautiful day for our picnic. November dreamed that it was May.\nThe air was soft and mellow, with pale, aerial mists in the valleys and\nover the leafless beeches on the western hill. The sere stubble fields\nbrooded in glamour, and the sky was pearly blue. The leaves were\nstill thick on the apple trees, though they were russet hued, and the\nafter-growth of grass was richly green, unharmed as yet by the nipping\nfrosts of previous nights. The wind made a sweet, drowsy murmur in the\nboughs, as of bees among apple blossoms.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s just like spring, isn\u2019t it?\u201d asked Felicity.\n\nThe Story Girl shook her head.\n\n\u201cNo, not quite. It looks like spring, but it isn\u2019t spring. It\u2019s as\nif everything was resting--getting ready to sleep. In spring they\u2019re\ngetting ready to grow. Can\u2019t you FEEL the difference?\u201d\n\n\u201cI think it\u2019s just like spring,\u201d insisted Felicity.\n\nIn the sun-sweet place before the Pulpit Stone we boys had put up a\nboard table. Aunt Janet allowed us to cover it with an old\ntablecloth, the worn places in which the girls artfully concealed with\nfrost-whitened ferns. We had the kitchen dishes, and the table was gaily\ndecorated with Cecily\u2019s three scarlet geraniums and maple leaves in\nthe cherry vase. As for the viands, they were fit for the gods on high\nOlympus. Felicity had spent the whole previous day and the forenoon of\nthe picnic day in concocting them. Her crowning achievement was a rich\nlittle plum cake, on the white frosting of which the words \u201cWelcome\nBack\u201d were lettered in pink candies. This was put before Peter\u2019s place,\nand almost overcame him.\n\n\u201cTo think that you\u2019d go to so much trouble for me!\u201d he said, with a\nglance of adoring gratitude at Felicity. Felicity got all the gratitude,\nalthough the Story Girl had originated the idea and seeded the raisins\nand beaten the eggs, while Cecily had trudged all the way to Mrs.\nJameson\u2019s little shop below the church to buy the pink candies. But that\nis the way of the world.\n\n\u201cWe ought to have grace,\u201d said Felicity, as we sat down at the festal\nboard. \u201cWill any one say it?\u201d\n\nShe looked at me, but I blushed to the roots of my hair and shook my\nhead sheepishly. An awkward pause ensued; it looked as if we would have\nto proceed without grace, when Felix suddenly shut his eyes, bent\nhis head, and said a very good grace without any appearance of\nembarrassment. We looked at him when it was over with an increase of\nrespect.\n\n\u201cWhere on earth did you learn that, Felix?\u201d I asked.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s the grace Uncle Alec says at every meal,\u201d answered Felix.\n\nWe felt rather ashamed of ourselves. Was it possible that we had paid so\nlittle attention to Uncle Alec\u2019s grace that we did not recognize it when\nwe heard it on other lips?\n\n\u201cNow,\u201d said Felicity jubilantly, \u201clet\u2019s eat everything up.\u201d\n\nIn truth, it was a merry little feast. We had gone without our dinners,\nin order to \u201csave our appetites,\u201d and we did ample justice to Felicity\u2019s\ngood things. Paddy sat on the Pulpit Stone and watched us with great\nyellow eyes, knowing that tidbits would come his way later on.\nMany witty things were said--or at least we thought them witty--and\nuproarious was the laughter. Never had the old King orchard known a\nblither merrymaking or lighter hearts.\n\nThe picnic over, we played games until the early falling dusk, and then\nwe went with Uncle Alec to the back field to burn the potato stalks--the\ncrowning delight of the day.\n\nThe stalks were in heaps all over the field, and we were allowed the\nprivilege of setting fire to them. \u2018Twas glorious! In a few minutes the\nfield was alight with blazing bonfires, over which rolled great, pungent\nclouds of smoke. From pile to pile we ran, shrieking with delight, to\npoke each up with a long stick and watch the gush of rose-red sparks\nstream off into the night. In what a whirl of smoke and firelight and\nwild, fantastic, hurtling shadows we were!\n\nWhen we grew tired of our sport we went to the windward side of the\nfield and perched ourselves on the high pole fence that skirted a dark\nspruce wood, full of strange, furtive sounds. Over us was a great, dark\nsky, blossoming with silver stars, and all around lay dusky, mysterious\nreaches of meadow and wood in the soft, empurpled night. Away to\nthe east a shimmering silveryness beneath a palace of aerial cloud\nforetokened moonrise. But directly before us the potato field, with its\nwreathing smoke and sullen flames, the gigantic shadow of Uncle Alec\ncrossing and recrossing it, reminded us of Peter\u2019s famous description of\nthe bad place, and probably suggested the Story Girl\u2019s remark.\n\n\u201cI know a story,\u201d she said, infusing just the right shade of weirdness\ninto her voice, \u201cabout a man who saw the devil. Now, what\u2019s the matter,\nFelicity?\u201d\n\n\u201cI can never get used to the way you mention the--the--that name,\u201d\n complained Felicity. \u201cTo hear you speak of the Old Scratch any one would\nthink he was just a common person.\u201d\n\n\u201cNever mind. Tell us the story,\u201d I said curiously.\n\n\u201cIt is about Mrs. John Martin\u2019s uncle at Markdale,\u201d said the Story Girl.\n\u201cI heard Uncle Roger telling it the other night. He didn\u2019t know I was\nsitting on the cellar hatch outside the window, or I don\u2019t suppose he\nwould have told it. Mrs. Martin\u2019s uncle\u2019s name was William Cowan, and he\nhas been dead for twenty years; but sixty years ago he was a young man,\nand a very wild, wicked young man. He did everything bad he could think\nof, and never went to church, and he laughed at everything religious,\neven the devil. He didn\u2019t believe there was a devil at all. One\nbeautiful summer Sunday evening his mother pleaded with him to go to\nchurch with her, but he would not. He told her that he was going fishing\ninstead, and when church time came he swaggered past the church, with\nhis fishing rod over his shoulder, singing a godless song. Half way\nbetween the church and the harbour there was a thick spruce wood, and\nthe path ran through it. When William Cowan was half way through it\nSOMETHING came out of the wood and walked beside him.\u201d\n\nI have never heard anything more horribly suggestive than that innocent\nword \u201csomething,\u201d as enunciated by the Story Girl. I felt Cecily\u2019s hand,\nicy cold, clutching mine.\n\n\u201cWhat--what--was IT like?\u201d whispered Felix, curiosity getting the better\nof his terror.\n\n\u201cIT was tall, and black, and hairy,\u201d said the Story Girl, her eyes\nglowing with uncanny intensity in the red glare of the fires, \u201cand IT\nlifted one great, hairy hand, with claws on the end of it, and clapped\nWilliam Cowan, first on one shoulder and then on the other, and said,\n\u2018Good sport to you, brother.\u2019 William Cowan gave a horrible scream and\nfell on his face right there in the wood. Some of the men around the\nchurch door heard the scream, and they rushed down to the wood. They saw\nnothing but William Cowan, lying like a dead man on the path. They took\nhim up and carried him home; and when they undressed him to put him to\nbed, there, on each shoulder, was the mark of a big hand, BURNED INTO\nTHE FLESH. It was weeks before the burns healed, and the scars never\nwent away. Always, as long as William Cowan lived, he carried on his\nshoulders the prints of the devil\u2019s hand.\u201d\n\nI really do not know how we should ever have got home, had we been left\nto our own devices. We were cold with fright. How could we turn our\nbacks on the eerie spruce wood, out of which SOMETHING might pop at\nany moment? How cross those long, shadowy fields between us and our\nrooftree? How venture through the darkly mysterious bracken hollow?\n\nFortunately, Uncle Alec came along at this crisis and said he thought\nwe\u2019d better come home now, since the fires were nearly out. We slid down\nfrom the fence and started, taking care to keep close together and in\nfront of Uncle Alec.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t believe a word of that yarn,\u201d said Dan, trying to speak with\nhis usual incredulity.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t see how you can help believing it,\u201d said Cecily. \u201cIt isn\u2019t as\nif it was something we\u2019d read of, or that happened far away. It happened\njust down at Markdale, and I\u2019ve seen that very spruce wood myself.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, I suppose William Cowan got a fright of some kind,\u201d conceded Dan,\n\u201cbut I don\u2019t believe he saw the devil.\u201d\n\n\u201cOld Mr. Morrison at Lower Markdale was one of the men who undressed\nhim, and he remembers seeing the marks,\u201d said the Story Girl\ntriumphantly.\n\n\u201cHow did William Cowan behave afterwards?\u201d I asked.\n\n\u201cHe was a changed man,\u201d said the Story Girl solemnly. \u201cToo much changed.\nHe never was known to laugh again, or even smile. He became a very\nreligious man, which was a good thing, but he was dreadfully gloomy and\nthought everything pleasant sinful. He wouldn\u2019t even eat any more than\nwas actually necessary to keep him alive. Uncle Roger says that if he\nhad been a Roman Catholic he would have become a monk, but, as he was a\nPresbyterian, all he could do was to turn into a crank.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, but your Uncle Roger was never clapped on the shoulder and called\nbrother by the devil,\u201d said Peter. \u201cIf he had, he mightn\u2019t have been so\nprecious jolly afterwards himself.\u201d\n\n\u201cI do wish to goodness,\u201d said Felicity in exasperation, \u201cthat you\u2019d stop\ntalking of the--the--of such subjects in the dark. I\u2019m so scared now\nthat I keep thinking father\u2019s steps behind us are SOMETHING\u2019S. Just\nthink, my own father!\u201d\n\nThe Story Girl slipped her arm through Felicity\u2019s.\n\n\u201cNever mind,\u201d she said soothingly. \u201cI\u2019ll tell you another story--such a\nbeautiful story that you\u2019ll forget all about the devil.\u201d\n\nShe told us one of Hans Andersen\u2019s most exquisite tales; and the magic\nof her voice charmed away all our fear, so that when we reached the\nbracken hollow, a lake of shadow surrounded by the silver shore of\nmoonlit fields, we all went through it without a thought of His Satanic\nMajesty at all. And beyond us, on the hill, the homelight was glowing\nfrom the farmhouse window like a beacon of old loves.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXII. THE OPENING OF THE BLUE CHEST\n\nNovember wakened from her dream of May in a bad temper. The day after\nthe picnic a cold autumn rain set in, and we got up to find our world\na drenched, wind-writhen place, with sodden fields and dour skies. The\nrain was weeping on the roof as if it were shedding the tears of old\nsorrows; the willow by the gate tossed its gaunt branches wildly, as if\nit were some passionate, spectral thing, wringing its fleshless hands\nin agony; the orchard was haggard and uncomely; nothing seemed the same\nexcept the staunch, trusty, old spruces.\n\nIt was Friday, but we were not to begin going to school again until\nMonday, so we spent the day in the granary, sorting apples and hearing\ntales. In the evening the rain ceased, the wind came around to the\nnorthwest, freezing suddenly, and a chilly yellow sunset beyond the dark\nhills seemed to herald a brighter morrow.\n\nFelicity and the Story Girl and I walked down to the post-office for the\nmail, along a road where fallen leaves went eddying fitfully up and down\nbefore us in weird, uncanny dances of their own. The evening was full of\neerie sounds--the creaking of fir boughs, the whistle of the wind in the\ntree-tops, the vibrations of strips of dried bark on the rail fences.\nBut we carried summer and sunshine in our hearts, and the bleak\nunloveliness of the outer world only intensified our inner radiance.\n\nFelicity wore her new velvet hood, with a coquettish little collar of\nwhite fur about her neck. Her golden curls framed her lovely face, and\nthe wind stung the pink of her cheeks to crimson. On my left hand walked\nthe Story Girl, her red cap on her jaunty brown head. She scattered her\nwords along the path like the pearls and diamonds of the old fairy tale.\nI remember that I strutted along quite insufferably, for we met several\nof the Carlisle boys and I felt that I was an exceptionally lucky fellow\nto have such beauty on one side and such charm on the other.\n\nThere was one of father\u2019s thin letters for Felix, a fat, foreign letter\nfor the Story Girl, addressed in her father\u2019s minute handwriting, a\ndrop letter for Cecily from some school friend, with \u201cIn Haste\u201d written\nacross the corner, and a letter for Aunt Janet, postmarked Montreal.\n\n\u201cI can\u2019t think who that is from,\u201d said Felicity. \u201cNobody in Montreal\never writes to mother. Cecily\u2019s letter is from Em Frewen. She always\nputs \u2018In Haste\u2019 on her letters, no matter what is in them.\u201d\n\nWhen we reached home, Aunt Janet opened and read her Montreal letter.\nThen she laid it down and looked about her in astonishment.\n\n\u201cWell, did ever any mortal!\u201d she said.\n\n\u201cWhat in the world is the matter?\u201d said Uncle Alec.\n\n\u201cThis letter is from James Ward\u2019s wife in Montreal,\u201d said Aunt Janet\nsolemnly. \u201cRachel Ward is dead. And she told James\u2019 wife to write to me\nand tell me to open the old blue chest.\u201d\n\n\u201cHurrah!\u201d shouted Dan.\n\n\u201cDonald King,\u201d said his mother severely, \u201cRachel Ward was your relation\nand she is dead. What do you mean by such behaviour?\u201d\n\n\u201cI never was acquainted with her,\u201d said Dan sulkily. \u201cAnd I wasn\u2019t\nhurrahing because she is dead. I hurrahed because that blue chest is to\nbe opened at last.\u201d\n\n\u201cSo poor Rachel is gone,\u201d said Uncle Alec. \u201cShe must have been an old\nwoman--seventy-five I suppose. I remember her as a fine, blooming young\nwoman. Well, well, and so the old chest is to be opened at last. What is\nto be done with its contents?\u201d\n\n\u201cRachel left instructions about them,\u201d answered Aunt Janet, referring\nto the letter. \u201cThe wedding dress and veil and letters are to be burned.\nThere are two jugs in it which are to be sent to James\u2019 wife. The rest\nof the things are to be given around among the connection. Each members\nis to have one, \u2018to remember her by.\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, can\u2019t we open it right away this very night?\u201d said Felicity\neagerly.\n\n\u201cNo, indeed!\u201d Aunt Janet folded up the letter decidedly. \u201cThat chest has\nbeen locked up for fifty years, and it\u2019ll stand being locked up one more\nnight. You children wouldn\u2019t sleep a wink to-night if we opened it now.\nYou\u2019d go wild with excitement.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019m sure I won\u2019t sleep anyhow,\u201d said Felicity. \u201cWell, at least you\u2019ll\nopen it the first thing in the morning, won\u2019t you, ma?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, I\u2019ll do nothing of the sort,\u201d was Aunt Janet\u2019s pitiless decree.\n\u201cI want to get the work out of the way first--and Roger and Olivia will\nwant to be here, too. We\u2019ll say ten o\u2019clock to-morrow forenoon.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s sixteen whole hours yet,\u201d sighed Felicity.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m going right over to tell the Story Girl,\u201d said Cecily. \u201cWon\u2019t she\nbe excited!\u201d\n\nWe were all excited. We spent the evening speculating on the possible\ncontents of the chest, and Cecily dreamed miserably that night that the\nmoths had eaten everything in it.\n\nThe morning dawned on a beautiful world. A very slight fall of snow had\ncome in the night--just enough to look like a filmy veil of lace flung\nover the dark evergreens, and the hard frozen ground. A new blossom time\nseemed to have revisited the orchard. The spruce wood behind the house\nappeared to be woven out of enchantment. There is nothing more beautiful\nthan a thickly growing wood of firs lightly powdered with new-fallen\nsnow. As the sun remained hidden by gray clouds, this fairy-beauty\nlasted all day.\n\nThe Story Girl came over early in the morning, and Sara Ray, to whom\nfaithful Cecily had sent word, was also on hand. Felicity did not\napprove of this.\n\n\u201cSara Ray isn\u2019t any relation to our family,\u201d she scolded to Cecily, \u201cand\nshe has no right to be present.\u201d\n\n\u201cShe\u2019s a particular friend of mine,\u201d said Cecily with dignity. \u201cWe have\nher in everything, and it would hurt her feelings dreadfully to be left\nout of this. Peter is no relation either, but he is going to be here\nwhen we open it, so why shouldn\u2019t Sara?\u201d\n\n\u201cPeter ain\u2019t a member of the family YET, but maybe he will be some day.\nHey, Felicity?\u201d said Dan.\n\n\u201cYou\u2019re awful smart, aren\u2019t you, Dan King?\u201d said Felicity, reddening.\n\u201cPerhaps you\u2019d like to send for Kitty Marr, too--though she DOES laugh\nat your big mouth.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt seems as if ten o\u2019clock would never come,\u201d sighed the Story Girl.\n\u201cThe work is all done, and Aunt Olivia and Uncle Roger are here, and the\nchest might just as well be opened right away.\u201d\n\n\u201cMother SAID ten o\u2019clock and she\u2019ll stick to it,\u201d said Felicity crossly.\n\u201cIt\u2019s only nine now.\u201d\n\n\u201cLet us put the clock on half an hour,\u201d said the Story Girl. \u201cThe clock\nin the hall isn\u2019t going, so no one will know the difference.\u201d\n\nWe all looked at each other.\n\n\u201cI wouldn\u2019t dare,\u201d said Felicity irresolutely.\n\n\u201cOh, if that\u2019s all, I\u2019ll do it,\u201d said the Story Girl.\n\nWhen ten o\u2019clock struck Aunt Janet came into the kitchen, remarking\ninnocently that it hadn\u2019t seemed anytime since nine. We must have looked\nhorribly guilty, but none of the grown-ups suspected anything. Uncle\nAlec brought in the axe, and pried off the cover of the old blue chest,\nwhile everybody stood around in silence.\n\nThen came the unpacking. It was certainly an interesting performance.\nAunt Janet and Aunt Olivia took everything out and laid it on the\nkitchen table. We children were forbidden to touch anything, but\nfortunately we were not forbidden the use of our eyes and tongues.\n\n\u201cThere are the pink and gold vases Grandmother King gave her,\u201d said\nFelicity, as Aunt Olivia unwrapped from their tissue paper swathings a\npair of slender, old-fashioned, twisted vases of pink glass, over which\nlittle gold leaves were scattered. \u201cAren\u2019t they handsome?\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd oh,\u201d exclaimed Cecily in delight, \u201cthere\u2019s the china fruit basket\nwith the apple on the handle. Doesn\u2019t it look real? I\u2019ve thought so much\nabout it. Oh, mother, please let me hold it for a minute. I\u2019ll be as\ncareful as careful.\u201d\n\n\u201cThere comes the china set Grandfather King gave her,\u201d said the Story\nGirl wistfully. \u201cOh, it makes me feel sad. Think of all the hopes\nthat Rachel Ward must have put away in this chest with all her pretty\nthings.\u201d\n\nFollowing these, came a quaint little candlestick of blue china, and the\ntwo jugs which were to be sent to James\u2019 wife.\n\n\u201cThey ARE handsome,\u201d said Aunt Janet rather enviously. \u201cThey must be a\nhundred years old. Aunt Sara Ward gave them to Rachel, and she had them\nfor at least fifty years. I should have thought one would have been\nenough for James\u2019 wife. But of course we must do just as Rachel wished.\nI declare, here\u2019s a dozen tin patty pans!\u201d\n\n\u201cTin patty pans aren\u2019t very romantic,\u201d said the Story Girl\ndiscontentedly.\n\n\u201cI notice that you are as fond as any one of what is baked in them,\u201d\n said Aunt Janet. \u201cI\u2019ve heard of those patty pans. An old servant\nGrandmother King had gave them to Rachel. Now we are coming to the\nlinen. That was Uncle Edward Ward\u2019s present. How yellow it has grown.\u201d\n\nWe children were not greatly interested in the sheets and tablecloths\nand pillow-cases which now came out of the capacious depths of the old\nblue chest. But Aunt Olivia was quite enraptured over them.\n\n\u201cWhat sewing!\u201d she said. \u201cLook, Janet, you\u2019d almost need a magnifying\nglass to see the stitches. And the dear, old-fashioned pillow-slips with\nbuttons on them!\u201d\n\n\u201cHere are a dozen handkerchiefs,\u201d said Aunt Janet. \u201cLook at the\ninitial in the corner of each. Rachel learned that stitch from a nun in\nMontreal. It looks as if it was woven into the material.\u201d\n\n\u201cHere are her quilts,\u201d said Aunt Olivia. \u201cYes, there is the blue and\nwhite counterpane Grandmother Ward gave her--and the Rising Sun quilt\nher Aunt Nancy made for her--and the braided rug. The colours are not\nfaded one bit. I want that rug, Janet.\u201d\n\nUnderneath the linen were Rachel Ward\u2019s wedding clothes. The excitement\nof the girls waxed red hot over these. There was a Paisley shawl in the\nwrappings in which it had come from the store, and a wide scarf of\nsome yellowed lace. There was the embroidered petticoat which had cost\nFelicity such painful blushes, and a dozen beautifully worked sets of\nthe fine muslin \u201cundersleeves\u201d which had been the fashion in Rachel\nWard\u2019s youth.\n\n\u201cThis was to have been her appearing out dress,\u201d said Aunt Olivia,\nlifting out a shot green silk. \u201cIt is all cut to pieces--but what a\npretty soft shade it was! Look at the skirt, Janet. How many yards must\nit measure around?\u201d\n\n\u201cHoopskirts were in then,\u201d said Aunt Janet. \u201cI don\u2019t see her wedding hat\nhere. I was always told that she packed it away, too.\u201d\n\n\u201cSo was I. But she couldn\u2019t have. It certainly isn\u2019t here. I have heard\nthat the white plume on it cost a small fortune. Here is her black silk\nmantle. It seems like sacrilege to meddle with these clothes.\u201d\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t be foolish, Olivia. They must be unpacked at least. And they must\nall be burned since they have cut so badly. This purple cloth dress is\nquite good, however. It can be made over nicely, and it would become you\nvery well, Olivia.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, thank you,\u201d said Aunt Olivia, with a little shudder. \u201cI should feel\nlike a ghost. Make it over for yourself, Janet.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, I will, if you don\u2019t want it. I am not troubled with fancies.\nThat seems to be all except this box. I suppose the wedding dress is in\nit.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh,\u201d breathed the girls, crowding about Aunt Olivia, as she lifted out\nthe box and cut the cord around it. Inside was lying a dress of soft\nsilk, that had once been white but was now yellowed with age, and,\nenfolding it like a mist, a long, white bridal veil, redolent with some\nstrange, old-time perfume that had kept its sweetness through all the\nyears.\n\n\u201cPoor Rachel Ward,\u201d said Aunt Olivia softly. \u201cHere is her point lace\nhandkerchief. She made it herself. It is like a spider\u2019s web. Here are\nthe letters Will Montague wrote her. And here,\u201d she added, taking up\na crimson velvet case with a tarnished gilt clasp, \u201care their\nphotographs--his and hers.\u201d\n\nWe looked eagerly at the daguerreotypes in the old case.\n\n\u201cWhy, Rachel Ward wasn\u2019t a bit pretty!\u201d exclaimed the Story Girl in\npoignant disappointment.\n\nNo, Rachel Ward was not pretty, that had to be admitted. The picture\nshowed a fresh young face, with strongly marked, irregular features,\nlarge black eyes, and black curls hanging around the shoulders in\nold-time style.\n\n\u201cRachel wasn\u2019t pretty,\u201d said Uncle Alec, \u201cbut she had a lovely colour,\nand a beautiful smile. She looks far too sober in that picture.\u201d\n\n\u201cShe has a beautiful neck and bust,\u201d said Aunt Olivia critically.\n\n\u201cAnyhow, Will Montague was really handsome,\u201d said the Story Girl.\n\n\u201cA handsome rogue,\u201d growled Uncle Alec. \u201cI never liked him. I was only\na little chap of ten but I saw through him. Rachel Ward was far too good\nfor him.\u201d\n\nWe would dearly have liked to get a peep into the letters, too. But Aunt\nOlivia would not allow that. They must be burned unread, she declared.\nShe took the wedding dress and veil, the picture case, and the letters\naway with her. The rest of the things were put back into the chest,\npending their ultimate distribution. Aunt Janet gave each of us boys a\nhandkerchief. The Story Girl got the blue candlestick, and Felicity and\nCecily each got a pink and gold vase. Even Sara Ray was made happy by\nthe gift of a little china plate, with a loudly coloured picture of\nMoses and Aaron before Pharaoh in the middle of it. Moses wore a scarlet\ncloak, while Aaron disported himself in bright blue. Pharaoh was arrayed\nin yellow. The plate had a scalloped border with a wreath of green\nleaves around it.\n\n\u201cI shall never use it to eat off,\u201d said Sara rapturously. \u201cI\u2019ll put it\nup on the parlour mantelpiece.\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t see much use in having a plate just for ornament,\u201d said\nFelicity.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s nice to have something interesting to look at,\u201d retorted Sara, who\nfelt that the soul must have food as well as the body.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m going to get a candle for my candlestick, and use it every night to\ngo to bed with,\u201d said the Story Girl. \u201cAnd I\u2019ll never light it without\nthinking of poor Rachel Ward. But I DO wish she had been pretty.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d said Felicity, with a glance at the clock, \u201cit\u2019s all over, and\nit has been very interesting. But that clock has got to be put back to\nthe right time some time through the day. I don\u2019t want bedtime coming a\nwhole half-hour before it ought to.\u201d\n\nIn the afternoon, when Aunt Janet was over at Uncle Roger\u2019s, seeing him\nand Aunt Olivia off to town, the clock was righted. The Story Girl and\nPeter came over to stay all night with us, and we made taffy in the\nkitchen, which the grown-ups kindly gave over to us for that purpose.\n\n\u201cOf course it was very interesting to see the old chest unpacked,\u201d said\nthe Story Girl as she stirred the contents of a saucepan vigorously.\n\u201cBut now that it is over I believe I am sorry that it is opened. It\nisn\u2019t mysterious any longer. We know all about it now, and we can never\nimagine what things are in it any more.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s better to know than to imagine,\u201d said Felicity.\n\n\u201cOh, no, it isn\u2019t,\u201d said the Story Girl quickly. \u201cWhen you know things\nyou have to go by facts. But when you just dream about things there\u2019s\nnothing to hold you down.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou\u2019re letting the taffy scorch, and THAT\u2019S a fact you\u2019d better go by,\u201d\n said Felicity sniffing. \u201cHaven\u2019t you got a nose?\u201d\n\nWhen we went to bed, that wonderful white enchantress, the moon, was\nmaking an elf-land of the snow-misted world outside. From where I lay\nI could see the sharp tops of the spruces against the silvery sky. The\nfrost was abroad, and the winds were still and the land lay in glamour.\n\nAcross the hall, the Story Girl was telling Felicity and Cecily the old,\nold tale of Argive Helen and \u201cevil-hearted Paris.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut that\u2019s a bad story,\u201d said Felicity when the tale was ended. \u201cShe\nleft her husband and run away with another man.\u201d\n\n\u201cI suppose it was bad four thousand years ago,\u201d admitted the Story Girl.\n\u201cBut by this time the bad must have all gone out of it. It\u2019s only the\ngood that could last so long.\u201d\n\n\nOur summer was over. It had been a beautiful one. We had known the\nsweetness of common joys, the delight of dawns, the dream and glamour\nof noontides, the long, purple peace of carefree nights. We had had the\npleasure of bird song, of silver rain on greening fields, of storm among\nthe trees, of blossoming meadows, and of the converse of whispering\nleaves. We had had brotherhood with wind and star, with books and tales,\nand hearth fires of autumn. Ours had been the little, loving tasks of\nevery day, blithe companionship, shared thoughts, and adventuring.\nRich were we in the memory of those opulent months that had gone from\nus--richer than we then knew or suspected. And before us was the dream\nof spring. It is always safe to dream of spring. For it is sure to come;\nand if it be not just as we have pictured it, it will be infinitely\nsweeter.\n\nTHE END.","title":"The Story Girl","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":87523}