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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:14:45 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:14:45 -0700 |
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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/316-0.txt b/316-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..99836a7 --- /dev/null +++ b/316-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8972 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 316 *** + + + + +THE GOLDEN ROAD + +By L. M. Montgomery + + + “Life was a rose-lipped comrade + With purple flowers dripping from her fingers.” + --The Author. + + + TO + THE MEMORY OF + Aunt Mary Lawson + WHO TOLD ME MANY OF THE TALES + REPEATED BY THE + STORY GIRL + + + + +FOREWORD + + +Once upon a time we all walked on the golden road. It was a fair +highway, through the Land of Lost Delight; shadow and sunshine were +blessedly mingled, and every turn and dip revealed a fresh charm and a +new loveliness to eager hearts and unspoiled eyes. + +On that road we heard the song of morning stars; we drank in fragrances +aerial and sweet as a May mist; we were rich in gossamer fancies and +iris hopes; our hearts sought and found the boon of dreams; the years +waited beyond and they were very fair; life was a rose-lipped comrade +with purple flowers dripping from her fingers. + +We may long have left the golden road behind, but its memories are the +dearest of our eternal possessions; and those who cherish them as such +may haply find a pleasure in the pages of this book, whose people are +pilgrims on the golden road of youth. + + + + +THE GOLDEN ROAD + + + + +CHAPTER I. A NEW DEPARTURE + + +“I’ve thought of something amusing for the winter,” I said as we +drew into a half-circle around the glorious wood-fire in Uncle Alec’s +kitchen. + +It had been a day of wild November wind, closing down into a wet, eerie +twilight. Outside, the wind was shrilling at the windows and around the +eaves, and the rain was playing on the roof. The old willow at the gate +was writhing in the storm and the orchard was a place of weird music, +born of all the tears and fears that haunt the halls of night. But +little we cared for the gloom and the loneliness of the outside world; +we kept them at bay with the light of the fire and the laughter of our +young lips. + +We had been having a splendid game of Blind-Man’s Buff. That is, it +had been splendid at first; but later the fun went out of it because we +found that Peter was, of malice prepense, allowing himself to be +caught too easily, in order that he might have the pleasure of catching +Felicity--which he never failed to do, no matter how tightly his eyes +were bound. What remarkable goose said that love is blind? Love can see +through five folds of closely-woven muffler with ease! + +“I’m getting tired,” said Cecily, whose breath was coming rather quickly +and whose pale cheeks had bloomed into scarlet. “Let’s sit down and get +the Story Girl to tell us a story.” + +But as we dropped into our places the Story Girl shot a significant +glance at me which intimated that this was the psychological moment for +introducing the scheme she and I had been secretly developing for some +days. It was really the Story Girl’s idea and none of mine. But she had +insisted that I should make the suggestion as coming wholly from myself. + +“If you don’t, Felicity won’t agree to it. You know yourself, Bev, how +contrary she’s been lately over anything I mention. And if she goes +against it Peter will too--the ninny!--and it wouldn’t be any fun if we +weren’t all in it.” + +“What is it?” asked Felicity, drawing her chair slightly away from +Peter’s. + +“It is this. Let us get up a newspaper of our own--write it all +ourselves, and have all we do in it. Don’t you think we can get a lot of +fun out of it?” + +Everyone looked rather blank and amazed, except the Story Girl. She knew +what she had to do, and she did it. + +“What a silly idea!” she exclaimed, with a contemptuous toss of her long +brown curls. “Just as if WE could get up a newspaper!” + +Felicity fired up, exactly as we had hoped. + +“I think it’s a splendid idea,” she said enthusiastically. “I’d like to +know why we couldn’t get up as good a newspaper as they have in town! +Uncle Roger says the Daily Enterprise has gone to the dogs--all the news +it prints is that some old woman has put a shawl on her head and gone +across the road to have tea with another old woman. I guess we could do +better than that. You needn’t think, Sara Stanley, that nobody but you +can do anything.” + +“I think it would be great fun,” said Peter decidedly. “My Aunt Jane +helped edit a paper when she was at Queen’s Academy, and she said it was +very amusing and helped her a great deal.” + +The Story Girl could hide her delight only by dropping her eyes and +frowning. + +“Bev wants to be editor,” she said, “and I don’t see how he can, with no +experience. Anyhow, it would be a lot of trouble.” + +“Some people are so afraid of a little bother,” retorted Felicity. + +“I think it would be nice,” said Cecily timidly, “and none of us have +any experience of being editors, any more than Bev, so that wouldn’t +matter.” + +“Will it be printed?” asked Dan. + +“Oh, no,” I said. “We can’t have it printed. We’ll just have to write it +out--we can buy foolscap from the teacher.” + +“I don’t think it will be much of a newspaper if it isn’t printed,” said +Dan scornfully. + +“It doesn’t matter very much what YOU think,” said Felicity. + +“Thank you,” retorted Dan. + +“Of course,” said the Story Girl hastily, not wishing to have Dan turned +against our project, “if all the rest of you want it I’ll go in for it +too. I daresay it would be real good fun, now that I come to think of +it. And we’ll keep the copies, and when we become famous they’ll be +quite valuable.” + +“I wonder if any of us ever will be famous,” said Felix. + +“The Story Girl will be,” I said. + +“I don’t see how she can be,” said Felicity skeptically. “Why, she’s +just one of us.” + +“Well, it’s decided, then, that we’re to have a newspaper,” I resumed +briskly. “The next thing is to choose a name for it. That’s a very +important thing.” + +“How often are you going to publish it?” asked Felix. + +“Once a month.” + +“I thought newspapers came out every day, or every week at least,” said +Dan. + +“We couldn’t have one every week,” I explained. “It would be too much +work.” + +“Well, that’s an argument,” admitted Dan. “The less work you can get +along with the better, in my opinion. No, Felicity, you needn’t say it. +I know exactly what you want to say, so save your breath to cool your +porridge. I agree with you that I never work if I can find anything else +to do.” + + + “‘Remember it is harder still + To have no work to do,”’ + + +quoted Cecily reprovingly. + +“I don’t believe THAT,” rejoined Dan. “I’m like the Irishman who said he +wished the man who begun work had stayed and finished it.” + +“Well, is it decided that Bev is to be editor?” asked Felix. + +“Of course it is,” Felicity answered for everybody. + +“Then,” said Felix, “I move that the name be The King Monthly Magazine.” + +“That sounds fine,” said Peter, hitching his chair a little nearer +Felicity’s. + +“But,” said Cecily timidly, “that will leave out Peter and the Story +Girl and Sara Ray, just as if they didn’t have a share in it. I don’t +think that would be fair.” + +“You name it then, Cecily,” I suggested. + +“Oh!” Cecily threw a deprecating glance at the Story Girl and Felicity. +Then, meeting the contempt in the latter’s gaze, she raised her head +with unusual spirit. + +“I think it would be nice just to call it Our Magazine,” she said. “Then +we’d all feel as if we had a share in it.” + +“Our Magazine it will be, then,” I said. “And as for having a share in +it, you bet we’ll all have a share in it. If I’m to be editor you’ll all +have to be sub-editors, and have charge of a department.” + +“Oh, I couldn’t,” protested Cecily. + +“You must,” I said inexorably. “‘England expects everyone to do his +duty.’ That’s our motto--only we’ll put Prince Edward Island in place of +England. There must be no shirking. Now, what departments will we have? +We must make it as much like a real newspaper as we can.” + +“Well, we ought to have an etiquette department, then,” said Felicity. +“The Family Guide has one.” + +“Of course we’ll have one,” I said, “and Dan will edit it.” + +“Dan!” exclaimed Felicity, who had fondly expected to be asked to edit +it herself. + +“I can run an etiquette column as well as that idiot in the Family +Guide, anyhow,” said Dan defiantly. “But you can’t have an etiquette +department unless questions are asked. What am I to do if nobody asks +any?” + +“You must make some up,” said the Story Girl. “Uncle Roger says that is +what the Family Guide man does. He says it is impossible that there can +be as many hopeless fools in the world as that column would stand for +otherwise.” + +“We want you to edit the household department, Felicity,” I said, seeing +a cloud lowering on that fair lady’s brow. “Nobody can do that as well +as you. Felix will edit the jokes and the Information Bureau, and Cecily +must be fashion editor. Yes, you must, Sis. It’s easy as wink. And the +Story Girl will attend to the personals. They’re very important. Anyone +can contribute a personal, but the Story Girl is to see there are some +in every issue, even if she has to make them up, like Dan with the +etiquette.” + +“Bev will run the scrap book department, besides the editorials,” said +the Story Girl, seeing that I was too modest to say it myself. + +“Aren’t you going to have a story page?” asked Peter. + +“We will, if you’ll be fiction and poetry editor,” I said. + +Peter, in his secret soul, was dismayed, but he would not blanch before +Felicity. + +“All right,” he said, recklessly. + +“We can put anything we like in the scrap book department,” I explained, +“but all the other contributions must be original, and all must have the +name of the writer signed to them, except the personals. We must all do +our best. Our Magazine is to be ‘a feast of reason and flow of soul.”’ + +I felt that I had worked in two quotations with striking effect. The +others, with the exception of the Story Girl, looked suitably impressed. + +“But,” said Cecily, reproachfully, “haven’t you anything for Sara Ray to +do? She’ll feel awful bad if she is left out.” + +I had forgotten Sara Ray. Nobody, except Cecily, ever did remember +Sara Ray unless she was on the spot. But we decided to put her in as +advertising manager. That sounded well and really meant very little. + +“Well, we’ll go ahead then,” I said, with a sigh of relief that the +project had been so easily launched. “We’ll get the first issue out +about the first of January. And whatever else we do we mustn’t let Uncle +Roger get hold of it. He’d make such fearful fun of it.” + +“I hope we can make a success of it,” said Peter moodily. He had been +moody ever since he was entrapped into being fiction editor. + +“It will be a success if we are determined to succeed,” I said. “‘Where +there is a will there is always a way.’” + +“That’s just what Ursula Townley said when her father locked her in her +room the night she was going to run away with Kenneth MacNair,” said the +Story Girl. + +We pricked up our ears, scenting a story. + +“Who were Ursula Townley and Kenneth MacNair?” I asked. + +“Kenneth MacNair was a first cousin of the Awkward Man’s grandfather, +and Ursula Townley was the belle of the Island in her day. Who do you +suppose told me the story--no, read it to me, out of his brown book?” + +“Never the Awkward Man himself!” I exclaimed incredulously. + +“Yes, he did,” said the Story Girl triumphantly. “I met him one day +last week back in the maple woods when I was looking for ferns. He was +sitting by the spring, writing in his brown book. He hid it when he saw +me and looked real silly; but after I had talked to him awhile I just +asked him about it, and told him that the gossips said he wrote poetry +in it, and if he did would he tell me, because I was dying to know. He +said he wrote a little of everything in it; and then I begged him to +read me something out of it, and he read me the story of Ursula and +Kenneth.” + +“I don’t see how you ever had the face,” said Felicity; and even Cecily +looked as if she thought the Story Girl had gone rather far. + +“Never mind that,” cried Felix, “but tell us the story. That’s the main +thing.” + +“I’ll tell it just as the Awkward Man read it, as far as I can,” said +the Story Girl, “but I can’t put all his nice poetical touches in, +because I can’t remember them all, though he read it over twice for me.” + + + + +CHAPTER II. A WILL, A WAY AND A WOMAN + + +“One day, over a hundred years ago, Ursula Townley was waiting for +Kenneth MacNair in a great beechwood, where brown nuts were falling +and an October wind was making the leaves dance on the ground like +pixy-people.” + +“What are pixy-people?” demanded Peter, forgetting the Story Girl’s +dislike of interruptions. + +“Hush,” whispered Cecily. “That is only one of the Awkward Man’s +poetical touches, I guess.” + +“There were cultivated fields between the grove and the dark blue gulf; +but far behind and on each side were woods, for Prince Edward Island a +hundred years ago was not what it is today. The settlements were few and +scattered, and the population so scanty that old Hugh Townley boasted +that he knew every man, woman and child in it. + +“Old Hugh was quite a noted man in his day. He was noted for +several things--he was rich, he was hospitable, he was proud, he was +masterful--and he had for daughter the handsomest young woman in Prince +Edward Island. + +“Of course, the young men were not blind to her good looks, and she had +so many lovers that all the other girls hated her--” + +“You bet!” said Dan, aside-- + +“But the only one who found favour in her eyes was the very last man she +should have pitched her fancy on, at least if old Hugh were the +judge. Kenneth MacNair was a dark-eyed young sea-captain of the next +settlement, and it was to meet him that Ursula stole to the beechwood on +that autumn day of crisp wind and ripe sunshine. Old Hugh had forbidden +his house to the young man, making such a scene of fury about it that +even Ursula’s high spirit quailed. Old Hugh had really nothing against +Kenneth himself; but years before either Kenneth or Ursula was born, +Kenneth’s father had beaten Hugh Townley in a hotly contested election. +Political feeling ran high in those days, and old Hugh had never +forgiven the MacNair his victory. The feud between the families dated +from that tempest in the provincial teapot, and the surplus of votes +on the wrong side was the reason why, thirty years after, Ursula had to +meet her lover by stealth if she met him at all.” + +“Was the MacNair a Conservative or a Grit?” asked Felicity. + +“It doesn’t make any difference what he was,” said the Story Girl +impatiently. “Even a Tory would be romantic a hundred years ago. Well, +Ursula couldn’t see Kenneth very often, for Kenneth lived fifteen miles +away and was often absent from home in his vessel. On this particular +day it was nearly three months since they had met. + +“The Sunday before, young Sandy MacNair had been in Carlyle church. He +had risen at dawn that morning, walked bare-footed for eight miles along +the shore, carrying his shoes, hired a harbour fisherman to row him over +the channel, and then walked eight miles more to the church at Carlyle, +less, it is to be feared, from a zeal for holy things than that he might +do an errand for his adored brother, Kenneth. He carried a letter which +he contrived to pass into Ursula’s hand in the crowd as the people came +out. This letter asked Ursula to meet Kenneth in the beechwood the +next afternoon, and so she stole away there when suspicious father and +watchful stepmother thought she was spinning in the granary loft.” + +“It was very wrong of her to deceive her parents,” said Felicity primly. + +The Story Girl couldn’t deny this, so she evaded the ethical side of the +question skilfully. + +“I am not telling you what Ursula Townley ought to have done,” she said +loftily. “I am only telling you what she DID do. If you don’t want to +hear it you needn’t listen, of course. There wouldn’t be many stories to +tell if nobody ever did anything she shouldn’t do. + +“Well, when Kenneth came, the meeting was just what might have been +expected between two lovers who had taken their last kiss three months +before. So it was a good half-hour before Ursula said, + +“‘Oh, Kenneth, I cannot stay long--I shall be missed. You said in your +letter that you had something important to talk of. What is it?’ + +“‘My news is this, Ursula. Next Saturday morning my vessel, The Fair +Lady, with her captain on board, sails at dawn from Charlottetown +harbour, bound for Buenos Ayres. At this season this means a safe and +sure return--next May.’ + +“‘Kenneth!’ cried Ursula. She turned pale and burst into tears. ‘How can +you think of leaving me? Oh, you are cruel!’ + +“‘Why, no, sweetheart,’ laughed Kenneth. ‘The captain of The Fair Lady +will take his bride with him. We’ll spend our honeymoon on the high +seas, Ursula, and the cold Canadian winter under southern palms.’ + +“‘You want me to run away with you, Kenneth?’ exclaimed Ursula. + +“‘Indeed, dear girl, there’s nothing else to do!’ + +“‘Oh, I cannot!’ she protested. ‘My father would--’ + +“‘We’ll not consult him--until afterward. Come, Ursula, you know there’s +no other way. We’ve always known it must come to this. YOUR father will +never forgive me for MY father. You won’t fail me now. Think of the +long parting if you send me away alone on such a voyage. Pluck up your +courage, and we’ll let Townleys and MacNairs whistle their mouldy feuds +down the wind while we sail southward in The Fair Lady. I have a plan.’ + +“‘Let me hear it,’ said Ursula, beginning to get back her breath. + +“‘There is to be a dance at The Springs Friday night. Are you invited, +Ursula?’ + +“‘Yes.’ + +“‘Good. I am not--but I shall be there--in the fir grove behind the +house, with two horses. When the dancing is at its height you’ll steal +out to meet me. Then ‘tis but a fifteen mile ride to Charlottetown, +where a good minister, who is a friend of mine, will be ready to marry +us. By the time the dancers have tired their heels you and I will be on +our vessel, able to snap our fingers at fate.’ + +“‘And what if I do not meet you in the fir grove?’ said Ursula, a little +impertinently. + +“‘If you do not, I’ll sail for South America the next morning, and many +a long year will pass ere Kenneth MacNair comes home again.’ + +“Perhaps Kenneth didn’t mean that, but Ursula thought he did, and it +decided her. She agreed to run away with him. Yes, of course that was +wrong, too, Felicity. She ought to have said, ‘No, I shall be married +respectably from home, and have a wedding and a silk dress and +bridesmaids and lots of presents.’ But she didn’t. She wasn’t as prudent +as Felicity King would have been.” + +“She was a shameless hussy,” said Felicity, venting on the long-dead +Ursula that anger she dare not visit on the Story Girl. + +“Oh, no, Felicity dear, she was just a lass of spirit. I’d have done the +same. And when Friday night came she began to dress for the dance with +a brave heart. She was to go to The Springs with her uncle and aunt, +who were coming on horseback that afternoon, and would then go on to The +Springs in old Hugh’s carriage, which was the only one in Carlyle then. +They were to leave in time to reach The Springs before nightfall, for +the October nights were dark and the wooded roads rough for travelling. + +“When Ursula was ready she looked at herself in the glass with a good +deal of satisfaction. Yes, Felicity, she was a vain baggage, that same +Ursula, but that kind didn’t all die out a hundred years ago. And she +had good reason for being vain. She wore the sea-green silk which had +been brought out from England a year before and worn but once--at the +Christmas ball at Government House. A fine, stiff, rustling silk it was, +and over it shone Ursula’s crimson cheeks and gleaming eyes, and masses +of nut brown hair. + +“As she turned from the glass she heard her father’s voice below, loud +and angry. Growing very pale, she ran out into the hall. Her father was +already half way upstairs, his face red with fury. In the hall below +Ursula saw her step-mother, looking troubled and vexed. At the door +stood Malcolm Ramsay, a homely neighbour youth who had been courting +Ursula in his clumsy way ever since she grew up. Ursula had always hated +him. + +“‘Ursula!’ shouted old Hugh, ‘come here and tell this scoundrel he lies. +He says that you met Kenneth MacNair in the beechgrove last Tuesday. +Tell him he lies! Tell him he lies!’ + +“Ursula was no coward. She looked scornfully at poor Ramsay. + +“‘The creature is a spy and a tale-bearer,’ she said, ‘but in this he +does not lie. I DID meet Kenneth MacNair last Tuesday.’ + +“‘And you dare to tell me this to my face!’ roared old Hugh. ‘Back to +your room, girl! Back to your room and stay there! Take off that finery. +You go to no more dances. You shall stay in that room until I choose to +let you out. No, not a word! I’ll put you there if you don’t go. In with +you--ay, and take your knitting with you. Occupy yourself with that this +evening instead of kicking your heels at The Springs!’ + +“He snatched a roll of gray stocking from the hall table and flung +it into Ursula’s room. Ursula knew she would have to follow it, or be +picked up and carried in like a naughty child. So she gave the miserable +Ramsay a look that made him cringe, and swept into her room with her +head in the air. The next moment she heard the door locked behind +her. Her first proceeding was to have a cry of anger and shame and +disappointment. That did no good, and then she took to marching up and +down her room. It did not calm her to hear the rumble of the carriage +out of the gate as her uncle and aunt departed. + +“‘Oh, what’s to be done?’ she sobbed. ‘Kenneth will be furious. He will +think I have failed him and he will go away hot with anger against me. +If I could only send a word of explanation I know he would not leave me. +But there seems to be no way at all--though I have heard that there’s +always a way when there’s a will. Oh, I shall go mad! If the window +were not so high I would jump out of it. But to break my legs or my neck +would not mend the matter.’ + +“The afternoon passed on. At sunset Ursula heard hoof-beats and ran to +the window. Andrew Kinnear of The Springs was tying his horse at the +door. He was a dashing young fellow, and a political crony of old Hugh. +No doubt he would be at the dance that night. Oh, if she could get +speech for but a moment with him! + +“When he had gone into the house, Ursula, turning impatiently from the +window, tripped and almost fell over the big ball of homespun yarn +her father had flung on the floor. For a moment she gazed at it +resentfully--then, with a gay little laugh, she pounced on it. The next +moment she was at her table, writing a brief note to Kenneth MacNair. +When it was written, Ursula unwound the gray ball to a considerable +depth, pinned the note on it, and rewound the yarn over it. A gray +ball, the color of the twilight, might escape observation, where a white +missive fluttering down from an upper window would surely be seen by +someone. Then she softly opened her window and waited. + +“It was dusk when Andrew went away. Fortunately old Hugh did not come to +the door with him. As Andrew untied his horse Ursula threw the ball with +such good aim that it struck him, as she had meant it to do, squarely on +the head. Andrew looked up at her window. She leaned out, put her finger +warningly on her lips, pointed to the ball, and nodded. Andrew, looking +somewhat puzzled, picked up the ball, sprang to his saddle, and galloped +off. + +“So far, well, thought Ursula. But would Andrew understand? Would he +have wit enough to think of exploring the big, knobby ball for its +delicate secret? And would he be at the dance after all? + +“The evening dragged by. Time had never seemed so long to Ursula. She +could not rest or sleep. It was midnight before she heard the patter of +a handful of gravel on her window-panes. In a trice she was leaning out. +Below in the darkness stood Kenneth MacNair. + +“‘Oh, Kenneth, did you get my letter? And is it safe for you to be +here?’ + +“‘Safe enough. Your father is in bed. I’ve waited two hours down the +road for his light to go out, and an extra half-hour to put him to +sleep. The horses are there. Slip down and out, Ursula. We’ll make +Charlottetown by dawn yet.’ + +“‘That’s easier said than done, lad. I’m locked in. But do you go out +behind the new barn and bring the ladder you will find there.’ + +“Five minutes later, Miss Ursula, hooded and cloaked, scrambled +soundlessly down the ladder, and in five more minutes she and Kenneth +were riding along the road. + +“‘There’s a stiff gallop before us, Ursula,’ said Kenneth. + +“‘I would ride to the world’s end with you, Kenneth MacNair,’ said +Ursula. Oh, of course she shouldn’t have said anything of the sort, +Felicity. But you see people had no etiquette departments in those days. +And when the red sunlight of a fair October dawn was shining over the +gray sea The Fair Lady sailed out of Charlottetown harbour. On her deck +stood Kenneth and Ursula MacNair, and in her hand, as a most precious +treasure, the bride carried a ball of gray homespun yarn.” + +“Well,” said Dan, yawning, “I like that kind of a story. Nobody goes and +dies in it, that’s one good thing.” + +“Did old Hugh forgive Ursula?” I asked. + +“The story stopped there in the brown book,” said the Story Girl, “but +the Awkward Man says he did, after awhile.” + +“It must be rather romantic to be run away with,” remarked Cecily, +wistfully. + +“Don’t you get such silly notions in your head, Cecily King,” said +Felicity, severely. + + + + +CHAPTER III. THE CHRISTMAS HARP + + +Great was the excitement in the houses of King as Christmas drew nigh. +The air was simply charged with secrets. Everybody was very penurious +for weeks beforehand and hoards were counted scrutinizingly every day. +Mysterious pieces of handiwork were smuggled in and out of sight, and +whispered consultations were held, about which nobody thought of being +jealous, as might have happened at any other time. Felicity was in her +element, for she and her mother were deep in preparations for the +day. Cecily and the Story Girl were excluded from these doings +with indifference on Aunt Janet’s part and what seemed ostentatious +complacency on Felicity’s. Cecily took this to heart and complained to +me about it. + +“I’m one of this family just as much as Felicity is,” she said, with as +much indignation as Cecily could feel, “and I don’t think she need +shut me out of everything. When I wanted to stone the raisins for the +mince-meat she said, no, she would do it herself, because Christmas +mince-meat was very particular--as if I couldn’t stone raisins right! +The airs Felicity puts on about her cooking just make me sick,” + concluded Cecily wrathfully. + +“It’s a pity she doesn’t make a mistake in cooking once in a while +herself,” I said. “Then maybe she wouldn’t think she knew so much more +than other people.” + +All parcels that came in the mail from distant friends were taken charge +of by Aunts Janet and Olivia, not to be opened until the great day of +the feast itself. How slowly the last week passed! But even watched pots +will boil in the fulness of time, and finally Christmas day came, gray +and dour and frost-bitten without, but full of revelry and rose-red +mirth within. Uncle Roger and Aunt Olivia and the Story Girl came over +early for the day; and Peter came too, with his shining, morning face, +to be hailed with joy, for we had been afraid that Peter would not be +able to spend Christmas with us. His mother had wanted him home with +her. + +“Of course I ought to go,” Peter had told me mournfully, “but we won’t +have turkey for dinner, because ma can’t afford it. And ma always cries +on holidays because she says they make her think of father. Of course +she can’t help it, but it ain’t cheerful. Aunt Jane wouldn’t have cried. +Aunt Jane used to say she never saw the man who was worth spoiling her +eyes for. But I guess I’ll have to spend Christmas at home.” + +At the last moment, however, a cousin of Mrs. Craig’s in Charlottetown +invited her for Christmas, and Peter, being given his choice of going or +staying, joyfully elected to stay. So we were all together, except Sara +Ray, who had been invited but whose mother wouldn’t let her come. + +“Sara Ray’s mother is a nuisance,” snapped the Story Girl. “She just +lives to make that poor child miserable, and she won’t let her go to the +party tonight, either.” + +“It is just breaking Sara’s heart that she can’t,” said Cecily +compassionately. “I’m almost afraid I won’t enjoy myself for thinking of +her, home there alone, most likely reading the Bible, while we’re at the +party.” + +“She might be worse occupied than reading the Bible,” said Felicity +rebukingly. + +“But Mrs. Ray makes her read it as a punishment,” protested Cecily. +“Whenever Sara cries to go anywhere--and of course she’ll cry +tonight--Mrs. Ray makes her read seven chapters in the Bible. I wouldn’t +think that would make her very fond of it. And I’ll not be able to talk +the party over with Sara afterwards--and that’s half the fun gone.” + +“You can tell her all about it,” comforted Felix. + +“Telling isn’t a bit like talking it over,” retorted Cecily. “It’s too +one-sided.” + +We had an exciting time opening our presents. Some of us had more than +others, but we all received enough to make us feel comfortably that we +were not unduly neglected in the matter. The contents of the box which +the Story Girl’s father had sent her from Paris made our eyes stick out. +It was full of beautiful things, among them another red silk dress--not +the bright, flame-hued tint of her old one, but a rich, dark crimson, +with the most distracting flounces and bows and ruffles; and with it +were little red satin slippers with gold buckles, and heels that made +Aunt Janet hold up her hands in horror. Felicity remarked scornfully +that she would have thought the Story Girl would get tired wearing red +so much, and even Cecily commented apart to me that she thought when +you got so many things all at once you didn’t appreciate them as much as +when you only got a few. + +“I’d never get tired of red,” said the Story Girl. “I just love it--it’s +so rich and glowing. When I’m dressed in red I always feel ever so much +cleverer than in any other colour. Thoughts just crowd into my brain +one after the other. Oh, you darling dress--you dear, sheeny, red-rosy, +glistening, silky thing!” + +She flung it over her shoulder and danced around the kitchen. + +“Don’t be silly, Sara,” said Aunt Janet, a little stiffly. She was a +good soul, that Aunt Janet, and had a kind, loving heart in her ample +bosom. But I fancy there were times when she thought it rather hard +that the daughter of a roving adventurer--as she considered him--like +Blair Stanley should disport herself in silk dresses, while her own +daughters must go clad in gingham and muslin--for those were the days +when a feminine creature got one silk dress in her lifetime, and seldom +more than one. + +The Story Girl also got a present from the Awkward Man--a little, +shabby, worn volume with a great many marks on the leaves. + +“Why, it isn’t new--it’s an old book!” exclaimed Felicity. “I didn’t +think the Awkward Man was mean, whatever else he was.” + +“Oh, you don’t understand, Felicity,” said the Story Girl patiently. +“And I don’t suppose I can make you understand. But I’ll try. I’d ten +times rather have this than a new book. It’s one of his own, don’t you +see--one that he has read a hundred times and loved and made a friend +of. A new book, just out of a shop, wouldn’t be the same thing at all. +It wouldn’t MEAN anything. I consider it a great compliment that he has +given me this book. I’m prouder of it than of anything else I’ve got.” + +“Well, you’re welcome to it,” said Felicity. “I don’t understand and I +don’t want to. I wouldn’t give anybody a Christmas present that wasn’t +new, and I wouldn’t thank anybody who gave me one.” + +Peter was in the seventh heaven because Felicity had given him a +present--and, moreover, one that she had made herself. It was a bookmark +of perforated cardboard, with a gorgeous red and yellow worsted goblet +worked on it, and below, in green letters, the solemn warning, “Touch +Not The Cup.” As Peter was not addicted to habits of intemperance, not +even to looking on dandelion wine when it was pale yellow, we did not +exactly see why Felicity should have selected such a device. But Peter +was perfectly satisfied, so nobody cast any blight on his happiness by +carping criticism. Later on Felicity told me she had worked the bookmark +for him because his father used to drink before he ran away. + +“I thought Peter ought to be warned in time,” she said. + +Even Pat had a ribbon of blue, which he clawed off and lost half an hour +after it was tied on him. Pat did not care for vain adornments of the +body. + +We had a glorious Christmas dinner, fit for the halls of Lucullus, and +ate far more than was good for us, none daring to make us afraid on that +one day of the year. And in the evening--oh, rapture and delight!--we +went to Kitty Marr’s party. + +It was a fine December evening; the sharp air of morning had mellowed +until it was as mild as autumn. There had been no snow, and the long +fields, sloping down from the homestead, were brown and mellow. A weird, +dreamy stillness had fallen on the purple earth, the dark fir woods, the +valley rims, the sere meadows. Nature seemed to have folded satisfied +hands to rest, knowing that her long wintry slumber was coming upon her. + +At first, when the invitations to the party had come, Aunt Janet had +said we could not go; but Uncle Alec interceded in our favour, perhaps +influenced thereto by Cecily’s wistful eyes. If Uncle Alec had a +favourite among his children it was Cecily, and he had grown even more +indulgent towards her of late. Now and then I saw him looking at her +intently, and, following his eyes and thought, I had, somehow, seen that +Cecily was paler and thinner than she had been in the summer, and that +her soft eyes seemed larger, and that over her little face in moments of +repose there was a certain languor and weariness that made it very sweet +and pathetic. And I heard him tell Aunt Janet that he did not like to +see the child getting so much the look of her Aunt Felicity. + +“Cecily is perfectly well,” said Aunt Janet sharply. “She’s only growing +very fast. Don’t be foolish, Alec.” + +But after that Cecily had cups of cream where the rest of us got only +milk; and Aunt Janet was very particular to see that she had her rubbers +on whenever she went out. + +On this merry Christmas evening, however, no fears or dim foreshadowings +of any coming event clouded our hearts or faces. Cecily looked brighter +and prettier than I had ever seen her, with her softly shining eyes and +the nut brown gloss of her hair. Felicity was too beautiful for words; +and even the Story Girl, between excitement and the crimson silk array, +blossomed out with a charm and allurement more potent than any regular +loveliness--and this in spite of the fact that Aunt Olivia had tabooed +the red satin slippers and mercilessly decreed that stout shoes should +be worn. + +“I know just how you feel about it, you daughter of Eve,” she said, with +gay sympathy, “but December roads are damp, and if you are going to +walk to Marrs’ you are not going to do it in those frivolous Parisian +concoctions, even with overboots on; so be brave, dear heart, and show +that you have a soul above little red satin shoes.” + +“Anyhow,” said Uncle Roger, “that red silk dress will break the hearts +of all the feminine small fry at the party. You’d break their spirits, +too, if you wore the slippers. Don’t do it, Sara. Leave them one wee +loophole of enjoyment.” + +“What does Uncle Roger mean?” whispered Felicity. + +“He means you girls are all dying of jealousy because of the Story +Girl’s dress,” said Dan. + +“I am not of a jealous disposition,” said Felicity loftily, “and she’s +entirely welcome to the dress--with a complexion like that.” + +But we enjoyed that party hugely, every one of us. And we enjoyed the +walk home afterwards, through dim, enshadowed fields where silvery +star-beams lay, while Orion trod his stately march above us, and a red +moon climbed up the black horizon’s rim. A brook went with us part of +the way, singing to us through the dark--a gay, irresponsible vagabond +of valley and wilderness. + +Felicity and Peter walked not with us. Peter’s cup must surely have +brimmed over that Christmas night. When we left the Marr house, he had +boldly said to Felicity, “May I see you home?” And Felicity, much to our +amazement, had taken his arm and marched off with him. The primness +of her was indescribable, and was not at all ruffled by Dan’s hoot of +derision. As for me, I was consumed by a secret and burning desire to +ask the Story Girl if I might see HER home; but I could not screw my +courage to the sticking point. How I envied Peter his easy, insouciant +manner! I could not emulate him, so Dan and Felix and Cecily and the +Story Girl and I all walked hand in hand, huddling a little closer +together as we went through James Frewen’s woods--for there are strange +harps in a fir grove, and who shall say what fingers sweep them? Mighty +and sonorous was the music above our heads as the winds of the night +stirred the great boughs tossing athwart the starlit sky. Perhaps it was +that aeolian harmony which recalled to the Story Girl a legend of elder +days. + +“I read such a pretty story in one of Aunt Olivia’s books last night,” + she said. “It was called ‘The Christmas Harp.’ Would you like to hear +it? It seems to me it would just suit this part of the road.” + +“There isn’t anything about--about ghosts in it, is there?” said Cecily +timidly. + +“Oh, no, I wouldn’t tell a ghost story here for anything. I’d frighten +myself too much. This story is about one of the shepherds who saw the +angels on the first Christmas night. He was just a youth, and he loved +music with all his heart, and he longed to be able to express the melody +that was in his soul. But he could not; he had a harp and he often tried +to play on it; but his clumsy fingers only made such discord that +his companions laughed at him and mocked him, and called him a madman +because he would not give it up, but would rather sit apart by himself, +with his arms about his harp, looking up into the sky, while they +gathered around their fire and told tales to wile away their long night +vigils as they watched their sheep on the hills. But to him the thoughts +that came out of the great silence were far sweeter than their mirth; +and he never gave up the hope, which sometimes left his lips as a +prayer, that some day he might be able to express those thoughts in +music to the tired, weary, forgetful world. On the first Christmas night +he was out with his fellow shepherds on the hills. It was chill and +dark, and all, except him, were glad to gather around the fire. He sat, +as usual, by himself, with his harp on his knee and a great longing in +his heart. And there came a marvellous light in the sky and over the +hills, as if the darkness of the night had suddenly blossomed into a +wonderful meadow of flowery flame; and all the shepherds saw the angels +and heard them sing. And as they sang, the harp that the young shepherd +held began to play softly by itself, and as he listened to it he +realized that it was playing the same music that the angels sang +and that all his secret longings and aspirations and strivings were +expressed in it. From that night, whenever he took the harp in his +hands, it played the same music; and he wandered all over the world +carrying it; wherever the sound of its music was heard hate and discord +fled away and peace and good-will reigned. No one who heard it could +think an evil thought; no one could feel hopeless or despairing or +bitter or angry. When a man had once heard that music it entered into +his soul and heart and life and became a part of him for ever. Years +went by; the shepherd grew old and bent and feeble; but still he +roamed over land and sea, that his harp might carry the message of the +Christmas night and the angel song to all mankind. At last his strength +failed him and he fell by the wayside in the darkness; but his harp +played as his spirit passed; and it seemed to him that a Shining One +stood by him, with wonderful starry eyes, and said to him, ‘Lo, the +music thy harp has played for so many years has been but the echo of the +love and sympathy and purity and beauty in thine own soul; and if at any +time in the wanderings thou hadst opened the door of that soul to evil +or envy or selfishness thy harp would have ceased to play. Now thy life +is ended; but what thou hast given to mankind has no end; and as long as +the world lasts, so long will the heavenly music of the Christmas harp +ring in the ears of men.’ When the sun rose the old shepherd lay dead by +the roadside, with a smile on his face; and in his hands was a harp with +all its strings broken.” + +We left the fir woods as the tale was ended, and on the opposite hill +was home. A dim light in the kitchen window betokened that Aunt Janet +had no idea of going to bed until all her young fry were safely housed +for the night. + +“Ma’s waiting up for us,” said Dan. “I’d laugh if she happened to go to +the door just as Felicity and Peter were strutting up. I guess she’ll be +cross. It’s nearly twelve.” + +“Christmas will soon be over,” said Cecily, with a sigh. “Hasn’t it +been a nice one? It’s the first we’ve all spent together. Do you suppose +we’ll ever spend another together?” + +“Lots of ‘em,” said Dan cheerily. “Why not?” + +“Oh, I don’t know,” answered Cecily, her footsteps lagging somewhat. +“Only things seem just a little too pleasant to last.” + +“If Willy Fraser had had as much spunk as Peter, Miss Cecily King +mightn’t be so low spirited,” quoth Dan, significantly. + +Cecily tossed her head and disdained reply. There are really some +remarks a self-respecting young lady must ignore. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. NEW YEAR RESOLUTIONS + + +If we did not have a white Christmas we had a white New Year. Midway +between the two came a heavy snowfall. It was winter in our orchard of +old delights then,--so truly winter that it was hard to believe summer +had ever dwelt in it, or that spring would ever return to it. There were +no birds to sing the music of the moon; and the path where the apple +blossoms had fallen were heaped with less fragrant drifts. But it was a +place of wonder on a moonlight night, when the snowy arcades shone +like avenues of ivory and crystal, and the bare trees cast fairy-like +traceries upon them. Over Uncle Stephen’s Walk, where the snow had +fallen smoothly, a spell of white magic had been woven. Taintless and +wonderful it seemed, like a street of pearl in the new Jerusalem. + +On New Year’s Eve we were all together in Uncle Alec’s kitchen, which +was tacitly given over to our revels during the winter evenings. The +Story Girl and Peter were there, of course, and Sara Ray’s mother had +allowed her to come up on condition that she should be home by eight +sharp. Cecily was glad to see her, but the boys never hailed her arrival +with over-much delight, because, since the dark began to come down +early, Aunt Janet always made one of us walk down home with her. We +hated this, because Sara Ray was always so maddeningly self-conscious +of having an escort. We knew perfectly well that next day in school she +would tell her chums as a “dead” secret that “So-and-So King saw her +home” from the hill farm the night before. Now, seeing a young lady home +from choice, and being sent home with her by your aunt or mother are two +entirely different things, and we thought Sara Ray ought to have sense +enough to know it. + +Outside there was a vivid rose of sunset behind the cold hills of fir, +and the long reaches of snowy fields glowed fairily pink in the western +light. The drifts along the edges of the meadows and down the lane +looked as if a series of breaking waves had, by the lifting of a +magician’s wand, been suddenly transformed into marble, even to their +toppling curls of foam. + +Slowly the splendour died, giving place to the mystic beauty of a winter +twilight when the moon is rising. The hollow sky was a cup of blue. The +stars came out over the white glens and the earth was covered with a +kingly carpet for the feet of the young year to press. + +“I’m so glad the snow came,” said the Story Girl. “If it hadn’t the New +Year would have seemed just as dingy and worn out as the old. There’s +something very solemn about the idea of a New Year, isn’t there? Just +think of three hundred and sixty-five whole days, with not a thing +happened in them yet.” + +“I don’t suppose anything very wonderful will happen in them,” said +Felix pessimistically. To Felix, just then, life was flat, stale and +unprofitable because it was his turn to go home with Sara Ray. + +“It makes me a little frightened to think of all that may happen in +them,” said Cecily. “Miss Marwood says it is what we put into a year, +not what we get out of it, that counts at last.” + +“I’m always glad to see a New Year,” said the Story Girl. “I wish we +could do as they do in Norway. The whole family sits up until midnight, +and then, just as the clock is striking twelve, the father opens the +door and welcomes the New Year in. Isn’t it a pretty custom?” + +“If ma would let us stay up till twelve we might do that too,” said Dan, +“but she never will. I call it mean.” + +“If I ever have children I’ll let them stay up to watch the New Year +in,” said the Story Girl decidedly. + +“So will I,” said Peter, “but other nights they’ll have to go to bed at +seven.” + +“You ought to be ashamed, speaking of such things,” said Felicity, with +a scandalized face. + +Peter shrank into the background abashed, no doubt believing that he had +broken some Family Guide precept all to pieces. + +“I didn’t know it wasn’t proper to mention children,” he muttered +apologetically. + +“We ought to make some New Year resolutions,” suggested the Story Girl. +“New Year’s Eve is the time to make them.” + +“I can’t think of any resolutions I want to make,” said Felicity, who +was perfectly satisfied with herself. + +“I could suggest a few to you,” said Dan sarcastically. + +“There are so many I would like to make,” said Cecily, “that I’m afraid +it wouldn’t be any use trying to keep them all.” + +“Well, let’s all make a few, just for the fun of it, and see if we can +keep them,” I said. “And let’s get paper and ink and write them out. +That will make them seem more solemn and binding.” + +“And then pin them up on our bedroom walls, where we’ll see them every +day,” suggested the Story Girl, “and every time we break a resolution +we must put a cross opposite it. That will show us what progress we are +making, as well as make us ashamed if we have too many crosses.” + +“And let’s have a Roll of Honour in Our Magazine,” suggested Felix, “and +every month we’ll publish the names of those who keep their resolutions +perfect.” + +“I think it’s all nonsense,” said Felicity. But she joined our circle +around the table, though she sat for a long time with a blank sheet +before her. + +“Let’s each make a resolution in turn,” I said. “I’ll lead off.” + +And, recalling with shame certain unpleasant differences of opinion I +had lately had with Felicity, I wrote down in my best hand, + +“I shall try to keep my temper always.” + +“You’d better,” said Felicity tactfully. + +It was Dan’s turn next. + +“I can’t think of anything to start with,” he said, gnawing his +penholder fiercely. + +“You might make a resolution not to eat poison berries,” suggested +Felicity. + +“You’d better make one not to nag people everlastingly,” retorted Dan. + +“Oh, don’t quarrel the last night of the old year,” implored Cecily. + +“You might resolve not to quarrel any time,” suggested Sara Ray. + +“No, sir,” said Dan emphatically. “There’s no use making a resolution +you CAN’T keep. There are people in this family you’ve just GOT to +quarrel with if you want to live. But I’ve thought of one--I won’t do +things to spite people.” + +Felicity--who really was in an unbearable mood that night--laughed +disagreeably; but Cecily gave her a fierce nudge, which probably +restrained her from speaking. + +“I will not eat any apples,” wrote Felix. + +“What on earth do you want to give up eating apples for?” asked Peter in +astonishment. + +“Never mind,” returned Felix. + +“Apples make people fat, you know,” said Felicity sweetly. + +“It seems a funny kind of resolution,” I said doubtfully. “I think our +resolutions ought to be giving up wrong things or doing right ones.” + +“You make your resolutions to suit yourself and I’ll make mine to suit +myself,” said Felix defiantly. + +“I shall never get drunk,” wrote Peter painstakingly. + +“But you never do,” said the Story Girl in astonishment. + +“Well, it will be all the easier to keep the resolution,” argued Peter. + +“That isn’t fair,” complained Dan. “If we all resolved not to do the +things we never do we’d all be on the Roll of Honour.” + +“You let Peter alone,” said Felicity severely. “It’s a very good +resolution and one everybody ought to make.” + +“I shall not be jealous,” wrote the Story Girl. + +“But are you?” I asked, surprised. + +The Story Girl coloured and nodded. “Of one thing,” she confessed, “but +I’m not going to tell what it is.” + +“I’m jealous sometimes, too,” confessed Sara Ray, “and so my first +resolution will be ‘I shall try not to feel jealous when I hear the +other girls in school describing all the sick spells they’ve had.’” + +“Goodness, do you want to be sick?” demanded Felix in astonishment. + +“It makes a person important,” explained Sara Ray. + +“I am going to try to improve my mind by reading good books and +listening to older people,” wrote Cecily. + +“You got that out of the Sunday School paper,” cried Felicity. + +“It doesn’t matter where I got it,” said Cecily with dignity. “The main +thing is to keep it.” + +“It’s your turn, Felicity,” I said. + +Felicity tossed her beautiful golden head. + +“I told you I wasn’t going to make any resolutions. Go on yourself.” + +“I shall always study my grammar lesson,” I wrote--I, who loathed +grammar with a deadly loathing. + +“I hate grammar too,” sighed Sara Ray. “It seems so unimportant.” + +Sara was rather fond of a big word, but did not always get hold of the +right one. I rather suspected that in the above instance she really +meant uninteresting. + +“I won’t get mad at Felicity, if I can help it,” wrote Dan. + +“I’m sure I never do anything to make you mad,” exclaimed Felicity. + +“I don’t think it’s polite to make resolutions about your sisters,” said +Peter. + +“He can’t keep it anyway,” scoffed Felicity. “He’s got such an awful +temper.” + +“It’s a family failing,” flashed Dan, breaking his resolution ere the +ink on it was dry. + +“There you go,” taunted Felicity. + +“I’ll work all my arithmetic problems without any help,” scribbled +Felix. + +“I wish I could resolve that, too,” sighed Sara Ray, “but it wouldn’t be +any use. I’d never be able to do those compound multiplication sums the +teacher gives us to do at home every night if I didn’t get Judy Pineau +to help me. Judy isn’t a good reader and she can’t spell AT ALL, but you +can’t stick her in arithmetic as far as she went herself. I feel sure,” + concluded poor Sara, in a hopeless tone, “that I’ll NEVER be able to +understand compound multiplication.” + + + “‘Multiplication is vexation, + Division is as bad, + The rule of three perplexes me, + And fractions drive me mad,’” + + +quoted Dan. + +“I haven’t got as far as fractions yet,” sighed Sara, “and I hope I’ll +be too big to go to school before I do. I hate arithmetic, but I am +PASSIONATELY fond of geography.” + +“I will not play tit-tat-x on the fly leaves of my hymn book in church,” + wrote Peter. + +“Mercy, did you ever do such a thing?” exclaimed Felicity in horror. + +Peter nodded shamefacedly. + +“Yes--that Sunday Mr. Bailey preached. He was so long-winded, I got +awful tired, and, anyway, he was talking about things I couldn’t +understand, so I played tit-tat-x with one of the Markdale boys. It was +the day I was sitting up in the gallery.” + +“Well, I hope if you ever do the like again you won’t do it in OUR pew,” + said Felicity severely. + +“I ain’t going to do it at all,” said Peter. “I felt sort of mean all +the rest of the day.” + +“I shall try not to be vexed when people interrupt me when I’m telling +stories,” wrote the Story Girl. “but it will be hard,” she added with a +sigh. + +“I never mind being interrupted,” said Felicity. + +“I shall try to be cheerful and smiling all the time,” wrote Cecily. + +“You are, anyway,” said Sara Ray loyally. + +“I don’t believe we ought to be cheerful ALL the time,” said the Story +Girl. “The Bible says we ought to weep with those who weep.” + +“But maybe it means that we’re to weep cheerfully,” suggested Cecily. + +“Sorter as if you were thinking, ‘I’m very sorry for you but I’m mighty +glad I’m not in the scrape too,’” said Dan. + +“Dan, don’t be irreverent,” rebuked Felicity. + +“I know a story about old Mr. and Mrs. Davidson of Markdale,” said +the Story Girl. “She was always smiling and it used to aggravate her +husband, so one day he said very crossly, ‘Old lady, what ARE you +grinning at?’ ‘Oh, well, Abiram, everything’s so bright and pleasant, +I’ve just got to smile.’ + +“Not long after there came a time when everything went wrong--the crop +failed and their best cow died, and Mrs. Davidson had rheumatism; and +finally Mr. Davidson fell and broke his leg. But still Mrs. Davidson +smiled. ‘What in the dickens are you grinning about now, old lady?’ +he demanded. ‘Oh, well, Abiram,’ she said, ‘everything is so dark and +unpleasant I’ve just got to smile.’ ‘Well,’ said the old man crossly, ‘I +think you might give your face a rest sometimes.’” + +“I shall not talk gossip,” wrote Sara Ray with a satisfied air. + +“Oh, don’t you think that’s a little TOO strict?” asked Cecily +anxiously. “Of course, it’s not right to talk MEAN gossip, but the +harmless kind doesn’t hurt. If I say to you that Emmy MacPhail is going +to get a new fur collar this winter, THAT is harmless gossip, but if I +say I don’t see how Emmy MacPhail can afford a new fur collar when her +father can’t pay my father for the oats he got from him, that would be +MEAN gossip. If I were you, Sara, I’d put MEAN gossip.” + +Sara consented to this amendment. + +“I will be polite to everybody,” was my third resolution, which passed +without comment. + +“I’ll try not to use slang since Cecily doesn’t like it,” wrote Dan. + +“I think some slang is real cute,” said Felicity. + +“The Family Guide says it’s very vulgar,” grinned Dan. “Doesn’t it, Sara +Stanley?” + +“Don’t disturb me,” said the Story Girl dreamily. “I’m just thinking a +beautiful thought.” + +“I’ve thought of a resolution to make,” cried Felicity. “Mr. Marwood +said last Sunday we should always try to think beautiful thoughts and +then our lives would be very beautiful. So I shall resolve to think a +beautiful thought every morning before breakfast.” + +“Can you only manage one a day?” queried Dan. + +“And why before breakfast?” I asked. + +“Because it’s easier to think on an empty stomach,” said Peter, in all +good faith. But Felicity shot a furious glance at him. + +“I selected that time,” she explained with dignity, “because when I’m +brushing my hair before my glass in the morning I’ll see my resolution +and remember it.” + +“Mr. Marwood meant that ALL our thoughts ought to be beautiful,” said +the Story Girl. “If they were, people wouldn’t be afraid to say what +they think.” + +“They oughtn’t to be afraid to, anyhow,” said Felix stoutly. “I’m going +to make a resolution to say just what I think always.” + +“And do you expect to get through the year alive if you do?” asked Dan. + +“It might be easy enough to say what you think if you could always be +sure just what you DO think,” said the Story Girl. “So often I can’t be +sure.” + +“How would you like it if people always said just what they think to +you?” asked Felicity. + +“I’m not very particular what SOME people think of me,” rejoined Felix. + +“I notice you don’t like to be told by anybody that you’re fat,” + retorted Felicity. + +“Oh, dear me, I do wish you wouldn’t all say such sarcastic things to +each other,” said poor Cecily plaintively. “It sounds so horrid the last +night of the old year. Dear knows where we’ll all be this night next +year. Peter, it’s your turn.” + +“I will try,” wrote Peter, “to say my prayers every night regular, and +not twice one night because I don’t expect to have time the next,--like +I did the night before the party,” he added. + +“I s’pose you never said your prayers until we got you to go to church,” + said Felicity--who had had no hand in inducing Peter to go to church, +but had stoutly opposed it, as recorded in the first volume of our +family history. + +“I did, too,” said Peter. “Aunt Jane taught me to say my prayers. Ma +hadn’t time, being as father had run away; ma had to wash at night same +as in day-time.” + +“I shall learn to cook,” wrote the Story Girl, frowning. + +“You’d better resolve not to make puddings of--” began Felicity, then +stopped as suddenly as if she had bitten off the rest of her sentence +and swallowed it. Cecily had nudged her, so she had probably remembered +the Story Girl’s threat that she would never tell another story if she +was ever twitted with the pudding she had made from sawdust. But we all +knew what Felicity had started to say and the Story Girl dealt her a +most uncousinly glance. + +“I will not cry because mother won’t starch my aprons,” wrote Sara Ray. + +“Better resolve not to cry about anything,” said Dan kindly. + +Sara Ray shook her head forlornly. + +“That would be too hard to keep. There are times when I HAVE to cry. +It’s a relief.” + +“Not to the folks who have to hear you,” muttered Dan aside to Cecily. + +“Oh, hush,” whispered Cecily back. “Don’t go and hurt her feelings the +last night of the old year. Is it my turn again? Well, I’ll resolve not +to worry because my hair is not curly. But, oh, I’ll never be able to +help wishing it was.” + +“Why don’t you curl it as you used to do, then?” asked Dan. + +“You know very well that I’ve never put my hair up in curl papers since +the time Peter was dying of the measles,” said Cecily reproachfully. “I +resolved then I wouldn’t because I wasn’t sure it was quite right.” + +“I will keep my finger-nails neat and clean,” I wrote. “There, that’s +four resolutions. I’m not going to make any more. Four’s enough.” + +“I shall always think twice before I speak,” wrote Felix. + +“That’s an awful waste of time,” commented Dan, “but I guess you’ll need +to if you’re always going to say what you think.” + +“I’m going to stop with three,” said Peter. + +“I will have all the good times I can,” wrote the Story Girl. + +“THAT’S what I call sensible,” said Dan. + +“It’s a very easy resolution to keep, anyhow,” commented Felix. + +“I shall try to like reading the Bible,” wrote Sara Ray. + +“You ought to like reading the Bible without trying to,” exclaimed +Felicity. + +“If you had to read seven chapters of it every time you were naughty I +don’t believe you would like it either,” retorted Sara Ray with a flash +of spirit. + +“I shall try to believe only half of what I hear,” was Cecily’s +concluding resolution. + +“But which half?” scoffed Dan. + +“The best half,” said sweet Cecily simply. + +“I’ll try to obey mother ALWAYS,” wrote Sara Ray, with a tremendous +sigh, as if she fully realized the difficulty of keeping such a +resolution. “And that’s all I’m going to make.” + +“Felicity has only made one,” said the Story Girl. + +“I think it better to make just one and keep it than make a lot and +break them,” said Felicity loftily. + +She had the last word on the subject, for it was time for Sara Ray to +go, and our circle broke up. Sara and Felix departed and we watched +them down the lane in the moonlight--Sara walking demurely in one runner +track, and Felix stalking grimly along in the other. I fear the romantic +beauty of that silver shining night was entirely thrown away on my +mischievous brother. + +And it was, as I remember it, a most exquisite night--a white poem, a +frosty, starry lyric of light. It was one of those nights on which one +might fall asleep and dream happy dreams of gardens of mirth and +song, feeling all the while through one’s sleep the soft splendour and +radiance of the white moon-world outside, as one hears soft, far-away +music sounding through the thoughts and words that are born of it. + +As a matter of fact, however, Cecily dreamed that night that she saw +three full moons in the sky, and wakened up crying with the horror of +it. + + + + +CHAPTER V. THE FIRST NUMBER OF “OUR MAGAZINE” + + +The first number of Our Magazine was ready on New Year’s Day, and we +read it that evening in the kitchen. All our staff had worked nobly and +we were enormously proud of the result, although Dan still continued +to scoff at a paper that wasn’t printed. The Story Girl and I read it +turnabout while the others, except Felix, ate apples. It opened with a +short + + +EDITORIAL + +With this number Our Magazine makes its first bow to the public. All +the editors have done their best and the various departments are full of +valuable information and amusement. The tastefully designed cover is by +a famous artist, Mr. Blair Stanley, who sent it to us all the way from +Europe at the request of his daughter. Mr. Peter Craig, our enterprising +literary editor, contributes a touching love story. (Peter, aside, in +a gratified pig’s whisper: “I never was called ‘Mr.’ before.”) Miss +Felicity King’s essays on Shakespeare is none the worse for being an +old school composition, as it is new to most of our readers. Miss +Cecily King contributes a thrilling article of adventure. The various +departments are ably edited, and we feel that we have reason to be proud +of Our Magazine. But we shall not rest on our oars. “Excelsior” shall +ever be our motto. We trust that each succeeding issue will be better +than the one that went before. We are well aware of many defects, but +it is easier to see them than to remedy them. Any suggestion that would +tend to the improvement of Our Magazine will be thankfully received, +but we trust that no criticism will be made that will hurt anyone’s +feelings. Let us all work together in harmony, and strive to make Our +Magazine an influence for good and a source of innocent pleasure, and +let us always remember the words of the poet. + + + “The heights by great men reached and kept + Were not attained by sudden flight, + But they, while their companions slept, + Were toiling upwards in the night.” + + +(Peter, IMPRESSIVELY:--“I’ve read many a worse editorial in the +Enterprise.”) + + +ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE + +Shakespeare’s full name was William Shakespeare. He did not always spell +it the same way. He lived in the reign of Queen Elizabeth and wrote a +great many plays. His plays are written in dialogue form. Some people +think they were not written by Shakespeare but by another man of the +same name. I have read some of them because our school teacher says +everybody ought to read them, but I did not care much for them. There +are some things in them I cannot understand. I like the stories of +Valeria H. Montague in the Family Guide ever so much better. They are +more exciting and truer to life. Romeo and Juliet was one of the plays I +read. It was very sad. Juliet dies and I don’t like stories where people +die. I like it better when they all get married especially to dukes and +earls. Shakespeare himself was married to Anne Hatheway. They are both +dead now. They have been dead a good while. He was a very famous man. + + FELICITY KING. + + +(PETER, MODESTLY: “I don’t know much about Shakespeare myself but I’ve +got a book of his plays that belonged to my Aunt Jane, and I guess I’ll +have to tackle him as soon as I finish with the Bible.”) + + +THE STORY OF AN ELOPEMENT FROM CHURCH + +This is a true story. It happened in Markdale to an uncle of my mothers. +He wanted to marry Miss Jemima Parr. Felicity says Jemima is not a +romantic name for a heroin of a story but I cant help it in this case +because it is a true story and her name realy was Jemima. My mothers +uncle was named Thomas Taylor. He was poor at that time and so the +father of Miss Jemima Parr did not want him for a soninlaw and told him +he was not to come near the house or he would set the dog on him. Miss +Jemima Parr was very pretty and my mothers uncle Thomas was just crazy +about her and she wanted him too. She cried almost every night after +her father forbid him to come to the house except the nights she had to +sleep or she would have died. And she was so frightened he might try to +come for all and get tore up by the dog and it was a bull-dog too that +would never let go. But mothers uncle Thomas was too cute for that. He +waited till one day there was preaching in the Markdale church in the +middle of the week because it was sacrament time and Miss Jemima Parr +and her family all went because her father was an elder. My mothers +uncle Thomas went too and set in the pew just behind Miss Jemima Parrs +family. When they all bowed their heads at prayer time Miss Jemima Parr +didnt but set bolt uprite and my mothers uncle Thomas bent over and +wispered in her ear. I dont know what he said so I cant right it but +Miss Jemima Parr blushed that is turned red and nodded her head. Perhaps +some people may think that my mothers uncle Thomas shouldent of wispered +at prayer time in church but you must remember that Miss Jemima Parrs +father had thretened to set the dog on him and that was hard lines when +he was a respektable young man though not rich. Well when they were +singing the last sam my mothers uncle Thomas got up and went out very +quitely and as soon as church was out Miss Jemima Parr walked out too +real quick. Her family never suspekted anything and they hung round +talking to folks and shaking hands while Miss Jemima Parr and my mothers +uncle Thomas were eloping outside. And what do you suppose they eloped +in. Why in Miss Jemima Parrs fathers slay. And when he went out they +were gone and his slay was gone also his horse. Of course my mothers +uncle Thomas didnt steal the horse. He just borroed it and sent it home +the next day. But before Miss Jemima Parrs father could get another rig +to follow them they were so far away he couldent catch them before they +got married. And they lived happy together forever afterwards. Mothers +uncle Thomas lived to be a very old man. He died very suddent. He felt +quite well when he went to sleep and when he woke up he was dead. + + PETER CRAIG. + + +MY MOST EXCITING ADVENTURE + +The editor says we must all write up our most exciting adventure for Our +Magazine. My most exciting adventure happened a year ago last November. +I was nearly frightened to death. Dan says he wouldn’t of been scared +and Felicity says she would of known what it was but it’s easy to talk. + +It happened the night I went down to see Kitty Marr. I thought when I +went that Aunt Olivia was visiting there and I could come home with her. +But she wasn’t there and I had to come home alone. Kitty came a piece +of the way but she wouldn’t come any further than Uncle James Frewen’s +gate. She said it was because it was so windy she was afraid she would +get the tooth-ache and not because she was frightened of the ghost of +the dog that haunted the bridge in Uncle James’ hollow. I did wish she +hadn’t said anything about the dog because I mightn’t of thought about +it if she hadn’t. I had to go on alone thinking of it. I’d heard the +story often but I’d never believed in it. They said the dog used to +appear at one end of the bridge and walk across it with people and +vanish when he got to the other end. He never tried to bite anyone but +one wouldn’t want to meet the ghost of a dog even if one didn’t believe +in him. I knew there was no such thing as ghosts and I kept saying a +paraphrase over to myself and the Golden Text of the next Sunday School +lesson but oh, how my heart beat when I got near the hollow! It was so +dark. You could just see things dim-like but you couldn’t see what they +were. When I got to the bridge I walked along sideways with my back to +the railing so I couldn’t think the dog was behind me. And then just in +the middle of the bridge I met something. It was right before me and +it was big and black, just about the size of a Newfoundland dog, and +I thought I could see a white nose. And it kept jumping about from one +side of the bridge to the other. Oh, I hope none of my readers will ever +be so frightened as I was then. I was too frightened to run back because +I was afraid it would chase me and I couldn’t get past it, it moved so +quick, and then it just made one spring right on me and I felt its claws +and I screamed and fell down. It rolled off to one side and laid there +quite quiet but I didn’t dare move and I don’t know what would have +become of me if Amos Cowan hadn’t come along that very minute with a +lantern. And there was me sitting in the middle of the bridge and that +awful thing beside me. And what do you think it was but a big umbrella +with a white handle? Amos said it was his umbrella and it had blown away +from him and he had to go back and get the lantern to look for it. I +felt like asking him what on earth he was going about with an umbrella +open when it wasent raining. But the Cowans do such queer things. You +remember the time Jerry Cowan sold us God’s picture. Amos took me right +home and I was thankful for I don’t know what would have become of me +if he hadn’t come along. I couldn’t sleep all night and I never want to +have any more adventures like that one. + + CECILY KING. + + +PERSONALS + +Mr. Dan King felt somewhat indisposed the day after Christmas--probably +as the result of too much mince pie. (DAN, INDIGNANTLY:--“I wasn’t. I +only et one piece!”) + +Mr. Peter Craig thinks he saw the Family Ghost on Christmas Eve. But +the rest of us think all he saw was the white calf with the red tail. +(PETER, MUTTERING SULKILY:--“It’s a queer calf that would walk up on end +and wring its hands.”) + +Miss Cecily King spent the night of Dec. 20th with Miss Kitty Marr. They +talked most of the night about new knitted lace patterns and their beaus +and were very sleepy in school next day. (CECILY, SHARPLY:--“We never +mentioned such things!”) + +Patrick Grayfur, Esq., was indisposed yesterday, but seems to be +enjoying his usual health to-day. + +The King family expect their Aunt Eliza to visit them in January. She +is really our great-aunt. We have never seen her but we are told she is +very deaf and does not like children. So Aunt Janet says we must make +ourselves scarece when she comes. + +Miss Cecily King has undertaken to fill with names a square of the +missionary quilt which the Mission Band is making. You pay five cents +to have your name embroidered in a corner, ten cents to have it in +the centre, and a quarter if you want it left off altogether. (CECILY, +INDIGNANTLY:--“That isn’t the way at all.”) + + +ADS. + +WANTED--A remedy to make a fat boy thin. Address, “Patient Sufferer, +care of Our Magazine.” + +(FELIX, SOURLY:--“Sara Ray never got that up. I’ll bet it was Dan. He’d +better stick to his own department.”) + + +HOUSEHOLD DEPARTMENT + +Mrs. Alexander King killed all her geese the twentieth of December. We +all helped pick them. We had one Christmas Day and will have one every +fortnight the rest of the winter. + +The bread was sour last week because mother wouldn’t take my advice. I +told her it was too warm for it in the corner behind the stove. + +Miss Felicity King invented a new recete for date cookies recently, +which everybody said were excelent. I am not going to publish it though, +because I don’t want other people to find it out. + +ANXIOUS INQUIRER:--If you want to remove inkstains place the stain +over steam and apply salt and lemon juice. If it was Dan who sent this +question in I’d advise him to stop wiping his pen on his shirt sleeves +and then he wouldn’t have so many stains. + + FELICITY KING. + + +ETIQUETTE DEPARTMENT + + +F-l-x:--Yes, you should offer your arm to a lady when seeing her home, +but don’t keep her standing too long at the gate while you say good +night. + +(FELIX, ENRAGED:--“I never asked such a question.”) + +C-c-l-y:--No, it is not polite to use “Holy Moses” or “dodgasted” in +ordinary conversation. + +(Cecily had gone down cellar to replenish the apple plate, so this +passed without protest.) + +S-r-a:--No, it isn’t polite to cry all the time. As to whether you +should ask a young man in, it all depends on whether he went home with +you of his own accord or was sent by some elderly relative. + +F-l-t-y:--It does not break any rule of etiquette if you keep a button +off your best young man’s coat for a keepsake. But don’t take more than +one or his mother might miss them. + + DAN KING. + + +FASHION NOTES + +Knitted mufflers are much more stylish than crocheted ones this winter. +It is nice to have one the same colour as your cap. + +Red mittens with a black diamond pattern on the back are much run after. +Em Frewen’s grandma knits hers for her. She can knit the double diamond +pattern and Em puts on such airs about it, but I think the single +diamond is in better taste. + +The new winter hats at Markdale are very pretty. It is so exciting to +pick a hat. Boys can’t have that fun. Their hats are so much alike. + + CECILY KING. + + +FUNNY PARAGRAPHS + +This is a true joke and really happened. + +There was an old local preacher in New Brunswick one time whose name was +Samuel Clask. He used to preach and pray and visit the sick just like a +regular minister. One day he was visiting a neighbour who was dying and +he prayed the Lord to have mercy on him because he was very poor and +had worked so hard all his life that he hadn’t much time to attend to +religion. + +“And if you don’t believe me, O Lord,” Mr. Clask finished up with, “just +take a look at his hands.” + + FELIX KING. + + +GENERAL INFORMATION BUREAU + +DAN:--Do porpoises grow on trees or vines? + +Ans. Neither. They inhabit the deep sea. + + FELIX KING. + + +(DAN, AGGRIEVED:--“Well, I’d never heard of porpoises and it sounded +like something that grew. But you needn’t have gone and put it in the +paper.” + +FELIX:--“It isn’t any worse than the things you put in about me that I +never asked at all.” + +CECILY, SOOTHINGLY:--“Oh, well, boys, it’s all in fun, and I think Our +Magazine is perfectly elegant.” + +FELICITY, FAILING TO SEE THE STORY GIRL AND BEVERLEY EXCHANGING WINKS +BEHIND HER BACK:--“It certainly is, though SOME PEOPLE were so opposed +to starting it.”) + + +What harmless, happy fooling it all was! How we laughed as we read and +listened and devoured apples! Blow high, blow low, no wind can ever +quench the ruddy glow of that faraway winter night in our memories. And +though Our Magazine never made much of a stir in the world, or was the +means of hatching any genius, it continued to be capital fun for us +throughout the year. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. GREAT-AUNT ELIZA’S VISIT + + +It was a diamond winter day in February--clear, cold, hard, brilliant. +The sharp blue sky shone, the white fields and hills glittered, the +fringe of icicles around the eaves of Uncle Alec’s house sparkled. Keen +was the frost and crisp the snow over our world; and we young fry of the +King households were all agog to enjoy life--for was it not Saturday, +and were we not left all alone to keep house? + +Aunt Janet and Aunt Olivia had had their last big “kill” of market +poultry the day before; and early in the morning all our grown-ups set +forth to Charlottetown, to be gone the whole day. They left us many +charges as usual, some of which we remembered and some of which we +forgot; but with Felicity in command none of us dared stray far out of +line. The Story Girl and Peter came over, of course, and we all agreed +that we would haste and get the work done in the forenoon, that we might +have an afternoon of uninterrupted enjoyment. A taffy-pull after dinner +and then a jolly hour of coasting on the hill field before supper were +on our programme. But disappointment was our portion. We did manage to +get the taffy made but before we could sample the result satisfactorily, +and just as the girls were finishing with the washing of the dishes, +Felicity glanced out of the window and exclaimed in tones of dismay, + +“Oh, dear me, here’s Great-aunt Eliza coming up the lane! Now, isn’t +that too mean?” + +We all looked out to see a tall, gray-haired lady approaching the house, +looking about her with the slightly puzzled air of a stranger. We had +been expecting Great-aunt Eliza’s advent for some weeks, for she was +visiting relatives in Markdale. We knew she was liable to pounce down on +us any time, being one of those delightful folk who like to “surprise” + people, but we had never thought of her coming that particular day. It +must be confessed that we did not look forward to her visit with any +pleasure. None of us had ever seen her, but we knew she was very deaf, +and had very decided opinions as to the way in which children should +behave. + +“Whew!” whistled Dan. “We’re in for a jolly afternoon. She’s deaf as a +post and we’ll have to split our throats to make her hear at all. I’ve a +notion to skin out.” + +“Oh, don’t talk like that, Dan,” said Cecily reproachfully. “She’s old +and lonely and has had a great deal of trouble. She has buried three +husbands. We must be kind to her and do the best we can to make her +visit pleasant.” + +“She’s coming to the back door,” said Felicity, with an agitated glance +around the kitchen. “I told you, Dan, that you should have shovelled the +snow away from the front door this morning. Cecily, set those pots +in the pantry quick--hide those boots, Felix--shut the cupboard door, +Peter--Sara, straighten up the lounge. She’s awfully particular and ma +says her house is always as neat as wax.” + +To do Felicity justice, while she issued orders to the rest of us, +she was flying busily about herself, and it was amazing how much was +accomplished in the way of putting the kitchen in perfect order during +the two minutes in which Great-aunt Eliza was crossing the yard. + +“Fortunately the sitting-room is tidy and there’s plenty in the pantry,” + said Felicity, who could face anything undauntedly with a well-stocked +larder behind her. + +Further conversation was cut short by a decided rap at the door. +Felicity opened it. + +“Why, how do you do, Aunt Eliza?” she said loudly. + +A slightly bewildered look appeared on Aunt Eliza’s face. Felicity +perceived she had not spoken loudly enough. + +“How do you do, Aunt Eliza,” she repeated at the top of her voice. +“Come in--we are glad to see you. We’ve been looking for you for ever so +long.” + +“Are your father and mother at home?” asked Aunt Eliza, slowly. + +“No, they went to town today. But they’ll be home this evening.” + +“I’m sorry they’re away,” said Aunt Eliza, coming in, “because I can +stay only a few hours.” + +“Oh, that’s too bad,” shouted poor Felicity, darting an angry glance at +the rest of us, as if to demand why we didn’t help her out. “Why, we’ve +been thinking you’d stay a week with us anyway. You MUST stay over +Sunday.” + +“I really can’t. I have to go to Charlottetown tonight,” returned Aunt +Eliza. + +“Well, you’ll take off your things and stay to tea, at least,” urged +Felicity, as hospitably as her strained vocal chords would admit. + +“Yes, I think I’ll do that. I want to get acquainted with my--my nephews +and nieces,” said Aunt Eliza, with a rather pleasant glance around our +group. If I could have associated the thought of such a thing with my +preconception of Great-aunt Eliza I could have sworn there was a twinkle +in her eye. But of course it was impossible. “Won’t you introduce +yourselves, please?” + +Felicity shouted our names and Great-aunt Eliza shook hands all round. +She performed the duty grimly and I concluded I must have been mistaken +about the twinkle. She was certainly very tall and dignified and +imposing--altogether a great-aunt to be respected. + +Felicity and Cecily took her to the spare room and then left her in the +sitting-room while they returned to the kitchen, to discuss the matter +in family conclave. + +“Well, and what do you think of dear Aunt Eliza?” asked Dan. + +“S-s-s-sh,” warned Cecily, with a glance at the half-open hall door. + +“Pshaw,” scoffed Dan, “she can’t hear us. There ought to be a law +against anyone being as deaf as that.” + +“She’s not so old-looking as I expected,” said Felix. “If her hair +wasn’t so white she wouldn’t look much older than your mother.” + +“You don’t have to be very old to be a great-aunt,” said Cecily. “Kitty +Marr has a great-aunt who is just the same age as her mother. I expect +it was burying so many husbands turned her hair white. But Aunt Eliza +doesn’t look just as I expected she would either.” + +“She’s dressed more stylishly than I expected,” said Felicity. “I +thought she’d be real old-fashioned, but her clothes aren’t too bad at +all.” + +“She wouldn’t be bad-looking if ‘tweren’t for her nose,” said Peter. +“It’s too long, and crooked besides.” + +“You needn’t criticize our relations like that,” said Felicity tartly. + +“Well, aren’t you doing it yourselves?” expostulated Peter. + +“That’s different,” retorted Felicity. “Never you mind Great-aunt +Eliza’s nose.” + +“Well, don’t expect me to talk to her,” said Dan, “‘cause I won’t.” + +“I’m going to be very polite to her,” said Felicity. “She’s rich. But +how are we to entertain her, that’s the question.” + +“What does the Family Guide say about entertaining your rich, deaf old +aunt?” queried Dan ironically. + +“The Family Guide says we should be polite to EVERYBODY,” said Cecily, +with a reproachful look at Dan. + +“The worst of it is,” said Felicity, looking worried, “that there isn’t +a bit of old bread in the house and she can’t eat new, I’ve heard father +say. It gives her indigestion. What will we do?” + +“Make a pan of rusks and apologize for having no old bread,” suggested +the Story Girl, probably by way of teasing Felicity. The latter, +however, took it in all good faith. + +“The Family Guide says we should never apologize for things we can’t +help. It says it’s adding insult to injury to do it. But you run over +home for a loaf of stale bread, Sara, and it’s a good idea about the +rusks. I’ll make a panful.” + +“Let me make them,” said the Story Girl, eagerly. “I can make real good +rusks now.” + +“No, it wouldn’t do to trust you,” said Felicity mercilessly. “You +might make some queer mistake and Aunt Eliza would tell it all over the +country. She’s a fearful old gossip. I’ll make the rusks myself. She +hates cats, so we mustn’t let Paddy be seen. And she’s a Methodist, so +mind nobody says anything against Methodists to her.” + +“Who’s going to say anything, anyhow?” asked Peter belligerently. + +“I wonder if I might ask her for her name for my quilt square?” + speculated Cecily. “I believe I will. She looks so much friendlier than +I expected. Of course she’ll choose the five-cent section. She’s an +estimable old lady, but very economical.” + +“Why don’t you say she’s so mean she’d skin a flea for its hide and +tallow?” said Dan. “That’s the plain truth.” + +“Well, I’m going to see about getting tea,” said Felicity, “so the rest +of you will have to entertain her. You better go in and show her the +photographs in the album. Dan, you do it.” + +“Thank you, that’s a girl’s job,” said Dan. “I’d look nice sitting up +to Aunt Eliza and yelling out that this was Uncle Jim and ‘tother Cousin +Sarah’s twins, wouldn’t I? Cecily or the Story Girl can do it.” + +“I don’t know all the pictures in your album,” said the Story Girl +hastily. + +“I s’pose I’ll have to do it, though I don’t like to,” sighed Cecily. +“But we ought to go in. We’ve left her alone too long now. She’ll think +we have no manners.” + +Accordingly we all filed in rather reluctantly. Great-aunt Eliza +was toasting her toes--clad, as we noted, in very smart and shapely +shoes--at the stove and looking quite at her ease. Cecily, determined to +do her duty even in the face of such fearful odds as Great-aunt Eliza’s +deafness, dragged a ponderous, plush-covered album from its corner and +proceeded to display and explain the family photographs. She did her +brave best but she could not shout like Felicity, and half the time, as +she confided to me later on, she felt that Great-aunt Eliza did not hear +one word she said, because she didn’t seem to take in who the people +were, though, just like all deaf folks, she wouldn’t let on. Great-aunt +Eliza certainly didn’t talk much; she looked at the photographs in +silence, but she smiled now and then. That smile bothered me. It was so +twinkly and so very un-great-aunt-Elizaish. But I felt indignant with +her. I thought she might have shown a little more appreciation of +Cecily’s gallant efforts to entertain. + +It was very dull for the rest of us. The Story Girl sat rather sulkily +in her corner; she was angry because Felicity would not let her make +the rusks, and also, perhaps, a little vexed because she could not charm +Great-aunt Eliza with her golden voice and story-telling gift. Felix +and I looked at each other and wished ourselves out in the hill field, +careering gloriously adown its gleaming crust. + +But presently a little amusement came our way. Dan, who was sitting +behind Great-aunt Eliza, and consequently out of her view, began making +comments on Cecily’s explanation of this one and that one among the +photographs. In vain Cecily implored him to stop. It was too good fun +to give up. For the next half-hour the dialogue ran after this fashion, +while Peter and Felix and I, and even the Story Girl, suffered agonies +trying to smother our bursts of laughter--for Great-aunt Eliza could see +if she couldn’t hear: + +CECILY, SHOUTING:--“That is Mr. Joseph Elliott of Markdale, a second +cousin of mother’s.” + +DAN:--“Don’t brag of it, Sis. He’s the man who was asked if somebody +else said something in sincerity and old Joe said ‘No, he said it in my +cellar.’” + +CECILY:--“This isn’t anybody in our family. It’s little Xavy Gautier who +used to be hired with Uncle Roger.” + +DAN:--“Uncle Roger sent him to fix a gate one day and scolded him +because he didn’t do it right, and Xavy was mad as hops and said ‘How +you ‘spect me to fix dat gate? I never learned jogerfy.’” + +CECILY, WITH AN ANGUISHED GLANCE AT DAN:--“This is Great-uncle Robert +King.” + +DAN:--“He’s been married four times. Don’t you think that’s often +enough, dear great-aunty?” + +CECILY:--“(Dan!!) This is a nephew of Mr. Ambrose Marr’s. He lives out +west and teaches school.” + +DAN:--“Yes, and Uncle Roger says he doesn’t know enough not to sleep in +a field with the gate open.” + +CECILY:--“This is Miss Julia Stanley, who used to teach in Carlisle a +few years ago.” + +DAN:--“When she resigned the trustees had a meeting to see if they’d ask +her to stay and raise her supplement. Old Highland Sandy was alive then +and he got up and said, ‘If she for go let her for went. Perhaps she for +marry.’” + +CECILY, WITH THE AIR OF A MARTYR:--“This is Mr. Layton, who used to +travel around selling Bibles and hymn books and Talmage’s sermons.” + +DAN:--“He was so thin Uncle Roger used to say he always mistook him for +a crack in the atmosphere. One time he stayed here all night and went to +prayer meeting and Mr. Marwood asked him to lead in prayer. It had been +raining ‘most every day for three weeks, and it was just in haymaking +time, and everybody thought the hay was going to be ruined, and old +Layton got up and prayed that God would send gentle showers on the +growing crops, and I heard Uncle Roger whisper to a fellow behind +me, ‘If somebody don’t choke him off we won’t get the hay made this +summer.’” + +CECILY, IN EXASPERATION:--“(Dan, shame on you for telling such +irreverent stories.) This is Mrs. Alexander Scott of Markdale. She has +been very sick for a long time.” + +DAN:--“Uncle Roger says all that keeps her alive is that she’s scared +her husband will marry again.” + +CECILY:--“This is old Mr. James MacPherson who used to live behind the +graveyard.” + +DAN:--“He’s the man who told mother once that he always made his own +iodine out of strong tea and baking soda.” + +CECILY:--“This is Cousin Ebenezer MacPherson on the Markdale road.” + +DAN:--“Great temperance man! He never tasted rum in his life. He took +the measles when he was forty-five and was crazy as a loon with them, +and the doctor ordered them to give him a dose of brandy. When he +swallowed it he looked up and says, solemn as an owl, ‘Give it to me +oftener and more at a time.’” + +CECILY, IMPLORINGLY:--“(Dan, do stop. You make me so nervous I don’t +know what I’m doing.) This is Mr. Lemuel Goodridge. He is a minister.” + +DAN:--“You ought to see his mouth. Uncle Roger says the drawing string +has fell out of it. It just hangs loose--so fashion.” + +Dan, whose own mouth was far from being beautiful, here gave an +imitation of the Rev. Lemuel’s, to the utter undoing of Peter, Felix, +and myself. Our wild guffaws of laughter penetrated even Great-aunt +Eliza’s deafness, and she glanced up with a startled face. What we would +have done I do not know had not Felicity at that moment appeared in the +doorway with panic-stricken eyes and exclaimed, + +“Cecily, come here for a moment.” + +Cecily, glad of even a temporary respite, fled to the kitchen and we +heard her demanding what was the matter. + +“Matter!” exclaimed Felicity, tragically. “Matter enough! Some of you +left a soup plate with molasses in it on the pantry table and Pat got +into it and what do you think? He went into the spare room and walked +all over Aunt Eliza’s things on the bed. You can see his tracks plain as +plain. What in the world can we do? She’ll be simply furious.” + +I looked apprehensively at Great-aunt Eliza; but she was gazing +intently at a picture of Aunt Janet’s sister’s twins, a most stolid, +uninteresting pair; but evidently Great-aunt Eliza found them amusing +for she was smiling widely over them. + +“Let us take a little clean water and a soft bit of cotton,” came +Cecily’s clear voice from the kitchen, “and see if we can’t clean the +molasses off. The coat and hat are both cloth, and molasses isn’t like +grease.” + +“Well, we can try, but I wish the Story Girl would keep her cat home,” + grumbled Felicity. + +The Story Girl here flew out to defend her pet, and we four boys sat on, +miserably conscious of Great-aunt Eliza, who never said a word to us, +despite her previously expressed desire to become acquainted with us. +She kept on looking at the photographs and seemed quite oblivious of our +presence. + +Presently the girls returned, having, as transpired later, been so +successful in removing the traces of Paddy’s mischief that it was not +deemed necessary to worry Great-aunt Eliza with any account of it. +Felicity announced tea and, while Cecily conveyed Great-aunt Eliza out +to the dining-room, lingered behind to consult with us for a moment. + +“Ought we to ask her to say grace?” she wanted to know. + +“I know a story,” said the Story Girl, “about Uncle Roger when he was +just a young man. He went to the house of a very deaf old lady and when +they sat down to the table she asked him to say grace. Uncle Roger had +never done such a thing in his life and he turned as red as a beet +and looked down and muttered, ‘E-r-r, please excuse me--I--I’m not +accustomed to doing that.’ Then he looked up and the old lady said +‘Amen,’ loudly and cheerfully. She thought Uncle Roger was saying grace +all the time.” + +“I don’t think it’s right to tell funny stories about such things,” said +Felicity coldly. “And I asked for your opinion, not for a story.” + +“If we don’t ask her, Felix must say it, for he’s the only one who can, +and we must have it, or she’d be shocked.” + +“Oh, ask her--ask her,” advised Felix hastily. + +She was asked accordingly and said grace without any hesitation, after +which she proceeded to eat heartily of the excellent supper Felicity had +provided. The rusks were especially good and Great-aunt Eliza ate three +of them and praised them. Apart from that she said little and during the +first part of the meal we sat in embarrassed silence. Towards the last, +however, our tongues were loosened, and the Story Girl told us a tragic +tale of old Charlottetown and a governor’s wife who had died of a broken +heart in the early days of the colony. + +“They say that story isn’t true,” said Felicity. “They say what she +really died of was indigestion. The Governor’s wife who lives there now +is a relation of our own. She is a second cousin of father’s but we’ve +never seen her. Her name was Agnes Clark. And mind you, when father was +a young man he was dead in love with her and so was she with him.” + +“Who ever told you that?” exclaimed Dan. + +“Aunt Olivia. And I’ve heard ma teasing father about it, too. Of course, +it was before father got acquainted with mother.” + +“Why didn’t your father marry her?” I asked. + +“Well, she just simply wouldn’t marry him in the end. She got over being +in love with him. I guess she was pretty fickle. Aunt Olivia said father +felt awful about it for awhile, but he got over it when he met ma. +Ma was twice as good-looking as Agnes Clark. Agnes was a sight for +freckles, so Aunt Olivia says. But she and father remained real good +friends. Just think, if she had married him we would have been the +children of the Governor’s wife.” + +“But she wouldn’t have been the Governor’s wife then,” said Dan. + +“I guess it’s just as good being father’s wife,” declared Cecily +loyally. + +“You might think so if you saw the Governor,” chuckled Dan. “Uncle Roger +says it would be no harm to worship him because he doesn’t look like +anything in the heavens above or on the earth beneath or the waters +under the earth.” + +“Oh, Uncle Roger just says that because he’s on the opposite side of +politics,” said Cecily. “The Governor isn’t really so very ugly. I saw +him at the Markdale picnic two years ago. He’s very fat and bald and +red-faced, but I’ve seen far worse looking men.” + +“I’m afraid your seat is too near the stove, Aunt Eliza,” shouted +Felicity. + +Our guest, whose face was certainly very much flushed, shook her head. + +“Oh, no, I’m very comfortable,” she said. But her voice had the effect +of making us uncomfortable. There was a queer, uncertain little sound +in it. Was Great-aunt Eliza laughing at us? We looked at her sharply +but her face was very solemn. Only her eyes had a suspicious appearance. +Somehow, we did not talk much more the rest of the meal. + +When it was over Great-aunt Eliza said she was very sorry but she must +really go. Felicity politely urged her to stay, but was much relieved +when Great-aunt Eliza adhered to her intention of going. When Felicity +took her to the spare room Cecily slipped upstairs and presently came +back with a little parcel in her hand. + +“What have you got there?” demanded Felicity suspiciously. + +“A--a little bag of rose-leaves,” faltered Cecily. “I thought I’d give +them to Aunt Eliza.” + +“The idea! Don’t you do such a thing,” said Felicity contemptuously. +“She’d think you were crazy.” + +“She was awfully nice when I asked her for her name for the quilt,” + protested Cecily, “and she took a ten-cent section after all. So I’d +like to give her the rose-leaves--and I’m going to, too, Miss Felicity.” + +Great-aunt Eliza accepted the little gift quite graciously, bade us +all good-bye, said she had enjoyed herself very much, left messages for +father and mother, and finally betook herself away. We watched her cross +the yard, tall, stately, erect, and disappear down the lane. Then, +as often aforetime, we gathered together in the cheer of the red +hearth-flame, while outside the wind of a winter twilight sang through +fair white valleys brimmed with a reddening sunset, and a faint, serene, +silver-cold star glimmered over the willow at the gate. + +“Well,” said Felicity, drawing a relieved breath, “I’m glad she’s gone. +She certainly is queer, just as mother said.” + +“It’s a different kind of queerness from what I expected, though,” said +the Story Girl meditatively. “There’s something I can’t quite make out +about Aunt Eliza. I don’t think I altogether like her.” + +“I’m precious sure I don’t,” said Dan. + +“Oh, well, never mind. She’s gone now and that’s the last of it,” said +Cecily comfortingly. + +But it wasn’t the last of it--not by any manner of means was it! When +our grown-ups returned almost the first words Aunt Janet said were, + +“And so you had the Governor’s wife to tea?” + +We all stared at her. + +“I don’t know what you mean,” said Felicity. “We had nobody to tea +except Great-aunt Eliza. She came this afternoon and--” + +“Great-aunt Eliza? Nonsense,” said Aunt Janet. “Aunt Eliza was in town +today. She had tea with us at Aunt Louisa’s. But wasn’t Mrs. Governor +Lesley here? We met her on her way back to Charlottetown and she told +us she was. She said she was visiting a friend in Carlisle and thought +she’d call to see father for old acquaintance sake. What in the world +are all you children staring like that for? Your eyes are like saucers.” + +“There was a lady here to tea,” said Felicity miserably, “but we thought +it was Great-aunt Eliza--she never SAID she wasn’t--I thought she acted +queer--and we all yelled at her as if she was deaf--and said things to +each other about her nose--and Pat running over her clothes--” + +“She must have heard all you said while I was showing her the +photographs, Dan,” cried Cecily. + +“And about the Governor at tea time,” chuckled unrepentant Dan. + +“I want to know what all this means,” said Aunt Janet sternly. + +She knew in due time, after she had pieced the story together from +our disjointed accounts. She was horrified, and Uncle Alec was mildly +disturbed, but Uncle Roger roared with laughter and Aunt Olivia echoed +it. + +“To think you should have so little sense!” said Aunt Janet in a +disgusted tone. + +“I think it was real mean of her to pretend she was deaf,” said +Felicity, almost on the verge of tears. + +“That was Agnes Clark all over,” chuckled Uncle Roger. “How she must +have enjoyed this afternoon!” + +She had enjoyed it, as we learned the next day, when a letter came from +her. + +“Dear Cecily and all the rest of you,” wrote the Governor’s wife, “I +want to ask you to forgive me for pretending to be Aunt Eliza. I +suspect it was a little horrid of me, but really I couldn’t resist the +temptation, and if you will forgive me for it I will forgive you for the +things you said about the Governor, and we will all be good friends. You +know the Governor is a very nice man, though he has the misfortune not +to be handsome. + +“I had just a splendid time at your place, and I envy your Aunt Eliza +her nephews and nieces. You were all so nice to me, and I didn’t dare +to be a bit nice to you lest I should give myself away. But I’ll make +up for that when you come to see me at Government House, as you all must +the very next time you come to town. I’m so sorry I didn’t see Paddy, +for I love pussy cats, even if they do track molasses over my clothes. +And, Cecily, thank you ever so much for that little bag of pot-pourri. +It smells like a hundred rose gardens, and I have put it between the +sheets for my very sparest room bed, where you shall sleep when you come +to see me, you dear thing. And the Governor wants you to put his name on +the quilt square, too, in the ten-cent section. + +“Tell Dan I enjoyed his comments on the photographs very much. They were +quite a refreshing contrast to the usual explanations of ‘who’s who.’ +And Felicity, your rusks were perfection. Do send me your recipe for +them, there’s a darling. + +“Yours most cordially, + + AGNES CLARK LESLEY. + + +“Well, it was decent of her to apologize, anyhow,” commented Dan. + +“If we only hadn’t said that about the Governor,” moaned Felicity. + +“How did you make your rusks?” asked Aunt Janet. “There was no +baking-powder in the house, and I never could get them right with soda +and cream of tartar.” + +“There was plenty of baking-powder in the pantry,” said Felicity. + +“No, there wasn’t a particle. I used the last making those cookies +Thursday morning.” + +“But I found another can nearly full, away back on the top shelf, +ma,--the one with the yellow label. I guess you forgot it was there.” + +Aunt Janet stared at her pretty daughter blankly. Then amazement gave +place to horror. + +“Felicity King!” she exclaimed. “You don’t mean to tell me that you +raised those rusks with the stuff that was in that old yellow can?” + +“Yes, I did,” faltered Felicity, beginning to look scared. “Why, ma, +what was the matter with it?” + +“Matter! That stuff was TOOTH-POWDER, that’s what it was. Your Cousin +Myra broke the bottle her tooth-powder was in when she was here last +winter and I gave her that old can to keep it in. She forgot to take it +when she went away and I put it on that top shelf. I declare you must +all have been bewitched yesterday.” + +Poor, poor Felicity! If she had not always been so horribly vain over +her cooking and so scornfully contemptuous of other people’s aspirations +and mistakes along that line, I could have found it in my heart to pity +her. + +The Story Girl would have been more than human if she had not betrayed a +little triumphant amusement, but Peter stood up for his lady manfully. + +“The rusks were splendid, anyhow, so what difference does it make what +they were raised with?” + +Dan, however, began to taunt Felicity with her tooth-powder rusks, and +kept it up for the rest of his natural life. + +“Don’t forget to send the Governor’s wife the recipe for them,” he said. + +Felicity, with eyes tearful and cheeks crimson from mortification, +rushed from the room, but never, never did the Governor’s wife get the +recipe for those rusks. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. WE VISIT COUSIN MATTIE’S + + +One Saturday in March we walked over to Baywater, for a long-talked-of +visit to Cousin Mattie Dilke. By the road, Baywater was six miles away, +but there was a short cut across hills and fields and woods which was +scantly three. We did not look forward to our visit with any particular +delight, for there was nobody at Cousin Mattie’s except grown-ups who +had been grown up so long that it was rather hard for them to remember +they had ever been children. But, as Felicity told us, it was necessary +to visit Cousin Mattie at least once a year, or else she would be +“huffed,” so we concluded we might as well go and have it over. + +“Anyhow, we’ll get a splendiferous dinner,” said Dan. “Cousin Mattie’s a +great cook and there’s nothing stingy about her.” + +“You are always thinking of your stomach,” said Felicity pleasantly. + +“Well, you know I couldn’t get along very well without it, darling,” +responded Dan who, since New Year’s, had adopted a new method of +dealing with Felicity--whether by way of keeping his resolution or +because he had discovered that it annoyed Felicity far more than angry +retorts, deponent sayeth not. He invariably met her criticisms with a +good-natured grin and a flippant remark with some tender epithet tagged +on to it. Poor Felicity used to get hopelessly furious over it. + +Uncle Alec was dubious about our going that day. He looked abroad on +the general dourness of gray earth and gray air and gray sky, and said +a storm was brewing. But Cousin Mattie had been sent word that we were +coming, and she did not like to be disappointed, so he let us go, +warning us to stay with Cousin Mattie all night if the storm came on +while we were there. + +We enjoyed our walk--even Felix enjoyed it, although he had been +appointed to write up the visit for Our Magazine and was rather weighed +down by the responsibility of it. What mattered it though the world +were gray and wintry? We walked the golden road and carried spring time +in our hearts, and we beguiled our way with laughter and jest, and the +tales the Story Girl told us--myths and legends of elder time. + +The walking was good, for there had lately been a thaw and everything +was frozen. We went over fields, crossed by spidery trails of gray +fences, where the withered grasses stuck forlornly up through the +snow; we lingered for a time in a group of hill pines, great, majestic +tree-creatures, friends of evening stars; and finally struck into the +belt of fir and maple which intervened between Carlisle and Baywater. +It was in this locality that Peg Bowen lived, and our way lay near her +house though not directly in sight of it. We hoped we would not meet +her, for since the affair of the bewitchment of Paddy we did not know +quite what to think of Peg; the boldest of us held his breath as we +passed her haunts, and drew it again with a sigh of relief when they +were safely left behind. + +The woods were full of the brooding stillness that often precedes a +storm, and the wind crept along their white, cone-sprinkled floors with +a low, wailing cry. Around us were solitudes of snow, arcades picked out +in pearl and silver, long avenues of untrodden marble whence sprang the +cathedral columns of the firs. We were all sorry when we were through +the woods and found ourselves looking down into the snug, commonplace, +farmstead-dotted settlement of Baywater. + +“There’s Cousin Mattie’s house--that big white one at the turn of the +road,” said the Story Girl. “I hope she has that dinner ready, Dan. I’m +hungry as a wolf after our walk.” + +“I wish Cousin Mattie’s husband was still alive,” said Dan. “He was an +awful nice old man. He always had his pockets full of nuts and apples. +I used to like going there better when he was alive. Too many old women +don’t suit me.” + +“Oh, Dan, Cousin Mattie and her sisters-in-law are just as nice and kind +as they can be,” reproached Cecily. + +“Oh, they’re kind enough, but they never seem to see that a fellow gets +over being five years old if he only lives long enough,” retorted Dan. + +“I know a story about Cousin Mattie’s husband,” said the Story Girl. +“His name was Ebenezer, you know--” + +“Is it any wonder he was thin and stunted looking?” said Dan. + +“Ebenezer is just as nice a name as Daniel,” said Felicity. + +“Do you REALLY think so, my angel?” inquired Dan, in honey-sweet tones. + +“Go on. Remember your second resolution,” I whispered to the Story Girl, +who was stalking along with an outraged expression. + +The Story Girl swallowed something and went on. + +“Cousin Ebenezer had a horror of borrowing. He thought it was simply +a dreadful disgrace to borrow ANYTHING. Well, you know he and Cousin +Mattie used to live in Carlisle, where the Rays now live. This was when +Grandfather King was alive. One day Cousin Ebenezer came up the hill and +into the kitchen where all the family were. Uncle Roger said he looked +as if he had been stealing sheep. He sat for a whole hour in the kitchen +and hardly spoke a word, but just looked miserable. At last he got up +and said in a desperate sort of way, ‘Uncle Abraham, can I speak with +you in private for a minute?’ ‘Oh, certainly,’ said grandfather, and +took him into the parlour. Cousin Ebenezer shut the door, looked +all around him and then said imploringly, ‘MORE PRIVATE STILL.’ So +grandfather took him into the spare room and shut that door. He was +getting frightened. He thought something terrible must have happened +Cousin Ebenezer. Cousin Ebenezer came right up to grandfather, took +hold of the lapel of his coat, and said in a whisper, ‘Uncle Abraham, +CAN--YOU--LEND--ME--AN--AXE?’” + +“He needn’t have made such a mystery about it,” said Cecily, who had +missed the point entirely, and couldn’t see why the rest of us were +laughing. But Cecily was such a darling that we did not mind her lack of +a sense of humour. + +“It’s kind of mean to tell stories like that about people who are dead,” + said Felicity. + +“Sometimes it’s safer than when they’re alive though, sweetheart,” + commented Dan. + +We had our expected good dinner at Cousin Mattie’s--may it be counted +unto her for righteousness. She and her sisters-in-law, Miss Louisa +Jane and Miss Caroline, were very kind to us. We had quite a nice time, +although I understood why Dan objected to them when they patted us +all on the head and told us whom we resembled and gave us peppermint +lozenges. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. WE VISIT PEG BOWEN + + +We left Cousin Mattie’s early, for it still looked like a storm, though +no more so than it had in the morning. We intended to go home by a +different path--one leading through cleared land overgrown with scrub +maple, which had the advantage of being farther away from Peg Bowen’s +house. We hoped to be home before it began to storm, but we had hardly +reached the hill above the village when a fine, driving snow began to +fall. It would have been wiser to have turned back even then; but we +had already come a mile and we thought we would have ample time to reach +home before it became really bad. We were sadly mistaken; by the time +we had gone another half-mile we were in the thick of a bewildering, +blinding snowstorm. But it was by now just as far back to Cousin +Mattie’s as it was to Uncle Alec’s, so we struggled on, growing more +frightened at every step. We could hardly face the stinging snow, and we +could not see ten feet ahead of us. It had turned bitterly cold and +the tempest howled all around us in white desolation under the +fast-darkening night. The narrow path we were trying to follow soon +became entirely obliterated and we stumbled blindly on, holding to each +other, and trying to peer through the furious whirl that filled the air. +Our plight had come upon us so suddenly that we could not realize it. +Presently Peter, who was leading the van because he was supposed to know +the path best, stopped. + +“I can’t see the road any longer,” he shouted. “I don’t know where we +are.” + +We all stopped and huddled together in a miserable group. Fear filled +our hearts. It seemed ages ago that we had been snug and safe and warm +at Cousin Mattie’s. Cecily began to cry with cold. Dan, in spite of her +protests, dragged off his overcoat and made her put it on. + +“We can’t stay here,” he said. “We’ll all freeze to death if we do. Come +on--we’ve got to keep moving. The snow ain’t so deep yet. Take hold of +my hand, Cecily. We must all hold together. Come, now.” + +“It won’t be nice to be frozen to death, but if we get through alive +think what a story we’ll have to tell,” said the Story Girl between her +chattering teeth. + +In my heart I did not believe we would ever get through alive. It was +almost pitch dark now, and the snow grew deeper every moment. We were +chilled to the heart. I thought how nice it would be to lie down and +rest; but I remembered hearing that that was fatal, and I endeavoured to +stumble on with the others. It was wonderful how the girls kept up, even +Cecily. It occurred to me to be thankful that Sara Ray was not with us. + +But we were wholly lost now. All around us was a horror of great +darkness. Suddenly Felicity fell. We dragged her up, but she declared +she could not go on--she was done out. + +“Have you any idea where we are?” shouted Dan to Peter. + +“No,” Peter shouted back, “the wind is blowing every which way. I +haven’t any idea where home is.” + +Home! Would we ever see it again? We tried to urge Felicity on, but she +only repeated drowsily that she must lie down and rest. Cecily, too, +was reeling against me. The Story Girl still stood up staunchly and +counselled struggling on, but she was numb with cold and her words were +hardly distinguishable. Some wild idea was in my mind that we must dig a +hole in the snow and all creep into it. I had read somewhere that people +had thus saved their lives in snowstorms. Suddenly Felix gave a shout. + +“I see a light,” he cried. + +“Where? Where?” We all looked but could see nothing. + +“I don’t see it now but I saw it a moment ago,” shouted Felix. “I’m sure +I did. Come on--over in this direction.” + +Inspired with fresh hope we hurried after him. Soon we all saw the +light--and never shone a fairer beacon. A few more steps and, coming +into the shelter of the woodland on the further side, we realized where +we were. + +“That’s Peg Bowen’s house,” exclaimed Peter, stopping short in dismay. + +“I don’t care whose house it is,” declared Dan. “We’ve got to go to it.” + +“I s’pose so,” acquiesced Peter ruefully. “We can’t freeze to death even +if she is a witch.” + +“For goodness’ sake don’t say anything about witches so close to her +house,” gasped Felicity. “I’ll be thankful to get in anywhere.” + +We reached the house, climbed the flight of steps that led to that +mysterious second story door, and Dan rapped. The door opened promptly +and Peg Bowen stood before us, in what seemed exactly the same costume +she had worn on the memorable day when we had come, bearing gifts, to +propitiate her in the matter of Paddy. + +“Behind her was a dim room scantly illumined by the one small candle +that had guided us through the storm; but the old Waterloo stove was +colouring the gloom with tremulous, rose-red whorls of light, and warm +and cosy indeed seemed Peg’s retreat to us snow-covered, frost-chilled, +benighted wanderers. + +“Gracious goodness, where did yez all come from?” exclaimed Peg. “Did +they turn yez out?” + +“We’ve been over to Baywater, and we got lost in the storm coming back,” + explained Dan. “We didn’t know where we were till we saw your light. +I guess we’ll have to stay here till the storm is over--if you don’t +mind.” + +“And if it won’t inconvenience you,” said Cecily timidly. + +“Oh, it’s no inconvenience to speak of. Come in. Well, yez HAVE got some +snow on yez. Let me get a broom. You boys stomp your feet well and shake +your coats. You girls give me your things and I’ll hang them up. Guess +yez are most froze. Well, sit up to the stove and git het up.” + +Peg bustled away to gather up a dubious assortment of chairs, with backs +and rungs missing, and in a few minutes we were in a circle around her +roaring stove, getting dried and thawed out. In our wildest flights +of fancy we had never pictured ourselves as guests at the witch’s +hearth-stone. Yet here we were; and the witch herself was actually +brewing a jorum of ginger tea for Cecily, who continued to shiver long +after the rest of us were roasted to the marrow. Poor Sis drank that +scalding draught, being in too great awe of Peg to do aught else. + +“That’ll soon fix your shivers,” said our hostess kindly. “And now I’ll +get yez all some tea.” + +“Oh, please don’t trouble,” said the Story Girl hastily. + +“‘Tain’t any trouble,” said Peg briskly; then, with one of the sudden +changes to fierceness which made her such a terrifying personage, “Do +yez think my vittels ain’t clean?” + +“Oh, no, no,” cried Felicity quickly, before the Story Girl could speak, +“none of us would ever think THAT. Sara only meant she didn’t want you +to go to any bother on our account.” + +“It ain’t any bother,” said Peg, mollified. “I’m spry as a cricket this +winter, though I have the realagy sometimes. Many a good bite I’ve had +in your ma’s kitchen. I owe yez a meal.” + +No more protests were made. We sat in awed silence, gazing with timid +curiosity about the room, the stained, plastered walls of which were +well-nigh covered with a motley assortment of pictures, chromos, and +advertisements, pasted on without much regard for order or character. + +We had heard much of Peg’s pets and now we saw them. Six cats occupied +various cosy corners; one of them, the black goblin which had so +terrified us in the summer, blinked satirically at us from the centre of +Peg’s bed. Another, a dilapidated, striped beastie, with both ears and +one eye gone, glared at us from the sofa in the corner. A dog, with only +three legs, lay behind the stove; a crow sat on a roost above our +heads, in company with a matronly old hen; and on the clock shelf were +a stuffed monkey and a grinning skull. We had heard that a sailor had +given Peg the monkey. But where had she got the skull? And whose was it? +I could not help puzzling over these gruesome questions. + +Presently tea was ready and we gathered around the festal board--a board +literally as well as figuratively, for Peg’s table was the work of her +own unskilled hands. The less said about the viands of that meal, and +the dishes they were served in, the better. But we ate them--bless you, +yes!--as we would have eaten any witch’s banquet set before us. Peg +might or might not be a witch--common sense said not; but we knew she +was quite capable of turning every one of us out of doors in one of +her sudden fierce fits if we offended her; and we had no mind to trust +ourselves again to that wild forest where we had fought a losing fight +with the demon forces of night and storm. + +But it was not an agreeable meal in more ways than one. Peg was not +at all careful of anybody’s feelings. She hurt Felix’s cruelly as she +passed him his cup of tea. + +“You’ve gone too much to flesh, boy. So the magic seed didn’t work, +hey?” + +How in the world had Peg found out about that magic seed? Felix looked +uncommonly foolish. + +“If you’d come to me in the first place I’d soon have told you how to +get thin,” said Peg, nodding wisely. + +“Won’t you tell me now?” asked Felix eagerly, his desire to melt his too +solid flesh overcoming his dread and shame. + +“No, I don’t like being second fiddle,” answered Peg with a crafty +smile. “Sara, you’re too scrawny and pale--not much like your ma. I knew +her well. She was counted a beauty, but she made no great things of a +match. Your father had some money but he was a tramp like meself. Where +is he now?” + +“In Rome,” said the Story Girl rather shortly. + +“People thought your ma was crazy when she took him. But she’d a right +to please herself. Folks is too ready to call other folks crazy. There’s +people who say I’M not in my right mind. Did yez ever”--Peg fixed +Felicity with a piercing glance--“hear anything so ridiculous?” + +“Never,” said Felicity, white to the lips. + +“I wish everybody was as sane as I am,” said Peg scornfully. Then she +looked poor Felicity over critically. “You’re good-looking but proud. +And your complexion won’t wear. It’ll be like your ma’s yet--too much +red in it.” + +“Well, that’s better than being the colour of mud,” muttered Peter, who +wasn’t going to hear his lady traduced, even by a witch. All the thanks +he got was a furious look from Felicity, but Peg had not heard him and +now she turned her attention to Cecily. + +“You look delicate. I daresay you’ll never live to grow up.” + +Cecily’s lip trembled and Dan’s face turned crimson. + +“Shut up,” he said to Peg. “You’ve no business to say such things to +people.” + +I think my jaw dropped. I know Peter’s and Felix’s did. Felicity broke +in wildly. + +“Oh, don’t mind him, Miss Bowen. He’s got SUCH a temper--that’s just the +way he talks to us all at home. PLEASE excuse him.” + +“Bless you, I don’t mind him,” said Peg, from whom the unexpected seemed +to be the thing to expect. “I like a lad of spurrit. And so your father +run away, did he, Peter? He used to be a beau of mine--he seen me home +three times from singing school when we was young. Some folks said he +did it for a dare. There’s such a lot of jealousy in the world, ain’t +there? Do you know where he is now?” + +“No,” said Peter. + +“Well, he’s coming home before long,” said Peg mysteriously. + +“Who told you that?” cried Peter in amazement. + +“Better not ask,” responded Peg, looking up at the skull. + +If she meant to make the flesh creep on our bones she succeeded. But +now, much to our relief, the meal was over and Peg invited us to draw +our chairs up to the stove again. + +“Make yourselves at home,” she said, producing her pipe from her pocket. +“I ain’t one of the kind who thinks their houses too good to live in. +Guess I won’t bother washing the dishes. They’ll do yez for breakfast if +yez don’t forget your places. I s’pose none of yez smokes.” + +“No,” said Felicity, rather primly. + +“Then yez don’t know what’s good for yez,” retorted Peg, rather +grumpily. But a few whiffs of her pipe placated her and, observing +Cecily sigh, she asked her kindly what was the matter. + +“I’m thinking how worried they’ll be at home about us,” explained +Cecily. + +“Bless you, dearie, don’t be worrying over that. I’ll send them word +that yez are all snug and safe here.” + +“But how can you?” cried amazed Cecily. + +“Better not ask,” said Peg again, with another glance at the skull. + +An uncomfortable silence followed, finally broken by Peg, who introduced +her pets to us and told how she had come by them. The black cat was her +favourite. + +“That cat knows more than I do, if yez’ll believe it,” she said proudly. +“I’ve got a rat too, but he’s a bit shy when strangers is round. Your +cat got all right again that time, didn’t he?” + +“Yes,” said the Story Girl. + +“Thought he would,” said Peg, nodding sagely. “I seen to that. Now, +don’t yez all be staring at the hole in my dress.” + +“We weren’t,” was our chorus of protest. + +“Looked as if yez were. I tore that yesterday but I didn’t mend it. I +was brought up to believe that a hole was an accident but a patch was a +disgrace. And so your Aunt Olivia is going to be married after all?” + +This was news to us. We felt and looked dazed. + +“I never heard anything of it,” said the Story Girl. + +“Oh, it’s true enough. She’s a great fool. I’ve no faith in husbands. +But one good thing is she ain’t going to marry that Henry Jacobs of +Markdale. He wants her bad enough. Just like his presumption,--thinking +himself good enough for a King. His father is the worst man alive. He +chased me off his place with his dog once. But I’ll get even with him +yet.” + +Peg looked very savage, and visions of burned barns floated through our +minds. + +“He’ll be punished in hell, you know,” said Peter timidly. + +“But I won’t be there to see that,” rejoined Peg. “Some folks say I’ll +go there because I don’t go to church oftener. But I don’t believe it.” + +“Why don’t you go?” asked Peter, with a temerity that bordered on +rashness. + +“Well, I’ve got so sunburned I’m afraid folks might take me for an +Injun,” explained Peg, quite seriously. “Besides, your minister makes +such awful long prayers. Why does he do it?” + +“I suppose he finds it easier to talk to God than to people,” suggested +Peter reflectively. + +“Well, anyway, I belong to the round church,” said Peg comfortably, “and +so the devil can’t catch ME at the corners. I haven’t been to Carlisle +church for over three years. I thought I’d a-died laughing the last time +I was there. Old Elder Marr took up the collection that day. He’d on a +pair of new boots and they squeaked all the way up and down the aisles. +And every time the boots squeaked the elder made a face, like he had +toothache. It was awful funny. How’s your missionary quilt coming on, +Cecily?” + +Was there anything Peg didn’t know? + +“Very well,” said Cecily. + +“You can put my name on it, if you want to.” + +“Oh, thank you. Which section--the five-cent one or the ten-cent one?” + asked Cecily timidly. + +“The ten-cent one, of course. The best is none too good for me. I’ll +give you the ten cents another time. I’m short of change just now--not +being as rich as Queen Victory. There’s her picture up there--the one +with the blue sash and diamint crown and the lace curting on her head. +Can any of yez tell me this--is Queen Victory a married woman?” + +“Oh, yes, but her husband is dead,” answered the Story Girl. + +“Well, I s’pose they couldn’t have called her an old maid, seeing she +was a queen, even if she’d never got married. Sometimes I sez to myself, +‘Peg, would you like to be Queen Victory?’ But I never know what +to answer. In summer, when I can roam anywhere in the woods and the +sunshine--I wouldn’t be Queen Victory for anything. But when it’s winter +and cold and I can’t git nowheres--I feel as if I wouldn’t mind changing +places with her.” + +Peg put her pipe back in her mouth and began to smoke fiercely. The +candle wick burned long, and was topped by a little cap of fiery red +that seemed to wink at us like an impish gnome. The most grotesque +shadow of Peg flickered over the wall behind her. The one-eyed cat +remitted his grim watch and went to sleep. Outside the wind screamed +like a ravening beast at the window. Suddenly Peg removed her pipe from +her mouth, bent forward, gripped my wrist with her sinewy fingers until +I almost cried out with pain, and gazed straight into my face. I felt +horribly frightened of her. She seemed an entirely different creature. A +wild light was in her eyes, a furtive, animal-like expression was on +her face. When she spoke it was in a different voice and in different +language. + +“Do you hear the wind?” she asked in a thrilling whisper. “What IS the +wind? What IS the wind?” + +“I--I--don’t know,” I stammered. + +“No more do I,” said Peg, “and nobody knows. Nobody knows what the wind +is. I wish I could find out. I mightn’t be so afraid of the wind if I +knew what it was. I am afraid of it. When the blasts come like that I +want to crouch down and hide me. But I can tell you one thing about the +wind--it’s the only free thing in the world--THE--ONLY--FREE--THING. +Everything else is subject to some law, but the wind is FREE. It bloweth +where it listeth and no man can tame it. It’s free--that’s why I +love it, though I’m afraid of it. It’s a grand thing to be free--free +free--free!” + +Peg’s voice rose almost to a shriek. We were dreadfully frightened, for +we knew there were times when she was quite crazy and we feared one of +her “spells” was coming on her. But with a swift movement she turned +the man’s coat she wore up over her shoulders and head like a hood, +completely hiding her face. Then she crouched forward, elbows on knees, +and relapsed into silence. None of us dared speak or move. We sat thus +for half an hour. Then Peg jumped up and said briskly in her usual tone, + +“Well, I guess yez are all sleepy and ready for bed. You girls can sleep +in my bed over there, and I’ll take the sofy. Yez can put the cat off if +yez like, though he won’t hurt yez. You boys can go downstairs. There’s +a big pile of straw there that’ll do yez for a bed, if yez put your +coats on. I’ll light yez down, but I ain’t going to leave yez a light +for fear yez’d set fire to the place.” + +Saying good-night to the girls, who looked as if they thought their last +hour was come, we went to the lower room. It was quite empty, save for a +pile of fire wood and another of clean straw. Casting a stealthy glance +around, ere Peg withdrew the light, I was relieved to see that there +were no skulls in sight. We four boys snuggled down in the straw. We did +not expect to sleep, but we were very tired and before we knew it our +eyes were shut, to open no more till morning. The poor girls were not +so fortunate. They always averred they never closed an eye. Four things +prevented them from sleeping. In the first place Peg snored loudly; in +the second place the fitful gleams of firelight kept flickering over the +skull for half the night and making gruesome effects on it; in the third +place Peg’s pillows and bedclothes smelled rankly of tobacco smoke; and +in the fourth place they were afraid the rat Peg had spoken of might +come out to make their acquaintance. Indeed, they were sure they heard +him skirmishing about several times. + +When we wakened in the morning the storm was over and a young morning +was looking through rosy eyelids across a white world. The little +clearing around Peg’s cabin was heaped with dazzling drifts, and we +boys fell to and shovelled out a road to her well. She gave us +breakfast--stiff oatmeal porridge without milk, and a boiled egg apiece. +Cecily could NOT eat her porridge; she declared she had such a bad +cold that she had no appetite; a cold she certainly had; the rest of us +choked our messes down and after we had done so Peg asked us if we had +noticed a soapy taste. + +“The soap fell into the porridge while I was making it,” she said. +“But,”--smacking her lips,--“I’m going to make yez an Irish stew for +dinner. It’ll be fine.” + +An Irish stew concocted by Peg! No wonder Dan said hastily, + +“You are very kind but we’ll have to go right home.” + +“Yez can’t walk,” said Peg. + +“Oh, yes, we can. The drifts are so hard they’ll carry, and the snow +will be pretty well blown off the middle of the fields. It’s only +three-quarters of a mile. We boys will go home and get a pung and come +back for you girls.” + +But the girls wouldn’t listen to this. They must go with us, even +Cecily. + +“Seems to me yez weren’t in such a hurry to leave last night,” observed +Peg sarcastically. + +“Oh, it’s only because they’ll be so anxious about us at home, and it’s +Sunday and we don’t want to miss Sunday School,” explained Felicity. + +“Well, I hope your Sunday School will do yez good,” said Peg, rather +grumpily. But she relented again at the last and gave Cecily a wishbone. + +“Whatever you wish on that will come true,” she said. “But you only have +the one wish, so don’t waste it.” + +“We’re so much obliged to you for all your trouble,” said the Story Girl +politely. + +“Never mind the trouble. The expense is the thing,” retorted Peg grimly. + +“Oh!” Felicity hesitated. “If you would let us pay you--give you +something--” + +“No, thank yez,” responded Peg loftily. “There is people who take money +for their hospitality, I’ve heerd, but I’m thankful to say I don’t +associate with that class. Yez are welcome to all yez have had here, if +yez ARE in a big hurry to get away.” + +She shut the door behind us with something of a slam, and her black +cat followed us so far, with stealthy, furtive footsteps, that we were +frightened of it. Eventually it turned back; then, and not till then, +did we feel free to discuss our adventure. + +“Well, I’m thankful we’re out of THAT,” said Felicity, drawing a long +breath. “Hasn’t it just been an awful experience?” + +“We might all have been found frozen stark and stiff this morning,” + remarked the Story Girl with apparent relish. + +“I tell you, it was a lucky thing we got to Peg Bowen’s,” said Dan. + +“Miss Marwood says there is no such thing as luck,” protested Cecily. +“We ought to say it was Providence instead.” + +“Well, Peg and Providence don’t seem to go together very well, somehow,” + retorted Dan. “If Peg is a witch it must be the Other One she’s in co. +with.” + +“Dan, it’s getting to be simply scandalous the way you talk,” said +Felicity. “I just wish ma could hear you.” + +“Is soap in porridge any worse than tooth-powder in rusks, lovely +creature?” asked Dan. + +“Dan, Dan,” admonished Cecily, between her coughs, “remember it’s +Sunday.” + +“It seems hard to remember that,” said Peter. “It doesn’t seem a mite +like Sunday and it seems awful long since yesterday.” + +“Cecily, you’ve got a dreadful cold,” said the Story Girl anxiously. + +“In spite of Peg’s ginger tea,” added Felix. + +“Oh, that ginger tea was AWFUL,” exclaimed poor Cecily. “I thought I’d +never get it down--it was so hot with ginger--and there was so much of +it! But I was so frightened of offending Peg I’d have tried to drink it +all if there had been a bucketful. Oh, yes, it’s very easy for you all +to laugh! You didn’t have to drink it.” + +“We had to eat two meals, though,” said Felicity with a shiver. “And I +don’t know when those dishes of hers were washed. I just shut my eyes +and took gulps.” + +“Did you notice the soapy taste in the porridge?” asked the Story Girl. + +“Oh, there were so many queer tastes about it I didn’t notice one more +than another,” answered Felicity wearily. + +“What bothers me,” remarked Peter absently, “is that skull. Do you +suppose Peg really finds things out by it?” + +“Nonsense! How could she?” scoffed Felix, bold as a lion in daylight. + +“She didn’t SAY she did, you know,” I said cautiously. + +“Well, we’ll know in time if the things she said were going to happen +do,” mused Peter. + +“Do you suppose your father is really coming home?” queried Felicity. + +“I hope not,” answered Peter decidedly. + +“You ought to be ashamed of yourself,” said Felicity severely. + +“No, I oughtn’t. Father got drunk all the time he was home, and wouldn’t +work and was bad to mother,” said Peter defiantly. “She had to support +him as well as herself and me. I don’t want to see any father coming +home, and you’d better believe it. Of course, if he was the right sort +of a father it’d be different.” + +“What I would like to know is if Aunt Olivia is going to be married,” + said the Story Girl absently. “I can hardly believe it. But now that +I think of it--Uncle Roger has been teasing her ever since she was in +Halifax last summer.” + +“If she does get married you’ll have to come and live with us,” said +Cecily delightedly. + +Felicity did not betray so much delight and the Story Girl remarked with +a weary little sigh that she hoped Aunt Olivia wouldn’t. We all felt +rather weary, somehow. Peg’s predictions had been unsettling, and our +nerves had all been more or less strained during our sojourn under her +roof. We were glad when we found ourselves at home. + +The folks had not been at all troubled about us, but it was because they +were sure the storm had come up before we would think of leaving Cousin +Mattie’s and not because they had received any mysterious message from +Peg’s skull. We were relieved at this, but on the whole, our adventure +had not done much towards clearing up the vexed question of Peg’s +witchcraft. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. EXTRACTS FROM THE FEBRUARY AND MARCH NUMBERS OF “OUR +MAGAZINE” + + +RESOLUTION HONOUR ROLL + +Miss Felicity King. + + +HONOURABLE MENTION + +Mr. Felix King. Mr. Peter Craig. Miss Sara Ray. + + +EDITORIAL + +The editor wishes to make a few remarks about the Resolution Honour +Roll. As will be seen, only one name figures on it. Felicity says she +has thought a beautiful thought every morning before breakfast without +missing one morning, not even the one we were at Peg Bowen’s. Some of +our number think it not fair that Felicity should be on the honour +roll (FELICITY, ASIDE: “That’s Dan, of course.”) when she only made one +resolution and won’t tell us what any of the thoughts were. So we +have decided to give honourable mention to everybody who has kept one +resolution perfect. Felix has worked all his arithmetic problems by +himself. He complains that he never got more than a third of them +right and the teacher has marked him away down; but one cannot keep +resolutions without some inconvenience. Peter has never played tit-tat-x +in church or got drunk and says it wasn’t as bad as he expected. (PETER, +INDIGNANTLY: “I never said it.” CECILY, SOOTHINGLY: “Now, Peter, Bev +only meant that as a joke.”) Sara Ray has never talked any mean gossip, +but does not find conversation as interesting as it used to be. (SARA +RAY, WONDERINGLY: “I don’t remember of saying that.”) + +Felix did not eat any apples until March, but forgot and ate seven the +day we were at Cousin Mattie’s. (FELIX: “I only ate five!”) He soon +gave up trying to say what he thought always. He got into too much +trouble. We think Felix ought to change to old Grandfather King’s rule. +It was, “Hold your tongue when you can, and when you can’t tell the +truth.” Cecily feels she has not read all the good books she might, +because some she tried to read were very dull and the Pansy books were +so much more interesting. And it is no use trying not to feel bad +because her hair isn’t curly and she has marked that resolution out. +The Story Girl came very near to keeping her resolution to have all the +good times possible, but she says she missed two, if not three, she +might have had. Dan refuses to say anything about his resolutions and +so does the editor. + + +PERSONALS + +We regret that Miss Cecily King is suffering from a severe cold. + +Mr. Alexander Marr of Markdale died very suddenly last week. We never +heard of his death till he was dead. + +Miss Cecily King wishes to state that she did not ask the question about +“Holy Moses” and the other word in the January number. Dan put it in for +a mean joke. + +The weather has been cold and fine. We have only had one bad storm. The +coasting on Uncle Roger’s hill continues good. + +Aunt Eliza did not favour us with a visit after all. She took cold and +had to go home. We were sorry that she had a cold but glad that she had +to go home. Cecily said she thought it wicked of us to be glad. But when +we asked her “cross her heart” if she wasn’t glad herself she had to say +she was. + +Miss Cecily King has got three very distinguished names on her quilt +square. They are the Governor and his wife and a witch’s. + +The King family had the honour of entertaining the Governor’s wife to +tea on February the seventeenth. We are all invited to visit Government +House but some of us think we won’t go. + +A tragic event occurred last Tuesday. Mrs. James Frewen came to tea and +there was no pie in the house. Felicity has not yet fully recovered. + +A new boy is coming to school. His name is Cyrus Brisk and his folks +moved up from Markdale. He says he is going to punch Willy Fraser’s head +if Willy keeps on thinking he is Miss Cecily King’s beau. + +(CECILY: “I haven’t ANY beau! I don’t mean to think of such a thing for +at least eight years yet!”) + +Miss Alice Reade of Charlottetown Royalty has come to Carlisle to teach +music. She boards at Mr. Peter Armstrong’s. The girls are all going to +take music lessons from her. Two descriptions of her will be found in +another column. Felix wrote one, but the girls thought he did not do her +justice, so Cecily wrote another one. She admits she copied most of the +description out of Valeria H. Montague’s story Lord Marmaduke’s First, +Last, and Only Love; or the Bride of the Castle by the Sea, but says +they fit Miss Reade better than anything she could make up. + + +HOUSEHOLD DEPARTMENT + +Always keep the kitchen tidy and then you needn’t mind if company comes +unexpectedly. + +ANXIOUS INQUIRER: We don’t know anything that will take the stain out +of a silk dress when a soft-boiled egg is dropped on it. Better not wear +your silk dress so often, especially when boiling eggs. + +Ginger tea is good for colds. + +OLD HOUSEKEEPER: Yes, when the baking-powder gives out you can use +tooth-powder instead. + +(FELICITY: “I never wrote that! I don’t care, I don’t think it’s fair +for other people to be putting things in my department!”) + +Our apples are not keeping well this year. They are rotting; and besides +father says we eat an awful lot of them. + +PERSEVERANCE: I will give you the recipe for dumplings you ask for. +But remember it is not everyone who can make dumplings, even from the +recipe. There’s a knack in it. + +If the soap falls into the porridge do not tell your guests about it +until they have finished eating it because it might take away their +appetite. + + FELICITY KING. + + +ETIQUETTE DEPARTMENT + +P-r C-g:--Do not criticize people’s noses unless you are sure they can’t +hear you, and don’t criticize your best girl’s great-aunt’s nose in any +case. + +(FELICITY, TOSSING HER HEAD: “Oh, my! I s’pose Dan thought that was +extra smart.”) + +C-y K-g:--When my most intimate friend walks with another girl and +exchanges lace patterns with her, what ought I to do? Ans. Adopt a +dignified attitude. + +F-y K-g:--It is better not to wear your second best hat to church, but +if your mother says you must it is not for me to question her decision. + +(FELICITY: “Dan just copied that word for word out of the Family Guide, +except about the hat part.”) + +P-r C-g:--Yes, it would be quite proper to say good evening to the +family ghost if you met it. + +F-x K-g:--No, it is not polite to sleep with your mouth open. What’s +more, it isn’t safe. Something might fall into it. + + DAN KING. + + +FASHION NOTES + +Crocheted watch pockets are all the rage now. If you haven’t a watch +they do to carry your pencil in or a piece of gum. + +It is stylish to have hair ribbons to match your dress. But it is hard +to match gray drugget. I like scarlet for that. + +It is stylish to pin a piece of ribbon on your coat the same colour as +your chum wears in her hair. Mary Martha Cowan saw them doing it in town +and started us doing it here. I always wear Kitty’s ribbon and Kitty +wears mine, but the Story Girl thinks it is silly. + + CECILY KING. + + +AN ACCOUNT OF OUR VISIT TO COUSIN MATTIE’S + +We all walked over to Cousin Mattie’s last week. They were all well +there and we had a fine dinner. On our way back a snow-storm came up and +we got lost in the woods. We didn’t know where we were or nothing. If we +hadn’t seen a light I guess we’d all have been frozen and snowed over, +and they would never have found us till spring and that would be very +sad. But we saw a light and made for it and it was Peg Bowen’s. Some +people think she is a witch and it’s hard to tell, but she was real +hospitable and took us all in. Her house was very untidy but it was +warm. She has a skull. I mean a loose skull, not her own. She lets on it +tells her things, but Uncle Alec says it couldn’t because it was only an +Indian skull that old Dr. Beecham had and Peg stole it when he died, +but Uncle Roger says he wouldn’t trust himself with Peg’s skull for +anything. She gave us supper. It was a horrid meal. The Story Girl says +I must not tell what I found in the bread and butter because it would +be too disgusting to read in Our Magazine but it don’t matter because +we were all there, except Sara Ray, and know what it was. We stayed all +night and us boys slept in straw. None of us had ever slept on straw +before. We got home in the morning. That is all I can write about our +visit to Cousin Mattie’s. + + FELIX KING. + + +MY WORST ADVENTURE + +It’s my turn to write it so I suppose I must. I guess my worst adventure +was two years ago when a whole lot of us were coasting on Uncle Rogers +hill. Charlie Cowan and Fred Marr had started, but half-way down their +sled got stuck and I run down to shove them off again. Then I stood +there just a moment to watch them with my back to the top of the hill. +While I was standing there Rob Marr started Kitty and Em Frewen off on +his sled. His sled had a wooden tongue in it and it slanted back over +the girls’ heads. I was right in the way and they yelled to me to get +out, but just as I heard them it struck me. The sled took me between the +legs and I was histed back over the tongue and dropped in a heap behind +before I knew what had happened to me. I thought a tornado had struck +me. The girls couldn’t stop though they thought I was killed, but Rob +came tearing down and helped me up. He was awful scared but I wasn’t +killed nor my back wasn’t broken but my nose bled something awful and +kept on bleeding for three days. Not all the time but by spells. + + DAN KING. + + +THE STORY OF HOW CARLISLE GOT ITS NAME + +This is a true story to. Long ago there was a girl lived in charlotte +town. I dont know her name so I cant right it and maybe it is just as +well for Felicity might think it wasnt romantik like Miss Jemima Parrs. +She was awful pretty and a young englishman who had come out to make his +fortune fell in love with her and they were engaged to be married the +next spring. His name was Mr. Carlisle. In the winter he started off to +hunt cariboo for a spell. Cariboos lived on the island then. There aint +any here now. He got to where it is Carlisle now. It wasn’t anything +then only woods and a few indians. He got awful sick and was sick for +ever so long in a indian camp and only an old micmac squaw to wait on +him. Back in town they all thought he was dead and his girl felt bad for +a little while and then got over it and took up with another beau. The +girls say that wasnt romantik but I think it was sensible but if it had +been me that died I’d have felt bad if she forgot me so soon. But he +hadnt died and when he got back to town he went right to her house +and walked in and there she was standing up to be married to the other +fellow. Poor Mr. Carlisle felt awful. He was sick and week and it went +to his head. He just turned and run and run till he got back to the old +micmac’s camp and fell in front of it. But the indians had gone because +it was spring and it didnt matter because he really was dead this time +and people come looking for him from town and found him and buryed him +there and called the place after him. They say the girl was never happy +again and that was hard lines on her but maybe she deserved it. + + PETER CRAIG. + + +MISS ALICE READE + +Miss Alice Reade is a very pretty girl. She has kind of curly blackish +hair and big gray eyes and a pale face. She is tall and thin but her +figure is pretty fair and she has a nice mouth and a sweet way of +speaking. The girls are crazy about her and talk about her all the time. + + FELIX KING. + + +BEAUTIFUL ALICE + +That is what we girls call Miss Reade among ourselves. She is divinely +beautiful. Her magnificent wealth of raven hair flows back in glistening +waves from her sun-kissed brow. (DAN: “If Felix had said she was +sunburned you’d have all jumped on him.” (CECILY, COLDLY: “Sun-kissed +doesn’t mean sunburned.” DAN: “What does it mean then?” CECILY, +EMBARRASSED: “I--I don’t know. But Miss Montague says the Lady +Geraldine’s brow was sun-kissed and of course an earl’s daughter +wouldn’t be sunburned. “THE STORY GIRL: “Oh, don’t interrupt the reading +like this. It spoils it.”) Her eyes are gloriously dark and deep, like +midnight lakes mirroring the stars of heaven. Her features are like +sculptured marble and her mouth is a trembling, curving Cupid’s bow. +(PETER, ASIDE: “What kind of a thing is that?”) Her creamy skin is as +fair and flawless as the petals of a white lily. Her voice is like the +ripple of a woodland brook and her slender form is matchless in its +symmetry. (DAN: “That’s Valeria’s way of putting it, but Uncle Roger +says she don’t show her feed much.” FELICITY: “Dan! if Uncle Roger is +vulgar you needn’t be!”) Her hands are like a poet’s dreams. She dresses +so nicely and looks so stylish in her clothes. Her favourite colour is +blue. Some people think she is stiff and some say she is stuck-up, but +she isn’t a bit. It’s just that she is different from them and they +don’t like it. She is just lovely and we adore her.) + + CECILY KING. + + + + +CHAPTER X. DISAPPEARANCE OF PADDY + + +As I remember, the spring came late that year in Carlisle. It was May +before the weather began to satisfy the grown-ups. But we children were +more easily pleased, and we thought April a splendid month because the +snow all went early and left gray, firm, frozen ground for our rambles +and games. As the days slipped by they grew more gracious; the hillsides +began to look as if they were thinking of mayflowers; the old orchard +was washed in a bath of tingling sunshine and the sap stirred in the +big trees; by day the sky was veiled with delicate cloud drift, fine and +filmy as woven mist; in the evenings a full, low moon looked over the +valleys, as pallid and holy as some aureoled saint; a sound of laughter +and dream was on the wind and the world grew young with the mirth of +April breezes. + +“It’s so nice to be alive in the spring,” said the Story Girl one +twilight as we swung on the boughs of Uncle Stephen’s walk. + +“It’s nice to be alive any time,” said Felicity, complacently. + +“But it’s nicer in the spring,” insisted the Story Girl. “When I’m dead +I think I’ll FEEL dead all the rest of the year, but when spring comes +I’m sure I’ll feel like getting up and being alive again.” + +“You do say such queer things,” complained Felicity. “You won’t be +really dead any time. You’ll be in the next world. And I think it’s +horrid to talk about people being dead anyhow.” + +“We’ve all got to die,” said Sara Ray solemnly, but with a certain +relish. It was as if she enjoyed looking forward to something in which +nothing, neither an unsympathetic mother, nor the cruel fate which had +made her a colourless little nonentity, could prevent her from being the +chief performer. + +“I sometimes think,” said Cecily, rather wearily, “that it isn’t so +dreadful to die young as I used to suppose.” + +She prefaced her remark with a slight cough, as she had been all too apt +to do of late, for the remnants of the cold she had caught the night we +were lost in the storm still clung to her. + +“Don’t talk such nonsense, Cecily,” cried the Story Girl with unwonted +sharpness, a sharpness we all understood. All of us, in our hearts, +though we never spoke of it to each other, thought Cecily was not as +well as she ought to be that spring, and we hated to hear anything said +which seemed in any way to touch or acknowledge the tiny, faint shadow +which now and again showed itself dimly athwart our sunshine. + +“Well, it was you began talking of being dead,” said Felicity angrily. +“I don’t think it’s right to talk of such things. Cecily, are you sure +your feet ain’t damp? We ought to go in anyhow--it’s too chilly out here +for you.” + +“You girls had better go,” said Dan, “but I ain’t going in till old +Isaac Frewen goes. I’ve no use for him.” + +“I hate him, too,” said Felicity, agreeing with Dan for once in her +life. “He chews tobacco all the time and spits on the floor--the horrid +pig!” + +“And yet his brother is an elder in the church,” said Sara Ray +wonderingly. + +“I know a story about Isaac Frewen,” said the Story Girl. “When he was +young he went by the name of Oatmeal Frewen and he got it this way. He +was noted for doing outlandish things. He lived at Markdale then and he +was a great, overgrown, awkward fellow, six feet tall. He drove over to +Baywater one Saturday to visit his uncle there and came home the next +afternoon, and although it was Sunday he brought a big bag of oatmeal in +the wagon with him. When he came to Carlisle church he saw that service +was going on there, and he concluded to stop and go in. But he didn’t +like to leave his oatmeal outside for fear something would happen to it, +because there were always mischievous boys around, so he hoisted the bag +on his back and walked into church with it and right to the top of the +aisle to Grandfather King’s pew. Grandfather King used to say he +would never forget it to his dying day. The minister was preaching and +everything was quiet and solemn when he heard a snicker behind him. +Grandfather King turned around with a terrible frown--for you know in +those days it was thought a dreadful thing to laugh in church--to rebuke +the offender; and what did he see but that great, hulking young Isaac +stalking up the aisle, bending a little forward under the weight of a +big bag of oatmeal? Grandfather King was so amazed he couldn’t laugh, +but almost everyone else in the church was laughing, and grandfather +said he never blamed them, for no funnier sight was ever seen. Young +Isaac turned into grandfather’s pew and thumped the bag of oatmeal down +on the seat with a thud that cracked it. Then he plumped down beside +it, took off his hat, wiped his face, and settled back to listen to the +sermon, just as if it was all a matter of course. When the service was +over he hoisted his bag up again, marched out of church, and drove home. +He could never understand why it made so much talk; but he was known by +the name of Oatmeal Frewen for years.” + +Our laughter, as we separated, rang sweetly through the old orchard and +across the far, dim meadows. Felicity and Cecily went into the house +and Sara Ray and the Story Girl went home, but Peter decoyed me into the +granary to ask advice. + +“You know Felicity has a birthday next week,” he said, “and I want to +write her an ode.” + +“A--a what?” I gasped. + +“An ode,” repeated Peter, gravely. “It’s poetry, you know. I’ll put it +in Our Magazine.” + +“But you can’t write poetry, Peter,” I protested. + +“I’m going to try,” said Peter stoutly. “That is, if you think she won’t +be offended at me.” + +“She ought to feel flattered,” I replied. + +“You never can tell how she’ll take things,” said Peter gloomily. “Of +course I ain’t going to sign my name, and if she ain’t pleased I won’t +tell her I wrote it. Don’t you let on.” + +I promised I wouldn’t and Peter went off with a light heart. He said he +meant to write two lines every day till he got it done. + +Cupid was playing his world-old tricks with others than poor Peter that +spring. Allusion has been made in these chronicles to one, Cyrus Brisk, +and to the fact that our brown-haired, soft-voiced Cecily had found +favour in the eyes of the said Cyrus. Cecily did not regard her conquest +with any pride. On the contrary, it annoyed her terribly to be teased +about Cyrus. She declared she hated both him and his name. She was as +uncivil to him as sweet Cecily could be to anyone, but the gallant Cyrus +was nothing daunted. He laid determined siege to Cecily’s young heart by +all the methods known to love-lorn swains. He placed delicate tributes +of spruce gum, molasses taffy, “conversation” candies and decorated +slate pencils on her desk; he persistently “chose” her in all school +games calling for a partner; he entreated to be allowed to carry her +basket from school; he offered to work her sums for her; and rumour had +it that he had made a wild statement to the effect that he meant to +ask if he might see her home some night from prayer meeting. Cecily was +quite frightened that he would; she confided to me that she would rather +die than walk home with him, but that if he asked her she would be too +bashful to say no. So far, however, Cyrus had not molested her out of +school, nor had he as yet thumped Willy Fraser--who was reported to be +very low in his spirits over the whole affair. + +And now Cyrus had written Cecily a letter--a love letter, mark you. +Moreover, he had sent it through the post-office, with a real stamp +on it. Its arrival made a sensation among us. Dan brought it from the +office and, recognizing the handwriting of Cyrus, gave Cecily no peace +until she showed us the letter. It was a very sentimental and rather +ill-spelled epistle in which the inflammable Cyrus reproached her in +heart-rending words for her coldness, and begged her to answer his +letter, saying that if she did he would keep the secret “in violets.” + Cyrus probably meant “inviolate” but Cecily thought it was intended for +a poetical touch. He signed himself “your troo lover, Cyrus Brisk” and +added in a postcript that he couldn’t eat or sleep for thinking of her. + +“Are you going to answer it?” asked Dan. + +“Certainly not,” said Cecily with dignity. + +“Cyrus Brisk wants to be kicked,” growled Felix, who never seemed to be +any particular friend of Willy Fraser’s either. “He’d better learn how +to spell before he takes to writing love letters.” + +“Maybe Cyrus will starve to death if you don’t,” suggested Sara Ray. + +“I hope he will,” said Cecily cruelly. She was truly vexed over the +letter; and yet, so contradictory a thing is the feminine heart, even at +twelve years old, I think she was a little flattered by it also. It was +her first love letter and she confided to me that it gives you a very +queer feeling to get it. At all events--the letter, though unanswered, +was not torn up. I feel sure Cecily preserved it. But she walked past +Cyrus next morning at school with a frozen countenance, evincing not the +slightest pity for his pangs of unrequited affection. Cecily winced when +Pat caught a mouse, visited a school chum the day the pigs were killed +that she might not hear their squealing, and would not have stepped on a +caterpillar for anything; yet she did not care at all how much she made +the brisk Cyrus suffer. + +Then, suddenly, all our spring gladness and Maytime hopes were blighted +as by a killing frost. Sorrow and anxiety pervaded our days and +embittered our dreams by night. Grim tragedy held sway in our lives for +the next fortnight. + +Paddy disappeared. One night he lapped his new milk as usual at Uncle +Roger’s dairy door and then sat blandly on the flat stone before it, +giving the world assurance of a cat, sleek sides glistening, plumy tail +gracefully folded around his paws, brilliant eyes watching the stir and +flicker of bare willow boughs in the twilight air above him. That was +the last seen of him. In the morning he was not. + +At first we were not seriously alarmed. Paddy was no roving Thomas, +but occasionally he vanished for a day or so. But when two days passed +without his return we became anxious, the third day worried us greatly, +and the fourth found us distracted. + +“Something has happened to Pat,” the Story Girl declared miserably. “He +never stayed away from home more than two days in his life.” + +“What could have happened to him?” asked Felix. + +“He’s been poisoned--or a dog has killed him,” answered the Story Girl +in tragic tones. + +Cecily began to cry at this; but tears were of no avail. Neither was +anything else, apparently. We searched every nook and cranny of barns +and out-buildings and woods on both the King farms; we inquired far and +wide; we roved over Carlisle meadows calling Paddy’s name, until Aunt +Janet grew exasperated and declared we must stop making such exhibitions +of ourselves. But we found and heard no trace of our lost pet. The Story +Girl moped and refused to be comforted; Cecily declared she could not +sleep at night for thinking of poor Paddy dying miserably in some corner +to which he had dragged his failing body, or lying somewhere mangled and +torn by a dog. We hated every dog we saw on the ground that he might be +the guilty one. + +“It’s the suspense that’s so hard,” sobbed the Story Girl. “If I just +knew what had happened to him it wouldn’t be QUITE so hard. But I don’t +know whether he’s dead or alive. He may be living and suffering, and +every night I dream that he has come home and when I wake up and find +it’s only a dream it just breaks my heart.” + +“It’s ever so much worse than when he was so sick last fall,” said +Cecily drearily. “Then we knew that everything was done for him that +could be done.” + +We could not appeal to Peg Bowen this time. In our desperation we would +have done it, but Peg was far away. With the first breath of spring she +was up and off, answering to the lure of the long road. She had not +been seen in her accustomed haunts for many a day. Her pets were gaining +their own living in the woods and her house was locked up. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. THE WITCH’S WISHBONE + + +When a fortnight had elapsed we gave up all hope. + +“Pat is dead,” said the Story Girl hopelessly, as we returned one +evening from a bootless quest to Andrew Cowan’s where a strange gray +cat had been reported--a cat which turned out to be a yellowish brown +nondescript, with no tail to speak of. + +“I’m afraid so,” I acknowledged at last. + +“If only Peg Bowen had been at home she could have found him for us,” + asserted Peter. “Her skull would have told her where he was.” + +“I wonder if the wishbone she gave me would have done any good,” cried +Cecily suddenly. “I’d forgotten all about it. Oh, do you suppose it’s +too late yet?” + +“There’s nothing in a wishbone,” said Dan impatiently. + +“You can’t be sure. She TOLD me I’d get the wish I made on it. I’m going +to try whenever I get home.” + +“It can’t do any harm, anyhow,” said Peter, “but I’m afraid you’ve left +it too late. If Pat is dead even a witch’s wishbone can’t bring him back +to life.” + +“I’ll never forgive myself for not thinking about it before,” mourned +Cecily. + +As soon as we got home she flew to the little box upstairs where she +kept her treasures, and brought therefrom the dry and brittle wishbone. + +“Peg told me how it must be done. I’m to hold the wishbone with both +hands, like this, and walk backward, repeating the wish nine times. And +when I’ve finished the ninth time I’m to turn around nine times, from +right to left, and then the wish will come true right away.” + +“Do you expect to see Pat when you finish turning?” said Dan +skeptically. + +None of us had any faith in the incantation except Peter, and, by +infection, Cecily. You never could tell what might happen. Cecily +took the wishbone in her trembling little hands and began her backward +pacing, repeating solemnly, “I wish that we may find Paddy alive, or +else his body, so that we can bury him decently.” By the time Cecily +had repeated this nine times we were all slightly infected with the +desperate hope that something might come of it; and when she had +made her nine gyrations we looked eagerly down the sunset lane, half +expecting to see our lost pet. But we saw only the Awkward Man turning +in at the gate. This was almost as surprising as the sight of Pat +himself would have been; but there was no sign of Pat and hope flickered +out in every breast but Peter’s. + +“You’ve got to give the spell time to work,” he expostulated. “If Pat +was miles away when it was wished it wouldn’t be reasonable to expect to +see him right off.” + +But we of little faith had already lost that little, and it was a very +disconsolate group which the Awkward Man presently joined. + +He was smiling--his rare, beautiful smile which only children ever +saw--and he lifted his hat to the girls with no trace of the shyness and +awkwardness for which he was notorious. + +“Good evening,” he said. “Have you little people lost a cat lately?” + +We stared. Peter said “I knew it!” in a triumphant pig’s whisper. The +Story Girl started eagerly forward. + +“Oh, Mr. Dale, can you tell us anything of Paddy?” she cried. + +“A silver gray cat with black points and very fine marking?” + +“Yes, yes!” + +“Alive?” + +“Yes.” + +“Well, doesn’t that beat the Dutch!” muttered Dan. + +But we were all crowding about the Awkward Man, demanding where and when +he had found Paddy. + +“You’d better come over to my place and make sure that it really is your +cat,” suggested the Awkward Man, “and I’ll tell you all about finding +him on the way. I must warn you that he is pretty thin--but I think +he’ll pull through.” + +We obtained permission to go without much difficulty, although the +spring evening was wearing late, for Aunt Janet said she supposed none +of us would sleep a wink that night if we didn’t. A joyful procession +followed the Awkward Man and the Story Girl across the gray, star-litten +meadows to his home and through his pine-guarded gate. + +“You know that old barn of mine back in the woods?” said the Awkward +Man. “I go to it only about once in a blue moon. There was an old barrel +there, upside down, one side resting on a block of wood. This morning +I went to the barn to see about having some hay hauled home, and I had +occasion to move the barrel. I noticed that it seemed to have been +moved slightly since my last visit, and it was now resting wholly on the +floor. I lifted it up--and there was a cat lying on the floor under it. +I had heard you had lost yours and I took it this was your pet. I was +afraid he was dead at first. He was lying there with his eyes closed; +but when I bent over him he opened them and gave a pitiful little mew; +or rather his mouth made the motion of a mew, for he was too weak to +utter a sound.” + +“Oh, poor, poor Paddy,” said tender-hearted Cecily tearfully. + +“He couldn’t stand, so I carried him home and gave him just a little +milk. Fortunately he was able to lap it. I gave him a little more at +intervals all day, and when I left he was able to crawl around. I think +he’ll be all right, but you’ll have to be careful how you feed him for a +few days. Don’t let your hearts run away with your judgment and kill him +with kindness.” + +“Do you suppose any one put him under that barrel?” asked the Story +Girl. + +“No. The barn was locked. Nothing but a cat could get in. I suppose +he went under the barrel, perhaps in pursuit of a mouse, and somehow +knocked it off the block and so imprisoned himself.” + +Paddy was sitting before the fire in the Awkward Man’s clean, bare +kitchen. Thin! Why, he was literally skin and bone, and his fur was dull +and lustreless. It almost broke our hearts to see our beautiful Paddy +brought so low. + +“Oh, how he must have suffered!” moaned Cecily. + +“He’ll be as prosperous as ever in a week or two,” said the Awkward Man +kindly. + +The Story Girl gathered Paddy up in her arms. Most mellifluously did he +purr as we crowded around to stroke him; with friendly joy he licked our +hands with his little red tongue; poor Paddy was a thankful cat; he was +no longer lost, starving, imprisoned, helpless; he was with his comrades +once more and he was going home--home to his old familiar haunts of +orchard and dairy and granary, to his daily rations of new milk and +cream, to the cosy corner of his own fireside. We trooped home joyfully, +the Story Girl in our midst carrying Paddy hugged against her shoulder. +Never did April stars look down on a happier band of travellers on the +golden road. There was a little gray wind out in the meadows that +night, and it danced along beside us on viewless, fairy feet, and sang +a delicate song of the lovely, waiting years, while the night laid her +beautiful hands of blessing over the world. + +“You see what Peg’s wishbone did,” said Peter triumphantly. + +“Now, look here, Peter, don’t talk nonsense,” expostulated Dan. “The +Awkward Man found Paddy this morning and had started to bring us word +before Cecily ever thought of the wishbone. Do you mean to say you +believe he wouldn’t have come walking up our lane just when he did if +she had never thought of it?” + +“I mean to say that I wouldn’t mind if I had several wishbones of the +same kind,” retorted Peter stubbornly. + +“Of course I don’t think the wishbone had really anything to do with +our getting Paddy back, but I’m glad I tried it, for all that,” remarked +Cecily in a tone of satisfaction. + +“Well, anyhow, we’ve got Pat and that’s the main thing,” said Felix. + +“And I hope it will be a lesson to him to stay home after this,” + commented Felicity. + +“They say the barrens are full of mayflowers,” said the Story Girl. “Let +us have a mayflower picnic tomorrow to celebrate Paddy’s safe return.” + + + + +CHAPTER XII. FLOWERS O’ MAY + + +Accordingly we went a-maying, following the lure of dancing winds to a +certain westward sloping hill lying under the spirit-like blue of spring +skies, feathered over with lisping young pines and firs, which cupped +little hollows and corners where the sunshine got in and never got out +again, but stayed there and grew mellow, coaxing dear things to bloom +long before they would dream of waking up elsewhere. + +‘Twas there we found our mayflowers, after faithful seeking. Mayflowers, +you must know, never flaunt themselves; they must be sought as +becomes them, and then they will yield up their treasures to the +seeker--clusters of star-white and dawn-pink that have in them the very +soul of all the springs that ever were, re-incarnated in something it +seems gross to call perfume, so exquisite and spiritual is it. + +We wandered gaily over the hill, calling to each other with laughter +and jest, getting parted and delightfully lost in that little pathless +wilderness, and finding each other unexpectedly in nooks and dips and +sunny silences, where the wind purred and gentled and went softly. When +the sun began to hang low, sending great fan-like streamers of radiance +up to the zenith, we foregathered in a tiny, sequestered valley, full +of young green fern, lying in the shadow of a wooded hill. In it was a +shallow pool--a glimmering green sheet of water on whose banks nymphs +might dance as blithely as ever they did on Argive hill or in Cretan +dale. There we sat and stripped the faded leaves and stems from our +spoil, making up the blossoms into bouquets to fill our baskets with +sweetness. The Story Girl twisted a spray of divinest pink in her brown +curls, and told us an old legend of a beautiful Indian maiden who died +of a broken heart when the first snows of winter were falling, because +she believed her long-absent lover was false. But he came back in the +spring time from his long captivity; and when he heard that she was dead +he sought her grave to mourn her, and lo, under the dead leaves of the +old year he found sweet sprays of a blossom never seen before, and +knew that it was a message of love and remembrance from his dark-eyed +sweet-heart. + +“Except in stories Indian girls are called squaws,” remarked practical +Dan, tying his mayflowers together in one huge, solid, cabbage-like +bunch. Not for Dan the bother of filling his basket with the loose +sprays, mingled with feathery elephant’s-ears and trails of creeping +spruce, as the rest of us, following the Story Girl’s example, did. Nor +would he admit that ours looked any better than his. + +“I like things of one kind together. I don’t like them mixed,” he said. + +“You have no taste,” said Felicity. + +“Except in my mouth, best beloved,” responded Dan. + +“You do think you are so smart,” retorted Felicity, flushing with anger. + +“Don’t quarrel this lovely day,” implored Cecily. + +“Nobody’s quarrelling, Sis. I ain’t a bit mad. It’s Felicity. What on +earth is that at the bottom of your basket, Cecily?” + +“It’s a History of the Reformation in France,” confessed poor Cecily, +“by a man named D-a-u-b-i-g-n-y. I can’t pronounce it. I heard Mr. +Marwood saying it was a book everyone ought to read, so I began it +last Sunday. I brought it along today to read when I got tired picking +flowers. I’d ever so much rather have brought Ester Reid. There’s so +much in the history I can’t understand, and it is so dreadful to read of +people being burned to death. But I felt I OUGHT to read it.” + +“Do you really think your mind has improved any?” asked Sara Ray +seriously, wreathing the handle of her basket with creeping spruce. + +“No, I’m afraid it hasn’t one bit,” answered Cecily sadly. “I feel that +I haven’t succeeded very well in keeping my resolutions.” + +“I’ve kept mine,” said Felicity complacently. + +“It’s easy to keep just one,” retorted Cecily, rather resentfully. + +“It’s not so easy to think beautiful thoughts,” answered Felicity. + +“It’s the easiest thing in the world,” said the Story Girl, tiptoeing to +the edge of the pool to peep at her own arch reflection, as some nymph +left over from the golden age might do. “Beautiful thoughts just crowd +into your mind at times.” + +“Oh, yes, AT TIMES. But that’s different from thinking one REGULARLY at +a given hour. And mother is always calling up the stairs for me to hurry +up and get dressed, and it’s VERY hard sometimes.” + +“That’s so,” conceded the Story Girl. “There ARE times when I can’t +think anything but gray thoughts. Then, other days, I think pink and +blue and gold and purple and rainbow thoughts all the time.” + +“The idea! As if thoughts were coloured,” giggled Felicity. + +“Oh, they are!” cried the Story Girl. “Why, I can always SEE the colour +of any thought I think. Can’t you?” + +“I never heard of such a thing,” declared Felicity, “and I don’t believe +it. I believe you are just making that up.” + +“Indeed I’m not. Why, I always supposed everyone thought in colours. It +must be very tiresome if you don’t.” + +“When you think of me what colour is it?” asked Peter curiously. + +“Yellow,” answered the Story Girl promptly. “And Cecily is a sweet pink, +like those mayflowers, and Sara Ray is very pale blue, and Dan is red +and Felix is yellow, like Peter, and Bev is striped.” + +“What colour am I?” asked Felicity, amid the laughter at my expense. + +“You’re--you’re like a rainbow,” answered the Story Girl rather +reluctantly. She had to be honest, but she would rather not have +complimented Felicity. “And you needn’t laugh at Bev. His stripes are +beautiful. It isn’t HE that is striped. It’s just the THOUGHT of him. +Peg Bowen is a queer sort of yellowish green and the Awkward Man is +lilac. Aunt Olivia is pansy-purple mixed with gold, and Uncle Roger is +navy blue.” + +“I never heard such nonsense,” declared Felicity. The rest of us were +rather inclined to agree with her for once. We thought the Story Girl +was making fun of us. But I believe she really had a strange gift of +thinking in colours. In later years, when we were grown up, she told +me of it again. She said that everything had colour in her thought; the +months of the year ran through all the tints of the spectrum, the days +of the week were arrayed as Solomon in his glory, morning was golden, +noon orange, evening crystal blue, and night violet. Every idea came to +her mind robed in its own especial hue. Perhaps that was why her voice +and words had such a charm, conveying to the listeners’ perception such +fine shadings of meaning and tint and music. + +“Well, let’s go and have something to eat,” suggested Dan. “What colour +is eating, Sara?” + +“Golden brown, just the colour of a molasses cooky,” laughed the Story +Girl. + +We sat on the ferny bank of the pool and ate of the generous basket Aunt +Janet had provided, with appetites sharpened by the keen spring air and +our wilderness rovings. Felicity had made some very nice sandwiches of +ham which we all appreciated except Dan, who declared he didn’t like +things minced up and dug out of the basket a chunk of boiled pork which +he proceeded to saw up with a jack-knife and devour with gusto. + +“I told ma to put this in for me. There’s some CHEW to it,” he said. + +“You are not a bit refined,” commented Felicity. + +“Not a morsel, my love,” grinned Dan. + +“You make me think of a story I heard Uncle Roger telling about Cousin +Annetta King,” said the Story Girl. “Great-uncle Jeremiah King used to +live where Uncle Roger lives now, when Grandfather King was alive and +Uncle Roger was a boy. In those days it was thought rather coarse for a +young lady to have too hearty an appetite, and she was more admired if +she was delicate about what she ate. Cousin Annetta set out to be very +refined indeed. She pretended to have no appetite at all. One afternoon +she was invited to tea at Grandfather King’s when they had some special +company--people from Charlottetown. Cousin Annetta said she could hardly +eat anything. ‘You know, Uncle Abraham,’ she said, in a very affected, +fine-young-lady voice, ‘I really hardly eat enough to keep a bird alive. +Mother says she wonders how I continue to exist.’ And she picked and +pecked until Grandfather King declared he would like to throw something +at her. After tea Cousin Annetta went home, and just about dark +Grandfather King went over to Uncle Jeremiah’s on an errand. As he +passed the open, lighted pantry window he happened to glance in, and +what do you think he saw? Delicate Cousin Annetta standing at the +dresser, with a big loaf of bread beside her and a big platterful of +cold, boiled pork in front of her; and Annetta was hacking off great +chunks, like Dan there, and gobbling them down as if she was starving. +Grandfather King couldn’t resist the temptation. He stepped up to the +window and said, ‘I’m glad your appetite has come back to you, Annetta. +Your mother needn’t worry about your continuing to exist as long as you +can tuck away fat, salt pork in that fashion.’ + +“Cousin Annetta never forgave him, but she never pretended to be +delicate again.” + +“The Jews don’t believe in eating pork,” said Peter. + +“I’m glad I’m not a Jew and I guess Cousin Annetta was too,” said Dan. + +“I like bacon, but I can never look at a pig without wondering if they +were ever intended to be eaten,” remarked Cecily naively. + +When we finished our lunch the barrens were already wrapping themselves +in a dim, blue dusk and falling upon rest in dell and dingle. But out +in the open there was still much light of a fine emerald-golden sort and +the robins whistled us home in it. “Horns of Elfland” never sounded more +sweetly around hoary castle and ruined fane than those vesper calls +of the robins from the twilight spruce woods and across green pastures +lying under the pale radiance of a young moon. + +When we reached home we found that Miss Reade had been up to the hill +farm on an errand and was just leaving. The Story Girl went for a walk +with her and came back with an important expression on her face. + +“You look as if you had a story to tell,” said Felix. + +“One is growing. It isn’t a whole story yet,” answered the Story Girl +mysteriously. + +“What is it?” asked Cecily. + +“I can’t tell you till it’s fully grown,” said the Story Girl. “But +I’ll tell you a pretty little story the Awkward Man told us--told +me--tonight. He was walking in his garden as we went by, looking at his +tulip beds. His tulips are up ever so much higher than ours, and I asked +him how he managed to coax them along so early. And he said HE didn’t do +it--it was all the work of the pixies who lived in the woods across +the brook. There were more pixy babies than usual this spring, and the +mothers were in a hurry for the cradles. The tulips are the pixy babies’ +cradles, it seems. The mother pixies come out of the woods at twilight +and rock their tiny little brown babies to sleep in the tulip cups. That +is the reason why tulip blooms last so much longer than other blossoms. +The pixy babies must have a cradle until they are grown up. They grow +very fast, you see, and the Awkward Man says on a spring evening, when +the tulips are out, you can hear the sweetest, softest, clearest, fairy +music in his garden, and it is the pixy folk singing as they rock the +pixy babies to sleep.” + +“Then the Awkward Man says what isn’t true,” said Felicity severely. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. A SURPRISING ANNOUNCEMENT + + +“Nothing exciting has happened for ever so long,” said the Story Girl +discontentedly, one late May evening, as we lingered under the wonderful +white bloom of the cherry trees. There was a long row of them in the +orchard, with a Lombardy poplar at either end, and a hedge of lilacs +behind. When the wind blew over them all the spicy breezes of Ceylon’s +isle were never sweeter. + +It was a time of wonder and marvel, of the soft touch of silver rain on +greening fields, of the incredible delicacy of young leaves, of blossom +in field and garden and wood. The whole world bloomed in a flush and +tremor of maiden loveliness, instinct with all the evasive, fleeting +charm of spring and girlhood and young morning. We felt and enjoyed it +all without understanding or analyzing it. It was enough to be glad and +young with spring on the golden road. + +“I don’t like excitement very much,” said Cecily. “It makes one so +tired. I’m sure it was exciting enough when Paddy was missing, but we +didn’t find that very pleasant.” + +“No, but it was interesting,” returned the Story Girl thoughtfully. +“After all, I believe I’d rather be miserable than dull.” + +“I wouldn’t then,” said Felicity decidedly. “And you need never be dull +when you have work to do. ‘Satan finds some mischief still for idle +hands to do!’” + +“Well, mischief is interesting,” laughed the Story Girl. “And I thought +you didn’t think it lady-like to speak of that person, Felicity?” + +“It’s all right if you call him by his polite name,” said Felicity +stiffly. + +“Why does the Lombardy poplar hold its branches straight up in the +air like that, when all the other poplars hold theirs out or hang them +down?” interjected Peter, who had been gazing intently at the slender +spire showing darkly against the fine blue eastern sky. + +“Because it grows that way,” said Felicity. + +“Oh I know a story about that,” cried the Story Girl. “Once upon a time +an old man found the pot of gold at the rainbow’s end. There IS a pot +there, it is said, but it is very hard to find because you can never get +to the rainbow’s end before it vanishes from your sight. But this old +man found it, just at sunset, when Iris, the guardian of the rainbow +gold, happened to be absent. As he was a long way from home, and the pot +was very big and heavy, he decided to hide it until morning and then get +one of his sons to go with him and help him carry it. So he hid it under +the boughs of the sleeping poplar tree. + +“When Iris came back she missed the pot of gold and of course she was in +a sad way about it. She sent Mercury, the messenger of the gods, to +look for it, for she didn’t dare leave the rainbow again, lest somebody +should run off with that too. Mercury asked all the trees if they had +seen the pot of gold, and the elm, oak and pine pointed to the poplar +and said, + +“‘The poplar can tell you where it is.’ + +“‘How can I tell you where it is?’ cried the poplar, and she held up all +her branches in surprise, just as we hold up our hands--and down tumbled +the pot of gold. The poplar was amazed and indignant, for she was a very +honest tree. She stretched her boughs high above her head and declared +that she would always hold them like that, so that nobody could hide +stolen gold under them again. And she taught all the little poplars she +knew to stand the same way, and that is why Lombardy poplars always do. +But the aspen poplar leaves are always shaking, even on the very calmest +day. And do you know why?” + +And then she told us the old legend that the cross on which the Saviour +of the world suffered was made of aspen poplar wood and so never again +could its poor, shaken, shivering leaves know rest or peace. There was +an aspen in the orchard, the very embodiment of youth and spring in its +litheness and symmetry. Its little leaves were hanging tremulously, not +yet so fully blown as to hide its development of bough and twig, making +poetry against the spiritual tints of a spring sunset. + +“It does look sad,” said Peter, “but it is a pretty tree, and it wasn’t +its fault.” + +“There’s a heavy dew and it’s time we stopped talking nonsense and went +in,” decreed Felicity. “If we don’t we’ll all have a cold, and then +we’ll be miserable enough, but it won’t be very exciting.” + +“All the same, I wish something exciting would happen,” finished the +Story Girl, as we walked up through the orchard, peopled with its +nun-like shadows. + +“There’s a new moon tonight, so may be you’ll get your wish,” said +Peter. “My Aunt Jane didn’t believe there was anything in the moon +business, but you never can tell.” + +The Story Girl did get her wish. Something happened the very next day. +She joined us in the afternoon with a quite indescribable expression +on her face, compounded of triumph, anticipation, and regret. Her +eyes betrayed that she had been crying, but in them shone a chastened +exultation. Whatever the Story Girl mourned over it was evident she was +not without hope. + +“I have some news to tell you,” she said importantly. “Can you guess +what it is?” + +We couldn’t and wouldn’t try. + +“Tell us right off,” implored Felix. “You look as if it was something +tremendous.” + +“So it is. Listen--Aunt Olivia is going to be married.” + +We stared in blank amazement. Peg Bowen’s hint had faded from our minds +and we had never put much faith in it. + +“Aunt Olivia! I don’t believe it,” cried Felicity flatly. “Who told +you?” + +“Aunt Olivia herself. So it is perfectly true. I’m awfully sorry in one +way--but oh, won’t it be splendid to have a real wedding in the family? +She’s going to have a big wedding--and I am to be bridesmaid.” + +“I shouldn’t think you were old enough to be a bridesmaid,” said +Felicity sharply. + +“I’m nearly fifteen. Anyway, Aunt Olivia says I have to be.” + +“Who’s she going to marry?” asked Cecily, gathering herself together +after the shock, and finding that the world was going on just the same. + +“His name is Dr. Seton and he is a Halifax man. She met him when she +was at Uncle Edward’s last summer. They’ve been engaged ever since. The +wedding is to be the third week in June.” + +“And our school concert comes off the next week,” complained Felicity. +“Why do things always come together like that? And what are you going to +do if Aunt Olivia is going away?” + +“I’m coming to live at your house,” answered the Story Girl rather +timidly. She did not know how Felicity might like that. But Felicity +took it rather well. + +“You’ve been here most of the time anyhow, so it’ll just be that you’ll +sleep and eat here, too. But what’s to become of Uncle Roger?” + +“Aunt Olivia says he’ll have to get married, too. But Uncle Roger says +he’d rather hire a housekeeper than marry one, because in the first case +he could turn her off if he didn’t like her, but in the second case he +couldn’t.” + +“There’ll be a lot of cooking to do for the wedding,” reflected Felicity +in a tone of satisfaction. + +“I s’pose Aunt Olivia will want some rusks made. I hope she has plenty +of tooth-powder laid in,” said Dan. + +“It’s a pity you don’t use some of that tooth-powder you’re so fond of +talking about yourself,” retorted Felicity. “When anyone has a mouth the +size of yours the teeth show so plain.” + +“I brush my teeth every Sunday,” asseverated Dan. + +“Every Sunday! You ought to brush them every DAY.” + +“Did anyone ever hear such nonsense?” demanded Dan sincerely. + +“Well, you know, it really does say so in the Family Guide,” said Cecily +quietly. + +“Then the Family Guide people must have lots more spare time than I +have,” retorted Dan contemptuously. + +“Just think, the Story Girl will have her name in the papers if she’s +bridesmaid,” marvelled Sara Ray. + +“In the Halifax papers, too,” added Felix, “since Dr. Seton is a Halifax +man. What is his first name?” + +“Robert.” + +“And will we have to call him Uncle Robert?” + +“Not until he’s married to her. Then we will, of course.” + +“I hope your Aunt Olivia won’t disappear before the ceremony,” remarked +Sara Ray, who was surreptitiously reading “The Vanquished Bride,” by +Valeria H. Montague in the Family Guide. + +“I hope Dr. Seton won’t fail to show up, like your cousin Rachel Ward’s +beau,” said Peter. + +“That makes me think of another story I read the other day about +Great-uncle Andrew King and Aunt Georgina,” laughed the Story Girl. “It +happened eighty years ago. It was a very stormy winter and the roads +were bad. Uncle Andrew lived in Carlisle, and Aunt Georgina--she was +Miss Georgina Matheson then--lived away up west, so he couldn’t get to +see her very often. They agreed to be married that winter, but Georgina +couldn’t set the day exactly because her brother, who lived in Ontario, +was coming home for a visit, and she wanted to be married while he was +home. So it was arranged that she was to write Uncle Andrew and tell him +what day to come. She did, and she told him to come on a Tuesday. But +her writing wasn’t very good and poor Uncle Andrew thought she wrote +Thursday. So on Thursday he drove all the way to Georgina’s home to be +married. It was forty miles and a bitter cold day. But it wasn’t any +colder than the reception he got from Georgina. She was out in the +porch, with her head tied up in a towel, picking geese. She had been +all ready Tuesday, and her friends and the minister were there, and the +wedding supper prepared. But there was no bridegroom and Georgina was +furious. Nothing Uncle Andrew could say would appease her. She wouldn’t +listen to a word of explanation, but told him to go, and never show his +nose there again. So poor Uncle Andrew had to go ruefully home, hoping +that she would relent later on, because he was really very much in love +with her.” + +“And did she?” queried Felicity. + +“She did. Thirteen years exactly from that day they were married. It +took her just that long to forgive him.” + +“It took her just that long to find out she couldn’t get anybody else,” + said Dan, cynically. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. A PRODIGAL RETURNS + + +Aunt Olivia and the Story Girl lived in a whirlwind of dressmaking after +that, and enjoyed it hugely. Cecily and Felicity also had to have +new dresses for the great event, and they talked of little else for a +fortnight. Cecily declared that she hated to go to sleep because she +was sure to dream that she was at Aunt Olivia’s wedding in her old faded +gingham dress and a ragged apron. + +“And no shoes or stockings,” she added, “and I can’t move, and everyone +walks past and looks at my feet.” + +“That’s only in a dream,” mourned Sara Ray, “but I may have to wear my +last summer’s white dress to the wedding. It’s too short, but ma says +it’s plenty good for this summer. I’ll be so mortified if I have to wear +it.” + +“I’d rather not go at all than wear a dress that wasn’t nice,” said +Felicity pleasantly. + +“I’d go to the wedding if I had to go in my school dress,” cried Sara +Ray. “I’ve never been to anything. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” + +“My Aunt Jane always said that if you were neat and tidy it didn’t +matter whether you were dressed fine or not,” said Peter. + +“I’m sick and tired of hearing about your Aunt Jane,” said Felicity +crossly. + +Peter looked grieved but held his peace. Felicity was very hard on him +that spring, but his loyalty never wavered. Everything she said or did +was right in Peter’s eyes. + +“It’s all very well to be neat and tidy,” said Sara Ray, “but I like a +little style too.” + +“I think you’ll find your mother will get you a new dress after all,” + comforted Cecily. “Anyway, nobody will notice you because everyone will +be looking at the bride. Aunt Olivia will make a lovely bride. Just +think how sweet she’ll look in a white silk dress and a floating veil.” + +“She says she is going to have the ceremony performed out here in +the orchard under her own tree,” said the Story Girl. “Won’t that be +romantic? It almost makes me feel like getting married myself.” + +“What a way to talk,” rebuked Felicity, “and you only fifteen.” + +“Lots of people have been married at fifteen,” laughed the Story Girl. +“Lady Jane Gray was.” + +“But you are always saying that Valeria H. Montague’s stories are silly +and not true to life, so that is no argument,” retorted Felicity, who +knew more about cooking than about history, and evidently imagined that +the Lady Jane Gray was one of Valeria’s titled heroines. + +The wedding was a perennial source of conversation among us in those +days; but presently its interest palled for a time in the light of +another quite tremendous happening. One Saturday night Peter’s mother +called to take him home with her for Sunday. She had been working at Mr. +James Frewen’s, and Mr. Frewen was driving her home. We had never seen +Peter’s mother before, and we looked at her with discreet curiosity. She +was a plump, black-eyed little woman, neat as a pin, but with a rather +tired and care-worn face that looked as if it should have been rosy and +jolly. Life had been a hard battle for her, and I rather think that her +curly-headed little lad was all that had kept heart and spirit in her. +Peter went home with her and returned Sunday evening. We were in the +orchard sitting around the Pulpit Stone, where we had, according to the +custom of the households of King, been learning our golden texts and +memory verses for the next Sunday School lesson. Paddy, grown sleek and +handsome again, was sitting on the stone itself, washing his jowls. + +Peter joined us with a very queer expression on his face. He seemed +bursting with some news which he wanted to tell and yet hardly liked to. + +“Why are you looking so mysterious, Peter?” demanded the Story Girl. + +“What do you think has happened?” asked Peter solemnly. + +“What has?” + +“My father has come home,” answered Peter. + +The announcement produced all the sensation he could have wished. We +crowded around him in excitement. + +“Peter! When did he come back?” + +“Saturday night. He was there when ma and I got home. It give her an +awful turn. I didn’t know him at first, of course.” + +“Peter Craig, I believe you are glad your father has come back,” cried +the Story Girl. + +“‘Course I’m glad,” retorted Peter. + +“And after you saying you didn’t want ever to see him again,” said +Felicity. + +“You just wait. You haven’t heard my story yet. I wouldn’t have been +glad to see father if he’d come back the same as he went away. But he is +a changed man. He happened to go into a revival meeting one night this +spring and he got converted. And he’s come home to stay, and he says +he’s never going to drink another drop, but he’s going to look after his +family. Ma isn’t to do any more washing for nobody but him and me, and +I’m not to be a hired boy any longer. He says I can stay with your Uncle +Roger till the fall ‘cause I promised I would, but after that I’m to +stay home and go to school right along and learn to be whatever I’d like +to be. I tell you it made me feel queer. Everything seemed to be upset. +But he gave ma forty dollars--every cent he had--so I guess he really is +converted.” + +“I hope it will last, I’m sure,” said Felicity. She did not say it +nastily, however. We were all glad for Peter’s sake, though a little +dizzy over the unexpectedness of it all. + +“This is what I’D like to know,” said Peter. “How did Peg Bowen know my +father was coming home? Don’t you tell me she isn’t a witch after that.” + +“And she knew about your Aunt Olivia’s wedding, too,” added Sara Ray. + +“Oh, well, she likely heard that from some one. Grown up folks talk +things over long before they tell them to children,” said Cecily. + +“Well, she couldn’t have heard father was coming home from any one,” + answered Peter. “He was converted up in Maine, where nobody knew him, +and he never told a soul he was coming till he got here. No, you can +believe what you like, but I’m satisfied at last that Peg is a witch and +that skull of hers does tell her things. She told me father was coming +home and he come!” + +“How happy you must be,” sighed Sara Ray romantically. “It’s just like +that story in the Family Guide, where the missing earl comes home to his +family just as the Countess and Lady Violetta are going to be turned out +by the cruel heir.” + +Felicity sniffed. + +“There’s some difference, I guess. The earl had been imprisoned for +years in a loathsome dungeon.” + +Perhaps Peter’s father had too, if we but realized it--imprisoned in the +dungeon of his own evil appetites and habits, than which none could +be more loathsome. But a Power, mightier than the forces of evil, had +struck off his fetters and led him back to his long-forfeited liberty +and light. And no countess or lady of high degree could have welcomed a +long-lost earl home more joyfully than the tired little washerwoman had +welcomed the erring husband of her youth. + +But in Peter’s ointment of joy there was a fly or two. So very, very few +things are flawless in this world, even on the golden road. + +“Of course I’m awful glad that father has come back and that ma won’t +have to wash any more,” he said with a sigh, “but there are two things +that kind of worry me. My Aunt Jane always said that it didn’t do any +good to worry, and I s’pose it don’t, but it’s kind of a relief.” + +“What’s worrying you?” asked Felix. + +“Well, for one thing I’ll feel awful bad to go away from you all. I’ll +miss you just dreadful, and I won’t even be able to go to the same +school. I’ll have to go to Markdale school.” + +“But you must come and see us often,” said Felicity graciously. +“Markdale isn’t so far away, and you could spend every other Saturday +afternoon with us anyway.” + +Peter’s black eyes filled with adoring gratitude. + +“That’s so kind of you, Felicity. I’ll come as often as I can, of +course; but it won’t be the same as being around with you all the time. +The other thing is even worse. You see, it was a Methodist revival +father got converted in, and so of course he joined the Methodist +church. He wasn’t anything before. He used to say he was a Nothingarian +and lived up to it--kind of bragging like. But he’s a strong Methodist +now, and is going to go to Markdale Methodist church and pay to the +salary. Now what’ll he say when I tell him I’m a Presbyterian?” + +“You haven’t told him, yet?” asked the Story Girl. + +“No, I didn’t dare. I was scared he’d say I’d have to be a Methodist.” + +“Well, Methodists are pretty near as good as Presbyterians,” said +Felicity, with the air of one making a great concession. + +“I guess they’re every bit as good,” retorted Peter. “But that ain’t the +point. I’ve got to be a Presbyterian, ‘cause I stick to a thing when I +once decide it. But I expect father will be mad when he finds out.” + +“If he’s converted he oughtn’t to get mad,” said Dan. + +“Well, lots o’ people do. But if he isn’t mad he’ll be sorry, and +that’ll be even worse, for a Presbyterian I’m bound to be. But I expect +it will make things unpleasant.” + +“You needn’t tell him anything about it,” advised Felicity. “Just keep +quiet and go to the Methodist church until you get big, and then you can +go where you please.” + +“No, that wouldn’t be honest,” said Peter sturdily. “My Aunt Jane +always said it was best to be open and above board in everything, and +especially in religion. So I’ll tell father right out, but I’ll wait a +few weeks so as not to spoil things for ma too soon if he acts up.” + +Peter was not the only one who had secret cares. Sara Ray was beginning +to feel worried over her looks. I heard her and Cecily talking over +their troubles one evening while I was weeding the onion bed and they +were behind the hedge knitting lace. I did not mean to eavesdrop. +I supposed they knew I was there until Cecily overwhelmed me with +indignation later on. + +“I’m so afraid, Cecily, that I’m going to be homely all my life,” said +poor Sara with a tremble in her voice. “You can stand being ugly when +you are young if you have any hope of being better looking when you grow +up. But I’m getting worse. Aunt Mary says I’m going to be the very +image of Aunt Matilda. And Aunt Matilda is as homely as she can be. It +isn’t”--and poor Sara sighed--“a very cheerful prospect. If I am ugly +nobody will ever want to marry me, and,” concluded Sara candidly, “I +don’t want to be an old maid.” + +“But plenty of girls get married who aren’t a bit pretty,” comforted +Cecily. “Besides, you are real nice looking at times, Sara. I think you +are going to have a nice figure.” + +“But just look at my hands,” moaned Sara. “They’re simply covered with +warts.” + +“Oh, the warts will all disappear before you grow up,” said Cecily. + +“But they won’t disappear before the school concert. How am I to get +up there and recite? You know there is one line in my recitation, ‘She +waved her lily-white hand,’ and I have to wave mine when I say it. Fancy +waving a lily-white hand all covered with warts. I’ve tried every remedy +I ever heard of, but nothing does any good. Judy Pineau said if I rubbed +them with toad-spit it would take them away for sure. But how am I to +get any toad-spit?” + +“It doesn’t sound like a very nice remedy, anyhow,” shuddered Cecily. +“I’d rather have the warts. But do you know, I believe if you didn’t cry +so much over every little thing, you’d be ever so much better looking. +Crying spoils your eyes and makes the end of your nose red.” + +“I can’t help crying,” protested Sara. “My feelings are so very +sensitive. I’ve given up trying to keep THAT resolution.” + +“Well, men don’t like cry-babies,” said Cecily sagely. Cecily had a good +deal of Mother Eve’s wisdom tucked away in that smooth, brown head of +hers. + +“Cecily, do you ever intend to be married?” asked Sara in a confidential +tone. + +“Goodness!” cried Cecily, quite shocked. “It will be time enough when I +grow up to think of that, Sara.” + +“I should think you’d have to think of it now, with Cyrus Brisk as crazy +after you as he is.” + +“I wish Cyrus Brisk was at the bottom of the Red Sea,” exclaimed Cecily, +goaded into a spurt of temper by mention of the detested name. + +“What has Cyrus been doing now?” asked Felicity, coming around the +corner of the hedge. + +“Doing NOW! It’s ALL the time. He just worries me to death,” returned +Cecily angrily. “He keeps writing me letters and putting them in my desk +or in my reader. I never answer one of them, but he keeps on. And in the +last one, mind you, he said he’d do something desperate right off if I +wouldn’t promise to marry him when we grew up.” + +“Just think, Cecily, you’ve had a proposal already,” said Sara Ray in an +awe-struck tone. + +“But he hasn’t done anything desperate yet, and that was last week,” + commented Felicity, with a toss of her head. + +“He sent me a lock of his hair and wanted one of mine in exchange,” + continued Cecily indignantly. “I tell you I sent his back to him pretty +quick.” + +“Did you never answer any of his letters?” asked Sara Ray. + +“No, indeed! I guess not!” + +“Do you know,” said Felicity, “I believe if you wrote him just once and +told him your exact opinion of him in good plain English it would cure +him of his nonsense.” + +“I couldn’t do that. I haven’t enough spunk,” confessed Cecily with a +blush. “But I’ll tell you what I did do once. He wrote me a long letter +last week. It was just awfully SOFT, and every other word was spelled +wrong. He even spelled baking soda, ‘bacon soda!’” + +“What on earth had he to say about baking soda in a love-letter?” asked +Felicity. + +“Oh, he said his mother sent him to the store for some and he forgot it +because he was thinking about me. Well, I just took his letter and wrote +in all the words, spelled right, above the wrong ones, in red ink, just +as Mr. Perkins makes us do with our dictation exercises, and sent it +back to him. I thought maybe he’d feel insulted and stop writing to me.” + +“And did he?” + +“No, he didn’t. It is my opinion you can’t insult Cyrus Brisk. He is too +thick-skinned. He wrote another letter, and thanked me for correcting +his mistakes, and said it made him feel glad because it showed I was +beginning to take an interest in him when I wanted him to spell better. +Did you ever? Miss Marwood says it is wrong to hate anyone, but I don’t +care, I hate Cyrus Brisk.” + +“Mrs. Cyrus Brisk WOULD be an awful name,” giggled Felicity. + +“Flossie Brisk says Cyrus is ruining all the trees on his father’s place +cutting your name on them,” said Sara Ray. “His father told him he would +whip him if he didn’t stop, but Cyrus keeps right on. He told Flossie it +relieved his feelings. Flossie says he cut yours and his together on the +birch tree in front of the parlour window, and a row of hearts around +them.” + +“Just where every visitor can see them, I suppose,” lamented Cecily. “He +just worries my life out. And what I mind most of all is, he sits and +looks at me in school with such melancholy, reproachful eyes when he +ought to be working sums. I won’t look at him, but I FEEL him staring at +me, and it makes me so nervous.” + +“They say his mother was out of her mind at one time,” said Felicity. + +I do not think Felicity was quite well pleased that Cyrus should have +passed over her rose-red prettiness to set his affections on that demure +elf of a Cecily. She did not want the allegiance of Cyrus in the least, +but it was something of a slight that he had not wanted her to want it. + +“And he sends me pieces of poetry he cuts out of the papers,” Cecily +went on, “with lots of the lines marked with a lead pencil. Yesterday he +put one in his letter, and this is what he marked: + + + “‘If you will not relent to me + Then must I learn to know + Darkness alone till life be flown. + +Here--I have the piece in my sewing-bag--I’ll read it all to you.” + +Those three graceless girls read the sentimental rhyme and giggled over +it. Poor Cyrus! His young affections were sadly misplaced. But after +all, though Cecily never relented towards him, he did not condemn +himself to darkness alone till life was flown. Quite early in life he +wedded a stout, rosy, buxom lass, the very antithesis of his first love; +he prospered in his undertakings, raised a large and respectable family, +and was eventually appointed a Justice of the Peace. Which was all very +sensible of Cyrus. + + + + +CHAPTER XV. THE RAPE OF THE LOCK + + +June was crowded full of interest that year. We gathered in with +its sheaf of fragrant days the choicest harvest of childhood. Things +happened right along. Cecily declared she hated to go to sleep for fear +she might miss something. There were so many dear delights along the +golden road to give us pleasure--the earth dappled with new blossom, +the dance of shadows in the fields, the rustling, rain-wet ways of the +woods, the faint fragrance in meadow lanes, liltings of birds and croon +of bees in the old orchard, windy pipings on the hills, sunset behind +the pines, limpid dews filling primrose cups, crescent moons through +darklings boughs, soft nights alight with blinking stars. We enjoyed +all these boons, unthinkingly and light-heartedly, as children do. And +besides these, there was the absorbing little drama of human life +which was being enacted all around us, and in which each of us played +a satisfying part--the gay preparations for Aunt Olivia’s mid-June +wedding, the excitement of practising for the concert with which our +school-teacher, Mr. Perkins, had elected to close the school year, and +Cecily’s troubles with Cyrus Brisk, which furnished unholy mirth for the +rest of us, though Cecily could not see the funny side of it at all. + +Matters went from bad to worse in the case of the irrepressible Cyrus. +He continued to shower Cecily with notes, the spelling of which showed +no improvement; he worried the life out of her by constantly threatening +to fight Willy Fraser--although, as Felicity sarcastically pointed out, +he never did it. + +“But I’m always afraid he will,” said Cecily, “and it would be such a +DISGRACE to have two boys fighting over me in school.” + +“You must have encouraged Cyrus a little in the beginning or he’d never +have been so persevering,” said Felicity unjustly. + +“I never did!” cried outraged Cecily. “You know very well, Felicity +King, that I hated Cyrus Brisk ever since the very first time I saw his +big, fat, red face. So there!” + +“Felicity is just jealous because Cyrus didn’t take a notion to her +instead of you, Sis,” said Dan. + +“Talk sense!” snapped Felicity. + +“If I did you wouldn’t understand me, sweet little sister,” rejoined +aggravating Dan. + +Finally Cyrus crowned his iniquities by stealing the denied lock of +Cecily’s hair. One sunny afternoon in school, Cecily and Kitty Marr +asked and received permission to sit out on the side bench before +the open window, where the cool breeze swept in from the green fields +beyond. To sit on this bench was always considered a treat, and was only +allowed as a reward of merit; but Cecily and Kitty had another reason +for wishing to sit there. Kitty had read in a magazine that sun-baths +were good for the hair; so both she and Cecily tossed their long braids +over the window-sill and let them hang there in the broiling sun-shine. +And while Cecily sat thus, diligently working a fraction sum on her +slate, that base Cyrus asked permission to go out, having previously +borrowed a pair of scissors from one of the big girls who did fancy work +at the noon recess. Outside, Cyrus sneaked up close to the window and +cut off a piece of Cecily’s hair. + +This rape of the lock did not produce quite such terrible consequences +as the more famous one in Pope’s poem, but Cecily’s soul was no less +agitated than Belinda’s. She cried all the way home from school about +it, and only checked her tears when Dan declared he’d fight Cyrus and +make him give it up. + +“Oh, no, You mustn’t.” said Cecily, struggling with her sobs. “I won’t +have you fighting on my account for anything. And besides, he’d likely +lick you--he’s so big and rough. And the folks at home might find out +all about it, and Uncle Roger would never give me any peace, and mother +would be cross, for she’d never believe it wasn’t my fault. It wouldn’t +be so bad if he’d only taken a little, but he cut a great big chunk +right off the end of one of the braids. Just look at it. I’ll have to +cut the other to make them fair--and they’ll look so awful stubby.” + +But Cyrus’ acquirement of the chunk of hair was his last triumph. +His downfall was near; and, although it involved Cecily in a most +humiliating experience, over which she cried half the following night, +in the end she confessed it was worth undergoing just to get rid of +Cyrus. + +Mr. Perkins was an exceedingly strict disciplinarian. No communication +of any sort was permitted between his pupils during school hours. Anyone +caught violating this rule was promptly punished by the infliction of +one of the weird penances for which Mr. Perkins was famous, and which +were generally far worse than ordinary whipping. + +One day in school Cyrus sent a letter across to Cecily. Usually he left +his effusions in her desk, or between the leaves of her books; but this +time it was passed over to her under cover of the desk through the hands +of two or three scholars. Just as Em Frewen held it over the aisle Mr. +Perkins wheeled around from his station before the blackboard and caught +her in the act. + +“Bring that here, Emmeline,” he commanded. + +Cyrus turned quite pale. Em carried the note to Mr. Perkins. He took it, +held it up, and scrutinized the address. + +“Did you write this to Cecily, Emmeline?” he asked. + +“No, sir.” + +“Who wrote it then?” + +Em said quite shamelessly that she didn’t know--it had just been passed +over from the next row. + +“And I suppose you have no idea where it came from?” said Mr. Perkins, +with his frightful, sardonic grin. “Well, perhaps Cecily can tell us. +You may take your seat, Emmeline, and you will remain at the foot of +your spelling class for a week as punishment for passing the note. +Cecily, come here.” + +Indignant Em sat down and poor, innocent Cecily was haled forth to +public ignominy. She went with a crimson face. + +“Cecily,” said her tormentor, “do you know who wrote this letter to +you?” + +Cecily, like a certain renowned personage, could not tell a lie. + +“I--I think so, sir,” she murmured faintly. + +“Who was it?” + +“I can’t tell you that,” stammered Cecily, on the verge of tears. + +“Ah!” said Mr. Perkins politely. “Well, I suppose I could easily find +out by opening it. But it is very impolite to open other people’s +letters. I think I have a better plan. Since you refuse to tell me who +wrote it, open it yourself, take this chalk, and copy the contents on +the blackboard that we may all enjoy them. And sign the writer’s name at +the bottom.” + +“Oh,” gasped Cecily, choosing the lesser of two evils, “I’ll tell you +who wrote it--it was-- + +“Hush!” Mr. Perkins checked her with a gentle motion of his hand. He +was always most gentle when most inexorable. “You did not obey me when +I first ordered you to tell me the writer. You cannot have the privilege +of doing so now. Open the note, take the chalk, and do as I command +you.” + +Worms will turn, and even meek, mild, obedient little souls like Cecily +may be goaded to the point of wild, sheer rebellion. + +“I--I won’t!” she cried passionately. + +Mr. Perkins, martinet though he was, would hardly, I think, have +inflicted such a punishment on Cecily, who was a favourite of his, had +he known the real nature of that luckless missive. But, as he afterwards +admitted, he thought it was merely a note from some other girl, of such +trifling sort as school-girls are wont to write; and moreover, he had +already committed himself to the decree, which, like those of Mede and +Persian, must not alter. To let Cecily off, after her mad defiance, +would be to establish a revolutionary precedent. + +“So you really think you won’t?” he queried smilingly. “Well, on second +thoughts, you may take your choice. Either you will do as I have bidden +you, or you will sit for three days with”--Mr. Perkins’ eye skimmed over +the school-room to find a boy who was sitting alone--“with Cyrus Brisk.” + +This choice of Mr. Perkins, who knew nothing of the little drama of +emotions that went on under the routine of lessons and exercises in his +domain, was purely accidental, but we took it at the time as a stroke of +diabolical genius. It left Cecily no choice. She would have done almost +anything before she would have sat with Cyrus Brisk. With flashing +eyes she tore open the letter, snatched up the chalk, and dashed at the +blackboard. + +In a few minutes the contents of that letter graced the expanse usually +sacred to more prosaic compositions. I cannot reproduce it verbatim, for +I had no after opportunity of refreshing my memory. But I remember that +it was exceedingly sentimental and exceedingly ill-spelled--for Cecily +mercilessly copied down poor Cyrus’ mistakes. He wrote her that he wore +her hare over his hart--“and he stole it,” Cecily threw passionately +over her shoulder at Mr. Perkins--that her eyes were so sweet and lovely +that he couldn’t find words nice enuf to describ them, that he could +never forget how butiful she had looked in prar meeting the evening +before, and that some meels he couldn’t eat for thinking of her, with +more to the same effect and he signed it “yours till deth us do part, +Cyrus Brisk.” + +As the writing proceeded we scholars exploded into smothered laughter, +despite our awe of Mr. Perkins. Mr. Perkins himself could not keep a +straight face. He turned abruptly away and looked out of the window, +but we could see his shoulders shaking. When Cecily had finished and +had thrown down the chalk with bitter vehemence, he turned around with a +very red face. + +“That will do. You may sit down. Cyrus, since it seems you are the +guilty person, take the eraser and wipe that off the board. Then go +stand in the corner, facing the room, and hold your arms straight above +your head until I tell you to take them down.” + +Cyrus obeyed and Cecily fled to her seat and wept, nor did Mr. Perkins +meddle with her more that day. She bore her burden of humiliation +bitterly for several days, until she was suddenly comforted by a +realization that Cyrus had ceased to persecute her. He wrote no more +letters, he gazed no longer in rapt adoration, he brought no more votive +offerings of gum and pencils to her shrine. At first we thought he had +been cured by the unmerciful chaffing he had to undergo from his mates, +but eventually his sister told Cecily the true reason. Cyrus had at last +been driven to believe that Cecily’s aversion to him was real, and not +merely the defence of maiden coyness. If she hated him so intensely that +she would rather write that note on the blackboard than sit with him, +what use was it to sigh like a furnace longer for her? Mr. Perkins had +blighted love’s young dream for Cyrus with a killing frost. Thenceforth +sweet Cecily kept the noiseless tenor of her way unvexed by the +attentions of enamoured swains. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. AUNT UNA’S STORY + + +Felicity, and Cecily, Dan, Felix, Sara Ray and I were sitting one +evening on the mossy stones in Uncle Roger’s hill pasture, where we had +sat the morning the Story Girl told us the tale of the Wedding Veil of +the Proud Princess. But it was evening now and the valley beneath us was +brimmed up with the glow of the afterlight. Behind us, two tall, shapely +spruce trees rose up against the sunset, and through the dark oriel of +their sundered branches an evening star looked down. We sat on a little +strip of emerald grassland and before us was a sloping meadow all white +with daisies. + +We were waiting for Peter and the Story Girl. Peter had gone to Markdale +after dinner to spend the afternoon with his reunited parents because +it was his birthday. He had left us grimly determined to confess to his +father the dark secret of his Presbyterianism, and we were anxious to +know what the result had been. The Story Girl had gone that morning +with Miss Reade to visit the latter’s home near Charlottetown, and we +expected soon to see her coming gaily along over the fields from the +Armstrong place. + +Presently Peter came jauntily stepping along the field path up the hill. + +“Hasn’t Peter got tall?” said Cecily. + +“Peter is growing to be a very fine looking boy,” decreed Felicity. + +“I notice he’s got ever so much handsomer since his father came home,” + said Dan, with a killing sarcasm that was wholly lost on Felicity, who +gravely responded that she supposed it was because Peter felt so much +freer from care and responsibility. + +“What luck, Peter?” yelled Dan, as soon as Peter was within earshot. + +“Everything’s all right,” he shouted jubilantly. “I told father right +off, licketty-split, as soon as I got home,” he added when he reached +us. “I was anxious to have it over with. I says, solemn-like, ‘Dad, +there’s something I’ve got to tell you, and I don’t know how you’ll take +it, but it can’t be helped,’ I says. Dad looked pretty sober, and he +says, says he, ‘What have you been up to, Peter? Don’t be afraid to tell +me. I’ve been forgiven to seventy times seven, so surely I can forgive a +little, too?’ ‘Well,’ I says, desperate-like, ‘the truth is, father, I’m +a Presbyterian. I made up my mind last summer, the time of the Judgment +Day, that I’d be a Presbyterian, and I’ve got to stick to it. I’m sorry +I can’t be a Methodist, like you and mother and Aunt Jane, but I can’t +and that’s all there is to it,’ I says. Then I waited, scared-like. But +father, he just looked relieved and he says, says he, ‘Goodness, boy, +you can be a Presbyterian or anything else you like, so long as it’s +Protestant. I’m not caring,’ he says. ‘The main thing is that you must +be good and do what’s right.’ I tell you,” concluded Peter emphatically, +“father is a Christian all right.” + +“Well, I suppose your mind will be at rest now,” said Felicity. “What’s +that you have in your buttonhole?” + +“That’s a four-leaved clover,” answered Peter exultantly. “That means +good luck for the summer. I found it in Markdale. There ain’t much +clover in Carlisle this year of any kind of leaf. The crop is going to +be a failure. Your Uncle Roger says it’s because there ain’t enough +old maids in Carlisle. There’s lots of them in Markdale, and that’s the +reason, he says, why they always have such good clover crops there.” + +“What on earth have old maids to do with it?” cried Cecily. + +“I don’t believe they’ve a single thing to do with it, but Mr. Roger +says they have, and he says a man called Darwin proved it. This is the +rigmarole he got off to me the other day. The clover crop depends on +there being plenty of bumble-bees, because they are the only insects +with tongues long enough to--to--fer--fertilize--I think he called it +the blossoms. But mice eat bumble-bees and cats eat mice and old maids +keep cats. So your Uncle Roger says the more old maids the more cats, +and the more cats the fewer field-mice, and the fewer field-mice the +more bumble-bees, and the more bumble-bees the better clover crops.” + +“So don’t worry if you do get to be old maids, girls,” said Dan. +“Remember, you’ll be helping the clover crops.” + +“I never heard such stuff as you boys talk,” said Felicity, “and Uncle +Roger is no better.” + +“There comes the Story Girl,” cried Cecily eagerly. “Now we’ll hear all +about Beautiful Alice’s home.” + +The Story Girl was bombarded with eager questions as soon as she +arrived. Miss Reade’s home was a dream of a place, it appeared. The +house was just covered with ivy and there was a most delightful old +garden--“and,” added the Story Girl, with the joy of a connoisseur who +has found a rare gem, “the sweetest little story connected with it. And +I saw the hero of the story too.” + +“Where was the heroine?” queried Cecily. + +“She is dead.” + +“Oh, of course she’d have to die,” exclaimed Dan in disgust. “I’d like a +story where somebody lived once in awhile.” + +“I’ve told you heaps of stories where people lived,” retorted the Story +Girl. “If this heroine hadn’t died there wouldn’t have been any story. +She was Miss Reade’s aunt and her name was Una, and I believe she must +have been just like Miss Reade herself. Miss Reade told me all about +her. When we went into the garden I saw in one corner of it an old stone +bench arched over by a couple of pear trees and all grown about with +grass and violets. And an old man was sitting on it--a bent old man with +long, snow-white hair and beautiful sad blue eyes. He seemed very lonely +and sorrowful and I wondered that Miss Reade didn’t speak to him. But +she never let on she saw him and took me away to another part of the +garden. After awhile he got up and went away and then Miss Reade said, +‘Come over to Aunt Una’s seat and I will tell you about her and her +lover--that man who has just gone out.’ + +“‘Oh, isn’t he too old for a lover?’ I said. + +“Beautiful Alice laughed and said it was forty years since he had been +her Aunt Una’s lover. He had been a tall, handsome young man then, and +her Aunt Una was a beautiful girl of nineteen. + +“We went over and sat down and Miss Reade told me all about her. She +said that when she was a child she had heard much of her Aunt Una--that +she seemed to have been one of those people who are not soon forgotten, +whose personality seems to linger about the scenes of their lives long +after they have passed away.” + +“What is a personality? Is it another word for ghost?” asked Peter. + +“No,” said the Story Girl shortly. “I can’t stop in a story to explain +words.” + +“I don’t believe you know what it is yourself,” said Felicity. + +The Story Girl picked up her hat, which she had thrown down on the +grass, and placed it defiantly on her brown curls. + +“I’m going in,” she announced. “I have to help Aunt Olivia ice a cake +tonight, and you all seem more interested in dictionaries than stories.” + +“That’s not fair,” I exclaimed. “Dan and Felix and Sara Ray and Cecily +and I have never said a word. It’s mean to punish us for what Peter and +Felicity did. We want to hear the rest of the story. Never mind what a +personality is but go on--and, Peter, you young ass, keep still.” + +“I only wanted to know,” muttered Peter sulkily. + +“I DO know what personality is, but it’s hard to explain,” said the +Story Girl, relenting. “It’s what makes you different from Dan, Peter, +and me different from Felicity or Cecily. Miss Reade’s Aunt Una had a +personality that was very uncommon. And she was beautiful, too, with +white skin and night-black eyes and hair--a ‘moonlight beauty,’ Miss +Reade called it. She used to keep a kind of a diary, and Miss Reade’s +mother used to read parts of it to her. She wrote verses in it and they +were lovely; and she wrote descriptions of the old garden which she +loved very much. Miss Reade said that everything in the garden, plot +or shrub or tree, recalled to her mind some phrase or verse of her +Aunt Una’s, so that the whole place seemed full of her, and her memory +haunted the walks like a faint, sweet perfume. + +“Una had, as I’ve told you, a lover; and they were to have been married +on her twentieth birthday. Her wedding dress was to have been a gown of +white brocade with purple violets in it. But a little while before it +she took ill with fever and died; and she was buried on her birthday +instead of being married. It was just in the time of opening roses. Her +lover has been faithful to her ever since; he has never married, and +every June, on her birthday, he makes a pilgrimage to the old garden and +sits for a long time in silence on the bench where he used to woo her +on crimson eves and moonlight nights of long ago. Miss Reade says she +always loves to see him sitting there because it gives her such a deep +and lasting sense of the beauty and strength of love which can thus +outlive time and death. And sometimes, she says, it gives her a little +eerie feeling, too, as if her Aunt Una were really sitting there beside +him, keeping tryst, although she has been in her grave for forty years.” + +“It would be real romantic to die young and have your lover make a +pilgrimage to your garden every year,” reflected Sara Ray. + +“It would be more comfortable to go on living and get married to him,” + said Felicity. “Mother says all those sentimental ideas are bosh and I +expect they are. It’s a wonder Beautiful Alice hasn’t a beau herself. +She is so pretty and lady-like.” + +“The Carlisle fellows all say she is too stuck up,” said Dan. + +“There’s nobody in Carlisle half good enough for her,” cried the Story +Girl, “except--ex-cept--” + +“Except who?” asked Felix. + +“Never mind,” said the Story Girl mysteriously. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. AUNT OLIVIA’S WEDDING + + +What a delightful, old-fashioned, wholesome excitement there was about +Aunt Olivia’s wedding! The Monday and Tuesday preceding it we did not go +to school at all, but were all kept home to do chores and run errands. +The cooking and decorating and arranging that went on those two days +was amazing, and Felicity was so happy over it all that she did not even +quarrel with Dan--though she narrowly escaped it when he told her that +the Governor’s wife was coming to the wedding. + +“Mind you have some of her favourite rusks for her,” he said. + +“I guess,” said Felicity with dignity, “that Aunt Olivia’s wedding +supper will be good enough for even a Governor’s wife.” + +“I s’pose none of us except the Story Girl will get to the first table,” + said Felix, rather gloomily. + +“Never mind,” comforted Felicity. “There’s a whole turkey to be kept for +us, and a freezerful of ice cream. Cecily and I are going to wait on the +tables, and we’ll put away a little of everything that’s extra nice for +our suppers.” + +“I do so want to have my supper with you,” sighed Sara Ray, “but I +s’pose ma will drag me with her wherever she goes. She won’t trust me +out of her sight a minute the whole evening--I know she won’t.” + +“I’ll get Aunt Olivia to ask her to let you have your supper with us,” + said Cecily. “She can’t refuse the bride’s request.” + +“You don’t know all ma can do,” returned Sara darkly. “No, I feel that +I’ll have to eat my supper with her. But I suppose I ought to be very +thankful I’m to get to the wedding at all, and that ma did get me a +new white dress for it. Even yet I’m so scared something will happen to +prevent me from getting to it.” + +Monday evening shrouded itself in clouds, and all night long the voice +of the wind answered to the voice of the rain. Tuesday the downpour +continued. We were quite frantic about it. Suppose it kept on raining +over Wednesday! Aunt Olivia couldn’t be married in the orchard then. +That would be too bad, especially when the late apple tree had most +obligingly kept its store of blossom until after all the other trees had +faded and then burst lavishly into bloom for Aunt Olivia’s wedding. That +apple tree was always very late in blooming, and this year it was a week +later than usual. It was a sight to see--a great tree-pyramid with high, +far-spreading boughs, over which a wealth of rosy snow seemed to have +been flung. Never had bride a more magnificent canopy. + +To our rapture, however, it cleared up beautifully Tuesday evening, +and the sun, before setting in purple pomp, poured a flood of wonderful +radiance over the whole great, green, diamond-dripping world, promising +a fair morrow. Uncle Alec drove off to the station through it to bring +home the bridegroom and his best man. Dan was full of a wild idea that +we should all meet them at the gate, armed with cowbells and tin-pans, +and “charivari” them up the lane. Peter sided with him, but the rest of +us voted down the suggestion. + +“Do you want Dr. Seton to think we are a pack of wild Indians?” asked +Felicity severely. “A nice opinion he’d have of our manners!” + +“Well, it’s the only chance we’ll have to chivaree them,” grumbled Dan. +“Aunt Olivia wouldn’t mind. SHE can take a joke.” + +“Ma would kill you if you did such a thing,” warned Felicity. “Dr. Seton +lives in Halifax and they NEVER chivaree people there. He would think it +very vulgar.” + +“Then he should have stayed in Halifax and got married there,” retorted +Dan, sulkily. + +We were very curious to see our uncle-elect. When he came and Uncle +Alec took him into the parlour, we were all crowded into the dark corner +behind the stairs to peep at him. Then we fled to the moonlight world +outside and discussed him at the dairy. + +“He’s bald,” said Cecily disappointedly. + +“And RATHER short and stout,” said Felicity. + +“He’s forty, if he’s a day,” said Dan. + +“Never you mind,” cried the Story Girl loyally, “Aunt Olivia loves him +with all her heart.” + +“And more than that, he’s got lots of money,” added Felicity. + +“Well, he may be all right,” said Peter, “but it’s my opinion that your +Aunt Olivia could have done just as well on the Island.” + +“YOUR opinion doesn’t matter very much to our family,” said Felicity +crushingly. + +But when we made the acquaintance of Dr. Seton next morning we liked him +enormously, and voted him a jolly good fellow. Even Peter remarked aside +to me that he guessed Miss Olivia hadn’t made much of a mistake after +all, though it was plain he thought she was running a risk in not +sticking to the Island. The girls had not much time to discuss him with +us. They were all exceedingly busy and whisked about at such a rate +that they seemed to possess the power of being in half a dozen places +at once. The importance of Felicity was quite terrible. But after dinner +came a lull. + +“Thank goodness, everything is ready at last,” breathed Felicity +devoutly, as we foregathered for a brief space in the fir wood. “We’ve +nothing more to do now but get dressed. It’s really a serious thing to +have a wedding in the family.” + +“I have a note from Sara Ray,” said Cecily. “Judy Pineau brought it up +when she brought Mrs. Ray’s spoons. Just let me read it to you:-- + + + DEAREST CECILY:--A DREADFUL MISFORTUNE has happened to me. Last + night I went with Judy to water the cows and in the spruce bush we + found a WASPS’ NEST and Judy thought it was AN OLD ONE and she + POKED IT WITH A STICK. And it was a NEW ONE, full of wasps, and + they all flew out and STUNG US TERRIBLY, on the face and hands. + My face is all swelled up and I can HARDLY SEE out of one eye. + The SUFFERING was awful but I didn’t mind that as much as being + scared ma wouldn’t take me to the wedding. But she says I can go + and I’m going. I know that I am a HARD-LOOKING SIGHT, but it + isn’t anything catching. I am writing this so that you won’t get + a shock when you see me. Isn’t it SO STRANGE to think your dear + Aunt Olivia is going away? How you will miss her! But your loss + will be her gain. + + “‘Au revoir, + “‘Your loving chum, + SARA RAY.’” + + +“That poor child,” said the Story Girl. + +“Well, all I hope is that strangers won’t take her for one of the +family,” remarked Felicity in a disgusted tone. + +Aunt Olivia was married at five o’clock in the orchard under the late +apple tree. It was a pretty scene. The air was full of the perfume of +apple bloom, and the bees blundered foolishly and delightfully from one +blossom to another, half drunken with perfume. The old orchard was full +of smiling guests in wedding garments. Aunt Olivia was most beautiful +amid the frost of her bridal veil, and the Story Girl, in an unusually +long white dress, with her brown curls clubbed up behind, looked so tall +and grown-up that we hardly recognized her. After the ceremony--during +which Sara Ray cried all the time--there was a royal wedding supper, and +Sara Ray was permitted to eat her share of the feast with us. + +“I’m glad I was stung by the wasps after all,” she said delightedly. +“If I hadn’t been ma would never have let me eat with you. She just got +tired explaining to people what was the matter with my face, and so +she was glad to get rid of me. I know I look awful, but, oh, wasn’t the +bride a dream?” + +We missed the Story Girl, who, of course, had to have her supper at +the bridal table; but we were a hilarious little crew and the girls had +nobly kept their promise to save tid-bits for us. By the time the last +table was cleared away Aunt Olivia and our new uncle were ready to go. +There was an orgy of tears and leavetakings, and then they drove away +into the odorous moonlight night. Dan and Peter pursued them down the +lane with a fiendish din of bells and pans, much to Felicity’s wrath. +But Aunt Olivia and Uncle Robert took it in good part and waved their +hands back to us with peals of laughter. + +“They’re just that pleased with themselves that they wouldn’t mind if +there was an earthquake,” said Felix, grinning. + +“It’s been splendid and exciting, and everything went off well,” sighed +Cecily, “but, oh dear, it’s going to be so queer and lonesome without +Aunt Olivia. I just believe I’ll cry all night.” + +“You’re tired to death, that’s what’s the matter with you,” said Dan, +returning. “You girls have worked like slaves today.” + +“Tomorrow will be even harder,” said Felicity comfortingly. “Everything +will have to be cleaned up and put away.” + +Peg Bowen paid us a call the next day and was regaled with a feast of +fat things left over from the supper. + +“Well, I’ve had all I can eat,” she said, when she had finished and +brought out her pipe. “And that doesn’t happen to me every day. There +ain’t been as much marrying as there used to be, and half the time they +just sneak off to the minister, as if they were ashamed of it, and get +married without any wedding or supper. That ain’t the King way, though. +And so Olivia’s gone off at last. She weren’t in any hurry but they tell +me she’s done well. Time’ll show.” + +“Why don’t you get married yourself, Peg?” queried Uncle Roger +teasingly. We held our breath over his temerity. + +“Because I’m not so easy to please as your wife will be,” retorted Peg. + +She departed in high good humour over her repartee. Meeting Sara Ray +on the doorstep she stopped and asked her what was the matter with her +face. + +“Wasps,” stammered Sara Ray, laconic from terror. + +“Humph! And your hands?” + +“Warts.” + +“I’ll tell you what’ll take them away. You get a pertater and go out +under the full moon, cut the pertater in two, rub your warts with one +half and say, ‘One, two, three, warts, go away from me.’ Then rub +them with the other half and say, ‘One, two, three, four, warts, never +trouble me more.’ Then bury the pertater and never tell a living soul +where you buried it. You won’t have no more warts. Mind you bury the +pertater, though. If you don’t, and anyone picks it up, she’ll get your +warts.” + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. SARA RAY HELPS OUT + + +We all missed Aunt Olivia greatly; she had been so merry and +companionable, and had possessed such a knack of understanding small +fry. But youth quickly adapts itself to changed conditions; in a few +weeks it seemed as if the Story Girl had always been living at Uncle +Alec’s, and as if Uncle Roger had always had a fat, jolly housekeeper +with a double chin and little, twinkling blue eyes. I don’t think Aunt +Janet ever quite got over missing Aunt Olivia, or looked upon Mrs. +Hawkins as anything but a necessary evil; but life resumed its even +tenor on the King farm, broken only by the ripples of excitement over +the school concert and letters from Aunt Olivia describing her trip +through the land of Evangeline. We incorporated the letters in Our +Magazine under the heading “From Our Special Correspondent” and were +very proud of them. + +At the end of June our school concert came off and was a great event +in our young lives. It was the first appearance of most of us on any +platform, and some of us were very nervous. We all had recitations, +except Dan, who had refused flatly to take any part and was consequently +care-free. + +“I’m sure I shall die when I find myself up on that platform, facing +people,” sighed Sara Ray, as we talked the affair over in Uncle +Stephen’s Walk the night before the concert. + +“I’m afraid I’ll faint,” was Cecily’s more moderate foreboding. + +“I’m not one single bit nervous,” said Felicity complacently. + +“I’m not nervous this time,” said the Story Girl, “but the first time I +recited I was.” + +“My Aunt Jane,” remarked Peter, “used to say that an old teacher of hers +told her that when she was going to recite or speak in public she must +just get it firmly into her mind that it was only a lot of cabbage heads +she had before her, and she wouldn’t be nervous.” + +“One mightn’t be nervous, but I don’t think there would be much +inspiration in reciting to cabbage heads,” said the Story Girl +decidedly. “I want to recite to PEOPLE, and see them looking interested +and thrilled.” + +“If I can only get through my piece without breaking down I don’t care +whether I thrill people or not,” said Sara Ray. + +“I’m afraid I’ll forget mine and get stuck,” foreboded Felix. “Some of +you fellows be sure and prompt me if I do--and do it quick, so’s I won’t +get worse rattled.” + +“I know one thing,” said Cecily resolutely, “and that is, I’m going +to curl my hair for to-morrow night. I’ve never curled it since Peter +almost died, but I simply must tomorrow night, for all the other girls +are going to have theirs in curls.” + +“The dew and heat will take all the curl out of yours and then you’ll +look like a scarecrow,” warned Felicity. + +“No, I won’t. I’m going to put my hair up in paper tonight and wet it +with a curling-fluid that Judy Pineau uses. Sara brought me up a bottle +of it. Judy says it is great stuff--your hair will keep in curl for +days, no matter how damp the weather is. I’ll leave my hair in the +papers till tomorrow evening, and then I’ll have beautiful curls.” + +“You’d better leave your hair alone,” said Dan gruffly. “Smooth hair is +better than a lot of fly-away curls.” + +But Cecily was not to be persuaded. Curls she craved and curls she meant +to have. + +“I’m thankful my warts have all gone, any-way,” said Sara Ray. + +“So they have,” exclaimed Felicity. “Did you try Peg’s recipe?” + +“Yes. I didn’t believe in it but I tried it. For the first few days +afterwards I kept watching my warts, but they didn’t go away, and then +I gave up and forgot them. But one day last week I just happened to look +at my hands and there wasn’t a wart to be seen. It was the most amazing +thing.” + +“And yet you’ll say Peg Bowen isn’t a witch,” said Peter. + +“Pshaw, it was just the potato juice,” scoffed Dan. + +“It was a dry old potato I had, and there wasn’t much juice in it,” + said Sara Ray. “One hardly knows what to believe. But one thing is +certain--my warts are gone.” + +Cecily put her hair up in curl-papers that night, thoroughly soaked in +Judy Pineau’s curling-fluid. It was a nasty job, for the fluid was very +sticky, but Cecily persevered and got it done. Then she went to bed with +a towel tied over her head to protect the pillow. She did not sleep +well and had uncanny dreams, but she came down to breakfast with an +expression of triumph. The Story Girl examined her head critically and +said, + +“Cecily, if I were you I’d take those papers out this morning.” + +“Oh, no; if I do my hair will be straight again by night. I mean to +leave them in till the last minute.” + +“I wouldn’t do that--I really wouldn’t,” persisted the Story Girl. “If +you do your hair will be too curly and all bushy and fuzzy.” + +Cecily finally yielded and went upstairs with the Story Girl. Presently +we heard a little shriek--then two little shrieks--then three. Then +Felicity came flying down and called her mother. Aunt Janet went up and +presently came down again with a grim mouth. She filled a large pan with +warm water and carried it upstairs. We dared ask her no questions, but +when Felicity came down to wash the dishes we bombarded her. + +“What on earth is the matter with Cecily?” demanded Dan. “Is she sick?” + +“No, she isn’t. I warned her not to put her hair in curls but she +wouldn’t listen to me. I guess she wishes she had now. When people +haven’t natural curly hair they shouldn’t try to make it curly. They get +punished if they do.” + +“Look here, Felicity, never mind all that. Just tell us what has +happened Sis.” + +“Well, this is what has happened her. That ninny of a Sara Ray brought +up a bottle of mucilage instead of Judy’s curling-fluid, and Cecily put +her hair up with THAT. It’s in an awful state.” + +“Good gracious!” exclaimed Dan. “Look here, will she ever get it out?” + +“Goodness knows. She’s got her head in soak now. Her hair is just matted +together hard as a board. That’s what comes of vanity,” said Felicity, +than whom no vainer girl existed. + +Poor Cecily paid dearly enough for HER vanity. She spent a bad forenoon, +made no easier by her mother’s severe rebukes. For an hour she “soaked” + her head; that is, she stood over a panful of warm water and kept +dipping her head in with tightly shut eyes. Finally her hair softened +sufficiently to be disentangled from the curl papers; and then Aunt +Janet subjected it to a merciless shampoo. Eventually they got all the +mucilage washed out of it and Cecily spent the remainder of the forenoon +sitting before the open oven door in the hot kitchen drying her ill-used +tresses. She felt very down-hearted; her hair was of that order which, +glossy and smooth normally, is dry and harsh and lustreless for several +days after being shampooed. + +“I’ll look like a fright tonight,” said the poor child to me with +trembling voice. “The ends will be sticking out all over my head.” + +“Sara Ray is a perfect idiot,” I said wrathfully + +“Oh, don’t be hard on poor Sara. She didn’t mean to bring me mucilage. +It’s really all my own fault, I know. I made a solemn vow when Peter was +dying that I would never curl my hair again, and I should have kept it. +It isn’t right to break solemn vows. But my hair will look like dried +hay tonight.” + +Poor Sara Ray was quite overwhelmed when she came up and found what +she had done. Felicity was very hard on her, and Aunt Janet was coldly +disapproving, but sweet Cecily forgave her unreservedly, and they walked +to the school that night with their arms about each other’s waists as +usual. + +The school-room was crowded with friends and neighbours. Mr. Perkins was +flying about, getting things into readiness, and Miss Reade, who was +the organist of the evening, was sitting on the platform, looking her +sweetest and prettiest. She wore a delightful white lace hat with a +fetching little wreath of tiny forget-me-nots around the brim, a white +muslin dress with sprays of blue violets scattered over it, and a black +lace scarf. + +“Doesn’t she look angelic?” said Cecily rapturously. + +“Mind you,” said Sara Ray, “the Awkward Man is here--in the corner +behind the door. I never remember seeing him at a concert before.” + +“I suppose he came to hear the Story Girl recite,” said Felicity. “He is +such a friend of hers.” + +The concert went off very well. Dialogues, choruses and recitations +followed each other in rapid succession. Felix got through his without +“getting stuck,” and Peter did excellently, though he stuffed his hands +in his trousers pockets--a habit of which Mr. Perkins had vainly tried +to break him. Peter’s recitation was one greatly in vogue at that time, +beginning, + + + “My name is Norval; on the Grampian hills + My father feeds his flocks.” + + +At our first practice Peter had started gaily in, rushing through the +first line with no thought whatever of punctuation--“My name is Norval +on the Grampian Hills.” + +“Stop, stop, Peter,” quoth Mr. Perkins, sarcastically, “your name might +be Norval if you were never on the Grampian Hills. There’s a semi-colon +in that line, I wish you to remember.” + +Peter did remember it. Cecily neither fainted nor failed when it came +her turn. She recited her little piece very well, though somewhat +mechanically. I think she really did much better than if she had had her +desired curls. The miserable conviction that her hair, alone among +that glossy-tressed bevy, was looking badly, quite blotted out all +nervousness and self-consciousness from her mind. Her hair apart, she +looked very pretty. The prevailing excitement had made bright her eye +and flushed her cheeks rosily--too rosily, perhaps. I heard a Carlisle +woman behind me whisper that Cecily King looked consumptive, just like +her Aunt Felicity; and I hated her fiercely for it. + +Sara Ray also managed to get through respectably, although she was +pitiably nervous. Her bow was naught but a short nod--“as if her head +worked on wires,” whispered Felicity uncharitably--and the wave of her +lily-white hand more nearly resembled an agonized jerk than a wave. We +all felt relieved when she finished. She was, in a sense, one of “our +crowd,” and we had been afraid she would disgrace us by breaking down. + +Felicity followed her and recited her selection without haste, without +rest, and absolutely without any expression whatever. But what mattered +it how she recited? To look at her was sufficient. What with her +splendid fleece of golden curls, her great, brilliant blue eyes, her +exquisitely tinted face, her dimpled hands and arms, every member of the +audience must have felt it was worth the ten cents he had paid merely to +see her. + +The Story Girl followed. An expectant silence fell over the room, and +Mr. Perkins’ face lost the look of tense anxiety it had worn all the +evening. Here was a performer who could be depended on. No need to +fear stage fright or forgetfulness on her part. The Story Girl was not +looking her best that night. White never became her, and her face +was pale, though her eyes were splendid. But nobody thought about her +appearance when the power and magic of her voice caught and held her +listeners spellbound. + +Her recitation was an old one, figuring in one of the School Readers, +and we scholars all knew it off by heart. Sara Ray alone had not heard +the Story Girl recite it. The latter had not been drilled at practices +as had the other pupils, Mr. Perkins choosing not to waste time teaching +her what she already knew far better than he did. The only time she had +recited it had been at the “dress rehearsal” two nights before, at which +Sara Ray had not been present. + +In the poem a Florentine lady of old time, wedded to a cold and cruel +husband, had died, or was supposed to have died, and had been carried to +“the rich, the beautiful, the dreadful tomb” of her proud family. In +the night she wakened from her trance and made her escape. Chilled and +terrified, she had made her way to her husband’s door, only to be driven +away brutally as a restless ghost by the horror-stricken inmates. A +similar reception awaited her at her father’s. Then she had wandered +blindly through the streets of Florence until she had fallen exhausted +at the door of the lover of her girlhood. He, unafraid, had taken her +in and cared for her. On the morrow, the husband and father, having +discovered the empty tomb, came to claim her. She refused to return to +them and the case was carried to the court of law. The verdict given was +that a woman who had been “to burial borne” and left for dead, who had +been driven from her husband’s door and from her childhood home, “must +be adjudged as dead in law and fact,” was no more daughter or wife, but +was set free to form what new ties she would. The climax of the whole +selection came in the line, + +“The court pronounces the defendant--DEAD!” and the Story Girl was wont +to render it with such dramatic intensity and power that the veriest +dullard among her listeners could not have missed its force and +significance. + +She swept along through the poem royally, playing on the emotions of her +audience as she had so often played on ours in the old orchard. Pity, +terror, indignation, suspense, possessed her hearers in turn. In +the court scene she surpassed herself. She was, in very truth, the +Florentine judge, stern, stately, impassive. Her voice dropped into the +solemnity of the all-important line, + +“‘The court pronounces the defendant--’” + +She paused for a breathless moment, the better to bring out the tragic +import of the last word. + +“DEAD,” piped up Sara Ray in her shrill, plaintive little voice. + +The effect, to use a hackneyed but convenient phrase, can better be +imagined than described. Instead of the sigh of relieved tension that +should have swept over the audience at the conclusion of the line, +a burst of laughter greeted it. The Story Girl’s performance was +completely spoiled. She dealt the luckless Sara a glance that would have +slain her on the spot could glances kill, stumbled lamely and impotently +through the few remaining lines of her recitation, and fled with crimson +cheeks to hide her mortification in the little corner that had been +curtained off for a dressing-room. Mr. Perkins looked things not lawful +to be uttered, and the audience tittered at intervals for the rest of +the performance. + +Sara Ray alone remained serenely satisfied until the close of the +concert, when we surrounded her with a whirlwind of reproaches. + +“Why,” she stammered aghast, “what did I do? I--I thought she was stuck +and that I ought to prompt her quick.” + +“You little fool, she just paused for effect,” cried Felicity angrily. +Felicity might be rather jealous of the Story Girl’s gift, but she +was furious at beholding “one of our family” made ridiculous in such a +fashion. “You have less sense than anyone I ever heard of, Sara Ray.” + +Poor Sara dissolved in tears. + +“I didn’t know. I thought she was stuck,” she wailed again. + +She cried all the way home, but we did not try to comfort her. We felt +quite out of patience with her. Even Cecily was seriously annoyed. This +second blunder of Sara’s was too much even for her loyalty. We saw her +turn in at her own gate and go sobbing up her lane with no relenting. + +The Story Girl was home before us, having fled from the schoolhouse as +soon as the programme was over. We tried to sympathize with her but she +would not be sympathized with. + +“Please don’t ever mention it to me again,” she said, with compressed +lips. “I never want to be reminded of it. Oh, that little IDIOT!” + +“She spoiled Peter’s sermon last summer and now she’s spoiled your +recitation,” said Felicity. “I think it’s time we gave up associating +with Sara Ray.” + +“Oh, don’t be quite so hard on her,” pleaded Cecily. “Think of the life +the poor child has to live at home. I know she’ll cry all night.” + +“Oh, let’s go to bed,” growled Dan. “I’m good and ready for it. I’ve had +enough of school concerts.” + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. BY WAY OF THE STARS + + +But for two of us the adventures of the night were not yet over. Silence +settled down over the old house--the eerie, whisperful, creeping silence +of night. Felix and Dan were already sound asleep; I was drifting near +the coast o’ dreams when I was aroused by a light tap on the door. + +“Bev, are you asleep?” came in the Story Girl’s whisper. + +“No, what is it?” + +“S-s-h. Get up and dress and come out. I want you.” + +With a good deal of curiosity and some misgiving I obeyed. What was in +the wind now? Outside in the hall I found the Story Girl, with a candle +in her hand, and her hat and jacket. + +“Where are you going?” I whispered in amazement. + +“Hush. I’ve got to go to the school and you must come with me. I left my +coral necklace there. The clasp came loose and I was so afraid I’d lose +it that I took it off and put it in the bookcase. I was feeling so upset +when the concert was over that I forgot all about it.” + +The coral necklace was a very handsome one which had belonged to the +Story Girl’s mother. She had never been permitted to wear it before, and +it had only been by dint of much coaxing that she had induced Aunt Janet +to let her wear it to the concert. + +“But there’s no sense in going for it in the dead of night,” I objected. +“It will be quite safe. You can go for it in the morning.” + +“Lizzie Paxton and her daughter are going to clean the school tomorrow, +and I heard Lizzie say tonight she meant to be at it by five o’clock to +get through before the heat of the day. You know perfectly well what +Liz Paxton’s reputation is. If she finds that necklace I’ll never see it +again. Besides, if I wait till the morning, Aunt Janet may find out that +I left it there and she’d never let me wear it again. No, I’m going for +it now. If you’re afraid,” added the Story Girl with delicate scorn, “of +course you needn’t come.” + +Afraid! I’d show her! + +“Come on,” I said. + +We slipped out of the house noiselessly and found ourselves in the +unutterable solemnity and strangeness of a dark night. It was a new +experience, and our hearts thrilled and our nerves tingled to the charm +of it. Never had we been abroad before at such an hour. The world around +us was not the world of daylight. ‘Twas an alien place, full of weird, +evasive enchantment and magicry. + +Only in the country can one become truly acquainted with the night. +There it has the solemn calm of the infinite. The dim wide fields lie in +silence, wrapped in the holy mystery of darkness. A wind, loosened from +wild places far away, steals out to blow over dewy, star-lit, immemorial +hills. The air in the pastures is sweet with the hush of dreams, and one +may rest here like a child on its mother’s breast. + +“Isn’t it wonderful?” breathed the Story Girl as we went down the long +hill. “Do you know, I can forgive Sara Ray now. I thought tonight I +never could--but now it doesn’t matter any more. I can even see how +funny it was. Oh, wasn’t it funny? ‘DEAD’ in that squeaky little voice +of Sara’s! I’ll just behave to her tomorrow as if nothing had happened. +It seems so long ago now, here in the night.” + +Neither of us ever forgot the subtle delight of that stolen walk. A +spell of glamour was over us. The breezes whispered strange secrets of +elf-haunted glens, and the hollows where the ferns grew were brimmed +with mystery and romance. Ghostlike scents crept out of the meadows +to meet us, and the fir wood before we came to the church was a living +sweetness of Junebells growing in abundance. + +Junebells have another and more scientific name, of course. But who +could desire a better name than Junebells? They are so perfect in their +way that they seem to epitomize the very scent and charm of the forest, +as if the old wood’s daintiest thoughts had materialized in blossom; +and not all the roses by Bendameer’s stream are as fragrant as a shallow +sheet of Junebells under the boughs of fir. + +There were fireflies abroad that night, too, increasing the gramarye of +it. There is certainly something a little supernatural about fireflies. +Nobody pretends to understand them. They are akin to the tribes of +fairy, survivals of the elder time when the woods and hills swarmed with +the little green folk. It is still very easy to believe in fairies when +you see those goblin lanterns glimmering among the fir tassels. + +“Isn’t it beautiful?” said the Story Girl in rapture. “I wouldn’t have +missed it for anything. I’m glad I left my necklace. And I am glad you +are with me, Bev. The others wouldn’t understand so well. I like you +because I don’t have to talk to you all the time. It’s so nice to walk +with someone you don’t have to talk to. Here is the graveyard. Are you +frightened to pass it, Bev?” + +“No, I don’t think I’m frightened,” I answered slowly, “but I have a +queer feeling.” + +“So have I. But it isn’t fear. I don’t know what it is. I feel as if +something was reaching out of the graveyard to hold me--something that +wanted life--I don’t like it--let’s hurry. But isn’t it strange to think +of all the dead people in there who were once alive like you and me. I +don’t feel as if I could EVER die. Do you?” + +“No, but everybody must. Of course we go on living afterwards, just the +same. Don’t let’s talk of such things here,” I said hurriedly. + +When we reached the school I contrived to open a window. We scrambled +in, lighted a lamp and found the missing necklace. The Story Girl stood +on the platform and gave an imitation of the catastrophe of the evening +that made me shout with laughter. We prowled around for sheer delight +over being there at an unearthly hour when everybody supposed we were +sound asleep in our beds. It was with regret that we left, and we walked +home as slowly as we could to prolong the adventure. + +“Let’s never tell anyone,” said the Story Girl, as we reached home. +“Let’s just have it as a secret between us for ever and ever--something +that nobody else knows a thing about but you and me.” + +“We’d better keep it a secret from Aunt Janet anyhow,” I whispered, +laughing. “She’d think we were both crazy.” + +“It’s real jolly to be crazy once in a while,” said the Story Girl. + + + + +CHAPTER XX. EXTRACTS FROM “OUR MAGAZINE” + + +EDITORIAL + +As will be seen there is no Honour Roll in this number. Even Felicity +has thought all the beautiful thoughts that can be thought and +cannot think any more. Peter has never got drunk but, under existing +circumstances, that is not greatly to his credit. As for our written +resolutions they have silently disappeared from our chamber walls and +the place that once knew them knows them no more for ever. (PETER, +PERPLEXEDLY: “Seems to me I’ve heard something like that before.”) It is +very sad but we will all make some new resolutions next year and maybe +it will be easier to keep those. + + +THE STORY OF THE LOCKET THAT WAS BAKED + +This was a story my Aunt Jane told me about her granma when she was a +little girl. Its funny to think of baking a locket, but it wasn’t to +eat. She was my great granma but Ill call her granma for short. It +happened when she was ten years old. Of course she wasent anybodys +granma then. Her father and mother and her were living in a new +settlement called Brinsley. Their nearest naybor was a mile away. One +day her Aunt Hannah from Charlottetown came and wanted her ma to go +visiting with her. At first granma’s ma thought she couldent go because +it was baking day and granma’s pa was away. But granma wasent afraid to +stay alone and she knew how to bake the bread so she made her ma go +and her Aunt Hannah took off the handsome gold locket and chain she was +waring round her neck and hung it on granmas and told her she could ware +it all day. Granma was awful pleased for she had never had any jewelry. +She did all the chores and then was needing the loaves when she looked +up and saw a tramp coming in and he was an awful villenus looking tramp. +He dident even pass the time of day but just set down on a chair. Poor +granma was awful fritened and she turned her back on him and went on +needing the loaf cold and trembling--that is, granma was trembling not +the loaf. She was worried about the locket. She didn’t know how she +could hide it for to get anywhere she would have to turn round and pass +him. + +All of a suddent she thought she would hide it in the bread. She put her +hand up and pulled it hard and quick and broke the fastening and needed +it right into the loaf. Then she put the loaf in the pan and set it in +the oven. + +The tramp hadent seen her do it and then he asked for something to eat. +Granma got him up a meal and when hed et it he began prowling about the +kitchen looking into everything and opening the cubbord doors. Then he +went into granma’s mas room and turned the buro drawers and trunk inside +out and threw the things in them all about. All he found was a purse +with a dollar in it and he swore about it and took it and went away. +When granma was sure he was really gone she broke down and cried. She +forgot all about the bread and it burned as black as coal. When she +smelled it burning granma run and pulled it out. She was awful scared +the locket was spoiled but she sawed open the loaf and it was there safe +and sound. When her Aunt Hannah came back she said granma deserved the +locket because she had saved it so clever and she gave it to her and +grandma always wore it and was very proud of it. And granma used to say +that was the only loaf of bread she ever spoiled in her life. + + PETER CRAIG. + + +(FELICITY: “Those stories are all very well but they are only true +stories. It’s easy enough to write true stories. I thought Peter was +appointed fiction editor, but he has never written any fiction since the +paper started. That’s not MY idea of a fiction editor. He ought to make +up stories out of his own head.” PETER, SPUNKILY: “I can do it, too, +and I will next time. And it ain’t easier to write true stories. It’s +harder, ‘cause you have to stick to facts.” FELICITY: “I don’t believe +you could make up a story.” PETER: “I’ll show you!”) + + +MY MOST EXCITING ADVENTURE + +It’s my turn to write it but I’m SO NERVOUS. My worst adventure happened +TWO YEARS AGO. It was an awful one. I had a striped ribbon, striped +brown and yellow and I LOST IT. I was very sorry for it was a handsome +ribbon and all the girls in school were jealous of it. (FELICITY: “I +wasn’t. I didn’t think it one bit pretty.” CECILY: “Hush!”) I hunted +everywhere but I couldn’t find it. Next day was Sunday and I was running +into the house by the front door and I saw SOMETHING LYING ON THE STEP +and I thought it was my ribbon and I made a grab at it as I passed. But, +oh, it was A SNAKE! Oh, I can never describe how I felt when I felt that +awful thing WRIGGLING IN MY HAND. I let it go and SCREAMED AND SCREAMED, +and ma was cross at me for yelling on Sunday and made me read seven +chapters in the Bible but I didn’t mind that much after what I had come +through. I would rather DIE than have SUCH AN EXPERIENCE again. + + SARA RAY. + + + TO FELICITY ON HER BERTHDAY + + Oh maiden fair with golden hair + And brow of purest white, + Id fight for you I’d die for you + Let me be your faithful knite. + + This is your berthday blessed day + You are thirteen years old today + May you be happy and fair as you are now + Until your hair is gray. + + I gaze into your shining eyes, + They are so blue and bright. + Id fight for you Id die for you + Let me be your faithful knite. + + A FRIEND. + + +(DAN: “Great snakes, who got that up? I’ll bet it was Peter.” FELICITY, +WITH DIGNITY: “Well, it’s more than YOU could do. YOU couldn’t write +poetry to save your life.” PETER, ASIDE TO BEVERLEY: “She seems quite +pleased. I’m glad I wrote it, but it was awful hard work.”) + + +PERSONALS + +Patrick Grayfur, Esq., caused his friends great anxiety recently by a +prolonged absence from home. When found he was very thin but is now as +fat and conceited as ever. + +On Wednesday, June 20th, Miss Olivia King was united in the bonds of +holy matrimony to Dr. Robert Seton of Halifax. Miss Sara Stanley was +bridesmaid, and Mr. Andrew Seton attended the groom. The young couple +received many handsome presents. Rev. Mr. Marwood tied the nuptial knot. +After the ceremony a substantial repast was served in Mrs. Alex King’s +well-known style and the happy couple left for their new home in +Nova Scotia. Their many friends join in wishing them a very happy and +prosperous journey through life. + + + A precious one from us is gone, + A voice we loved is stilled. + A place is vacant in our home + That never can be filled. + + +(THE STORY GIRL: “Goodness, that sounds as if somebody had died. I’ve +seen that verse on a tombstone. WHO wrote that notice?” FELICITY, +WHO WROTE IT: “I think it is just as appropriate to a wedding as to a +funeral!”) + +Our school concert came off on the evening of June 29th and was a great +success. We made ten dollars for the library. + +We regret to chronicle that Miss Sara Ray met with a misfortune while +taking some violent exercise with a wasps’ nest recently. The moral is +that it is better not to monkey with a wasps’ nest, new or old. + +Mrs. C. B. Hawkins of Baywater is keeping house for Uncle Roger. She +is a very large woman. Uncle Roger says he has to spend too much time +walking round her, but otherwise she is an excellent housekeeper. + +It is reported that the school is haunted. A mysterious light was seen +there at two o’clock one night recently. + +(THE STORY GIRL AND I EXCHANGE KNOWING SMILES BEHIND THE OTHERS’ BACKS.) + +Dan and Felicity had a fight last Tuesday--not with fists but with +tongues. Dan came off best--as usual. (FELICITY LAUGHS SARCASTICALLY.) + +Mr. Newton Craig of Markdale returned home recently after a somewhat +prolonged visit in foreign parts. We are glad to welcome Mr. Craig back +to our midst. + +Billy Robinson was hurt last week. A cow kicked him. I suppose it is +wicked of us to feel glad but we all do feel glad because of the way he +cheated us with the magic seed last summer. + +On April 1st Uncle Roger sent Mr. Peter Craig to the manse to borrow +the biography of Adam’s grandfather. Mr. Marwood told Peter he didn’t +think Adam had any grandfather and advised him to go home and look at +the almanac. (PETER, SOURLY: “Your Uncle Roger thought he was pretty +smart.” FELICITY, SEVERELY: “Uncle Roger IS smart. It was so easy to +fool you.”) + +A pair of blue birds have built a nest in a hole in the sides of the +well, just under the ferns. We can see the eggs when we look down. They +are so cunning. + +Felix sat down on a tack one day in May. Felix thinks house-cleaning is +great foolishness. + + +ADS. + +LOST--STOLEN--OR STRAYED--A HEART. Finder will be rewarded by returning +same to Cyrus E. Brisk, Desk 7, Carlisle School. + +LOST OR STOLEN. A piece of brown hair about three inches long and one +inch thick. Finder will kindly return to Miss Cecily King, Desk 15, +Carlisle School. + +(CECILY: “Cyrus keeps my hair in his Bible for a bookmark, so Flossie +tells me. He says he means to keep it always for a remembrance though +he has given up hope.” DAN: “I’ll steal it out of his Bible in Sunday +School.” CECILY, BLUSHING: “Oh, let him keep it if it is any comfort to +him. Besides, it isn’t right to steal.” DAN: “He stole it.” CECILY: “But +Mr. Marwood says two wrongs never make a right.”) + + +HOUSEHOLD DEPARTMENT + +Aunt Olivia’s wedding cake was said to be the best one of its kind ever +tasted in Carlisle. Me and mother made it. + +ANXIOUS INQUIRER:--It is not advisable to curl your hair with mucilage +if you can get anything else. Quince juice is better. (CECILY, BITTERLY: +“I suppose I’ll never hear the last of that mucilage.” DAN: “Ask her who +used tooth-powder to raise biscuits?”) + +We had rhubarb pies for the first time this spring last week. They were +fine but hard on the cream. + + FELICITY KING. + + +ETIQUETTE DEPARTMENT + +PATIENT SUFFERER:--What will I do when a young man steals a lock of my +hair? Ans.:--Grow some more. + +No, F-l-x, a little caterpillar is not called a kittenpillar. (FELIX, +ENRAGED: “I never asked that! Dan just makes that etiquette column +up from beginning to end!” FELICITY: “I don’t see what that kind of a +question has to do with etiquette anyhow.”) + +Yes, P-t-r, it is quite proper to treat a lady friend to ice cream twice +if you can afford it. + +No, F-l-c-t-y, it is not ladylike to chew tobacco. Better stick to +spruce gum. + + DAN KING. + + +FASHION NOTES + +Frilled muslin aprons will be much worn this summer. It is no longer +fashionable to trim them with knitted lace. One pocket is considered +smart. + +Clam-shells are fashionable keepsakes. You write your name and the date +inside one and your friend writes hers in the other and you exchange. + + CECILY KING. + + +FUNNY PARAGRAPHS + +MR. PERKINS:--“Peter, name the large islands of the world.” + +PETER:--“The Island, the British Isles and Australia.” (PETER, +DEFIANTLY: “Well, Mr. Perkins said he guessed I was right, so you +needn’t laugh.”) + +This is a true joke and really happened. It’s about Mr. Samuel Clask +again. He was once leading a prayer meeting and he looked through the +window and saw the constable driving up and guessed he was after him +because he was always in debt. So in a great hurry he called on Brother +Casey to lead in prayer and while Brother Casey was praying with his +eyes shut and everybody else had their heads bowed Mr. Clask got out of +the window and got away before the constable got in because he didn’t +like to come in till the prayer was finished. + +Uncle Roger says it was a smart trick on Mr. Clask’s part, but I don’t +think there was much religion about it. + + FELIX KING. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. PEG BOWEN COMES TO CHURCH + + +When those of us who are still left of that band of children who played +long years ago in the old orchard and walked the golden road together +in joyous companionship, foregather now and again in our busy lives and +talk over the events of those many merry moons--there are some of our +adventures that gleam out more vividly in memory than the others, and +are oftener discussed. The time we bought God’s picture from Jerry +Cowan--the time Dan ate the poison berries--the time we heard the +ghostly bell ring--the bewitchment of Paddy--the visit of the Governor’s +wife--and the night we were lost in the storm--all awaken reminiscent +jest and laughter; but none more than the recollection of the Sunday +Peg Bowen came to church and sat in our pew. Though goodness knows, as +Felicity would say, we did not think it any matter for laughter at the +time--far from it. + +It was one Sunday evening in July. Uncle Alec and Aunt Janet, having +been out to the morning service, did not attend in the evening, and we +small fry walked together down the long hill road, wearing Sunday attire +and trying, more or less successfully, to wear Sunday faces also. Those +walks to church, through the golden completeness of the summer evenings, +were always very pleasant to us, and we never hurried, though, on the +other hand, we were very careful not to be late. + +This particular evening was particularly beautiful. It was cool after a +hot day, and wheat fields all about us were ripening to their harvestry. +The wind gossiped with the grasses along our way, and over them the +buttercups danced, goldenly-glad. Waves of sinuous shadow went over the +ripe hayfields, and plundering bees sang a freebooting lilt in wayside +gardens. + +“The world is so lovely tonight,” said the Story Girl. “I just hate the +thought of going into the church and shutting all the sunlight and music +outside. I wish we could have the service outside in summer.” + +“I don’t think that would be very religious,” said Felicity. + +“I’d feel ever so much more religious outside than in,” retorted the +Story Girl. + +“If the service was outside we’d have to sit in the graveyard and that +wouldn’t be very cheerful,” said Felix. + +“Besides, the music isn’t shut out,” added Felicity. “The choir is +inside.” + +“‘Music has charms to soothe a savage breast,’” quoted Peter, who was +getting into the habit of adorning his conversation with similar gems. +“That’s in one of Shakespeare’s plays. I’m reading them now, since I got +through with the Bible. They’re great.” + +“I don’t see when you get time to read them,” said Felicity. + +“Oh, I read them Sunday afternoons when I’m home.” + +“I don’t believe they’re fit to read on Sundays,” exclaimed Felicity. +“Mother says Valeria Montague’s stories ain’t.” + +“But Shakespeare’s different from Valeria,” protested Peter. + +“I don’t see in what way. He wrote a lot of things that weren’t true, +just like Valeria, and he wrote swear words too. Valeria never does +that. Her characters all talk in a very refined fashion.” + +“Well, I always skip the swear words,” said Peter. “And Mr. Marwood said +once that the Bible and Shakespeare would furnish any library well. So +you see he put them together, but I’m sure that he would never say that +the Bible and Valeria would make a library.” + +“Well, all I know is, I shall never read Shakespeare on Sunday,” said +Felicity loftily. + +“I wonder what kind of a preacher young Mr. Davidson is,” speculated +Cecily. + +“Well, we’ll know when we hear him tonight,” said the Story Girl. “He +ought to be good, for his uncle before him was a fine preacher, though a +very absent-minded man. But Uncle Roger says the supply in Mr. Marwood’s +vacation never amounts to much. I know an awfully funny story about old +Mr. Davidson. He used to be the minister in Baywater, you know, and he +had a large family and his children were very mischievous. One day his +wife was ironing and she ironed a great big nightcap with a frill round +it. One of the children took it when she wasn’t looking and hid it +in his father’s best beaver hat--the one he wore on Sundays. When Mr. +Davidson went to church next Sunday he put the hat on without ever +looking into the crown. He walked to church in a brown study and at the +door he took off his hat. The nightcap just slipped down on his head, as +if it had been put on, and the frill stood out around his face and the +string hung down his back. But he never noticed it, because his thoughts +were far away, and he walked up the church aisle and into the pulpit, +like that. One of his elders had to tiptoe up and tell him what he +had on his head. He plucked it off in a dazed fashion, held it up, and +looked at it. ‘Bless me, it is Sally’s nightcap!’ he exclaimed mildly. +‘I do not know how I could have got it on.’ Then he just stuffed it into +his pocket calmly and went on with the service, and the long strings of +the nightcap hung down out of his pocket all the time.” + +“It seems to me,” said Peter, amid the laughter with which we greeted +the tale, “that a funny story is funnier when it is about a minister +than it is about any other man. I wonder why.” + +“Sometimes I don’t think it is right to tell funny stories about +ministers,” said Felicity. “It certainly isn’t respectful.” + +“A good story is a good story--no matter who it’s about,” said the Story +Girl with ungrammatical relish. + +There was as yet no one in the church when we reached it, so we took our +accustomed ramble through the graveyard surrounding it. The Story Girl +had brought flowers for her mother’s grave as usual, and while she +arranged them on it the rest of us read for the hundredth time the +epitaph on Great-Grandfather King’s tombstone, which had been composed +by Great-Grandmother King. That epitaph was quite famous among the +little family traditions that entwine every household with mingled mirth +and sorrow, smiles and tears. It had a perennial fascination for us +and we read it over every Sunday. Cut deeply in the upright slab of red +Island sandstone, the epitaph ran as follows:-- + + +SWEET DEPARTED SPIRIT + + Do receive the vows a grateful widow pays, + Each future day and night shall hear her speak her Isaac’s praise. + Though thy beloved form must in the grave decay + Yet from her heart thy memory no time, no change shall steal away. + Do thou from mansions of eternal bliss + Remember thy distressed relict. + Look on her with an angel’s love-- + Soothe her sad life and cheer her end + Through this world’s dangers and its griefs. + Then meet her with thy well-known smiles and welcome + At the last great day. + + +“Well, I can’t make out what the old lady was driving at,” said Dan. + +“That’s a nice way to speak of your great-grandmother,” said Felicity +severely. + +“How does The Family Guide say you ought to speak of your great-grandma, +sweet one?” asked Dan. + +“There is one thing about it that puzzles me,” remarked Cecily. “She +calls herself a GRATEFUL widow. Now, what was she grateful for?” + +“Because she was rid of him at last,” said graceless Dan. + +“Oh, it couldn’t have been that,” protested Cecily seriously. “I’ve +always heard that Great-Grandfather and Great-Grandmother were very much +attached to each other.” + +“Maybe, then, it means she was grateful that she’d had him as long as +she did,” suggested Peter. + +“She was grateful to him because he had been so kind to her in life, I +think,” said Felicity. + +“What is a ‘distressed relict’?” asked Felix. + +“‘Relict’ is a word I hate,” said the Story Girl. “It sounds so much +like relic. Relict means just the same as widow, only a man can be a +relict, too.” + +“Great-Grandmother seemed to run short of rhymes at the last of the +epitaph,” commented Dan. + +“Finding rhymes isn’t as easy as you might think,” avowed Peter, out of +his own experience. + +“I think Grandmother King intended the last of the epitaph to be in +blank verse,” said Felicity with dignity. + +There was still only a sprinkling of people in the church when we went +in and took our places in the old-fashioned, square King pew. We had +just got comfortably settled when Felicity said in an agitated whisper, +“Here is Peg Bowen!” + +We all stared at Peg, who was pacing composedly up the aisle. We might +be excused for so doing, for seldom were the decorous aisles of Carlisle +church invaded by such a figure. Peg was dressed in her usual short +drugget skirt, rather worn and frayed around the bottom, and a waist +of brilliant turkey red calico. She wore no hat, and her grizzled black +hair streamed in elf locks over her shoulders. Face, arms and feet +were bare--and face, arms and feet were liberally powdered with +FLOUR. Certainly no one who saw Peg that night could ever forget the +apparition. + +Peg’s black eyes, in which shone a more than usually wild and fitful +light, roved scrutinizingly over the church, then settled on our pew. + +“She’s coming here,” whispered Felicity in horror. “Can’t we spread out +and make her think the pew is full?” + +But the manoeuvre was too late. The only result was that Felicity and +the Story Girl in moving over left a vacant space between them and Peg +promptly plumped down in it. + +“Well, I’m here,” she remarked aloud. “I did say once I’d never darken +the door of Carlisle church again, but what that boy there”--nodding +at Peter--“said last winter set me thinking, and I concluded maybe I’d +better come once in a while, to be on the safe side.” + +Those poor girls were in an agony. Everybody in the church was looking +at our pew and smiling. We all felt that we were terribly disgraced; but +we could do nothing. Peg was enjoying herself hugely, beyond all doubt. +From where she sat she could see the whole church, including pulpit and +gallery, and her black eyes darted over it with restless glances. + +“Bless me, there’s Sam Kinnaird,” she exclaimed, still aloud. “He’s +the man that dunned Jacob Marr for four cents on the church steps one +Sunday. I heard him. ‘I think, Jacob, you owe me four cents on that cow +you bought last fall. Rec’llect you couldn’t make the change?’ Well, you +know, ‘twould a-made a cat laugh. The Kinnairds were all mighty close, I +can tell you. That’s how they got rich.” + +What Sam Kinnaird felt or thought during this speech, which everyone in +the church must have heard, I know not. Gossip had it that he changed +colour. We wretched occupants of the King pew were concerned only with +our own outraged feelings. + +“And there’s Melita Ross,” went on Peg. “She’s got the same bonnet on +she had last time I was in Carlisle church six years ago. Some folks has +the knack of making things last. But look at the style Mrs. Elmer Brewer +wears, will yez? Yez wouldn’t think her mother died in the poor-house, +would yez, now?” + +Poor Mrs. Brewer! From the tip of her smart kid shoes to the dainty +cluster of ostrich tips in her bonnet--she was most immaculately and +handsomely arrayed; but I venture to think she could have taken +small pleasure in her fashionable attire that evening. Some of the +unregenerate, including Dan, were shaking with suppressed laughter, but +most of the people looked as if they were afraid to smile, lest their +turn should come next. + +“There’s old Stephen Grant coming in,” exclaimed Peg viciously, shaking +her floury fist at him, “and looking as if butter wouldn’t melt in his +mouth. He may be an elder, but he’s a scoundrel just the same. He set +fire to his house to get the insurance and then blamed ME for doing it. +But I got even with him for it. Oh, yes! He knows that, and so do I! He, +he!” + +Peg chuckled quite fiendishly and Stephen Grant tried to look as if +nothing had been said. + +“Oh, will the minister never come?” moaned Felicity in my ear. “Surely +she’ll have to stop then.” + +But the minister did not come and Peg had no intention of stopping. + +“There’s Maria Dean.” she resumed. “I haven’t seen Maria for years. +I never call there for she never seems to have anything to eat in the +house. She was a Clayton and the Claytons never could cook. Maria +sorter looks as if she’d shrunk in the wash, now, don’t she? And there’s +Douglas Nicholson. His brother put rat poison in the family pancakes. +Nice little trick that, wasn’t it? They say it was by mistake. I hope it +WAS a mistake. His wife is all rigged out in silk. Yez wouldn’t think +to look at her she was married in cotton--and mighty thankful to get +married in anything, it’s my opinion. There’s Timothy Patterson. He’s +the meanest man alive--meaner’n Sam Kinnaird even. Timothy pays his +children five cents apiece to go without their suppers, and then steals +the cents out of their pockets after they’ve gone to bed. It’s a fact. +And when his old father died he wouldn’t let his wife put his best shirt +on him. He said his second best was plenty good to be buried in. That’s +another fact.” + +“I can’t stand much more of this,” wailed Felicity. + +“See here, Miss Bowen, you really oughtn’t to talk like that about +people,” expostulated Peter in a low tone, goaded thereto, despite his +awe of Peg, by Felicity’s anguish. + +“Bless you, boy,” said Peg good-humouredly, “the only difference between +me and other folks is that I say these things out loud and they just +think them. If I told yez all the things I know about the people in this +congregation you’d be amazed. Have a peppermint?” + +To our horror Peg produced a handful of peppermint lozenges from the +pocket of her skirt and offered us one each. We did not dare refuse but +we each held our lozenge very gingerly in our hands. + +“Eat them,” commanded Peg rather fiercely. + +“Mother doesn’t allow us to eat candy in church,” faltered Felicity. + +“Well, I’ve seen just as fine ladies as your ma give their children +lozenges in church,” said Peg loftily. She put a peppermint in her own +mouth and sucked it with gusto. We were relieved, for she did not talk +during the process; but our relief was of short duration. A bevy of +three very smartly dressed young ladies, sweeping past our pew, started +Peg off again. + +“Yez needn’t be so stuck up,” she said, loudly and derisively. “Yez was +all of yez rocked in a flour barrel. And there’s old Henry Frewen, still +above ground. I called my parrot after him because their noses were +exactly alike. Look at Caroline Marr, will yez? That’s a woman who’d +like pretty well to get married, And there’s Alexander Marr. He’s a real +Christian, anyhow, and so’s his dog. I can always size up what a man’s +religion amounts to by the kind of dog he keeps. Alexander Marr is a +good man.” + +It was a relief to hear Peg speak well of somebody; but that was the +only exception she made. + +“Look at Dave Fraser strutting in,” she went on. “That man has thanked +God so often that he isn’t like other people that it’s come to be true. +He isn’t! And there’s Susan Frewen. She’s jealous of everybody. She’s +even jealous of Old Man Rogers because he’s buried in the best spot in +the graveyard. Seth Erskine has the same look he was born with. They say +the Lord made everybody but I believe the devil made all the Erskines.” + +“She’s getting worse all the time. What WILL she say next?” whispered +poor Felicity. + +But her martyrdom was over at last. The minister appeared in the pulpit +and Peg subsided into silence. She folded her bare, floury arms over her +breast and fastened her black eyes on the young preacher. Her behaviour +for the next half-hour was decorum itself, save that when the minister +prayed that we might all be charitable in judgment Peg ejaculated “Amen” + several times, loudly and forcibly, somewhat to the discomfiture of the +Young man, to whom Peg was a stranger. He opened his eyes, glanced at +our pew in a startled way, then collected himself and went on. + +Peg listened to the sermon, silently and motionlessly, until Mr. +Davidson was half through. Then she suddenly got on her feet. + +“This is too dull for me,” she exclaimed. “I want something more +exciting.” + +Mr. Davidson stopped short and Peg marched down the aisle in the midst +of complete silence. Half way down the aisle she turned around and faced +the minister. + +“There are so many hypocrites in this church that it isn’t fit for +decent people to come to,” she said. “Rather than be such hypocrites as +most of you are it would be better for you to go miles into the woods +and commit suicide.” + +Wheeling about, she strode to the door. Then she turned for a Parthian +shot. + +“I’ve felt kind of worried for God sometimes, seeing He has so much to +attend to,” she said, “but I see I needn’t be, so long’s there’s plenty +of ministers to tell Him what to do.” + +With that Peg shook the dust of Carlisle church from her feet. Poor Mr. +Davidson resumed his discourse. Old Elder Bayley, whose attention +an earthquake could not have distracted from the sermon, afterwards +declared that it was an excellent and edifying exhortation, but I doubt +if anyone else in Carlisle church tasted it much or gained much good +therefrom. Certainly we of the King household did not. We could not even +remember the text when we reached home. Felicity was comfortless. + +“Mr. Davidson would be sure to think she belonged to our family when she +was in our pew,” she said bitterly. “Oh, I feel as if I could never +get over such a mortification! Peter, I do wish you wouldn’t go telling +people they ought to go to church. It’s all your fault that this +happened.” + +“Never mind, it will be a good story to tell sometime,” remarked the +Story Girl with relish. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. THE YANKEE STORM + + +In an August orchard six children and a grown-up were sitting around the +pulpit stone. The grown-up was Miss Reade, who had been up to give the +girls their music lesson and had consented to stay to tea, much to the +rapture of the said girls, who continued to worship her with unabated +and romantic ardour. To us, over the golden grasses, came the Story +Girl, carrying in her hand a single large poppy, like a blood-red +chalice filled with the wine of August wizardry. She proffered it to +Miss Reade and, as the latter took it into her singularly slender, +beautiful hand, I saw a ring on her third finger. I noticed it, because +I had heard the girls say that Miss Reade never wore rings, not liking +them. It was not a new ring; it was handsome, but of an old-fashioned +design and setting, with a glint of diamonds about a central sapphire. +Later on, when Miss Reade had gone, I asked the Story Girl if she had +noticed the ring. She nodded, but seemed disinclined to say more about +it. + +“Look here, Sara,” I said, “there’s something about that ring--something +you know.” + +“I told you once there was a story growing but you would have to wait +until it was fully grown,” she answered. + +“Is Miss Reade going to marry anybody--anybody we know?” I persisted. + +“Curiosity killed a cat,” observed the Story Girl coolly. “Miss Reade +hasn’t told me that she was going to marry anybody. You will find out +all that is good for you to know in due time.” + +When the Story Girl put on grown-up airs I did not like her so well, and +I dropped the subject with a dignity that seemed to amuse her mightily. + +She had been away for a week, visiting cousins in Markdale, and she had +come home with a new treasure-trove of stories, most of which she had +heard from the old sailors of Markdale Harbour. She had promised that +morning to tell us of “the most tragic event that had ever been known on +the north shore,” and we now reminded her of her promise. + +“Some call it the ‘Yankee Storm,’ and others the ‘American Gale,’” she +began, sitting down by Miss Reade and beaming, because the latter +put her arm around her waist. “It happened nearly forty years ago, in +October of 1851. Old Mr. Coles at the Harbour told me all about it. He +was a young man then and he says he can never forget that dreadful time. +You know in those days hundreds of American fishing schooners used to +come down to the Gulf every summer to fish mackerel. On one beautiful +Saturday night in this October of 1851, more than one hundred of these +vessels could be counted from Markdale Capes. By Monday night more than +seventy of them had been destroyed. Those which had escaped were mostly +those which went into harbour Saturday night, to keep Sunday. Mr. Coles +says the rest stayed outside and fished all day Sunday, same as through +the week, and HE says the storm was a judgment on them for doing it. But +he admits that even some of them got into harbour later on and escaped, +so it’s hard to know what to think. But it is certain that on Sunday +night there came up a sudden and terrible storm--the worst, Mr. Coles +says, that has ever been known on the north shore. It lasted for two +days and scores of vessels were driven ashore and completely wrecked. +The crews of most of the vessels that went ashore on the sand beaches +were saved, but those that struck on the rocks went to pieces and all +hands were lost. For weeks after the storm the north shore was strewn +with the bodies of drowned men. Think of it! Many of them were unknown +and unrecognizable, and they were buried in Markdale graveyard. Mr. +Coles says the schoolmaster who was in Markdale then wrote a poem on the +storm and Mr. Coles recited the first two verses to me. + + + “‘Here are the fishers’ hillside graves, + The church beside, the woods around, + Below, the hollow moaning waves + Where the poor fishermen were drowned. + + “‘A sudden tempest the blue welkin tore, + The seamen tossed and torn apart + Rolled with the seaweed to the shore + While landsmen gazed with aching heart.’ + + +“Mr. Coles couldn’t remember any more of it. But the saddest of all the +stories of the Yankee Storm was the one about the Franklin Dexter. +The Franklin Dexter went ashore on the Markdale Capes and all on board +perished, the Captain and three of his brothers among them. These four +young men were the sons of an old man who lived in Portland, Maine, and +when he heard what had happened he came right down to the Island to see +if he could find their bodies. They had all come ashore and had been +buried in Markdale graveyard; but he was determined to take them up and +carry them home for burial. He said he had promised their mother to take +her boys home to her and he must do it. So they were taken up and put +on board a sailing vessel at Markdale Harbour to be taken back to Maine, +while the father himself went home on a passenger steamer. The name of +the sailing vessel was the Seth Hall, and the captain’s name was Seth +Hall, too. Captain Hall was a dreadfully profane man and used to swear +blood-curdling oaths. On the night he sailed out of Markdale Harbour the +old sailors warned him that a storm was brewing and that it would catch +him if he did not wait until it was over. The captain had become very +impatient because of several delays he had already met with, and he was +in a furious temper. He swore a wicked oath that he would sail out of +Markdale Harbour that night and ‘God Almighty Himself shouldn’t catch +him.’ He did sail out of the harbour; and the storm did catch him, and +the Seth Hall went down with all hands, the dead and the living finding +a watery grave together. So the poor old mother up in Maine never had +her boys brought back to her after all. Mr. Coles says it seems as if it +were foreordained that they should not rest in a grave, but should lie +beneath the waves until the day when the sea gives up its dead.” + + + “‘They sleep as well beneath that purple tide + As others under turf,’” + + +quoted Miss Reade softly. “I am very thankful,” she added, “that I am +not one of those whose dear ones ‘go down to the sea in ships.’ It seems +to me that they have treble their share of this world’s heartache.” + +“Uncle Stephen was a sailor and he was drowned,” said Felicity, “and +they say it broke Grandmother King’s heart. I don’t see why people can’t +be contented on dry land.” + +Cecily’s tears had been dropping on the autograph quilt square she was +faithfully embroidering. She had been diligently collecting names for it +ever since the preceding autumn and had a goodly number; but Kitty Marr +had one more and this was certainly a fly in Cecily’s ointment. + +“Besides, one I’ve got isn’t paid for--Peg Bowen’s,” she lamented, “and +I don’t suppose it ever will be, for I’ll never dare to ask her for it.” + +“I wouldn’t put it on at all,” said Felicity. + +“Oh, I don’t dare not to. She’d be sure to find out I didn’t and then +she’d be very angry. I wish I could get just one more name and then I’d +be contented. But I don’t know of a single person who hasn’t been asked +already.” + +“Except Mr. Campbell,” said Dan. + +“Oh, of course nobody would ask Mr. Campbell. We all know it would be +of no use. He doesn’t believe in missions at all--in fact, he says he +detests the very mention of missions--and he never gives one cent to +them.” + +“All the same, I think he ought to be asked, so that he wouldn’t have +the excuse that nobody DID ask him,” declared Dan. + +“Do you really think so, Dan?” asked Cecily earnestly. + +“Sure,” said Dan, solemnly. Dan liked to tease even Cecily a wee bit now +and then. + +Cecily relapsed into anxious thought, and care sat visibly on her brow +for the rest of the day. Next morning she came to me and said: + +“Bev, would you like to go for a walk with me this afternoon?” + +“Of course,” I replied. “Any particular where?” + +“I’m going to see Mr. Campbell and ask him for his name for my square,” + said Cecily resolutely. “I don’t suppose it will do any good. He +wouldn’t give anything to the library last summer, you remember, till +the Story Girl told him that story about his grandmother. She won’t +go with me this time--I don’t know why. I can’t tell a story and I’m +frightened to death just to think of going to him. But I believe it is +my duty; and besides I would love to get as many names on my square +as Kitty Marr has. So if you’ll go with me we’ll go this afternoon. I +simply COULDN’T go alone.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. A MISSIONARY HEROINE + + +Accordingly, that afternoon we bearded the lion in his den. The road we +took was a beautiful one, for we went “cross lots,” and we enjoyed +it, in spite of the fact that we did not expect the interview with Mr. +Campbell to be a very pleasant one. To be sure, he had been quite civil +on the occasion of our last call upon him, but the Story Girl had been +with us then and had beguiled him into good-humour and generosity by +the magic of her voice and personality. We had no such ally now, and Mr. +Campbell was known to be virulently opposed to missions in any shape or +form. + +“I don’t know whether it would have been any better if I could have +put on my good clothes,” said Cecily, with a rueful glance at her print +dress, which, though neat and clean, was undeniably faded and RATHER +short and tight. “The Story Girl said it would, and I wanted to, but +mother wouldn’t let me. She said it was all nonsense, and Mr. Campbell +would never notice what I had on.” + +“It’s my opinion that Mr. Campbell notices a good deal more than you’d +think for,” I said sagely. + +“Well, I wish our call was over,” sighed Cecily. “I can’t tell you how I +dread it.” + +“Now, see here, Sis,” I said cheerfully, “let’s not think about it +till we get there. It’ll only spoil our walk and do no good. Let’s just +forget it and enjoy ourselves.” + +“I’ll try,” agreed Cecily, “but it’s ever so much easier to preach than +to practise.” + +Our way lay first over a hill top, gallantly plumed with golden rod, +where cloud shadows drifted over us like a gypsying crew. Carlisle, in +all its ripely tinted length and breadth, lay below us, basking in the +August sunshine, that spilled over the brim of the valley to the far-off +Markdale Harbour, cupped in its harvest-golden hills. + +Then came a little valley overgrown with the pale purple bloom of +thistles and elusively haunted with their perfume. You say that thistles +have no perfume? Go you to a brook hollow where they grow some late +summer twilight at dewfall; and on the still air that rises suddenly to +meet you will come a waft of faint, aromatic fragrance, wondrously sweet +and evasive, the distillation of that despised thistle bloom. + +Beyond this the path wound through a forest of fir, where a wood wind +wove its murmurous spell and a wood brook dimpled pellucidly among the +shadows--the dear, companionable, elfin shadows--that lurked under the +low growing boughs. Along the edges of that winding path grew banks +of velvet green moss, starred with clusters of pigeon berries. Pigeon +berries are not to be eaten. They are woolly, tasteless things. But they +are to be looked at in their glowing scarlet. They are the jewels with +which the forest of cone-bearers loves to deck its brown breast. Cecily +gathered some and pinned them on hers, but they did not become her. +I thought how witching the Story Girl’s brown curls would have looked +twined with those brilliant clusters. Perhaps Cecily was thinking of it, +too, for she presently said, + +“Bev, don’t you think the Story Girl is changing somehow?” + +“There are times--just times--when she seems to belong more among the +grown-ups than among us,” I said, reluctantly, “especially when she puts +on her bridesmaid dress.” + +“Well, she’s the oldest of us, and when you come to think of it, she’s +fifteen,--that’s almost grown-up,” sighed Cecily. Then she added, with +sudden vehemence, “I hate the thought of any of us growing up. Felicity +says she just longs to be grown-up, but I don’t, not a bit. I wish I +could just stay a little girl for ever--and have you and Felix and +all the others for playmates right along. I don’t know how it is--but +whenever I think of being grown-up I seem to feel tired.” + +Something about Cecily’s speech--or the wistful look that had crept into +her sweet brown eyes--made me feel vaguely uncomfortable; I was glad +that we were at the end of our journey, with Mr. Campbell’s big house +before us, and his dog sitting gravely at the veranda steps. + +“Oh, dear,” said Cecily, with a shiver, “I’d been hoping that dog +wouldn’t be around.” + +“He never bites,” I assured her. + +“Perhaps he doesn’t, but he always looks as if he was going to,” + rejoined Cecily. + +The dog continued to look, and, as we edged gingerly past him and up +the veranda steps, he turned his head and kept on looking. What with +Mr. Campbell before us and the dog behind, Cecily was trembling with +nervousness; but perhaps it was as well that the dour brute was there, +else I verily believe she would have turned and fled shamelessly when we +heard steps in the hall. + +It was Mr. Campbell’s housekeeper who came to the door, however; she +ushered us pleasantly into the sitting-room where Mr. Campbell was +reading. He laid down his book with a slight frown and said nothing at +all in response to our timid “good afternoon.” But after we had sat for +a few minutes in wretched silence, wishing ourselves a thousand miles +away, he said, with a chuckle, + +“Well, is it the school library again?” + +Cecily had remarked as we were coming that what she dreaded most of all +was introducing the subject; but Mr. Campbell had given her a splendid +opening, and she plunged wildly in at once, rattling her explanation off +nervously with trembling voice and flushed cheeks. + +“No, it’s our Mission Band autograph quilt, Mr. Campbell. There are to +be as many squares in it as there are members in the Band. Each one has +a square and is collecting names for it. If you want to have your name +on the quilt you pay five cents, and if you want to have it right in the +round spot in the middle of the square you must pay ten cents. Then when +we have got all the names we can we will embroider them on the squares. +The money is to go to the little girl our Band is supporting in Korea. I +heard that nobody had asked you, so I thought perhaps you would give me +your name for my square.” + +Mr. Campbell drew his black brows together in a scowl. + +“Stuff and nonsense!” he exclaimed angrily. “I don’t believe in Foreign +Missions--don’t believe in them at all. I never give a cent to them.” + +“Five cents isn’t a very large sum,” said Cecily earnestly. + +Mr. Campbell’s scowl disappeared and he laughed. + +“It wouldn’t break me,” he admitted, “but it’s the principle of the +thing. And as for that Mission Band of yours, if it wasn’t for the fun +you get out of it, catch one of you belonging. You don’t really care a +rap more for the heathen than I do.” + +“Oh, we do,” protested Cecily. “We do think of all the poor little +children in Korea, and we like to think we are helping them, if it’s +ever so little. We ARE in earnest, Mr. Campbell--indeed we are.” + +“Don’t believe it--don’t believe a word of it,” said Mr. Campbell +impolitely. “You’ll do things that are nice and interesting. You’ll get +up concerts, and chase people about for autographs and give money your +parents give you and that doesn’t cost you either time or labour. But +you wouldn’t do anything you disliked for the heathen children--you +wouldn’t make any real sacrifice for them--catch you!” + +“Indeed we would,” cried Cecily, forgetting her timidity in her zeal. “I +just wish I had a chance to prove it to you.” + +“You do, eh? Come, now, I’ll take you at your word. I’ll test you. +Tomorrow is Communion Sunday and the church will be full of folks and +they’ll all have their best clothes on. If you go to church tomorrow in +the very costume you have on at present, without telling anyone why you +do so, until it is all over, I’ll give you--why, I vow I’ll give you +five dollars for that quilt of yours.” + +Poor Cecily! To go to church in a faded print dress, with a shabby +little old sun-hat and worn shoes! It was very cruel of Mr. Campbell. + +“I--I don’t think mother would let me,” she faltered. + +Her tormentor smiled grimly. + +“It’s not hard to find some excuse,” he said sarcastically. + +Cecily crimsoned and sat up facing Mr. Campbell spunkily. + +“It’s NOT an excuse,” she said. “If mother will let me go to church like +this I’ll go. But I’ll have to tell HER why, Mr. Campbell, because I’m +certain she’d never let me if I didn’t.” + +“Oh, you can tell all your own family,” said Mr. Campbell, “but +remember, none of them must tell it outside until Sunday is over. If +they do, I’ll be sure to find it out and then our bargain is off. If +I see you in church tomorrow, dressed as you are now, I’ll give you my +name and five dollars. But I won’t see you. You’ll shrink when you’ve +had time to think it over.” + +“I sha’n’t,” said Cecily resolutely. + +“Well, we’ll see. And now come out to the barn with me. I’ve got the +prettiest little drove of calves out there you ever saw. I want you to +see them.” + +Mr. Campbell took us all over his barns and was very affable. He had +beautiful horses, cows and sheep, and I enjoyed seeing them. I don’t +think Cecily did, however. She was very quiet and even Mr. Campbell’s +handsome new span of dappled grays failed to arouse any enthusiasm in +her. She was already in bitter anticipation living over the martyrdom +of the morrow. On the way home she asked me seriously if I thought Mr. +Campbell would go to heaven when he died. + +“Of course he will,” I said. “Isn’t he a member of the church?” + +“Oh, yes, but I can’t imagine him fitting into heaven. You know he isn’t +really fond of anything but live stock.” + +“He’s fond of teasing people, I guess,” I responded. “Are you really +going to church to-morrow in that dress, Sis?” + +“If mother’ll let me I’ll have to,” said poor Cecily. “I won’t let Mr. +Campbell triumph over me. And I DO want to have as many names as Kitty +has. And I DO want to help the poor little Korean children. But it will +be simply dreadful. I don’t know whether I hope mother will or not.” + +I did not believe she would, but Aunt Janet sometimes could be depended +on for the unexpected. She laughed and told Cecily she could please +herself. Felicity was in a rage over it, and declared SHE wouldn’t go to +church if Cecily went in such a rig. Dan sarcastically inquired if all +she went to church for was to show off her fine clothes and look at +other people’s; then they quarrelled and didn’t speak to each other for +two days, much to Cecily’s distress. + +I suspect poor Sis wished devoutly that it might rain the next day; but +it was gloriously fine. We were all waiting in the orchard for the Story +Girl who had not begun to dress for church until Cecily and Felicity +were ready. Felicity was her prettiest in flower-trimmed hat, crisp +muslin, floating ribbons and trim black slippers. Poor Cecily stood +beside her mute and pale, in her faded school garb and heavy copper-toed +boots. But her face, if pale, was very determined. Cecily, having put +her hand to the plough, was not of those who turn back. + +“You do look just awful,” said Felicity. “I don’t care--I’m going to +sit in Uncle James’ pew. I WON’T sit with you. There will be so many +strangers there, and all the Markdale people, and what will they think +of you? Some of them will never know the reason, either.” + +“I wish the Story Girl would hurry,” was all poor Cecily said. “We’re +going to be late. It wouldn’t have been quite so hard if I could have +got there before anyone and slipped quietly into our pew.” + +“Here she comes at last,” said Dan. “Why--what’s she got on?” + +The Story Girl joined us with a quizzical smile on her face. Dan +whistled. Cecily’s pale cheeks flushed with understanding and gratitude. +The Story Girl wore her school print dress and hat also, and was +gloveless and heavy shod. + +“You’re not going to have to go through this all alone, Cecily,” she +said. + +“Oh, it won’t be half so hard now,” said Cecily, with a long breath of +relief. + +I fancy it was hard enough even then. The Story Girl did not care a +whit, but Cecily rather squirmed under the curious glances that were +cast at her. She afterwards told me that she really did not think she +could have endured it if she had been alone. + +Mr. Campbell met us under the elms in the churchyard, with a twinkle in +his eye. + +“Well, you did it, Miss,” he said to Cecily, “but you should have been +alone. That was what I meant. I suppose you think you’ve cheated me +nicely.” + +“No, she doesn’t,” spoke up the Story Girl undauntedly. “She was all +dressed and ready to come before she knew I was going to dress the same +way. So she kept her bargain faithfully, Mr. Campbell, and I think you +were cruel to make her do it.” + +“You do, eh? Well, well, I hope you’ll forgive me. I didn’t think she’d +do it--I was sure feminine vanity would win the day over missionary +zeal. It seems it didn’t--though how much was pure missionary zeal and +how much just plain King spunk I’m doubtful. I’ll keep my promise, Miss. +You shall have your five dollars, and mind you put my name in the round +space. No five-cent corners for me.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. A TANTALIZING REVELATION + + +“I shall have something to tell you in the orchard this evening,” said +the Story Girl at breakfast one morning. Her eyes were very bright and +excited. She looked as if she had not slept a great deal. She had spent +the previous evening with Miss Reade and had not returned until the rest +of us were in bed. Miss Reade had finished giving music lessons and was +going home in a few days. Cecily and Felicity were in despair over this +and mourned as those without comfort. But the Story Girl, who had been +even more devoted to Miss Reade than either of them, had not, as I +noticed, expressed any regret and seemed to be very cheerful over the +whole matter. + +“Why can’t you tell it now?” asked Felicity. + +“Because the evening is the nicest time to tell things in. I only +mentioned it now so that you would have something interesting to look +forward to all day.” + +“Is it about Miss Reade?” asked Cecily. + +“Never mind.” + +“I’ll bet she’s going to be married,” I exclaimed, remembering the ring. + +“Is she?” cried Felicity and Cecily together. + +The Story Girl threw an annoyed glance at me. She did not like to have +her dramatic announcements forestalled. + +“I don’t say that it is about Miss Reade or that it isn’t. You must just +wait till the evening.” + +“I wonder what it is,” speculated Cecily, as the Story Girl left the +room. + +“I don’t believe it’s much of anything,” said Felicity, beginning to +clear away the breakfast dishes. “The Story Girl always likes to make so +much out of so little. Anyhow, I don’t believe Miss Reade is going to be +married. She hasn’t any beaus around here and Mrs. Armstrong says +she’s sure she doesn’t correspond with anybody. Besides, if she was she +wouldn’t be likely to tell the Story Girl.” + +“Oh, she might. They’re such friends, you know,” said Cecily. + +“Miss Reade is no better friends with her than she is with me and you,” + retorted Felicity. + +“No, but sometimes it seems to me that she’s a different kind of friend +with the Story Girl than she is with me and you,” reflected Cecily. “I +can’t just explain what I mean.” + +“No wonder. Such nonsense,” sniffed Felicity. “It’s only some girl’s +secret, anyway,” said Dan, loftily. “I don’t feel much interest in it.” + +But he was on hand with the rest of us that evening, interest or no +interest, in Uncle Stephen’s Walk, where the ripening apples were +beginning to glow like jewels among the boughs. + +“Now, are you going to tell us your news?” asked Felicity impatiently. + +“Miss Reade IS going to be married,” said the Story Girl. “She told me +so last night. She is going to be married in a fortnight’s time.” + +“Who to?” exclaimed the girls. + +“To”--the Story Girl threw a defiant glance at me as if to say, “You +can’t spoil the surprise of THIS, anyway,”--“to--the Awkward Man.” + +For a few moments amazement literally held us dumb. + +“You’re not in earnest, Sara Stanley?” gasped Felicity at last. + +“Indeed I am. I thought you’d be astonished. But I wasn’t. I’ve +suspected it all summer, from little things I’ve noticed. Don’t you +remember that evening last spring when I went a piece with Miss Reade +and told you when I came back that a story was growing? I guessed it +from the way the Awkward Man looked at her when I stopped to speak to +him over his garden fence.” + +“But--the Awkward Man!” said Felicity helplessly. “It doesn’t seem +possible. Did Miss Reade tell you HERSELF?” + +“Yes.” + +“I suppose it must be true then. But how did it ever come about? He’s +SO shy and awkward. How did he ever manage to get up enough spunk to ask +her to marry him?” + +“Maybe she asked him,” suggested Dan. + +The Story Girl looked as if she might tell if she would. + +“I believe that WAS the way of it,” I said, to draw her on. + +“Not exactly,” she said reluctantly. “I know all about it but I can’t +tell you. I guessed part from things I’ve seen--and Miss Reade told me a +good deal--and the Awkward Man himself told me his side of it as we came +home last night. I met him just as I left Mr. Armstrong’s and we were +together as far as his house. It was dark and he just talked on as if he +were talking to himself--I think he forgot I was there at all, once +he got started. He has never been shy or awkward with me, but he never +talked as he did last night.” + +“You might tell us what he said,” urged Cecily. “We’d never tell.” + +The Story Girl shook her head. + +“No, I can’t. You wouldn’t understand. Besides, I couldn’t tell it just +right. It’s one of the things that are hardest to tell. I’d spoil it if +I told it--now. Perhaps some day I’ll be able to tell it properly. It’s +very beautiful--but it might sound very ridiculous if it wasn’t told +just exactly the right way.” + +“I don’t know what you mean, and I don’t believe you know yourself,” + said Felicity pettishly. “All that I can make out is that Miss Reade is +going to marry Jasper Dale, and I don’t like the idea one bit. She is +so beautiful and sweet. I thought she’d marry some dashing young man. +Jasper Dale must be nearly twenty years older than her--and he’s so +queer and shy--and such a hermit.” + +“Miss Reade is perfectly happy,” said the Story Girl. “She thinks the +Awkward Man is lovely--and so he is. You don’t know him, but I do.” + +“Well, you needn’t put on such airs about it,” sniffed Felicity. + +“I am not putting on any airs. But it’s true. Miss Reade and I are the +only people in Carlisle who really know the Awkward Man. Nobody else +ever got behind his shyness to find out just what sort of a man he is.” + +“When are they to be married?” asked Felicity. + +“In a fortnight’s time. And then they are coming right back to live at +Golden Milestone. Won’t it be lovely to have Miss Reade always so near +us?” + +“I wonder what she’ll think about the mystery of Golden Milestone,” + remarked Felicity. + +Golden Milestone was the beautiful name the Awkward Man had given his +home; and there was a mystery about it, as readers of the first volume +of these chronicles will recall. + +“She knows all about the mystery and thinks it perfectly lovely--and so +do I,” said the Story Girl. + +“Do YOU know the secret of the locked room?” cried Cecily. + +“Yes, the Awkward Man told me all about it last night. I told you I’d +find out the mystery some time.” + +“And what is it?” + +“I can’t tell you that either.” + +“I think you’re hateful and mean,” exclaimed Felicity. “It hasn’t +anything to do with Miss Reade, so I think you might tell us.” + +“It has something to do with Miss Reade. It’s all about her.” + +“Well, I don’t see how that can be when the Awkward Man never saw or +heard of Miss Reade until she came to Carlisle in the spring,” said +Felicity incredulously, “and he’s had that locked room for years.” + +“I can’t explain it to you--but it’s just as I’ve said,” responded the +Story Girl. + +“Well, it’s a very queer thing,” retorted Felicity. + +“The name in the books in the room was Alice--and Miss Reade’s name is +Alice,” marvelled Cecily. “Did he know her before she came here?” + +“Mrs. Griggs says that room has been locked for ten years. Ten years ago +Miss Reade was just a little girl of ten. SHE couldn’t be the Alice of +the books,” argued Felicity. + +“I wonder if she’ll wear the blue silk dress,” said Sara Ray. + +“And what will she do about the picture, if it isn’t hers?” added +Cecily. + +“The picture couldn’t be hers, or Mrs. Griggs would have known her for +the same when she came to Carlisle,” said Felix. + +“I’m going to stop wondering about it,” exclaimed Felicity crossly, +aggravated by the amused smile with which the Story Girl was listening +to the various speculations. “I think Sara is just as mean as mean when +she won’t tell us.” + +“I can’t,” repeated the Story Girl patiently. + +“You said one time you had an idea who ‘Alice’ was,” I said. “Was your +idea anything like the truth?” + +“Yes, I guessed pretty nearly right.” + +“Do you suppose they’ll keep the room locked after they are married?” + asked Cecily. + +“Oh, no. I can tell you that much. It is to be Miss Reade’s own +particular sitting room.” + +“Why, then, perhaps we’ll see it some time ourselves, when we go to see +Miss Reade,” cried Cecily. + +“I’d be frightened to go into it,” confessed Sara Ray. “I hate things +with mysteries. They always make me nervous.” + +“I love them. They’re so exciting,” said the Story Girl. + +“Just think, this will be the second wedding of people we know,” + reflected Cecily. “Isn’t that interesting?” + +“I only hope the next thing won’t be a funeral,” remarked Sara Ray +gloomily. “There were three lighted lamps on our kitchen table last +night, and Judy Pineau says that’s a sure sign of a funeral.” + +“Well, there are funerals going on all the time,” said Dan. + +“But it means the funeral of somebody you know. I don’t believe in +it--MUCH--but Judy says she’s seen it come true time and again. I hope +if it does it won’t be anybody we know very well. But I hope it’ll be +somebody I know a LITTLE, because then I might get to the funeral. I’d +just love to go to a funeral.” + +“That’s a dreadful thing to say,” commented Felicity in a shocked tone. + +Sara Ray looked bewildered. + +“I don’t see what is dreadful in it,” she protested. + +“People don’t go to funerals for the fun of it,” said Felicity severely. +“And you just as good as said you hoped somebody you knew would die so +you’d get to the funeral.” + +“No, no, I didn’t. I didn’t mean that AT ALL, Felicity. I don’t want +anybody to die; but what I meant was, if anybody I knew HAD to die there +might be a chance to go to the funeral. I’ve never been to a single +funeral yet, and it must be so interesting.” + +“Well, don’t mix up talk about funerals with talk about weddings,” said +Felicity. “It isn’t lucky. I think Miss Reade is simply throwing herself +away, but I hope she’ll be happy. And I hope the Awkward Man will manage +to get married without making some awful blunder, but it’s more than I +expect.” + +“The ceremony is to be very private,” said the Story Girl. + +“I’d like to see them the day they appear out in church,” chuckled Dan. +“How’ll he ever manage to bring her in and show her into the pew? I’ll +bet he’ll go in first--or tramp on her dress--or fall over his feet.” + +“Maybe he won’t go to church at all the first Sunday and she’ll have to +go alone,” said Peter. “That happened in Markdale. A man was too bashful +to go to church the first time after getting married, and his wife went +alone till he got used to the idea.” + +“They may do things like that in Markdale but that is not the way people +behave in Carlisle,” said Felicity loftily. + +Seeing the Story Girl slipping away with a disapproving face I joined +her. + +“What is the matter, Sara?” I asked. + +“I hate to hear them talking like that about Miss Reade and Mr. Dale,” +she answered vehemently. “It’s really all so beautiful--but they make +it seem silly and absurd, somehow.” + +“You might tell me all about it, Sara,” I insinuated. “I wouldn’t +tell--and I’d understand.” + +“Yes, I think you would,” she said thoughtfully. “But I can’t tell it +even to you because I can’t tell it well enough yet. I’ve a feeling +that there’s only one way to tell it--and I don’t know the way yet. +Some day I’ll know it--and then I’ll tell you, Bev.” + +Long, long after she kept her word. Forty years later I wrote to her, +across the leagues of land and sea that divided us, and told her that +Jasper Dale was dead; and I reminded her of her old promise and asked +its fulfilment. In reply she sent me the written love story of Jasper +Dale and Alice Reade. Now, when Alice sleeps under the whispering elms +of the old Carlisle churchyard, beside the husband of her youth, that +story may be given, in all its old-time sweetness, to the world. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV. THE LOVE STORY OF THE AWKWARD MAN + +(Written by the Story Girl) + + +Jasper Dale lived alone in the old homestead which he had named Golden +Milestone. In Carlisle this giving one’s farm a name was looked upon as +a piece of affectation; but if a place must be named why not give it +a sensible name with some meaning to it? Why Golden Milestone, when +Pinewood or Hillslope or, if you wanted to be very fanciful, Ivy Lodge, +might be had for the taking? + +He had lived alone at Golden Milestone since his mother’s death; he had +been twenty then and he was close upon forty now, though he did not look +it. But neither could it be said that he looked young; he had never at +any time looked young with common youth; there had always been something +in his appearance that stamped him as different from the ordinary run +of men, and, apart from his shyness, built up an intangible, invisible +barrier between him and his kind. He had lived all his life in Carlisle; +and all the Carlisle people knew of or about him--although they thought +they knew everything--was that he was painfully, abnormally shy. He +never went anywhere except to church; he never took part in Carlisle’s +simple social life; even with most men he was distant and reserved; as +for women, he never spoke to or looked at them; if one spoke to him, +even if she were a matronly old mother in Israel, he was at once in an +agony of painful blushes. He had no friends in the sense of companions; +to all outward appearance his life was solitary and devoid of any human +interest. + +He had no housekeeper; but his old house, furnished as it had been in +his mother’s lifetime, was cleanly and daintily kept. The quaint rooms +were as free from dust and disorder as a woman could have had them. This +was known, because Jasper Dale occasionally had his hired man’s wife, +Mrs. Griggs, in to scrub for him. On the morning she was expected he +betook himself to woods and fields, returning only at night-fall. During +his absence Mrs. Griggs was frankly wont to explore the house from +cellar to attic, and her report of its condition was always the +same--“neat as wax.” To be sure, there was one room that was always +locked against her, the west gable, looking out on the garden and the +hill of pines beyond. But Mrs. Griggs knew that in the lifetime of +Jasper Dale’s mother it had been unfurnished. She supposed it still +remained so, and felt no especial curiosity concerning it, though she +always tried the door. + +Jasper Dale had a good farm, well cultivated; he had a large garden +where he worked most of his spare time in summer; it was supposed that +he read a great deal, since the postmistress declared that he was always +getting books and magazines by mail. He seemed well contented with his +existence and people let him alone, since that was the greatest kindness +they could do him. It was unsupposable that he would ever marry; nobody +ever had supposed it. + +“Jasper Dale never so much as THOUGHT about a woman,” Carlisle oracles +declared. Oracles, however, are not always to be trusted. + +One day Mrs. Griggs went away from the Dale place with a very curious +story, which she diligently spread far and wide. It made a good deal +of talk, but people, although they listened eagerly, and wondered and +questioned, were rather incredulous about it. They thought Mrs. Griggs +must be drawing considerably upon her imagination; there were not +lacking those who declared that she had invented the whole account, +since her reputation for strict veracity was not wholly unquestioned. + +Mrs. Griggs’s story was as follows:-- + +One day she found the door of the west gable unlocked. She went in, +expecting to see bare walls and a collection of odds and ends. Instead +she found herself in a finely furnished room. Delicate lace curtains +hung before the small, square, broad-silled windows. The walls were +adorned with pictures in much finer taste than Mrs. Griggs could +appreciate. There was a bookcase between the windows filled with +choicely bound books. Beside it stood a little table with a very dainty +work-basket on it. By the basket Mrs. Griggs saw a pair of tiny scissors +and a silver thimble. A wicker rocker, comfortable with silk cushions, +was near it. Above the bookcase a woman’s picture hung--a water-colour, +if Mrs. Griggs had but known it--representing a pale, very sweet face, +with large, dark eyes and a wistful expression under loose masses of +black, lustrous hair. Just beneath the picture, on the top shelf of the +bookcase, was a vaseful of flowers. Another vaseful stood on the table +beside the basket. + +All this was astonishing enough. But what puzzled Mrs. Griggs completely +was the fact that a woman’s dress was hanging over a chair before the +mirror--a pale blue, silken affair. And on the floor beside it were two +little blue satin slippers! + +Good Mrs. Griggs did not leave the room until she had thoroughly +explored it, even to shaking out the blue dress and discovering it to be +a tea-gown--wrapper, she called it. But she found nothing to throw any +light on the mystery. The fact that the simple name “Alice” was written +on the fly-leaves of all the books only deepened it, for it was a name +unknown in the Dale family. In this puzzled state she was obliged to +depart, nor did she ever find the door unlocked again; and, discovering +that people thought she was romancing when she talked about the +mysterious west gable at Golden Milestone, she indignantly held her +peace concerning the whole affair. + +But Mrs. Griggs had told no more than the simple truth. Jasper Dale, +under all his shyness and aloofness, possessed a nature full of delicate +romance and poesy, which, denied expression in the common ways of life, +bloomed out in the realm of fancy and imagination. Left alone, just when +the boy’s nature was deepening into the man’s, he turned to this ideal +kingdom for all he believed the real world could never give him. Love--a +strange, almost mystical love--played its part here for him. He shadowed +forth to himself the vision of a woman, loving and beloved; he cherished +it until it became almost as real to him as his own personality and he +gave this dream woman the name he liked best--Alice. In fancy he walked +and talked with her, spoke words of love to her, and heard words of love +in return. When he came from work at the close of day she met him at his +threshold in the twilight--a strange, fair, starry shape, as elusive and +spiritual as a blossom reflected in a pool by moonlight--with welcome on +her lips and in her eyes. + +One day, when he was in Charlottetown on business, he had been struck by +a picture in the window of a store. It was strangely like the woman of +his dream love. He went in, awkward and embarrassed, and bought it. When +he took it home he did not know where to put it. It was out of place +among the dim old engravings of bewigged portraits and conventional +landscapes on the walls of Golden Milestone. As he pondered the matter +in his garden that evening he had an inspiration. The sunset, flaming on +the windows of the west gable, kindled them into burning rose. Amid the +splendour he fancied Alice’s fair face peeping archly down at him from +the room. The inspiration came then. It should be her room; he would fit +it up for her; and her picture should hang there. + +He was all summer carrying out his plan. Nobody must know or suspect, +so he must go slowly and secretly. One by one the furnishings were +purchased and brought home under cover of darkness. He arranged them +with his own hands. He bought the books he thought she would like best +and wrote her name in them; he got the little feminine knick-knacks of +basket and thimble. Finally he saw in a store a pale blue tea-gown and +the satin slippers. He had always fancied her as dressed in blue. He +bought them and took them home to her room. Thereafter it was sacred to +her; he always knocked on its door before he entered; he kept it sweet +with fresh flowers; he sat there in the purple summer evenings and +talked aloud to her or read his favourite books to her. In his fancy she +sat opposite to him in her rocker, clad in the trailing blue gown, with +her head leaning on one slender hand, as white as a twilight star. + +But Carlisle people knew nothing of this--would have thought him tinged +with mild lunacy if they had known. To them, he was just the shy, simple +farmer he appeared. They never knew or guessed at the real Jasper Dale. + +One spring Alice Reade came to teach music in Carlisle. Her pupils +worshipped her, but the grown people thought she was rather too distant +and reserved. They had been used to merry, jolly girls who joined +eagerly in the social life of the place. Alice Reade held herself aloof +from it--not disdainfully, but as one to whom these things were of small +importance. She was very fond of books and solitary rambles; she was +not at all shy but she was as sensitive as a flower; and after a time +Carlisle people were content to let her live her own life and no longer +resented her unlikeness to themselves. + +She boarded with the Armstrongs, who lived beyond Golden Milestone +around the hill of pines. Until the snow disappeared she went out to the +main road by the long Armstrong lane; but when spring came she was wont +to take a shorter way, down the pine hill, across the brook, past Jasper +Dale’s garden, and out through his lane. And one day, as she went by, +Jasper Dale was working in his garden. + +He was on his knees in a corner, setting out a bunch of roots--an +unsightly little tangle of rainbow possibilities. It was a still spring +morning; the world was green with young leaves; a little wind blew down +from the pines and lost itself willingly among the budding delights of +the garden. The grass opened eyes of blue violets. The sky was high +and cloudless, turquoise-blue, shading off into milkiness on the far +horizons. Birds were singing along the brook valley. Rollicking robins +were whistling joyously in the pines. Jasper Dale’s heart was filled to +over-flowing with a realization of all the virgin loveliness around him; +the feeling in his soul had the sacredness of a prayer. At this moment +he looked up and saw Alice Reade. + +She was standing outside the garden fence, in the shadow of a great pine +tree, looking not at him, for she was unaware of his presence, but +at the virginal bloom of the plum trees in a far corner, with all her +delight in it outblossoming freely in her face. For a moment Jasper Dale +believed that his dream love had taken visible form before him. She was +like--so like; not in feature, perhaps, but in grace and colouring--the +grace of a slender, lissome form and the colouring of cloudy hair and +wistful, dark gray eyes, and curving red mouth; and more than all, she +was like her in expression--in the subtle revelation of personality +exhaling from her like perfume from a flower. It was as if his own had +come to him at last and his whole soul suddenly leaped out to meet and +welcome her. + +Then her eyes fell upon him and the spell was broken. Jasper remained +kneeling mutely there, shy man once more, crimson with blushes, a +strange, almost pitiful creature in his abject confusion. A little smile +flickered about the delicate corners of her mouth, but she turned and +walked swiftly away down the lane. + +Jasper looked after her with a new, painful sense of loss and +loveliness. It had been agony to feel her conscious eyes upon him, but +he realized now that there had been a strange sweetness in it, too. It +was still greater pain to watch her going from him. + +He thought she must be the new music teacher but he did not even know +her name. She had been dressed in blue, too--a pale, dainty blue; but +that was of course; he had known she must wear it; and he was sure her +name must be Alice. When, later on, he discovered that it was, he felt +no surprise. + +He carried some mayflowers up to the west gable and put them under the +picture. But the charm had gone out of the tribute; and looking at the +picture, he thought how scant was the justice it did her. Her face +was so much sweeter, her eyes so much softer, her hair so much more +lustrous. The soul of his love had gone from the room and from the +picture and from his dreams. When he tried to think of the Alice he +loved he saw, not the shadowy spirit occupant of the west gable, but the +young girl who had stood under the pine, beautiful with the beauty of +moonlight, of starshine on still water, of white, wind-swayed flowers +growing in silent, shadowy places. He did not then realize what this +meant: had he realized it he would have suffered bitterly; as it was +he felt only a vague discomfort--a curious sense of loss and gain +commingled. + +He saw her again that afternoon on her way home. She did not pause by +the garden but walked swiftly past. Thereafter, every day for a week he +watched unseen to see her pass his home. Once a little child was with +her, clinging to her hand. No child had ever before had any part in the +shy man’s dream life. But that night in the twilight the vision of +the rocking-chair was a girl in a blue print dress, with a little, +golden-haired shape at her knee--a shape that lisped and prattled and +called her “mother;” and both of them were his. + +It was the next day that he failed for the first time to put flowers +in the west gable. Instead, he cut a loose handful of daffodils and, +looking furtively about him as if committing a crime, he laid them +across the footpath under the pine. She must pass that way; her feet +would crush them if she failed to see them. Then he slipped back into +his garden, half exultant, half repentant. From a safe retreat he saw +her pass by and stoop to lift his flowers. Thereafter he put some in the +same place every day. + +When Alice Reade saw the flowers she knew at once who had put them +there, and divined that they were for her. She lifted them tenderly in +much surprise and pleasure. She had heard all about Jasper Dale and his +shyness; but before she had heard about him she had seen him in church +and liked him. She thought his face and his dark blue eyes beautiful; +she even liked the long brown hair that Carlisle people laughed at. That +he was quite different from other people she had understood at once, but +she thought the difference in his favour. Perhaps her sensitive nature +divined and responded to the beauty in his. At least, in her eyes Jasper +Dale was never a ridiculous figure. + +When she heard the story of the west gable, which most people +disbelieved, she believed it, although she did not understand it. It +invested the shy man with interest and romance. She felt that she would +have liked, out of no impertinent curiosity, to solve the mystery; she +believed that it contained the key to his character. + +Thereafter, every day she found flowers under the pine tree; she wished +to see Jasper to thank him, unaware that he watched her daily from the +screen of shrubbery in his garden; but it was some time before she found +the opportunity. One evening she passed when he, not expecting her, was +leaning against his garden fence with a book in his hand. She stopped +under the pine. + +“Mr. Dale,” she said softly, “I want to thank you for your flowers.” + +Jasper, startled, wished that he might sink into the ground. His anguish +of embarrassment made her smile a little. He could not speak, so she +went on gently. + +“It has been so good of you. They have given me so much pleasure--I wish +you could know how much.” + +“It was nothing--nothing,” stammered Jasper. His book had fallen on the +ground at her feet, and she picked it up and held it out to him. + +“So you like Ruskin,” she said. “I do, too. But I haven’t read this.” + +“If you--would care--to read it--you may have it,” Jasper contrived to +say. + +She carried the book away with her. He did not again hide when she +passed, and when she brought the book back they talked a little about +it over the fence. He lent her others, and got some from her in return; +they fell into the habit of discussing them. Jasper did not find it hard +to talk to her now; it seemed as if he were talking to his dream Alice, +and it came strangely natural to him. He did not talk volubly, but +Alice thought what he did say was worth while. His words lingered in her +memory and made music. She always found his flowers under the pine, and +she always wore some of them, but she did not know if he noticed this or +not. + +One evening Jasper walked shyly with her from his gate up the pine hill. +After that he always walked that far with her. She would have missed him +much if he had failed to do so; yet it did not occur to her that she was +learning to love him. She would have laughed with girlish scorn at the +idea. She liked him very much; she thought his nature beautiful in +its simplicity and purity; in spite of his shyness she felt more +delightfully at home in his society than in that of any other person she +had ever met. He was one of those rare souls whose friendship is at once +a pleasure and a benediction, showering light from their own crystal +clearness into all the dark corners in the souls of others, until, for +the time being at least, they reflected his own nobility. But she never +thought of love. Like other girls she had her dreams of a possible +Prince Charming, young and handsome and debonair. It never occurred +to her that he might be found in the shy, dreamy recluse of Golden +Milestone. + +In August came a day of gold and blue. Alice Reade, coming through the +trees, with the wind blowing her little dark love-locks tricksily about +under her wide blue hat, found a fragrant heap of mignonette under +the pine. She lifted it and buried her face in it, drinking in the +wholesome, modest perfume. + +She had hoped Jasper would be in his garden, since she wished to ask him +for a book she greatly desired to read. But she saw him sitting on the +rustic seat at the further side. His back was towards her, and he was +partially screened by a copse of lilacs. + +Alice, blushing slightly, unlatched the garden gate, and went down the +path. She had never been in the garden before, and she found her heart +beating in a strange fashion. + +He did not hear her footsteps, and she was close behind him when she +heard his voice, and realized that he was talking to himself, in a low, +dreamy tone. As the meaning of his words dawned on her consciousness she +started and grew crimson. She could not move or speak; as one in a +dream she stood and listened to the shy man’s reverie, guiltless of any +thought of eavesdropping. + +“How much I love you, Alice,” Jasper Dale was saying, unafraid, with no +shyness in voice or manner. “I wonder what you would say if you knew. +You would laugh at me--sweet as you are, you would laugh in mockery. I +can never tell you. I can only dream of telling you. In my dream you are +standing here by me, dear. I can see you very plainly, my sweet lady, so +tall and gracious, with your dark hair and your maiden eyes. I can dream +that I tell you my love; that--maddest, sweetest dream of all--that you +love me in return. Everything is possible in dreams, you know, dear. My +dreams are all I have, so I go far in them, even to dreaming that you +are my wife. I dream how I shall fix up my dull old house for you. One +room will need nothing more--it is your room, dear, and has been ready +for you a long time--long before that day I saw you under the pine. Your +books and your chair and your picture are there, dear--only the picture +is not half lovely enough. But the other rooms of the house must be made +to bloom out freshly for you. What a delight it is thus to dream of +what I would do for you! Then I would bring you home, dear, and lead +you through my garden and into my house as its mistress. I would see you +standing beside me in the old mirror at the end of the hall--a bride, +in your pale blue dress, with a blush on your face. I would lead you +through all the rooms made ready for your coming, and then to your own. +I would see you sitting in your own chair and all my dreams would +find rich fulfilment in that royal moment. Oh, Alice, we would have a +beautiful life together! It’s sweet to make believe about it. You will +sing to me in the twilight, and we will gather early flowers together +in the spring days. When I come home from work, tired, you will put +your arms about me and lay your head on my shoulder. I will stroke +it--so--that bonny, glossy head of yours. Alice, my Alice--all mine in +my dream--never to be mine in real life--how I love you!” + +The Alice behind him could bear no more. She gave a little choking cry +that betrayed her presence. Jasper Dale sprang up and gazed upon her. He +saw her standing there, amid the languorous shadows of August, pale with +feeling, wide-eyed, trembling. + +For a moment shyness wrung him. Then every trace of it was banished by a +sudden, strange, fierce anger that swept over him. He felt outraged and +hurt to the death; he felt as if he had been cheated out of something +incalculably precious--as if sacrilege had been done to his most holy +sanctuary of emotion. White, tense with his anger, he looked at her and +spoke, his lips as pale as if his fiery words scathed them. + +“How dare you? You have spied on me--you have crept in and listened! How +dare you? Do you know what you have done, girl? You have destroyed all +that made life worth while to me. My dream is dead. It could not live +when it was betrayed. And it was all I had. Oh, laugh at me--mock me! I +know that I am ridiculous! What of it? It never could have hurt you! Why +must you creep in like this to hear me and put me to shame? Oh, I love +you--I will say it, laugh as you will. Is it such a strange thing that I +should have a heart like other men? This will make sport for you! I, who +love you better than my life, better than any other man in the world +can love you, will be a jest to you all your life. I love you--and yet +I think I could hate you--you have destroyed my dream--you have done me +deadly wrong.” + +“Jasper! Jasper!” cried Alice, finding her voice. His anger hurt her +with a pain she could not endure. It was unbearable that Jasper should +be angry with her. In that moment she realized that she loved him--that +the words he had spoken when unconscious of her presence were the +sweetest she had ever heard, or ever could hear. Nothing mattered at +all, save that he loved her and was angry with her. + +“Don’t say such dreadful things to me,” she stammered, “I did not +mean to listen. I could not help it. I shall never laugh at you. Oh, +Jasper”--she looked bravely at him and the fine soul of her shone +through the flesh like an illuminating lamp--“I am glad that you love +me! and I am glad I chanced to overhear you, since you would never have +had the courage to tell me otherwise. Glad--glad! Do you understand, +Jasper?” + +Jasper looked at her with the eyes of one who, looking through pain, +sees rapture beyond. + +“Is it possible?” he said, wonderingly. “Alice--I am so much older +than you--and they call me the Awkward Man--they say I am unlike other +people”-- + +“You ARE unlike other people,” she said softly, “and that is why I love +you. I know now that I must have loved you ever since I saw you.” + +“I loved you long before I saw you,” said Jasper. + +He came close to her and drew her into his arms, tenderly and +reverently, all his shyness and awkwardness swallowed up in the grace +of his great happiness. In the old garden he kissed her lips and Alice +entered into her own. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. UNCLE BLAIR COMES HOME + + +It happened that the Story Girl and I both got up very early on the +morning of the Awkward Man’s wedding day. Uncle Alec was going to +Charlottetown that day, and I, awakened at daybreak by the sounds in the +kitchen beneath us, remembered that I had forgotten to ask him to bring +me a certain school-book I wanted. So I hurriedly dressed and hastened +down to tell him before he went. I was joined on the stairs by the Story +Girl, who said she had wakened and, not feeling like going to sleep +again, thought she might as well get up. + +“I had such a funny dream last night,” she said. “I dreamed that I heard +a voice calling me from away down in Uncle Stephen’s Walk--‘Sara, Sara, +Sara,’ it kept calling. I didn’t know whose it was, and yet it seemed +like a voice I knew. I wakened up while it was calling, and it seemed so +real I could hardly believe it was a dream. It was bright moonlight, +and I felt just like getting up and going out to the orchard. But I knew +that would be silly and of course I didn’t go. But I kept on wanting to +and I couldn’t sleep any more. Wasn’t it queer?” + +When Uncle Alec had gone I proposed a saunter to the farther end of the +orchard, where I had left a book the preceding evening. A young morn was +walking rosily on the hills as we passed down Uncle Stephen’s Walk, +with Paddy trotting before us. High overhead was the spirit-like blue of +paling skies; the east was a great arc of crystal, smitten through with +auroral crimsonings; just above it was one milk-white star of morning, +like a pearl on a silver sea. A light wind of dawn was weaving an orient +spell. + +“It’s lovely to be up as early as this, isn’t it?” said the Story Girl. +“The world seems so different just at sunrise, doesn’t it? It makes me +feel just like getting up to see the sun rise every morning of my +life after this. But I know I won’t. I’ll likely sleep later than ever +tomorrow morning. But I wish I could.” + +“The Awkward Man and Miss Reade are going to have a lovely day for their +wedding,” I said. + +“Yes, and I’m so glad. Beautiful Alice deserves everything good. Why, +Bev--why, Bev! Who is that in the hammock?” + +I looked. The hammock was swung under the two end trees of the Walk. In +it a man was lying, asleep, his head pillowed on his overcoat. He was +sleeping easily, lightly, and wholesomely. He had a pointed brown beard +and thick wavy brown hair. His cheeks were a dusky red and the lashes of +his closed eyes were as long and dark and silken as a girl’s. He wore a +light gray suit, and on the slender white hand that hung down over the +hammock’s edge was a spark of diamond fire. + +It seemed to me that I knew his face, although assuredly I had never +seen him before. While I groped among vague speculations the Story Girl +gave a queer, choked little cry. The next moment she had sprung over the +intervening space, dropped on her knees by the hammock, and flung her +arms about the man’s neck. + +“Father! Father!” she cried, while I stood, rooted to the ground in my +amazement. + +The sleeper stirred and opened two large, exceedingly brilliant hazel +eyes. For a moment he gazed rather blankly at the brown-curled young +lady who was embracing him. Then a most delightful smile broke over his +face; he sprang up and caught her to his heart. + +“Sara--Sara--my little Sara! To think I didn’t know you at first +glance! But you are almost a woman. And when I saw you last you were +just a little girl of eight. My own little Sara!” + +“Father--father--sometimes I’ve wondered if you were ever coming back +to me,” I heard the Story Girl say, as I turned and scuttled up the +Walk, realizing that I was not wanted there just then and would be +little missed. Various emotions and speculations possessed my mind in +my retreat; but chiefly did I feel a sense of triumph in being the +bearer of exciting news. + +“Aunt Janet, Uncle Blair is here,” I announced breathlessly at the +kitchen door. + +Aunt Janet, who was kneading her bread, turned round and lifted floury +hands. Felicity and Cecily, who were just entering the kitchen, rosy +from slumber, stopped still and stared at me. + +“Uncle who?” exclaimed Aunt Janet. + +“Uncle Blair--the Story Girl’s father, you know. He’s here.” + +“WHERE?” + +“Down in the orchard. He was asleep in the hammock. We found him there.” + +“Dear me!” said Aunt Janet, sitting down helplessly. “If that isn’t +like Blair! Of course he couldn’t come like anybody else. I wonder,” she +added in a tone unheard by anyone else save myself, “I wonder if he has +come to take the child away.” + +My elation went out like a snuffed candle. I had never thought of this. +If Uncle Blair took the Story Girl away would not life become rather +savourless on the hill farm? I turned and followed Felicity and Cecily +out in a very subdued mood. + +Uncle Blair and the Story Girl were just coming out of the orchard. His +arm was about her and hers was on his shoulder. Laughter and tears were +contending in her eyes. Only once before--when Peter had come back from +the Valley of the Shadow--had I seen the Story Girl cry. Emotion had to +go very deep with her ere it touched the source of tears. I had always +known that she loved her father passionately, though she rarely talked +of him, understanding that her uncles and aunts were not whole-heartedly +his friends. + +But Aunt Janet’s welcome was cordial enough, though a trifle flustered. +Whatever thrifty, hard-working farmer folk might think of gay, Bohemian +Blair Stanley in his absence, in his presence even they liked him, by +the grace of some winsome, lovable quality in the soul of him. He had +“a way with him”--revealed even in the manner with which he caught staid +Aunt Janet in his arms, swung her matronly form around as though she had +been a slim schoolgirl, and kissed her rosy cheek. + +“Sister o’ mine, are you never going to grow old?” he said. “Here you +are at forty-five with the roses of sixteen--and not a gray hair, I’ll +wager.” + +“Blair, Blair, it is you who are always young,” laughed Aunt Janet, not +ill pleased. “Where in the world did you come from? And what is this I +hear of your sleeping all night in the hammock?” + +“I’ve been painting in the Lake District all summer, as you know,” + answered Uncle Blair, “and one day I just got homesick to see my little +girl. So I sailed for Montreal without further delay. I got here at +eleven last night--the station-master’s son drove me down. Nice boy. The +old house was in darkness and I thought it would be a shame to rouse you +all out of bed after a hard day’s work. So I decided that I would spend +the night in the orchard. It was moonlight, you know, and moonlight in +an old orchard is one of the few things left over from the Golden Age.” + +“It was very foolish of you,” said practical Aunt Janet. “These +September nights are real chilly. You might have caught your death of +cold--or a bad dose of rheumatism.” + +“So I might. No doubt it was foolish of me,” agreed Uncle Blair gaily. +“It must have been the fault, of the moonlight. Moonlight, you know, +Sister Janet, has an intoxicating quality. It is a fine, airy, silver +wine, such as fairies may drink at their revels, unharmed of it; but +when a mere mortal sips of it, it mounts straightway to his brain, to +the undoing of his daylight common sense. However, I have got neither +cold nor rheumatism, as a sensible person would have done had he ever +been lured into doing such a non-sensible thing; there is a special +Providence for us foolish folk. I enjoyed my night in the orchard; for +a time I was companioned by sweet old memories; and then I fell asleep +listening to the murmurs of the wind in those old trees yonder. And I +had a beautiful dream, Janet. I dreamed that the old orchard blossomed +again, as it did that spring eighteen years ago. I dreamed that its +sunshine was the sunshine of spring, not autumn. There was newness of +life in my dream, Janet, and the sweetness of forgotten words.” + +“Wasn’t it strange about MY dream?” whispered the Story Girl to me. + +“Well, you’d better come in and have some breakfast,” said Aunt Janet. +“These are my little girls--Felicity and Cecily.” + +“I remember them as two most adorable tots,” said Uncle Blair, shaking +hands. “They haven’t changed quite so much as my own baby-child. Why, +she’s a woman, Janet--she’s a woman.” + +“She’s child enough still,” said Aunt Janet hastily. + +The Story Girl shook her long brown curls. + +“I’m fifteen,” she said. “And you ought to see me in my long dress, +father.” + +“We must not be separated any longer, dear heart,” I heard Uncle Blair +say tenderly. I hoped that he meant he would stay in Canada--not that he +would take the Story Girl away. + +Apart from this we had a gay day with Uncle Blair. He evidently liked +our society better than that of the grown-ups, for he was a child +himself at heart, gay, irresponsible, always acting on the impulse of +the moment. We all found him a delightful companion. There was no +school that day, as Mr. Perkins was absent, attending a meeting of +the Teachers’ Convention, so we spent most of its golden hours in the +orchard with Uncle Blair, listening to his fascinating accounts of +foreign wanderings. He also drew all our pictures for us, and this was +especially delightful, for the day of the camera was only just dawning +and none of us had ever had even our photographs taken. Sara Ray’s +pleasure was, as usual, quite spoiled by wondering what her mother +would say of it, for Mrs. Ray had, so it appeared, some very peculiar +prejudices against the taking or making of any kind of picture +whatsoever, owing to an exceedingly strict interpretation of the second +commandment. Dan suggested that she need not tell her mother anything +about it; but Sara shook her head. + +“I’ll have to tell her. I’ve made it a rule to tell ma everything I do +ever since the Judgment Day.” + +“Besides,” added Cecily seriously, “the Family Guide says one ought to +tell one’s mother everything.” + +“It’s pretty hard sometimes, though,” sighed Sara. “Ma scolds so much +when I do tell her things, that it sort of discourages me. But when I +think of how dreadful I felt the time of the Judgment Day over deceiving +her in some things it nerves me up. I’d do almost anything rather than +feel like that the next time the Judgment Day comes.” + +“Fe, fi, fo, fum, I smell a story,” said Uncle Blair. “What do you mean +by speaking of the Judgment Day in the past tense?” + +The Story Girl told him the tale of that dreadful Sunday in the +preceding summer and we all laughed with him at ourselves. + +“All the same,” muttered Peter, “I don’t want to have another experience +like that. I hope I’ll be dead the next time the Judgment Day comes.” + +“But you’ll be raised up for it,” said Felix. + +“Oh, that’ll be all right. I won’t mind that. I won’t know anything +about it till it really happens. It’s the expecting it that’s the +worst.” + +“I don’t think you ought to talk of such things,” said Felicity. + +When evening came we all went to Golden Milestone. We knew the Awkward +Man and his bride were expected home at sunset, and we meant to scatter +flowers on the path by which she must enter her new home. It was the +Story Girl’s idea, but I don’t think Aunt Janet would have let us go if +Uncle Blair had not pleaded for us. He asked to be taken along, too, and +we agreed, if he would stand out of sight when the newly married pair +came home. + +“You see, father, the Awkward Man won’t mind us, because we’re only +children and he knows us well,” explained the Story Girl, “but if +he sees you, a stranger, it might confuse him and we might spoil the +homecoming, and that would be such a pity.” + +So we went to Golden Milestone, laden with all the flowery spoil we +could plunder from both gardens. It was a clear amber-tinted September +evening and far away, over Markdale Harbour, a great round red moon +was rising as we waited. Uncle Blair was hidden behind the wind-blown +tassels of the pines at the gate, but he and the Story Girl kept waving +their hands at each other and calling out gay, mirthful jests. + +“Do you really feel acquainted with your father?” whispered Sara Ray +wonderingly. “It’s long since you saw him.” + +“If I hadn’t seen him for a hundred years it wouldn’t make any +difference that way,” laughed the Story Girl. + +“S-s-h-s-s-h--they’re coming,” whispered Felicity excitedly. + +And then they came--Beautiful Alice blushing and lovely, in the +prettiest of pretty blue dresses, and the Awkward Man, so fervently +happy that he quite forgot to be awkward. He lifted her out of the buggy +gallantly and led her forward to us, smiling. We retreated before them, +scattering our flowers lavishly on the path, and Alice Dale walked to +the very doorstep of her new home over a carpet of blossoms. On the +step they both paused and turned towards us, and we shyly did the proper +thing in the way of congratulations and good wishes. + +“It was so sweet of you to do this,” said the smiling bride. + +“It was lovely to be able to do it for you, dearest,” whispered the +Story Girl, “and oh, Miss Reade--Mrs. Dale, I mean--we all hope you’ll +be so, so happy for ever.” + +“I am sure I shall,” said Alice Dale, turning to her husband. He looked +down into her eyes--and we were quite forgotten by both of them. We saw +it, and slipped away, while Jasper Dale drew his wife into their home +and shut the world out. + +We scampered joyously away through the moonlit dusk. Uncle Blair joined +us at the gate and the Story Girl asked him what he thought of the +bride. + +“When she dies white violets will grow out of her dust,” he answered. + +“Uncle Blair says even queerer things than the Story Girl,” Felicity +whispered to me. + +And so that beautiful day went away from us, slipping through our +fingers as we tried to hold it. It hooded itself in shadows and fared +forth on the road that is lighted by the white stars of evening. It had +been a gift of Paradise. Its hours had all been fair and beloved. From +dawn flush to fall of night there had been naught to mar it. It took +with it its smiles and laughter. But it left the boon of memory. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. THE OLD ORDER CHANGETH + + +“I am going away with father when he goes. He is going to spend the +winter in Paris, and I am to go to school there.” + +The Story Girl told us this one day in the orchard. There was a little +elation in her tone, but more regret. The news was not a great surprise +to us. We had felt it in the air ever since Uncle Blair’s arrival. Aunt +Janet had been very unwilling to let the Story Girl go. But Uncle Blair +was inexorable. It was time, he said, that she should go to a better +school than the little country one in Carlisle; and besides, he did not +want her to grow into womanhood a stranger to him. So it was finally +decided that she was to go. + +“Just think, you are going to Europe,” said Sara Ray in an awe-struck +tone. “Won’t that be splendid!” + +“I suppose I’ll like it after a while,” said the Story Girl slowly, +“but I know I’ll be dreadfully homesick at first. Of course, it will be +lovely to be with father, but oh, I’ll miss the rest of you so much!” + +“Just think how WE’LL miss YOU,” sighed Cecily. “It will be so lonesome +here this winter, with you and Peter both gone. Oh, dear, I do wish +things didn’t have to change.” + +Felicity said nothing. She kept looking down at the grass on which she +sat, absently pulling at the slender blades. Presently we saw two big +tears roll down over her cheeks. The Story Girl looked surprised. + +“Are you crying because I’m going away, Felicity?” she asked. + +“Of course I am,” answered Felicity, with a big sob. “Do you think I’ve +no f-f-eeling?” + +“I didn’t think you’d care much,” said the Story Girl frankly. “You’ve +never seemed to like me very much.” + +“I d-don’t wear my h-heart on my sleeve,” said poor Felicity, with an +attempt at dignity. “I think you m-might stay. Your father would let you +s-stay if you c-coaxed him.” + +“Well, you see I’d have to go some time,” sighed the Story Girl, +“and the longer it was put off the harder it would be. But I do feel +dreadfully about it. I can’t even take poor Paddy. I’ll have to leave +him behind, and oh, I want you all to promise to be kind to him for my +sake.” + +We all solemnly assured her that we would. + +“I’ll g-give him cream every m-morning and n-night,” sobbed Felicity, +“but I’ll never be able to look at him without crying. He’ll make me +think of you.” + +“Well, I’m not going right away,” said the Story Girl, more cheerfully. +“Not till the last of October. So we have over a month yet to have a +good time in. Let’s all just determine to make it a splendid month for +the last. We won’t think about my going at all till we have to, and we +won’t have any quarrels among us, and we’ll just enjoy ourselves all we +possibly can. So don’t cry any more, Felicity. I’m awfully glad you +do like me and am sorry I’m going away, but let’s all forget it for a +month.” + +Felicity sighed, and tucked away her damp handkerchief. + +“It isn’t so easy for me to forget things, but I’ll try,” she said +disconsolately, “and if you want any more cooking lessons before you go +I’ll be real glad to teach you anything I know.” + +This was a high plane of self-sacrifice for Felicity to attain. But the +Story Girl shook her head. + +“No, I’m not going to bother my head about cooking lessons this last +month. It’s too vexing.” + +“Do you remember the time you made the pudding--” began Peter, and +suddenly stopped. + +“Out of sawdust?” finished the Story Girl cheerfully. “You needn’t be +afraid to mention it to me after this. I don’t mind any more. I begin to +see the fun of it now. I should think I do remember it--and the time I +baked the bread before it was raised enough.” + +“People have made worse mistakes than that,” said Felicity kindly. + +“Such as using tooth-powd--” but here Dan stopped abruptly, remembering +the Story Girl’s plea for a beautiful month. Felicity coloured, but said +nothing--did not even LOOK anything. + +“We HAVE had lots of fun together one way or another,” said Cecily, +retrospectively. + +“Just think how much we’ve laughed this last year or so,” said the Story +Girl. “We’ve had good times together; but I think we’ll have lots more +splendid years ahead.” + +“Eden is always behind us--Paradise always before,” said Uncle +Blair, coming up in time to hear her. He said it with a sigh that was +immediately lost in one of his delightful smiles. + +“I like Uncle Blair so much better than I expected to,” Felicity +confided to me. “Mother says he’s a rolling stone, but there really is +something very nice about him, although he says a great many things I +don’t understand. I suppose the Story Girl will have a very gay time in +Paris.” + +“She’s going to school and she’ll have to study hard,” I said. + +“She says she’s going to study for the stage,” said Felicity. “Uncle +Roger thinks it is all right, and says she’ll be very famous some day. +But mother thinks it’s dreadful, and so do I.” + +“Aunt Julia is a concert singer,” I said. + +“Oh, that’s very different. But I hope poor Sara will get on all right,” + sighed Felicity. “You never know what may happen to a person in those +foreign countries. And everybody says Paris is such a wicked place. But +we must hope for the best,” she concluded in a resigned tone. + +That evening the Story Girl and I drove the cows to pasture after +milking, and when we came home we sought out Uncle Blair in the orchard. +He was sauntering up and down Uncle Stephen’s Walk, his hands clasped +behind him and his beautiful, youthful face uplifted to the western sky +where waves of night were breaking on a dim primrose shore of sunset. + +“See that star over there in the south-west?” he said, as we joined him. +“The one just above that pine? An evening star shining over a dark +pine tree is the whitest thing in the universe--because it is LIVING +whiteness--whiteness possessing a soul. How full this old orchard is of +twilight! Do you know, I have been trysting here with ghosts.” + +“The Family Ghost?” I asked, very stupidly. + +“No, not the Family Ghost. I never saw beautiful, broken-hearted Emily +yet. Your mother saw her once, Sara--that was a strange thing,” he added +absently, as if to himself. + +“Did mother really see her?” whispered the Story Girl. + +“Well, she always believed she did. Who knows?” + +“Do you think there are such things as ghosts, Uncle Blair?” I asked +curiously. + +“I never saw any, Beverley.” + +“But you said you were trysting with ghosts here this evening,” said the +Story Girl. + +“Oh, yes--the ghosts of the old years. I love this orchard because of +its many ghosts. We are good comrades, those ghosts and I; we walk and +talk--we even laugh together--sorrowful laughter that has sorrow’s own +sweetness. And always there comes to me one dear phantom and wanders +hand in hand with me--a lost lady of the old years.” + +“My mother?” said the Story Girl very softly. + +“Yes, your mother. Here, in her old haunts, it is impossible for me to +believe that she can be dead--that her LAUGHTER can be dead. She was the +gayest, sweetest thing--and so young--only three years older than you, +Sara. Yonder old house had been glad because of her for eighteen years +when I met her first.” + +“I wish I could remember her,” said the Story Girl, with a little sigh. +“I haven’t even a picture of her. Why didn’t you paint one, father?” + +“She would never let me. She had some queer, funny, half-playful, +half-earnest superstition about it. But I always meant to when she would +become willing to let me. And then--she died. Her twin brother Felix +died the same day. There was something strange about that, too. I was +holding her in my arms and she was looking up at me; suddenly she looked +past me and gave a little start. ‘Felix!’ she said. For a moment +she trembled and then she smiled and looked up at me again a little +beseechingly. ‘Felix has come for me, dear,’ she said. ‘We were always +together before you came--you must not mind--you must be glad I do not +have to go alone.’ Well, who knows? But she left me, Sara--she left me.” + +There was that in Uncle Blair’s voice that kept us silent for a time. +Then the Story Girl said, still very softly: + +“What did mother look like, father? I don’t look the least little bit +like her, do I?” + +“No, I wish you did, you brown thing. Your mother’s face was as white as +a wood-lily, with only a faint dream of rose in her cheeks. She had the +eyes of one who always had a song in her heart--blue as a mist, those +eyes were. She had dark lashes, and a little red mouth that quivered +when she was very sad or very happy like a crimson rose too rudely +shaken by the wind. She was as slim and lithe as a young, white-stemmed +birch tree. How I loved her! How happy we were! But he who accepts human +love must bind it to his soul with pain, and she is not lost to me. +Nothing is ever really lost to us as long as we remember it.” + +Uncle Blair looked up at the evening star. We saw that he had forgotten +us, and we slipped away, hand in hand, leaving him alone in the +memory-haunted shadows of the old orchard. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII. THE PATH TO ARCADY + + +October that year gathered up all the spilled sunshine of the summer and +clad herself in it as in a garment. The Story Girl had asked us to +try to make the last month together beautiful, and Nature seconded our +efforts, giving us that most beautiful of beautiful things--a gracious +and perfect moon of falling leaves. There was not in all that vanished +October one day that did not come in with auroral splendour and go out +attended by a fair galaxy of evening stars--not a day when there were +not golden lights in the wide pastures and purple hazes in the ripened +distances. Never was anything so gorgeous as the maple trees that year. +Maples are trees that have primeval fire in their souls. It glows out a +little in their early youth, before the leaves open, in the redness and +rosy-yellowness of their blossoms, but in summer it is carefully hidden +under a demure, silver-lined greenness. Then when autumn comes, the +maples give up trying to be sober and flame out in all the barbaric +splendour and gorgeousness of their real nature, making of the hills +things out of an Arabian Nights dream in the golden prime of good Haroun +Alraschid. + +You may never know what scarlet and crimson really are until you see +them in their perfection on an October hillside, under the unfathomable +blue of an autumn sky. All the glow and radiance and joy at earth’s +heart seem to have broken loose in a splendid determination to express +itself for once before the frost of winter chills her beating pulses. It +is the year’s carnival ere the dull Lenten days of leafless valleys and +penitential mists come. + +The time of apple-picking had come around once more and we worked +joyously. Uncle Blair picked apples with us, and between him and the +Story Girl it was an October never to be forgotten. + +“Will you go far afield for a walk with me to-day?” he said to her and +me, one idle afternoon of opal skies, pied meadows and misty hills. + +It was Saturday and Peter had gone home; Felix and Dan were helping +Uncle Alec top turnips; Cecily and Felicity were making cookies for +Sunday, so the Story Girl and I were alone in Uncle Stephen’s Walk. + +We liked to be alone together that last month, to think the long, long +thoughts of youth and talk about our futures. There had grown up between +us that summer a bond of sympathy that did not exist between us and the +others. We were older than they--the Story Girl was fifteen and I was +nearly that; and all at once it seemed as if we were immeasurably older +than the rest, and possessed of dreams and visions and forward-reaching +hopes which they could not possibly share or understand. At times we +were still children, still interested in childish things. But there came +hours when we seemed to our two selves very grown up and old, and +in those hours we talked our dreams and visions and hopes, vague and +splendid, as all such are, over together, and so began to build up, out +of the rainbow fragments of our childhood’s companionship, that rare +and beautiful friendship which was to last all our lives, enriching and +enstarring them. For there is no bond more lasting than that formed by +the mutual confidences of that magic time when youth is slipping from +the sheath of childhood and beginning to wonder what lies for it beyond +those misty hills that bound the golden road. + +“Where are you going?” asked the Story Girl. + +“To ‘the woods that belt the gray hillside’--ay, and overflow beyond it +into many a valley purple-folded in immemorial peace,” answered Uncle +Blair. “I have a fancy for one more ramble in Prince Edward Island woods +before I leave Canada again. But I would not go alone. So come, you two +gay youthful things to whom all life is yet fair and good, and we will +seek the path to Arcady. There will be many little things along our +way to make us glad. Joyful sounds will ‘come ringing down the wind;’ a +wealth of gypsy gold will be ours for the gathering; we will learn the +potent, unutterable charm of a dim spruce wood and the grace of flexile +mountain ashes fringing a lonely glen; we will tryst with the folk of +fur and feather; we’ll hearken to the music of gray old firs. Come, and +you’ll have a ramble and an afternoon that you will both remember all +your lives.” + +We did have it; never has its remembrance faded; that idyllic afternoon +of roving in the old Carlisle woods with the Story Girl and Uncle Blair +gleams in my book of years, a page of living beauty. Yet it was but +a few hours of simplest pleasure; we wandered pathlessly through the +sylvan calm of those dear places which seemed that day to be full of +a great friendliness; Uncle Blair sauntered along behind us, whistling +softly; sometimes he talked to himself; we delighted in those brief +reveries of his; Uncle Blair was the only man I have ever known who +could, when he so willed, “talk like a book,” and do it without seeming +ridiculous; perhaps it was because he had the knack of choosing “fit +audience, though few,” and the proper time to appeal to that audience. + +We went across the fields, intending to skirt the woods at the back of +Uncle Alec’s farm and find a lane that cut through Uncle Roger’s woods; +but before we came to it we stumbled on a sly, winding little path quite +by accident--if, indeed, there can be such a thing as accident in the +woods, where I am tempted to think we are led by the Good People along +such of their fairy ways as they have a mind for us to walk in. + +“Go to, let us explore this,” said Uncle Blair. “It always drags +terribly at my heart to go past a wood lane if I can make any excuse at +all for traversing it: for it is the by-ways that lead to the heart of +the woods and we must follow them if we would know the forest and be +known of it. When we can really feel its wild heart beating against ours +its subtle life will steal into our veins and make us its own for ever, +so that no matter where we go or how wide we wander in the noisy ways of +cities or over the lone ways of the sea, we shall yet be drawn back to +the forest to find our most enduring kinship.” + +“I always feel so SATISFIED in the woods,” said the Story Girl dreamily, +as we turned in under the low-swinging fir boughs. “Trees seem such +friendly things.” + +“They are the most friendly things in God’s good creation,” said Uncle +Blair emphatically. “And it is so easy to live with them. To hold +converse with pines, to whisper secrets with the poplars, to listen to +the tales of old romance that beeches have to tell, to walk in eloquent +silence with self-contained firs, is to learn what real companionship +is. Besides, trees are the same all over the world. A beech tree on the +slopes of the Pyrenees is just what a beech tree here in these Carlisle +woods is; and there used to be an old pine hereabouts whose twin brother +I was well acquainted with in a dell among the Apennines. Listen to +those squirrels, will you, chattering over yonder. Did you ever hear +such a fuss over nothing? Squirrels are the gossips and busybodies of +the woods; they haven’t learned the fine reserve of its other denizens. +But after all, there is a certain shrill friendliness in their +greeting.” + +“They seem to be scolding us,” I said, laughing. + +“Oh, they are not half such scolds as they sound,” answered Uncle Blair +gaily. “If they would but ‘tak a thought and mend’ their shrew-like ways +they would be dear, lovable creatures enough.” + +“If I had to be an animal I think I’d like to be a squirrel,” said the +Story Girl. “It must be next best thing to flying.” + +“Just see what a spring that fellow gave,” laughed Uncle Blair. “And now +listen to his song of triumph! I suppose that chasm he cleared seemed as +wide and deep to him as Niagara Gorge would to us if we leaped over +it. Well, the wood people are a happy folk and very well satisfied with +themselves.” + +Those who have followed a dim, winding, balsamic path to the unexpected +hollow where a wood-spring lies have found the rarest secret the forest +can reveal. Such was our good fortune that day. At the end of our path +we found it, under the pines, a crystal-clear thing with lips unkissed +by so much as a stray sunbeam. + +“It is easy to dream that this is one of the haunted springs of old +romance,” said Uncle Blair. “‘Tis an enchanted spot this, I am very +sure, and we should go softly, speaking low, lest we disturb the rest +of a white, wet naiad, or break some spell that has cost long years of +mystic weaving.” + +“It’s so easy to believe things in the woods,” said the Story Girl, +shaping a cup from a bit of golden-brown birch bark and filling it at +the spring. + +“Drink a toast in that water, Sara,” said Uncle Blair. “There’s not a +doubt that it has some potent quality of magic in it and the wish you +wish over it will come true.” + +The Story Girl lifted her golden-hued flagon to her red lips. Her hazel +eyes laughed at us over the brim. + +“Here’s to our futures,” she cried, “I wish that every day of our lives +may be better than the one that went before.” + +“An extravagant wish--a very wish of youth,” commented Uncle Blair, “and +yet in spite of its extravagance, a wish that will come true if you are +true to yourselves. In that case, every day WILL be better than all that +went before--but there will be many days, dear lad and lass, when you +will not believe it.” + +We did not understand him, but we knew Uncle Blair never explained his +meaning. When asked it he was wont to answer with a smile, “Some day +you’ll grow to it. Wait for that.” So we addressed ourselves to follow +the brook that stole away from the spring in its windings and doublings +and tricky surprises. + +“A brook,” quoth Uncle Blair, “is the most changeful, bewitching, +lovable thing in the world. It is never in the same mind or mood two +minutes. Here it is sighing and murmuring as if its heart were broken. +But listen--yonder by the birches it is laughing as if it were enjoying +some capital joke all by itself.” + +It was indeed a changeful brook; here it would make a pool, dark and +brooding and still, where we bent to look at our mirrored faces; then it +grew communicative and gossiped shallowly over a broken pebble bed where +there was a diamond dance of sunbeams and no troutling or minnow could +glide through without being seen. Sometimes its banks were high and +steep, hung with slender ashes and birches; again they were mere, low +margins, green with delicate mosses, shelving out of the wood. Once +it came to a little precipice and flung itself over undauntedly in an +indignation of foam, gathering itself up rather dizzily among the mossy +stones below. It was some time before it got over its vexation; it went +boiling and muttering along, fighting with the rotten logs that lie +across it, and making far more fuss than was necessary over every root +that interfered with it. We were getting tired of its ill-humour and +talked of leaving it, when it suddenly grew sweet-tempered again, +swooped around a curve--and presto, we were in fairyland. + +It was a little dell far in the heart of the woods. A row of birches +fringed the brook, and each birch seemed more exquisitely graceful +and golden than her sisters. The woods receded from it on every hand, +leaving it lying in a pool of amber sunshine. The yellow trees were +mirrored in the placid stream, with now and then a leaf falling on the +water, mayhap to drift away and be used, as Uncle Blair suggested, by +some adventurous wood sprite who had it in mind to fare forth to some +far-off, legendary region where all the brooks ran into the sea. + +“Oh, what a lovely place!” I exclaimed, looking around me with delight. + +“A spell of eternity is woven over it, surely,” murmured Uncle Blair. +“Winter may not touch it, or spring ever revisit it. It should be like +this for ever.” + +“Let us never come here again,” said the Story Girl softly, “never, +no matter how often we may be in Carlisle. Then we will never see it +changed or different. We can always remember it just as we see it now, +and it will be like this for ever for us.” + +“I’m going to sketch it,” said Uncle Blair. + +While he sketched it the Story Girl and I sat on the banks of the brook +and she told me the story of the Sighing Reed. It was a very simple +little story, that of the slender brown reed which grew by the forest +pool and always was sad and sighing because it could not utter music +like the brook and the birds and the winds. All the bright, beautiful +things around it mocked it and laughed at it for its folly. Who would +ever look for music in it, a plain, brown, unbeautiful thing? But one +day a youth came through the wood; he was as beautiful as the spring; he +cut the brown reed and fashioned it according to his liking; and then he +put it to his lips and breathed on it; and, oh, the music that floated +through the forest! It was so entrancing that everything--brooks and +birds and winds--grew silent to listen to it. Never had anything so +lovely been heard; it was the music that had for so long been shut up in +the soul of the sighing reed and was set free at last through its pain +and suffering. + +I had heard the Story Girl tell many a more dramatic tale; but that one +stands out for me in memory above them all, partly, perhaps, because of +the spot in which she told it, partly because it was the last one I was +to hear her tell for many years--the last one she was ever to tell me on +the golden road. + +When Uncle Blair had finished his sketch the shafts of sunshine were +turning crimson and growing more and more remote; the early autumn +twilight was falling over the woods. We left our dell, saying good-bye +to it for ever, as the Story Girl had suggested, and we went slowly +homeward through the fir woods, where a haunting, indescribable odour +stole out to meet us. + +“There is magic in the scent of dying fir,” Uncle Blair was saying aloud +to himself, as if forgetting he was not quite alone. “It gets into +our blood like some rare, subtly-compounded wine, and thrills us with +unutterable sweetnesses, as of recollections from some other fairer +life, lived in some happier star. Compared to it, all other scents seem +heavy and earth-born, luring to the valleys instead of the heights. But +the tang of the fir summons onward and upward to some ‘far-off, divine +event’--some spiritual peak of attainment whence we shall see with +unfaltering, unclouded vision the spires of some aerial City Beautiful, +or the fulfilment of some fair, fadeless land of promise.” + +He was silent for a moment, then added in a lower tone, + +“Felicity, you loved the scent of dying fir. If you were here tonight +with me--Felicity--Felicity!” + +Something in his voice made me suddenly sad. I was comforted when I felt +the Story Girl slip her hand into mine. So we walked out of the woods +into the autumn dusk. + +We were in a little valley. Half-way up the opposite slope a brush fire +was burning clearly and steadily in a maple grove. There was something +indescribably alluring in that fire, glowing so redly against the dark +background of forest and twilit hill. + +“Let us go to it,” cried Uncle Blair, gaily, casting aside his sorrowful +mood and catching our hands. “A wood fire at night has a fascination not +to be resisted by those of mortal race. Hasten--we must not lose time.” + +“Oh, it will burn a long time yet,” I gasped, for Uncle Blair was +whisking us up the hill at a merciless rate. + +“You can’t be sure. It may have been lighted by some good, honest +farmer-man, bent on tidying up his sugar orchard, but it may also, for +anything we know, have been kindled by no earthly woodman as a beacon or +summons to the tribes of fairyland, and may vanish away if we tarry.” + +It did not vanish and presently we found ourselves in the grove. It was +very beautiful; the fire burned with a clear, steady glow and a soft +crackle; the long arcades beneath the trees were illuminated with a +rosy radiance, beyond which lurked companies of gray and purple shadows. +Everything was very still and dreamy and remote. + +“It is impossible that out there, just over the hill, lies a village of +men, where tame household lamps are shining,” said Uncle Blair. + +“I feel as if we must be thousands of miles away from everything we’ve +ever known,” murmured the Story Girl. + +“So you are!” said Uncle Blair emphatically. “You’re back in the youth +of the race--back in the beguilement of the young world. Everything +is in this hour--the beauty of classic myths, the primal charm of the +silent and the open, the lure of mystery. Why, it’s a time and place +when and where everything might come true--when the men in green might +creep out to join hands and dance around the fire, or dryads steal from +their trees to warm their white limbs, grown chilly in October frosts, +by the blaze. I wouldn’t be much surprised if we should see something +of the kind. Isn’t that the flash of an ivory shoulder through yonder +gloom? And didn’t you see a queer little elfin face peering at us around +that twisted gray trunk? But one can’t be sure. Mortal eyesight is too +slow and clumsy a thing to match against the flicker of a pixy-litten +fire.” + +Hand in hand we wandered through that enchanted place, seeking the folk +of elf-land, “and heard their mystic voices calling, from fairy knoll +and haunted hill.” Not till the fire died down into ashes did we leave +the grove. Then we found that the full moon was gleaming lustrously from +a cloudless sky across the valley. Between us and her stretched up a +tall pine, wondrously straight and slender and branchless to its very +top, where it overflowed in a crest of dark boughs against the silvery +splendour behind it. Beyond, the hill farms were lying in a suave, white +radiance. + +“Doesn’t it seem a long, long time to you since we left home this +afternoon?” asked the Story Girl. “And yet it is only a few hours.” + +Only a few hours--true; yet such hours were worth a cycle of common +years untouched by the glory and the dream. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX. WE LOSE A FRIEND + + +Our beautiful October was marred by one day of black tragedy--the day +Paddy died. For Paddy, after seven years of as happy a life as ever +a cat lived, died suddenly--of poison, as was supposed. Where he had +wandered in the darkness to meet his doom we did not know, but in the +frosty dawnlight he dragged himself home to die. We found him lying +on the doorstep when we got up, and it did not need Aunt Janet’s curt +announcement, or Uncle Blair’s reluctant shake of the head, to tell us +that there was no chance of our pet recovering this time. We felt that +nothing could be done. Lard and sulphur on his paws would be of no use, +nor would any visit to Peg Bowen avail. We stood around in mournful +silence; the Story Girl sat down on the step and took poor Paddy upon +her lap. + +“I s’pose there’s no use even in praying now,” said Cecily desperately. + +“It wouldn’t do any harm to try,” sobbed Felicity. + +“You needn’t waste your prayers,” said Dan mournfully, “Pat is beyond +human aid. You can tell that by his eyes. Besides, I don’t believe it +was the praying cured him last time.” + +“No, it was Peg Bowen,” declared Peter, “but she couldn’t have bewitched +him this time for she’s been away for months, nobody knows where.” + +“If he could only TELL us where he feels the worst!” said Cecily +piteously. “It’s so dreadful to see him suffering and not be able to do +a single thing to help him!” + +“I don’t think he’s suffering much now,” I said comfortingly. + +The Story Girl said nothing. She passed and repassed her long brown hand +gently over her pet’s glossy fur. Pat lifted his head and essayed to +creep a little nearer to his beloved mistress. The Story Girl drew his +limp body close in her arms. There was a plaintive little mew--a long +quiver--and Paddy’s friendly soul had fared forth to wherever it is that +good cats go. + +“Well, he’s gone,” said Dan, turning his back abruptly to us. + +“It doesn’t seem as if it can be true,” sobbed Cecily. “This time +yesterday morning he was full of life.” + +“He drank two full saucers of cream,” moaned Felicity, “and I saw him +catch a mouse in the evening. Maybe it was the last one he ever caught.” + +“He did for many a mouse in his day,” said Peter, anxious to pay his +tribute to the departed. + +“‘He was a cat--take him for all in all. We shall not look upon his like +again,’” quoted Uncle Blair. + +Felicity and Cecily and Sara Ray cried so much that Aunt Janet lost +patience completely and told them sharply that they would have something +to cry for some day--which did not seem to comfort them much. The Story +Girl shed no tears, though the look in her eyes hurt more than weeping. + +“After all, perhaps it’s for the best,” she said drearily. “I’ve been +feeling so badly over having to go away and leave Paddy. No matter how +kind you’d all be to him I know he’d miss me terribly. He wasn’t like +most cats who don’t care who comes and goes as long as they get plenty +to eat. Paddy wouldn’t have been contented without me.” + +“Oh, no-o-o, oh, no-o-o,” wailed Sara Ray lugubriously. + +Felix shot a disgusted glance at her. + +“I don’t see what YOU are making such a fuss about,” he said +unfeelingly. “He wasn’t your cat.” + +“But I l-l-oved him,” sobbed Sara, “and I always feel bad when my +friends d-do.” + +“I wish we could believe that cats went to heaven, like people,” sighed +Cecily. “Do you really think it isn’t possible?” + +Uncle Blair shook his head. + +“I’m afraid not. I’d like to think cats have a chance for heaven, but I +can’t. There’s nothing heavenly about cats, delightful creatures though +they are.” + +“Blair, I’m really surprised to hear the things you say to the +children,” said Aunt Janet severely. + +“Surely you wouldn’t prefer me to tell them that cats DO go to heaven,” + protested Uncle Blair. + +“I think it’s wicked to carry on about an animal as those children do,” + answered Aunt Janet decidedly, “and you shouldn’t encourage them. Here +now, children, stop making a fuss. Bury that cat and get off to your +apple picking.” + +We had to go to our work, but Paddy was not to be buried in any such +off-hand fashion as that. It was agreed that we should bury him in +the orchard at sunset that evening, and Sara Ray, who had to go home, +declared she would be back for it, and implored us to wait for her if +she didn’t come exactly on time. + +“I mayn’t be able to get away till after milking,” she sniffed, “but I +don’t want to miss it. Even a cat’s funeral is better than none at all.” + +“Horrid thing!” said Felicity, barely waiting until Sara was out of +earshot. + +We worked with heavy hearts that day; the girls cried bitterly most of +the time and we boys whistled defiantly. But as evening drew on we began +to feel a sneaking interest in the details of the funeral. As Dan said, +the thing should be done properly, since Paddy was no common cat. The +Story Girl selected the spot for the grave, in a little corner behind +the cherry copse, where early violets enskied the grass in spring, and +we boys dug the grave, making it “soft and narrow,” as the heroine of +the old ballad wanted hers made. Sara Ray, who managed to come in time +after all, and Felicity stood and watched us, but Cecily and the Story +Girl kept far aloof. + +“This time last night you never thought you’d be digging Pat’s grave +to-night,” sighed Felicity. + +“We little k-know what a day will bring forth,” sobbed Sara. “I’ve heard +the minister say that and it is true.” + +“Of course it’s true. It’s in the Bible; but I don’t think you should +repeat it in connection with a cat,” said Felicity dubiously. + +When all was in readiness the Story Girl brought her pet through the +orchard where he had so often frisked and prowled. No useless coffin +enclosed his breast but he reposed in a neat cardboard box. + +“I wonder if it would be right to say ‘ashes to ashes and dust to +dust,’” said Peter. + +“No, it wouldn’t,” averred Felicity. “It would be real wicked.” + +“I think we ought to sing a hymn, anyway,” asseverated Sara Ray. + +“Well, we might do that, if it isn’t a very religious one,” conceded +Felicity. + +“How would ‘Pull for the shore, sailor, pull for the shore,’ do?” asked +Cecily. “That never seemed to me a very religious hymn.” + +“But it doesn’t seem very appropriate to a funeral occasion either,” + said Felicity. + +“I think ‘Lead, kindly light,’ would be ever so much more suitable,” + suggested Sara Ray, “and it is kind of soothing and melancholy too.” + +“We are not going to sing anything,” said the Story Girl coldly. “Do +you want to make the affair ridiculous? We will just fill up the grave +quietly and put a flat stone over the top.” + +“It isn’t much like my idea of a funeral,” muttered Sara Ray +discontentedly. + +“Never mind, we’re going to have a real obituary about him in Our +Magazine,” whispered Cecily consolingly. + +“And Peter is going to cut his name on top of the stone,” added +Felicity. “Only we mustn’t let on to the grown-ups until it is done, +because they might say it wasn’t right.” + +We left the orchard, a sober little band, with the wind of the gray +twilight blowing round us. Uncle Roger passed us at the gate. + +“So the last sad obsequies are over?” he remarked with a grin. + +And we hated Uncle Roger. But we loved Uncle Blair because he said +quietly, + +“And so you’ve buried your little comrade?” + +So much may depend on the way a thing is said. But not even Uncle +Blair’s sympathy could take the sting out of the fact that there was +no Paddy to get the froth that night at milking time. Felicity cried +bitterly all the time she was straining the milk. Many human beings have +gone to their graves unattended by as much real regret as followed that +one gray pussy cat to his. + + + + +CHAPTER XXX. PROPHECIES + + +“Here’s a letter for you from father,” said Felix, tossing it to me as +he came through the orchard gate. We had been picking apples all day, +but were taking a mid-afternoon rest around the well, with a cup of its +sparkling cold water to refresh us. + +I opened the letter rather indifferently, for father, with all his +excellent and lovable traits, was but a poor correspondent; his letters +were usually very brief and very unimportant. + +This letter was brief enough, but it was freighted with a message of +weighty import. I sat gazing stupidly at the sheet after I had read it +until Felix exclaimed, + +“Bev, what’s the matter with you? What’s in that letter?” + +“Father is coming home,” I said dazedly. “He is to leave South America +in a fortnight and will be here in November to take us back to Toronto.” + +Everybody gasped. Sara Ray, of course, began to cry, which aggravated me +unreasonably. + +“Well,” said Felix, when he got his second wind, “I’ll be awful glad +to see father again, but I tell you I don’t like the thought of leaving +here.” + +I felt exactly the same but, in view of Sara Ray’s tears, admit it I +would not; so I sat in grum silence while the other tongues wagged. + +“If I were not going away myself I’d feel just terrible,” said the Story +Girl. “Even as it is I’m real sorry. I’d like to be able to think of +you as all here together when I’m gone, having good times and writing me +about them.” + +“It’ll be awfully dull when you fellows go,” muttered Dan. + +“I’m sure I don’t know what we’re ever going to do here this winter,” + said Felicity, with the calmness of despair. + +“Thank goodness there are no more fathers to come back,” breathed Cecily +with a vicious earnestness that made us all laugh, even in the midst of +our dismay. + +We worked very half-heartedly the rest of the day, and it was not until +we assembled in the orchard in the evening that our spirits recovered +something like their wonted level. It was clear and slightly frosty; the +sun had declined behind a birch on a distant hill and it seemed a tree +with a blazing heart of fire. The great golden willow at the lane gate +was laughter-shaken in the wind of evening. Even amid all the changes of +our shifting world we could not be hopelessly low-spirited--except Sara +Ray, who was often so, and Peter, who was rarely so. But Peter had been +sorely vexed in spirit for several days. The time was approaching for +the October issue of Our Magazine and he had no genuine fiction ready +for it. He had taken so much to heart Felicity’s taunt that his stories +were all true that he had determined to have a really-truly false one +in the next number. But the difficulty was to get anyone to write it. He +had asked the Story Girl to do it, but she refused; then he appealed to +me and I shirked. Finally Peter determined to write a story himself. + +“It oughtn’t to be any harder than writing a poem and I managed that,” + he said dolefully. + +He worked at it in the evenings in the granary loft, and the rest of us +forebore to question him concerning it, because he evidently disliked +talking about his literary efforts. But this evening I had to ask him if +he would soon have it ready, as I wanted to make up the paper. + +“It’s done,” said Peter, with an air of gloomy triumph. “It don’t amount +to much, but anyhow I made it all out of my own head. Not one word of it +was ever printed or told before, and nobody can say there was.” + +“Then I guess we have all the stuff in and I’ll have Our Magazine ready +to read by tomorrow night,” I said. + +“I s’pose it will be the last one we’ll have,” sighed Cecily. “We can’t +carry it on after you all go, and it has been such fun.” + +“Bev will be a real newspaper editor some day,” declared the Story Girl, +on whom the spirit of prophecy suddenly descended that night. + +She was swinging on the bough of an apple tree, with a crimson shawl +wrapped about her head, and her eyes were bright with roguish fire. + +“How do you know he will?” asked Felicity. + +“Oh, I can tell futures,” answered the Story Girl mysteriously. “I know +what’s going to happen to all of you. Shall I tell you?” + +“Do, just for the fun of it,” I said. “Then some day we’ll know just how +near you came to guessing right. Go on. What else about me?” + +“You’ll write books, too, and travel all over the world,” continued the +Story Girl. “Felix will be fat to the end of his life, and he will be a +grandfather before he is fifty, and he will wear a long black beard.” + +“I won’t,” cried Felix disgustedly. “I hate whiskers. Maybe I can’t help +the grandfather part, but I CAN help having a beard.” + +“You can’t. It’s written in the stars.” + +“‘Tain’t. The stars can’t prevent me from shaving.” + +“Won’t Grandpa Felix sound awful funny?” reflected Felicity. + +“Peter will be a minister,” went on the Story Girl. + +“Well, I might be something worse,” remarked Peter, in a not ungratified +tone. + +“Dan will be a farmer and will marry a girl whose name begins with K and +he will have eleven children. And he’ll vote Grit.” + +“I won’t,” cried scandalized Dan. “You don’t know a thing about +it. Catch ME ever voting Grit! As for the rest of it--I don’t care. +Farming’s well enough, though I’d rather be a sailor.” + +“Don’t talk such nonsense,” protested Felicity sharply. “What on earth +do you want to be a sailor for and be drowned?” + +“All sailors aren’t drowned,” said Dan. + +“Most of them are. Look at Uncle Stephen.” + +“You ain’t sure he was drowned.” + +“Well, he disappeared, and that is worse.” + +“How do you know? Disappearing might be real easy.” + +“It’s not very easy for your family.” + +“Hush, let’s hear the rest of the predictions,” said Cecily. + +“Felicity,” resumed the Story Girl gravely, “will marry a minister.” + +Sara Ray giggled and Felicity blushed. Peter tried hard not to look too +self-consciously delighted. + +“She will be a perfect housekeeper and will teach a Sunday School class +and be very happy all her life.” + +“Will her husband be happy?” queried Dan solemnly. + +“I guess he’ll be as happy as your wife,” retorted Felicity reddening. + +“He’ll be the happiest man in the world,” declared Peter warmly. + +“What about me?” asked Sara Ray. + +The Story Girl looked rather puzzled. It was so hard to imagine Sara Ray +as having any kind of future. Yet Sara was plainly anxious to have her +fortune told and must be gratified. + +“You’ll be married,” said the Story Girl recklessly, “and you’ll live to +be nearly a hundred years old, and go to dozens of funerals and have a +great many sick spells. You will learn not to cry after you are seventy; +but your husband will never go to church.” + +“I’m glad you warned me,” said Sara Ray solemnly, “because now I know +I’ll make him promise before I marry him that he will go.” + +“He won’t keep the promise,” said the Story Girl, shaking her head. “But +it is getting cold and Cecily is coughing. Let us go in.” + +“You haven’t told my fortune,” protested Cecily disappointedly. + +The Story Girl looked very tenderly at Cecily--at the smooth little +brown head, at the soft, shining eyes, at the cheeks that were often +over-rosy after slight exertion, at the little sunburned hands that were +always busy doing faithful work or quiet kindnesses. A very strange look +came over the Story Girl’s face; her eyes grew sad and far-reaching, as +if of a verity they pierced beyond the mists of hidden years. + +“I couldn’t tell any fortune half good enough for you, dearest,” she +said, slipping her arm round Cecily. “You deserve everything good and +lovely. But you know I’ve only been in fun--of course I don’t know +anything about what’s going to happen to us.” + +“Perhaps you know more than you think for,” said Sara Ray, who seemed +much pleased with her fortune and anxious to believe it, despite the +husband who wouldn’t go to church. + +“But I’d like to be told my fortune, even in fun,” persisted Cecily. + +“Everybody you meet will love you as long as you live.” said the Story +Girl. “There that’s the very nicest fortune I can tell you, and it will +come true whether the others do or not, and now we must go in.” + +We went, Cecily still a little disappointed. In later years I often +wondered why the Story Girl refused to tell her fortune that night. +Did some strange gleam of foreknowledge fall for a moment across her +mirth-making? Did she realize in a flash of prescience that there was +no earthly future for our sweet Cecily? Not for her were to be the +lengthening shadows or the fading garland. The end was to come while +the rainbow still sparkled on her wine of life, ere a single petal had +fallen from her rose of joy. Long life was before all the others who +trysted that night in the old homestead orchard; but Cecily’s maiden +feet were never to leave the golden road. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI. THE LAST NUMBER OF OUR MAGAZINE + + +EDITORIAL + +It is with heartfelt regret that we take up our pen to announce that +this will be the last number of Our Magazine. We have edited ten numbers +of it and it has been successful beyond our expectations. It has to be +discontinued by reason of circumstances over which we have no control +and not because we have lost interest in it. Everybody has done his or +her best for Our Magazine. Prince Edward Island expected everyone to do +his and her duty and everyone did it. + +Mr. Dan King conducted the etiquette department in a way worthy of the +Family Guide itself. He is especially entitled to commendation because +he laboured under the disadvantage of having to furnish most of the +questions as well as the answers. Miss Felicity King has edited our +helpful household department very ably, and Miss Cecily King’s fashion +notes were always up to date. The personal column was well looked after +by Miss Sara Stanley and the story page has been a marked success under +the able management of Mr. Peter Craig, to whose original story in +this issue, “The Battle of the Partridge Eggs,” we would call especial +attention. The Exciting Adventure series has also been very popular. + +And now, in closing, we bid farewell to our staff and thank them one and +all for their help and co-operation in the past year. We have enjoyed +our work and we trust that they have too. We wish them all happiness +and success in years to come, and we hope that the recollection of +Our Magazine will not be held least dear among the memories of their +childhood. + +(SOBS FROM THE GIRLS): “INDEED IT WON’T!” + + +OBITUARY + +On October eighteenth, Patrick Grayfur departed for that bourne whence +no traveller returns. He was only a cat, but he had been our faithful +friend for a long time and we aren’t ashamed to be sorry for him. There +are lots of people who are not as friendly and gentlemanly as Paddy was, +and he was a great mouser. We buried all that was mortal of poor Pat in +the orchard and we are never going to forget him. We have resolved +that whenever the date of his death comes round we’ll bow our heads and +pronounce his name at the hour of his funeral. If we are anywhere where +we can’t say the name out loud we’ll whisper it. + + +“Farewell, dearest Paddy, in all the years that are to be We’ll cherish +your memory faithfully.”[1] + + +MY MOST EXCITING ADVENTURE + +My most exciting adventure was the day I fell off Uncle Roger’s loft two +years ago. I wasn’t excited until it was all over because I hadn’t time +to be. The Story Girl and I were looking for eggs in the loft. It was +filled with wheat straw nearly to the roof and it was an awful distance +from us to the floor. And wheat straw is so slippery. I made a little +spring and the straw slipped from under my feet and there I was going +head first down from the loft. It seemed to me I was an awful long time +falling, but the Story Girl says I couldn’t have been more than three +seconds. But I know that I thought five thoughts and there seemed to be +quite a long time between them. The first thing I thought was, what has +happened, because I really didn’t know at first, it was so sudden. Then +after a spell I thought the answer, I am falling off the loft. And then +I thought, what will happen to me when I strike the floor, and after +another little spell I thought, I’ll be killed. And then I thought, +well, I don’t care. I really wasn’t a bit frightened. I just was quite +willing to be killed. If there hadn’t been a big pile of chaff on the +barn floor these words would never have been written. But there was and +I fell on it and wasn’t a bit hurt, only my hair and mouth and eyes +and ears got all full of chaff. The strange part is that I wasn’t a bit +frightened when I thought I was going to be killed, but after all the +danger was over I was awfully frightened and trembled so the Story Girl +had to help me into the house. + + FELICITY KING. + + +THE BATTLE OF THE PARTRIDGE EGGS + +Once upon a time there lived about half a mile from a forrest a farmer +and his wife and his sons and daughters and a granddaughter. The farmer +and his wife loved this little girl very much but she caused them great +trouble by running away into the woods and they often spent haf days +looking for her. One day she wondered further into the forrest than +usual and she begun to be hungry. Then night closed in. She asked a fox +where she could get something to eat. The fox told her he knew where +there was a partridges nest and a bluejays nest full of eggs. So he led +her to the nests and she took five eggs out of each. When the birds came +home they missed the eggs and flew into a rage. The bluejay put on his +topcoat and was going to the partridge for law when he met the partridge +coming to him. They lit up a fire and commenced sining their deeds when +they heard a tremendous howl close behind them. They jumped up and put +out the fire and were immejutly attacked by five great wolves. The next +day the little girl was rambelling through the woods when they saw her +and took her prisoner. After she had confessed that she had stole the +eggs they told her to raise an army. They would have to fight over the +nests of eggs and whoever one would have the eggs. So the partridge +raised a great army of all kinds of birds except robins and the little +girl got all the robins and foxes and bees and wasps. And best of all +the little girl had a gun and plenty of ammunishun. The leader of her +army was a wolf. The result of the battle was that all the birds were +killed except the partridge and the bluejay and they were taken prisoner +and starved to death. + +The little girl was then taken prisoner by a witch and cast into a +dunjun full of snakes where she died from their bites and people who +went through the forrest after that were taken prisoner by her ghost and +cast into the same dunjun where they died. About a year after the wood +turned into a gold castle and one morning everything had vanished except +a piece of a tree. + + PETER CRAIG. + + + +(DAN, WITH A WHISTLE:--“Well, I guess nobody can say Peter can’t write +fiction after THAT.” + +SARA RAY, WIPING AWAY HER TEARS:--“It’s a very interesting story, but it +ends SO sadly.” + +FELIX:--“What made you call it The Battle of the Partridge Eggs when the +bluejay had just as much to do with it?” + +PETER, SHORTLY:--“Because it sounded better that way.” + +FELICITY:--“Did she eat the eggs raw?” + +SARA RAY:--“Poor little thing, I suppose if you’re starving you can’t be +very particular.” + +CECILY, SIGHING:--“I wish you’d let her go home safe, Peter, and not put +her to such a cruel death.” + +BEVERLEY:--“I don’t quite understand where the little girl got her gun +and ammunition.” + +PETER, SUSPECTING THAT HE IS BEING MADE FUN OF:--“If you could write a +better story, why didn’t you? I give you the chance.” + +THE STORY GIRL, WITH A PRETERNATURALLY SOLEMN FACE:--“You shouldn’t +criticize Peter’s story like that. It’s a fairy tale, you know, and +anything can happen in a fairy tale.” + +FELICITY:--“There isn’t a word about fairies in it!” + +CECILY:--“Besides, fairy tales always end nicely and this doesn’t.” + +PETER, SULKILY:--“I wanted to punish her for running away from home.” + +DAN:--“Well, I guess you did it all right.” + +CECILY:--“Oh, well, it was very interesting, and that is all that is +really necessary in a story.” ) + + +PERSONALS + +Mr. Blair Stanley is visiting friends and relatives in Carlisle. He +intends returning to Europe shortly. His daughter, Miss Sara, will +accompany him. + +Mr. Alan King is expected home from South America next month. His sons +will return with him to Toronto. Beverley and Felix have made hosts of +friends during their stay in Carlisle and will be much missed in social +circles. + +The Mission Band of Carlisle Presbyterian Church completed their +missionary quilt last week. Miss Cecily King collected the largest sum +on her square. Congratulations, Cecily. + +Mr. Peter Craig will be residing in Markdale after October and will +attend school there this winter. Peter is a good fellow and we all wish +him success and prosperity. + +Apple picking is almost ended. There was an unusually heavy crop this +year. Potatoes, not so good. + + +HOUSEHOLD DEPARTMENT + +Apple pies are the order of the day. + +Eggs are a very good price now. Uncle Roger says it isn’t fair to have +to pay as much for a dozen little eggs as a dozen big ones, but they go +just as far. + + FELICITY KING. + + +ETIQUETTE DEPARTMENT + +F-l-t-y. Is it considered good form to eat peppermints in church? Ans.; +No, not if a witch gives them to you. + +No, F-l-x, we would not call Treasure Island or the Pilgrim’s Progress +dime novels. + +Yes, P-t-r, when you call on a young lady and her mother offers you a +slice of bread and jam it is quite polite for you to accept it. + + DAN KING. + + +FASHION NOTES + +Necklaces of roseberries are very much worn now. + +It is considered smart to wear your school hat tilted over your left +eye. + +Bangs are coming in. Em Frewen has them. She went to Summerside for a +visit and came back with them. All the girls in school are going to bang +their hair as soon as their mothers will let them. But I do not intend +to bang mine. + + CECILY KING. + + +(SARA RAY, DESPAIRINGLY:--“I know ma will never let ME have bangs.”) + + +FUNNY PARAGRAPHS + +D-n. What are details? C-l-y. I am not sure, but I think they are things +that are left over. + +(CECILY, WONDERINGLY:--“I don’t see why that was put among the +funny paragraphs. Shouldn’t it have gone in the General Information +department?”) + +Old Mr. McIntyre’s son on the Markdale Road had been very sick for +several years and somebody was sympathizing with him because his son was +going to die. “Oh,” Mr. McIntyre said, quite easy, “he might as weel be +awa’. He’s only retarding buzziness.” + + FELIX KING. + + +GENERAL INFORMATION BUREAU + +P-t-r. What kind of people live in uninhabited places? + +Ans.: Cannibals, likely. + + FELIX KING. + + + +[Footnote 1: The obituary was written by Mr. Felix King, but the two +lines of poetry were composed by Miss Sara Ray.] + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII. OUR LAST EVENING TOGETHER + + +IT was the evening before the day on which the Story Girl and Uncle +Blair were to leave us, and we were keeping our last tryst together +in the orchard where we had spent so many happy hours. We had made a +pilgrimage to all the old haunts--the hill field, the spruce wood, the +dairy, Grandfather King’s willow, the Pulpit Stone, Pat’s grave, and +Uncle Stephen’s Walk; and now we foregathered in the sere grasses about +the old well and feasted on the little jam turnovers Felicity had made +that day specially for the occasion. + +“I wonder if we’ll ever all be together again,” sighed Cecily. + +“I wonder when I’ll get jam turnovers like this again,” said the Story +Girl, trying to be gay but not making much of a success of it. + +“If Paris wasn’t so far away I could send you a box of nice things +now and then,” said Felicity forlornly, “but I suppose there’s no use +thinking of that. Dear knows what they’ll give you to eat over there.” + +“Oh, the French have the reputation of being the best cooks in the +world,” rejoined the Story Girl, “but I know they can’t beat your jam +turnovers and plum puffs, Felicity. Many a time I’ll be hankering after +them.” + +“If we ever do meet again you’ll be grown up,” said Felicity gloomily. + +“Well, you won’t have stood still yourselves, you know.” + +“No, but that’s just the worst of it. We’ll all be different and +everything will be changed.” + +“Just think,” said Cecily, “last New Year’s Eve we were wondering what +would happen this year; and what a lot of things have happened that we +never expected. Oh, dear!” + +“If things never happened life would be pretty dull,” said the Story +Girl briskly. “Oh, don’t look so dismal, all of you.” + +“It’s hard to be cheerful when everybody’s going away,” sighed Cecily. + +“Well, let’s pretend to be, anyway,” insisted the Story Girl. “Don’t +let’s think of parting. Let’s think instead of how much we’ve laughed +this last year or so. I’m sure I shall never forget this dear old place. +We’ve had so many good times here.” + +“And some bad times, too,” reminded Felix. + +“Remember when Dan et the bad berries last summer?” + +“And the time we were so scared over that bell ringing in the house,” + grinned Peter. + +“And the Judgment Day,” added Dan. + +“And the time Paddy was bewitched,” suggested Sara Ray. + +“And when Peter was dying of the measles,” said Felicity. + +“And the time Jimmy Patterson was lost,” said Dan. “Gee-whiz, but that +scared me out of a year’s growth.” + +“Do you remember the time we took the magic seed,” grinned Peter. + +“Weren’t we silly?” said Felicity. “I really can never look Billy +Robinson in the face when I meet him. I’m always sure he’s laughing at +me in his sleeve.” + +“It’s Billy Robinson who ought to be ashamed when he meets you or any of +us,” commented Cecily severely. “I’d rather be cheated than cheat other +people.” + +“Do you mind the time we bought God’s picture?” asked Peter. + +“I wonder if it’s where we buried it yet,” speculated Felix. + +“I put a stone over it, just as we did over Pat,” said Cecily. + +“I wish I could forget what God looks like,” sighed Sara Ray. “I can’t +forget it--and I can’t forget what the bad place is like either, ever +since Peter preached that sermon on it.” + +“When you get to be a real minister you’ll have to preach that sermon +over again, Peter,” grinned Dan. + +“My Aunt Jane used to say that people needed a sermon on that place once +in a while,” retorted Peter seriously. + +“Do you mind the night I et the cucumbers and milk to make me dream?” + said Cecily. + +And therewith we hunted out our old dream books to read them again, and, +forgetful of coming partings, laughed over them till the old orchard +echoed to our mirth. When we had finished we stood in a circle around +the well and pledged “eternal friendship” in a cup of its unrivalled +water. + +Then we joined hands and sang “Auld Lang Syne.” Sara Ray cried bitterly +in lieu of singing. + +“Look here,” said the Story Girl, as we turned to leave the old orchard, +“I want to ask a favour of you all. Don’t say good-bye to me tomorrow +morning.” + +“Why not?” demanded Felicity in astonishment. + +“Because it’s such a hopeless sort of word. Don’t let’s SAY it at all. +Just see me off with a wave of your hands. It won’t seem half so bad +then. And don’t any of you cry if you can help it. I want to remember +you all smiling.” + +We went out of the old orchard where the autumn night wind was beginning +to make its weird music in the russet boughs, and shut the little gate +behind us. Our revels there were ended. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII. THE STORY GIRL GOES + + +The morning dawned, rosy and clear and frosty. Everybody was up early, +for the travellers must leave in time to catch the nine o’clock train. +The horse was harnessed and Uncle Alec was waiting by the door. Aunt +Janet was crying, but everybody else was making a valiant effort not to. +The Awkward Man and Mrs. Dale came to see the last of their favourite. +Mrs. Dale had brought her a glorious sheaf of chrysanthemums, and the +Awkward Man gave her, quite gracefully, another little, old, limp book +from his library. + +“Read it when you are sad or happy or lonely or discouraged or hopeful,” + he said gravely. + +“He has really improved very much since he got married,” whispered +Felicity to me. + +Sara Stanley wore a smart new travelling suit and a blue felt hat with a +white feather. She looked so horribly grown up in it that we felt as if +she were lost to us already. + +Sara Ray had vowed tearfully the night before that she would be up in +the morning to say farewell. But at this juncture Judy Pineau appeared +to say that Sara, with her usual luck, had a sore throat, and that her +mother consequently would not permit her to come. So Sara had written +her parting words in a three-cornered pink note. + + + “My OWN DARLING FRIEND:--WORDS CANNOT EXPRESS my feelings over not + being able to go up this morning to say good-bye to one I so + FONDLY ADORE. When I think that I cannot SEE YOU AGAIN my heart + is almost TOO FULL FOR UTTERANCE. But mother says I cannot and I + MUST OBEY. But I will be present IN SPIRIT. It just BREAKS MY + HEART that you are going SO FAR AWAY. You have always been SO + KIND to me and never hurt my feelings AS SOME DO and I shall miss + you SO MUCH. But I earnestly HOPE AND PRAY that you will be HAPPY + AND PROSPEROUS wherever YOUR LOT IS CAST and not be seasick on THE + GREAT OCEAN. I hope you will find time AMONG YOUR MANY DUTIES to + write me a letter ONCE IN A WHILE. I shall ALWAYS REMEMBER YOU + and please remember me. I hope we WILL MEET AGAIN sometime, but + if not may we meet in A FAR BETTER WORLD where there are no SAD + PARTINGS. + + “Your true and loving friend, + + “SARA RAY” + + +“Poor little Sara,” said the Story Girl, with a queer catch in her +voice, as she slipped the tear-blotted note into her pocket. “She isn’t +a bad little soul, and I’m sorry I couldn’t see her once more, though +maybe it’s just as well for she’d have to cry and set us all off. I +WON’T cry. Felicity, don’t you dare. Oh, you dear, darling people, I +love you all so much and I’ll go on loving you always.” + +“Mind you write us every week at the very least,” said Felicity, winking +furiously. + +“Blair, Blair, watch over the child well,” said Aunt Janet. “Remember, +she has no mother.” + +The Story Girl ran over to the buggy and climbed in. Uncle Blair +followed her. Her arms were full of Mrs. Dale’s chrysanthemums, held +close up to her face, and her beautiful eyes shone softly at us over +them. No good-byes were said, as she wished. We all smiled bravely and +waved our hands as they drove out of the lane and down the moist red +road into the shadows of the fir wood in the valley. But we still stood +there, for we knew we should see the Story Girl once more. Beyond the +fir wood was an open curve in the road and she had promised to wave a +last farewell as they passed around it. + +We watched the curve in silence, standing in a sorrowful little group +in the sunshine of the autumn morning. The delight of the world had been +ours on the golden road. It had enticed us with daisies and rewarded +us with roses. Blossom and lyric had waited on our wishes. Thoughts, +careless and sweet, had visited us. Laughter had been our comrade and +fearless Hope our guide. But now the shadow of change was over it. + +“There she is,” cried Felicity. + +The Story Girl stood up and waved her chrysanthemums at us. We waved +wildly back until the buggy had driven around the curve. Then we went +slowly and silently back to the house. The Story Girl was gone. + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 316 ***
\ No newline at end of file diff --git a/316-0.zip b/316-0.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..26a7081 --- /dev/null +++ b/316-0.zip diff --git a/316-h.zip b/316-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..99ed4b9 --- /dev/null +++ b/316-h.zip diff --git a/316-h/316-h.htm b/316-h/316-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ce870a7 --- /dev/null +++ b/316-h/316-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,10973 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> + <meta charset="UTF-8"> + <title> + The Golden Road | Project Gutenberg + </title> + <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> + <style> /* <![CDATA[ */ + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + .pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%; text-indent: 0em;} +.center {text-align: center;} +.big {font-size: 1.5em;} +.right {text-align: right;} +</style> + </head> + <body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 316 ***</div> + + <h1> + THE GOLDEN ROAD + </h1> + <p> + <br> + </p> + <p class="center big"> + By L. M. Montgomery + </p> + <p> + <br> <br> + </p> +<p class="pre"> + “Life was a rose-lipped comrade<br> + With purple flowers dripping from her fingers.”<br> + <span style="margin-left: 15em;">—The Author.</span><br> +</p> +<p class="center pre"> + + TO<br> + THE MEMORY OF<br> + Aunt Mary Lawson<br> + WHO TOLD ME MANY OF THE TALES<br> + REPEATED BY THE<br> + STORY GIRL +</p> + <p> + <br> <br> + </p> + <hr> + <p> + <br> <br> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <span class="big"><b>CONTENTS</b></span> + </p> + <p> + <br> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_FORE"> FOREWORD </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> <b>THE GOLDEN ROAD</b> </a> + </p> + <p> + <br> <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. </a> A NEW + DEPARTURE <br><br> <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. </a> A + WILL, A WAY AND A WOMAN <br><br> <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. + </a> THE CHRISTMAS HARP <br><br> <a href="#link2HCH0004"> + CHAPTER IV. </a> NEW YEAR RESOLUTIONS <br><br> <a + href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. </a> THE FIRST NUMBER OF + “OUR MAGAZINE” <br><br> <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI. </a> GREAT-AUNT + ELIZA’S VISIT <br><br> <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII. </a> WE + VISIT COUSIN MATTIE’S <br><br> <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII. + </a> WE VISIT PEG BOWEN <br><br> <a href="#link2HCH0009"> + CHAPTER IX. </a> EXTRACTS FROM “OUR MAGAZINE” <br><br> <a + href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X. </a> DISAPPEARANCE OF PADDY + <br><br> <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI. </a> THE + WITCH’S WISHBONE <br><br> <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII. </a> FLOWERS + O’ MAY <br><br> <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII. </a> A + SURPRISING ANNOUNCEMENT <br><br> <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV. + </a> A PRODIGAL RETURNS <br><br> <a href="#link2HCH0015"> + CHAPTER XV. </a> THE RAPE OF THE LOCK <br><br> <a + href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI. </a> AUNT UNA’S STORY + <br><br> <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII. </a> AUNT + OLIVIA’S WEDDING <br><br> <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII. </a> SARA + RAY HELPS OUT <br><br> <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX. </a> BY + WAY OF THE STARS <br><br> <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX. </a> EXTRACTS + FROM “OUR MAGAZINE” <br><br> <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER XXI. + </a> PEG BOWEN COMES TO CHURCH <br><br> <a + href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER XXII. </a> THE YANKEE STORM + <br><br> <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XXIII. </a> A + MISSIONARY HEROINE <br><br> <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER XXIV. + </a> A TANTALIZING REVELATION <br><br> <a + href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER XXV. </a> THE LOVE STORY OF THE + AWKWARD MAN <br><br> <a href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER XXVI. </a> UNCLE + BLAIR COMES HOME <br><br> <a href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER XXVII. </a> THE + OLD ORDER CHANGETH <br><br> <a href="#link2HCH0028"> CHAPTER XXVIII. + </a> THE PATH TO ARCADY <br><br> <a href="#link2HCH0029"> + CHAPTER XXIX. </a> WE LOSE A FRIEND <br><br> <a + href="#link2HCH0030"> CHAPTER XXX. </a> PROPHECIES <br><br> + <a href="#link2HCH0031"> CHAPTER XXXI. </a> THE LAST NUMBER + OF OUR MAGAZINE <br><br> <a href="#link2HCH0032"> CHAPTER XXXII. </a> OUR + LAST EVENING TOGETHER <br><br> <a href="#link2HCH0033"> CHAPTER + XXXIII. </a> THE STORY GIRL GOES <br><br> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br> <br> + </p> + <hr> + <p> + <br> <br> <a name="link2H_FORE" id="link2H_FORE"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + FOREWORD + </h2> + <p> + Once upon a time we all walked on the golden road. It was a fair highway, + through the Land of Lost Delight; shadow and sunshine were blessedly + mingled, and every turn and dip revealed a fresh charm and a new + loveliness to eager hearts and unspoiled eyes. + </p> + <p> + On that road we heard the song of morning stars; we drank in fragrances + aerial and sweet as a May mist; we were rich in gossamer fancies and iris + hopes; our hearts sought and found the boon of dreams; the years waited + beyond and they were very fair; life was a rose-lipped comrade with purple + flowers dripping from her fingers. + </p> + <p> + We may long have left the golden road behind, but its memories are the + dearest of our eternal possessions; and those who cherish them as such may + haply find a pleasure in the pages of this book, whose people are pilgrims + on the golden road of youth. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br><br><br><br> + </div> + <p class="center big"> + THE GOLDEN ROAD + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br><br><br><br> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. A NEW DEPARTURE + </h2> + <p> + “I’ve thought of something amusing for the winter,” I said as we drew into + a half-circle around the glorious wood-fire in Uncle Alec’s kitchen. + </p> + <p> + It had been a day of wild November wind, closing down into a wet, eerie + twilight. Outside, the wind was shrilling at the windows and around the + eaves, and the rain was playing on the roof. The old willow at the gate + was writhing in the storm and the orchard was a place of weird music, born + of all the tears and fears that haunt the halls of night. But little we + cared for the gloom and the loneliness of the outside world; we kept them + at bay with the light of the fire and the laughter of our young lips. + </p> + <p> + We had been having a splendid game of Blind-Man’s Buff. That is, it had + been splendid at first; but later the fun went out of it because we found + that Peter was, of malice prepense, allowing himself to be caught too + easily, in order that he might have the pleasure of catching Felicity—which + he never failed to do, no matter how tightly his eyes were bound. What + remarkable goose said that love is blind? Love can see through five folds + of closely-woven muffler with ease! + </p> + <p> + “I’m getting tired,” said Cecily, whose breath was coming rather quickly + and whose pale cheeks had bloomed into scarlet. “Let’s sit down and get + the Story Girl to tell us a story.” + </p> + <p> + But as we dropped into our places the Story Girl shot a significant glance + at me which intimated that this was the psychological moment for + introducing the scheme she and I had been secretly developing for some + days. It was really the Story Girl’s idea and none of mine. But she had + insisted that I should make the suggestion as coming wholly from myself. + </p> + <p> + “If you don’t, Felicity won’t agree to it. You know yourself, Bev, how + contrary she’s been lately over anything I mention. And if she goes + against it Peter will too—the ninny!—and it wouldn’t be any + fun if we weren’t all in it.” + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” asked Felicity, drawing her chair slightly away from + Peter’s. + </p> + <p> + “It is this. Let us get up a newspaper of our own—write it all + ourselves, and have all we do in it. Don’t you think we can get a lot of + fun out of it?” + </p> + <p> + Everyone looked rather blank and amazed, except the Story Girl. She knew + what she had to do, and she did it. + </p> + <p> + “What a silly idea!” she exclaimed, with a contemptuous toss of her long + brown curls. “Just as if WE could get up a newspaper!” + </p> + <p> + Felicity fired up, exactly as we had hoped. + </p> + <p> + “I think it’s a splendid idea,” she said enthusiastically. “I’d like to + know why we couldn’t get up as good a newspaper as they have in town! + Uncle Roger says the Daily Enterprise has gone to the dogs—all the + news it prints is that some old woman has put a shawl on her head and gone + across the road to have tea with another old woman. I guess we could do + better than that. You needn’t think, Sara Stanley, that nobody but you can + do anything.” + </p> + <p> + “I think it would be great fun,” said Peter decidedly. “My Aunt Jane + helped edit a paper when she was at Queen’s Academy, and she said it was + very amusing and helped her a great deal.” + </p> + <p> + The Story Girl could hide her delight only by dropping her eyes and + frowning. + </p> + <p> + “Bev wants to be editor,” she said, “and I don’t see how he can, with no + experience. Anyhow, it would be a lot of trouble.” + </p> + <p> + “Some people are so afraid of a little bother,” retorted Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “I think it would be nice,” said Cecily timidly, “and none of us have any + experience of being editors, any more than Bev, so that wouldn’t matter.” + </p> + <p> + “Will it be printed?” asked Dan. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no,” I said. “We can’t have it printed. We’ll just have to write it + out—we can buy foolscap from the teacher.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think it will be much of a newspaper if it isn’t printed,” said + Dan scornfully. + </p> + <p> + “It doesn’t matter very much what YOU think,” said Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” retorted Dan. + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” said the Story Girl hastily, not wishing to have Dan turned + against our project, “if all the rest of you want it I’ll go in for it + too. I daresay it would be real good fun, now that I come to think of it. + And we’ll keep the copies, and when we become famous they’ll be quite + valuable.” + </p> + <p> + “I wonder if any of us ever will be famous,” said Felix. + </p> + <p> + “The Story Girl will be,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t see how she can be,” said Felicity skeptically. “Why, she’s just + one of us.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it’s decided, then, that we’re to have a newspaper,” I resumed + briskly. “The next thing is to choose a name for it. That’s a very + important thing.” + </p> + <p> + “How often are you going to publish it?” asked Felix. + </p> + <p> + “Once a month.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought newspapers came out every day, or every week at least,” said + Dan. + </p> + <p> + “We couldn’t have one every week,” I explained. “It would be too much + work.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that’s an argument,” admitted Dan. “The less work you can get along + with the better, in my opinion. No, Felicity, you needn’t say it. I know + exactly what you want to say, so save your breath to cool your porridge. I + agree with you that I never work if I can find anything else to do.” + </p> +<p class="pre"> + “‘Remember it is harder still<br> + <span style="margin-left: 4em;">To have no work to do,”’ </span> +</p> + <p> + quoted Cecily reprovingly. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t believe THAT,” rejoined Dan. “I’m like the Irishman who said he + wished the man who begun work had stayed and finished it.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, is it decided that Bev is to be editor?” asked Felix. + </p> + <p> + “Of course it is,” Felicity answered for everybody. + </p> + <p> + “Then,” said Felix, “I move that the name be The King Monthly Magazine.” + </p> + <p> + “That sounds fine,” said Peter, hitching his chair a little nearer + Felicity’s. + </p> + <p> + “But,” said Cecily timidly, “that will leave out Peter and the Story Girl + and Sara Ray, just as if they didn’t have a share in it. I don’t think + that would be fair.” + </p> + <p> + “You name it then, Cecily,” I suggested. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” Cecily threw a deprecating glance at the Story Girl and Felicity. + Then, meeting the contempt in the latter’s gaze, she raised her head with + unusual spirit. + </p> + <p> + “I think it would be nice just to call it Our Magazine,” she said. “Then + we’d all feel as if we had a share in it.” + </p> + <p> + “Our Magazine it will be, then,” I said. “And as for having a share in it, + you bet we’ll all have a share in it. If I’m to be editor you’ll all have + to be sub-editors, and have charge of a department.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I couldn’t,” protested Cecily. + </p> + <p> + “You must,” I said inexorably. “‘England expects everyone to do his duty.’ + That’s our motto—only we’ll put Prince Edward Island in place of + England. There must be no shirking. Now, what departments will we have? We + must make it as much like a real newspaper as we can.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, we ought to have an etiquette department, then,” said Felicity. + “The Family Guide has one.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course we’ll have one,” I said, “and Dan will edit it.” + </p> + <p> + “Dan!” exclaimed Felicity, who had fondly expected to be asked to edit it + herself. + </p> + <p> + “I can run an etiquette column as well as that idiot in the Family Guide, + anyhow,” said Dan defiantly. “But you can’t have an etiquette department + unless questions are asked. What am I to do if nobody asks any?” + </p> + <p> + “You must make some up,” said the Story Girl. “Uncle Roger says that is + what the Family Guide man does. He says it is impossible that there can be + as many hopeless fools in the world as that column would stand for + otherwise.” + </p> + <p> + “We want you to edit the household department, Felicity,” I said, seeing a + cloud lowering on that fair lady’s brow. “Nobody can do that as well as + you. Felix will edit the jokes and the Information Bureau, and Cecily must + be fashion editor. Yes, you must, Sis. It’s easy as wink. And the Story + Girl will attend to the personals. They’re very important. Anyone can + contribute a personal, but the Story Girl is to see there are some in + every issue, even if she has to make them up, like Dan with the + etiquette.” + </p> + <p> + “Bev will run the scrap book department, besides the editorials,” said the + Story Girl, seeing that I was too modest to say it myself. + </p> + <p> + “Aren’t you going to have a story page?” asked Peter. + </p> + <p> + “We will, if you’ll be fiction and poetry editor,” I said. + </p> + <p> + Peter, in his secret soul, was dismayed, but he would not blanch before + Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “All right,” he said, recklessly. + </p> + <p> + “We can put anything we like in the scrap book department,” I explained, + “but all the other contributions must be original, and all must have the + name of the writer signed to them, except the personals. We must all do + our best. Our Magazine is to be ‘a feast of reason and flow of soul.”’ + </p> + <p> + I felt that I had worked in two quotations with striking effect. The + others, with the exception of the Story Girl, looked suitably impressed. + </p> + <p> + “But,” said Cecily, reproachfully, “haven’t you anything for Sara Ray to + do? She’ll feel awful bad if she is left out.” + </p> + <p> + I had forgotten Sara Ray. Nobody, except Cecily, ever did remember Sara + Ray unless she was on the spot. But we decided to put her in as + advertising manager. That sounded well and really meant very little. + </p> + <p> + “Well, we’ll go ahead then,” I said, with a sigh of relief that the + project had been so easily launched. “We’ll get the first issue out about + the first of January. And whatever else we do we mustn’t let Uncle Roger + get hold of it. He’d make such fearful fun of it.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope we can make a success of it,” said Peter moodily. He had been + moody ever since he was entrapped into being fiction editor. + </p> + <p> + “It will be a success if we are determined to succeed,” I said. “‘Where + there is a will there is always a way.’” + </p> + <p> + “That’s just what Ursula Townley said when her father locked her in her + room the night she was going to run away with Kenneth MacNair,” said the + Story Girl. + </p> + <p> + We pricked up our ears, scenting a story. + </p> + <p> + “Who were Ursula Townley and Kenneth MacNair?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Kenneth MacNair was a first cousin of the Awkward Man’s grandfather, and + Ursula Townley was the belle of the Island in her day. Who do you suppose + told me the story—no, read it to me, out of his brown book?” + </p> + <p> + “Never the Awkward Man himself!” I exclaimed incredulously. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he did,” said the Story Girl triumphantly. “I met him one day last + week back in the maple woods when I was looking for ferns. He was sitting + by the spring, writing in his brown book. He hid it when he saw me and + looked real silly; but after I had talked to him awhile I just asked him + about it, and told him that the gossips said he wrote poetry in it, and if + he did would he tell me, because I was dying to know. He said he wrote a + little of everything in it; and then I begged him to read me something out + of it, and he read me the story of Ursula and Kenneth.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t see how you ever had the face,” said Felicity; and even Cecily + looked as if she thought the Story Girl had gone rather far. + </p> + <p> + “Never mind that,” cried Felix, “but tell us the story. That’s the main + thing.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll tell it just as the Awkward Man read it, as far as I can,” said the + Story Girl, “but I can’t put all his nice poetical touches in, because I + can’t remember them all, though he read it over twice for me.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br><br><br><br> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. A WILL, A WAY AND A WOMAN + </h2> + <p> + “One day, over a hundred years ago, Ursula Townley was waiting for Kenneth + MacNair in a great beechwood, where brown nuts were falling and an October + wind was making the leaves dance on the ground like pixy-people.” + </p> + <p> + “What are pixy-people?” demanded Peter, forgetting the Story Girl’s + dislike of interruptions. + </p> + <p> + “Hush,” whispered Cecily. “That is only one of the Awkward Man’s poetical + touches, I guess.” + </p> + <p> + “There were cultivated fields between the grove and the dark blue gulf; + but far behind and on each side were woods, for Prince Edward Island a + hundred years ago was not what it is today. The settlements were few and + scattered, and the population so scanty that old Hugh Townley boasted that + he knew every man, woman and child in it. + </p> + <p> + “Old Hugh was quite a noted man in his day. He was noted for several + things—he was rich, he was hospitable, he was proud, he was + masterful—and he had for daughter the handsomest young woman in + Prince Edward Island. + </p> + <p> + “Of course, the young men were not blind to her good looks, and she had so + many lovers that all the other girls hated her—” + </p> + <p> + “You bet!” said Dan, aside— + </p> + <p> + “But the only one who found favour in her eyes was the very last man she + should have pitched her fancy on, at least if old Hugh were the judge. + Kenneth MacNair was a dark-eyed young sea-captain of the next settlement, + and it was to meet him that Ursula stole to the beechwood on that autumn + day of crisp wind and ripe sunshine. Old Hugh had forbidden his house to + the young man, making such a scene of fury about it that even Ursula’s + high spirit quailed. Old Hugh had really nothing against Kenneth himself; + but years before either Kenneth or Ursula was born, Kenneth’s father had + beaten Hugh Townley in a hotly contested election. Political feeling ran + high in those days, and old Hugh had never forgiven the MacNair his + victory. The feud between the families dated from that tempest in the + provincial teapot, and the surplus of votes on the wrong side was the + reason why, thirty years after, Ursula had to meet her lover by stealth if + she met him at all.” + </p> + <p> + “Was the MacNair a Conservative or a Grit?” asked Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “It doesn’t make any difference what he was,” said the Story Girl + impatiently. “Even a Tory would be romantic a hundred years ago. Well, + Ursula couldn’t see Kenneth very often, for Kenneth lived fifteen miles + away and was often absent from home in his vessel. On this particular day + it was nearly three months since they had met. + </p> + <p> + “The Sunday before, young Sandy MacNair had been in Carlyle church. He had + risen at dawn that morning, walked bare-footed for eight miles along the + shore, carrying his shoes, hired a harbour fisherman to row him over the + channel, and then walked eight miles more to the church at Carlyle, less, + it is to be feared, from a zeal for holy things than that he might do an + errand for his adored brother, Kenneth. He carried a letter which he + contrived to pass into Ursula’s hand in the crowd as the people came out. + This letter asked Ursula to meet Kenneth in the beechwood the next + afternoon, and so she stole away there when suspicious father and watchful + stepmother thought she was spinning in the granary loft.” + </p> + <p> + “It was very wrong of her to deceive her parents,” said Felicity primly. + </p> + <p> + The Story Girl couldn’t deny this, so she evaded the ethical side of the + question skilfully. + </p> + <p> + “I am not telling you what Ursula Townley ought to have done,” she said + loftily. “I am only telling you what she DID do. If you don’t want to hear + it you needn’t listen, of course. There wouldn’t be many stories to tell + if nobody ever did anything she shouldn’t do. + </p> + <p> + “Well, when Kenneth came, the meeting was just what might have been + expected between two lovers who had taken their last kiss three months + before. So it was a good half-hour before Ursula said, + </p> + <p> + “‘Oh, Kenneth, I cannot stay long—I shall be missed. You said in + your letter that you had something important to talk of. What is it?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘My news is this, Ursula. Next Saturday morning my vessel, The Fair Lady, + with her captain on board, sails at dawn from Charlottetown harbour, bound + for Buenos Ayres. At this season this means a safe and sure return—next + May.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Kenneth!’ cried Ursula. She turned pale and burst into tears. ‘How can + you think of leaving me? Oh, you are cruel!’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Why, no, sweetheart,’ laughed Kenneth. ‘The captain of The Fair Lady + will take his bride with him. We’ll spend our honeymoon on the high seas, + Ursula, and the cold Canadian winter under southern palms.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘You want me to run away with you, Kenneth?’ exclaimed Ursula. + </p> + <p> + “‘Indeed, dear girl, there’s nothing else to do!’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Oh, I cannot!’ she protested. ‘My father would—’ + </p> + <p> + “‘We’ll not consult him—until afterward. Come, Ursula, you know + there’s no other way. We’ve always known it must come to this. YOUR father + will never forgive me for MY father. You won’t fail me now. Think of the + long parting if you send me away alone on such a voyage. Pluck up your + courage, and we’ll let Townleys and MacNairs whistle their mouldy feuds + down the wind while we sail southward in The Fair Lady. I have a plan.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Let me hear it,’ said Ursula, beginning to get back her breath. + </p> + <p> + “‘There is to be a dance at The Springs Friday night. Are you invited, + Ursula?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Yes.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Good. I am not—but I shall be there—in the fir grove behind + the house, with two horses. When the dancing is at its height you’ll steal + out to meet me. Then ‘tis but a fifteen mile ride to Charlottetown, where + a good minister, who is a friend of mine, will be ready to marry us. By + the time the dancers have tired their heels you and I will be on our + vessel, able to snap our fingers at fate.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘And what if I do not meet you in the fir grove?’ said Ursula, a little + impertinently. + </p> + <p> + “‘If you do not, I’ll sail for South America the next morning, and many a + long year will pass ere Kenneth MacNair comes home again.’ + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps Kenneth didn’t mean that, but Ursula thought he did, and it + decided her. She agreed to run away with him. Yes, of course that was + wrong, too, Felicity. She ought to have said, ‘No, I shall be married + respectably from home, and have a wedding and a silk dress and bridesmaids + and lots of presents.’ But she didn’t. She wasn’t as prudent as Felicity + King would have been.” + </p> + <p> + “She was a shameless hussy,” said Felicity, venting on the long-dead + Ursula that anger she dare not visit on the Story Girl. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, Felicity dear, she was just a lass of spirit. I’d have done the + same. And when Friday night came she began to dress for the dance with a + brave heart. She was to go to The Springs with her uncle and aunt, who + were coming on horseback that afternoon, and would then go on to The + Springs in old Hugh’s carriage, which was the only one in Carlyle then. + They were to leave in time to reach The Springs before nightfall, for the + October nights were dark and the wooded roads rough for travelling. + </p> + <p> + “When Ursula was ready she looked at herself in the glass with a good deal + of satisfaction. Yes, Felicity, she was a vain baggage, that same Ursula, + but that kind didn’t all die out a hundred years ago. And she had good + reason for being vain. She wore the sea-green silk which had been brought + out from England a year before and worn but once—at the Christmas + ball at Government House. A fine, stiff, rustling silk it was, and over it + shone Ursula’s crimson cheeks and gleaming eyes, and masses of nut brown + hair. + </p> + <p> + “As she turned from the glass she heard her father’s voice below, loud and + angry. Growing very pale, she ran out into the hall. Her father was + already half way upstairs, his face red with fury. In the hall below + Ursula saw her step-mother, looking troubled and vexed. At the door stood + Malcolm Ramsay, a homely neighbour youth who had been courting Ursula in + his clumsy way ever since she grew up. Ursula had always hated him. + </p> + <p> + “‘Ursula!’ shouted old Hugh, ‘come here and tell this scoundrel he lies. + He says that you met Kenneth MacNair in the beechgrove last Tuesday. Tell + him he lies! Tell him he lies!’ + </p> + <p> + “Ursula was no coward. She looked scornfully at poor Ramsay. + </p> + <p> + “‘The creature is a spy and a tale-bearer,’ she said, ‘but in this he does + not lie. I DID meet Kenneth MacNair last Tuesday.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘And you dare to tell me this to my face!’ roared old Hugh. ‘Back to your + room, girl! Back to your room and stay there! Take off that finery. You go + to no more dances. You shall stay in that room until I choose to let you + out. No, not a word! I’ll put you there if you don’t go. In with you—ay, + and take your knitting with you. Occupy yourself with that this evening + instead of kicking your heels at The Springs!’ + </p> + <p> + “He snatched a roll of gray stocking from the hall table and flung it into + Ursula’s room. Ursula knew she would have to follow it, or be picked up + and carried in like a naughty child. So she gave the miserable Ramsay a + look that made him cringe, and swept into her room with her head in the + air. The next moment she heard the door locked behind her. Her first + proceeding was to have a cry of anger and shame and disappointment. That + did no good, and then she took to marching up and down her room. It did + not calm her to hear the rumble of the carriage out of the gate as her + uncle and aunt departed. + </p> + <p> + “‘Oh, what’s to be done?’ she sobbed. ‘Kenneth will be furious. He will + think I have failed him and he will go away hot with anger against me. If + I could only send a word of explanation I know he would not leave me. But + there seems to be no way at all—though I have heard that there’s + always a way when there’s a will. Oh, I shall go mad! If the window were + not so high I would jump out of it. But to break my legs or my neck would + not mend the matter.’ + </p> + <p> + “The afternoon passed on. At sunset Ursula heard hoof-beats and ran to the + window. Andrew Kinnear of The Springs was tying his horse at the door. He + was a dashing young fellow, and a political crony of old Hugh. No doubt he + would be at the dance that night. Oh, if she could get speech for but a + moment with him! + </p> + <p> + “When he had gone into the house, Ursula, turning impatiently from the + window, tripped and almost fell over the big ball of homespun yarn her + father had flung on the floor. For a moment she gazed at it resentfully—then, + with a gay little laugh, she pounced on it. The next moment she was at her + table, writing a brief note to Kenneth MacNair. When it was written, + Ursula unwound the gray ball to a considerable depth, pinned the note on + it, and rewound the yarn over it. A gray ball, the color of the twilight, + might escape observation, where a white missive fluttering down from an + upper window would surely be seen by someone. Then she softly opened her + window and waited. + </p> + <p> + “It was dusk when Andrew went away. Fortunately old Hugh did not come to + the door with him. As Andrew untied his horse Ursula threw the ball with + such good aim that it struck him, as she had meant it to do, squarely on + the head. Andrew looked up at her window. She leaned out, put her finger + warningly on her lips, pointed to the ball, and nodded. Andrew, looking + somewhat puzzled, picked up the ball, sprang to his saddle, and galloped + off. + </p> + <p> + “So far, well, thought Ursula. But would Andrew understand? Would he have + wit enough to think of exploring the big, knobby ball for its delicate + secret? And would he be at the dance after all? + </p> + <p> + “The evening dragged by. Time had never seemed so long to Ursula. She + could not rest or sleep. It was midnight before she heard the patter of a + handful of gravel on her window-panes. In a trice she was leaning out. + Below in the darkness stood Kenneth MacNair. + </p> + <p> + “‘Oh, Kenneth, did you get my letter? And is it safe for you to be here?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Safe enough. Your father is in bed. I’ve waited two hours down the road + for his light to go out, and an extra half-hour to put him to sleep. The + horses are there. Slip down and out, Ursula. We’ll make Charlottetown by + dawn yet.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘That’s easier said than done, lad. I’m locked in. But do you go out + behind the new barn and bring the ladder you will find there.’ + </p> + <p> + “Five minutes later, Miss Ursula, hooded and cloaked, scrambled + soundlessly down the ladder, and in five more minutes she and Kenneth were + riding along the road. + </p> + <p> + “‘There’s a stiff gallop before us, Ursula,’ said Kenneth. + </p> + <p> + “‘I would ride to the world’s end with you, Kenneth MacNair,’ said Ursula. + Oh, of course she shouldn’t have said anything of the sort, Felicity. But + you see people had no etiquette departments in those days. And when the + red sunlight of a fair October dawn was shining over the gray sea The Fair + Lady sailed out of Charlottetown harbour. On her deck stood Kenneth and + Ursula MacNair, and in her hand, as a most precious treasure, the bride + carried a ball of gray homespun yarn.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Dan, yawning, “I like that kind of a story. Nobody goes and + dies in it, that’s one good thing.” + </p> + <p> + “Did old Hugh forgive Ursula?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “The story stopped there in the brown book,” said the Story Girl, “but the + Awkward Man says he did, after awhile.” + </p> + <p> + “It must be rather romantic to be run away with,” remarked Cecily, + wistfully. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you get such silly notions in your head, Cecily King,” said + Felicity, severely. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br><br><br><br> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. THE CHRISTMAS HARP + </h2> + <p> + Great was the excitement in the houses of King as Christmas drew nigh. The + air was simply charged with secrets. Everybody was very penurious for + weeks beforehand and hoards were counted scrutinizingly every day. + Mysterious pieces of handiwork were smuggled in and out of sight, and + whispered consultations were held, about which nobody thought of being + jealous, as might have happened at any other time. Felicity was in her + element, for she and her mother were deep in preparations for the day. + Cecily and the Story Girl were excluded from these doings with + indifference on Aunt Janet’s part and what seemed ostentatious complacency + on Felicity’s. Cecily took this to heart and complained to me about it. + </p> + <p> + “I’m one of this family just as much as Felicity is,” she said, with as + much indignation as Cecily could feel, “and I don’t think she need shut me + out of everything. When I wanted to stone the raisins for the mince-meat + she said, no, she would do it herself, because Christmas mince-meat was + very particular—as if I couldn’t stone raisins right! The airs + Felicity puts on about her cooking just make me sick,” concluded Cecily + wrathfully. + </p> + <p> + “It’s a pity she doesn’t make a mistake in cooking once in a while + herself,” I said. “Then maybe she wouldn’t think she knew so much more + than other people.” + </p> + <p> + All parcels that came in the mail from distant friends were taken charge + of by Aunts Janet and Olivia, not to be opened until the great day of the + feast itself. How slowly the last week passed! But even watched pots will + boil in the fulness of time, and finally Christmas day came, gray and dour + and frost-bitten without, but full of revelry and rose-red mirth within. + Uncle Roger and Aunt Olivia and the Story Girl came over early for the + day; and Peter came too, with his shining, morning face, to be hailed with + joy, for we had been afraid that Peter would not be able to spend + Christmas with us. His mother had wanted him home with her. + </p> + <p> + “Of course I ought to go,” Peter had told me mournfully, “but we won’t + have turkey for dinner, because ma can’t afford it. And ma always cries on + holidays because she says they make her think of father. Of course she + can’t help it, but it ain’t cheerful. Aunt Jane wouldn’t have cried. Aunt + Jane used to say she never saw the man who was worth spoiling her eyes + for. But I guess I’ll have to spend Christmas at home.” + </p> + <p> + At the last moment, however, a cousin of Mrs. Craig’s in Charlottetown + invited her for Christmas, and Peter, being given his choice of going or + staying, joyfully elected to stay. So we were all together, except Sara + Ray, who had been invited but whose mother wouldn’t let her come. + </p> + <p> + “Sara Ray’s mother is a nuisance,” snapped the Story Girl. “She just lives + to make that poor child miserable, and she won’t let her go to the party + tonight, either.” + </p> + <p> + “It is just breaking Sara’s heart that she can’t,” said Cecily + compassionately. “I’m almost afraid I won’t enjoy myself for thinking of + her, home there alone, most likely reading the Bible, while we’re at the + party.” + </p> + <p> + “She might be worse occupied than reading the Bible,” said Felicity + rebukingly. + </p> + <p> + “But Mrs. Ray makes her read it as a punishment,” protested Cecily. + “Whenever Sara cries to go anywhere—and of course she’ll cry tonight—Mrs. + Ray makes her read seven chapters in the Bible. I wouldn’t think that + would make her very fond of it. And I’ll not be able to talk the party + over with Sara afterwards—and that’s half the fun gone.” + </p> + <p> + “You can tell her all about it,” comforted Felix. + </p> + <p> + “Telling isn’t a bit like talking it over,” retorted Cecily. “It’s too + one-sided.” + </p> + <p> + We had an exciting time opening our presents. Some of us had more than + others, but we all received enough to make us feel comfortably that we + were not unduly neglected in the matter. The contents of the box which the + Story Girl’s father had sent her from Paris made our eyes stick out. It + was full of beautiful things, among them another red silk dress—not + the bright, flame-hued tint of her old one, but a rich, dark crimson, with + the most distracting flounces and bows and ruffles; and with it were + little red satin slippers with gold buckles, and heels that made Aunt + Janet hold up her hands in horror. Felicity remarked scornfully that she + would have thought the Story Girl would get tired wearing red so much, and + even Cecily commented apart to me that she thought when you got so many + things all at once you didn’t appreciate them as much as when you only got + a few. + </p> + <p> + “I’d never get tired of red,” said the Story Girl. “I just love it—it’s + so rich and glowing. When I’m dressed in red I always feel ever so much + cleverer than in any other colour. Thoughts just crowd into my brain one + after the other. Oh, you darling dress—you dear, sheeny, red-rosy, + glistening, silky thing!” + </p> + <p> + She flung it over her shoulder and danced around the kitchen. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t be silly, Sara,” said Aunt Janet, a little stiffly. She was a good + soul, that Aunt Janet, and had a kind, loving heart in her ample bosom. + But I fancy there were times when she thought it rather hard that the + daughter of a roving adventurer—as she considered him—like + Blair Stanley should disport herself in silk dresses, while her own + daughters must go clad in gingham and muslin—for those were the days + when a feminine creature got one silk dress in her lifetime, and seldom + more than one. + </p> + <p> + The Story Girl also got a present from the Awkward Man—a little, + shabby, worn volume with a great many marks on the leaves. + </p> + <p> + “Why, it isn’t new—it’s an old book!” exclaimed Felicity. “I didn’t + think the Awkward Man was mean, whatever else he was.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you don’t understand, Felicity,” said the Story Girl patiently. “And + I don’t suppose I can make you understand. But I’ll try. I’d ten times + rather have this than a new book. It’s one of his own, don’t you see—one + that he has read a hundred times and loved and made a friend of. A new + book, just out of a shop, wouldn’t be the same thing at all. It wouldn’t + MEAN anything. I consider it a great compliment that he has given me this + book. I’m prouder of it than of anything else I’ve got.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you’re welcome to it,” said Felicity. “I don’t understand and I + don’t want to. I wouldn’t give anybody a Christmas present that wasn’t + new, and I wouldn’t thank anybody who gave me one.” + </p> + <p> + Peter was in the seventh heaven because Felicity had given him a present—and, + moreover, one that she had made herself. It was a bookmark of perforated + cardboard, with a gorgeous red and yellow worsted goblet worked on it, and + below, in green letters, the solemn warning, “Touch Not The Cup.” As Peter + was not addicted to habits of intemperance, not even to looking on + dandelion wine when it was pale yellow, we did not exactly see why + Felicity should have selected such a device. But Peter was perfectly + satisfied, so nobody cast any blight on his happiness by carping + criticism. Later on Felicity told me she had worked the bookmark for him + because his father used to drink before he ran away. + </p> + <p> + “I thought Peter ought to be warned in time,” she said. + </p> + <p> + Even Pat had a ribbon of blue, which he clawed off and lost half an hour + after it was tied on him. Pat did not care for vain adornments of the + body. + </p> + <p> + We had a glorious Christmas dinner, fit for the halls of Lucullus, and ate + far more than was good for us, none daring to make us afraid on that one + day of the year. And in the evening—oh, rapture and delight!—we + went to Kitty Marr’s party. + </p> + <p> + It was a fine December evening; the sharp air of morning had mellowed + until it was as mild as autumn. There had been no snow, and the long + fields, sloping down from the homestead, were brown and mellow. A weird, + dreamy stillness had fallen on the purple earth, the dark fir woods, the + valley rims, the sere meadows. Nature seemed to have folded satisfied + hands to rest, knowing that her long wintry slumber was coming upon her. + </p> + <p> + At first, when the invitations to the party had come, Aunt Janet had said + we could not go; but Uncle Alec interceded in our favour, perhaps + influenced thereto by Cecily’s wistful eyes. If Uncle Alec had a favourite + among his children it was Cecily, and he had grown even more indulgent + towards her of late. Now and then I saw him looking at her intently, and, + following his eyes and thought, I had, somehow, seen that Cecily was paler + and thinner than she had been in the summer, and that her soft eyes seemed + larger, and that over her little face in moments of repose there was a + certain languor and weariness that made it very sweet and pathetic. And I + heard him tell Aunt Janet that he did not like to see the child getting so + much the look of her Aunt Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “Cecily is perfectly well,” said Aunt Janet sharply. “She’s only growing + very fast. Don’t be foolish, Alec.” + </p> + <p> + But after that Cecily had cups of cream where the rest of us got only + milk; and Aunt Janet was very particular to see that she had her rubbers + on whenever she went out. + </p> + <p> + On this merry Christmas evening, however, no fears or dim foreshadowings + of any coming event clouded our hearts or faces. Cecily looked brighter + and prettier than I had ever seen her, with her softly shining eyes and + the nut brown gloss of her hair. Felicity was too beautiful for words; and + even the Story Girl, between excitement and the crimson silk array, + blossomed out with a charm and allurement more potent than any regular + loveliness—and this in spite of the fact that Aunt Olivia had + tabooed the red satin slippers and mercilessly decreed that stout shoes + should be worn. + </p> + <p> + “I know just how you feel about it, you daughter of Eve,” she said, with + gay sympathy, “but December roads are damp, and if you are going to walk + to Marrs’ you are not going to do it in those frivolous Parisian + concoctions, even with overboots on; so be brave, dear heart, and show + that you have a soul above little red satin shoes.” + </p> + <p> + “Anyhow,” said Uncle Roger, “that red silk dress will break the hearts of + all the feminine small fry at the party. You’d break their spirits, too, + if you wore the slippers. Don’t do it, Sara. Leave them one wee loophole + of enjoyment.” + </p> + <p> + “What does Uncle Roger mean?” whispered Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “He means you girls are all dying of jealousy because of the Story Girl’s + dress,” said Dan. + </p> + <p> + “I am not of a jealous disposition,” said Felicity loftily, “and she’s + entirely welcome to the dress—with a complexion like that.” + </p> + <p> + But we enjoyed that party hugely, every one of us. And we enjoyed the walk + home afterwards, through dim, enshadowed fields where silvery star-beams + lay, while Orion trod his stately march above us, and a red moon climbed + up the black horizon’s rim. A brook went with us part of the way, singing + to us through the dark—a gay, irresponsible vagabond of valley and + wilderness. + </p> + <p> + Felicity and Peter walked not with us. Peter’s cup must surely have + brimmed over that Christmas night. When we left the Marr house, he had + boldly said to Felicity, “May I see you home?” And Felicity, much to our + amazement, had taken his arm and marched off with him. The primness of her + was indescribable, and was not at all ruffled by Dan’s hoot of derision. + As for me, I was consumed by a secret and burning desire to ask the Story + Girl if I might see HER home; but I could not screw my courage to the + sticking point. How I envied Peter his easy, insouciant manner! I could + not emulate him, so Dan and Felix and Cecily and the Story Girl and I all + walked hand in hand, huddling a little closer together as we went through + James Frewen’s woods—for there are strange harps in a fir grove, and + who shall say what fingers sweep them? Mighty and sonorous was the music + above our heads as the winds of the night stirred the great boughs tossing + athwart the starlit sky. Perhaps it was that aeolian harmony which + recalled to the Story Girl a legend of elder days. + </p> + <p> + “I read such a pretty story in one of Aunt Olivia’s books last night,” she + said. “It was called ‘The Christmas Harp.’ Would you like to hear it? It + seems to me it would just suit this part of the road.” + </p> + <p> + “There isn’t anything about—about ghosts in it, is there?” said + Cecily timidly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, I wouldn’t tell a ghost story here for anything. I’d frighten + myself too much. This story is about one of the shepherds who saw the + angels on the first Christmas night. He was just a youth, and he loved + music with all his heart, and he longed to be able to express the melody + that was in his soul. But he could not; he had a harp and he often tried + to play on it; but his clumsy fingers only made such discord that his + companions laughed at him and mocked him, and called him a madman because + he would not give it up, but would rather sit apart by himself, with his + arms about his harp, looking up into the sky, while they gathered around + their fire and told tales to wile away their long night vigils as they + watched their sheep on the hills. But to him the thoughts that came out of + the great silence were far sweeter than their mirth; and he never gave up + the hope, which sometimes left his lips as a prayer, that some day he + might be able to express those thoughts in music to the tired, weary, + forgetful world. On the first Christmas night he was out with his fellow + shepherds on the hills. It was chill and dark, and all, except him, were + glad to gather around the fire. He sat, as usual, by himself, with his + harp on his knee and a great longing in his heart. And there came a + marvellous light in the sky and over the hills, as if the darkness of the + night had suddenly blossomed into a wonderful meadow of flowery flame; and + all the shepherds saw the angels and heard them sing. And as they sang, + the harp that the young shepherd held began to play softly by itself, and + as he listened to it he realized that it was playing the same music that + the angels sang and that all his secret longings and aspirations and + strivings were expressed in it. From that night, whenever he took the harp + in his hands, it played the same music; and he wandered all over the world + carrying it; wherever the sound of its music was heard hate and discord + fled away and peace and good-will reigned. No one who heard it could think + an evil thought; no one could feel hopeless or despairing or bitter or + angry. When a man had once heard that music it entered into his soul and + heart and life and became a part of him for ever. Years went by; the + shepherd grew old and bent and feeble; but still he roamed over land and + sea, that his harp might carry the message of the Christmas night and the + angel song to all mankind. At last his strength failed him and he fell by + the wayside in the darkness; but his harp played as his spirit passed; and + it seemed to him that a Shining One stood by him, with wonderful starry + eyes, and said to him, ‘Lo, the music thy harp has played for so many + years has been but the echo of the love and sympathy and purity and beauty + in thine own soul; and if at any time in the wanderings thou hadst opened + the door of that soul to evil or envy or selfishness thy harp would have + ceased to play. Now thy life is ended; but what thou hast given to mankind + has no end; and as long as the world lasts, so long will the heavenly + music of the Christmas harp ring in the ears of men.’ When the sun rose + the old shepherd lay dead by the roadside, with a smile on his face; and + in his hands was a harp with all its strings broken.” + </p> + <p> + We left the fir woods as the tale was ended, and on the opposite hill was + home. A dim light in the kitchen window betokened that Aunt Janet had no + idea of going to bed until all her young fry were safely housed for the + night. + </p> + <p> + “Ma’s waiting up for us,” said Dan. “I’d laugh if she happened to go to + the door just as Felicity and Peter were strutting up. I guess she’ll be + cross. It’s nearly twelve.” + </p> + <p> + “Christmas will soon be over,” said Cecily, with a sigh. “Hasn’t it been a + nice one? It’s the first we’ve all spent together. Do you suppose we’ll + ever spend another together?” + </p> + <p> + “Lots of ‘em,” said Dan cheerily. “Why not?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don’t know,” answered Cecily, her footsteps lagging somewhat. “Only + things seem just a little too pleasant to last.” + </p> + <p> + “If Willy Fraser had had as much spunk as Peter, Miss Cecily King mightn’t + be so low spirited,” quoth Dan, significantly. + </p> + <p> + Cecily tossed her head and disdained reply. There are really some remarks + a self-respecting young lady must ignore. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br><br><br><br> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. NEW YEAR RESOLUTIONS + </h2> + <p> + If we did not have a white Christmas we had a white New Year. Midway + between the two came a heavy snowfall. It was winter in our orchard of old + delights then,—so truly winter that it was hard to believe summer + had ever dwelt in it, or that spring would ever return to it. There were + no birds to sing the music of the moon; and the path where the apple + blossoms had fallen were heaped with less fragrant drifts. But it was a + place of wonder on a moonlight night, when the snowy arcades shone like + avenues of ivory and crystal, and the bare trees cast fairy-like traceries + upon them. Over Uncle Stephen’s Walk, where the snow had fallen smoothly, + a spell of white magic had been woven. Taintless and wonderful it seemed, + like a street of pearl in the new Jerusalem. + </p> + <p> + On New Year’s Eve we were all together in Uncle Alec’s kitchen, which was + tacitly given over to our revels during the winter evenings. The Story + Girl and Peter were there, of course, and Sara Ray’s mother had allowed + her to come up on condition that she should be home by eight sharp. Cecily + was glad to see her, but the boys never hailed her arrival with over-much + delight, because, since the dark began to come down early, Aunt Janet + always made one of us walk down home with her. We hated this, because Sara + Ray was always so maddeningly self-conscious of having an escort. We knew + perfectly well that next day in school she would tell her chums as a + “dead” secret that “So-and-So King saw her home” from the hill farm the + night before. Now, seeing a young lady home from choice, and being sent + home with her by your aunt or mother are two entirely different things, + and we thought Sara Ray ought to have sense enough to know it. + </p> + <p> + Outside there was a vivid rose of sunset behind the cold hills of fir, and + the long reaches of snowy fields glowed fairily pink in the western light. + The drifts along the edges of the meadows and down the lane looked as if a + series of breaking waves had, by the lifting of a magician’s wand, been + suddenly transformed into marble, even to their toppling curls of foam. + </p> + <p> + Slowly the splendour died, giving place to the mystic beauty of a winter + twilight when the moon is rising. The hollow sky was a cup of blue. The + stars came out over the white glens and the earth was covered with a + kingly carpet for the feet of the young year to press. + </p> + <p> + “I’m so glad the snow came,” said the Story Girl. “If it hadn’t the New + Year would have seemed just as dingy and worn out as the old. There’s + something very solemn about the idea of a New Year, isn’t there? Just + think of three hundred and sixty-five whole days, with not a thing + happened in them yet.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t suppose anything very wonderful will happen in them,” said Felix + pessimistically. To Felix, just then, life was flat, stale and + unprofitable because it was his turn to go home with Sara Ray. + </p> + <p> + “It makes me a little frightened to think of all that may happen in them,” + said Cecily. “Miss Marwood says it is what we put into a year, not what we + get out of it, that counts at last.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m always glad to see a New Year,” said the Story Girl. “I wish we could + do as they do in Norway. The whole family sits up until midnight, and + then, just as the clock is striking twelve, the father opens the door and + welcomes the New Year in. Isn’t it a pretty custom?” + </p> + <p> + “If ma would let us stay up till twelve we might do that too,” said Dan, + “but she never will. I call it mean.” + </p> + <p> + “If I ever have children I’ll let them stay up to watch the New Year in,” + said the Story Girl decidedly. + </p> + <p> + “So will I,” said Peter, “but other nights they’ll have to go to bed at + seven.” + </p> + <p> + “You ought to be ashamed, speaking of such things,” said Felicity, with a + scandalized face. + </p> + <p> + Peter shrank into the background abashed, no doubt believing that he had + broken some Family Guide precept all to pieces. + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t know it wasn’t proper to mention children,” he muttered + apologetically. + </p> + <p> + “We ought to make some New Year resolutions,” suggested the Story Girl. + “New Year’s Eve is the time to make them.” + </p> + <p> + “I can’t think of any resolutions I want to make,” said Felicity, who was + perfectly satisfied with herself. + </p> + <p> + “I could suggest a few to you,” said Dan sarcastically. + </p> + <p> + “There are so many I would like to make,” said Cecily, “that I’m afraid it + wouldn’t be any use trying to keep them all.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, let’s all make a few, just for the fun of it, and see if we can + keep them,” I said. “And let’s get paper and ink and write them out. That + will make them seem more solemn and binding.” + </p> + <p> + “And then pin them up on our bedroom walls, where we’ll see them every + day,” suggested the Story Girl, “and every time we break a resolution we + must put a cross opposite it. That will show us what progress we are + making, as well as make us ashamed if we have too many crosses.” + </p> + <p> + “And let’s have a Roll of Honour in Our Magazine,” suggested Felix, “and + every month we’ll publish the names of those who keep their resolutions + perfect.” + </p> + <p> + “I think it’s all nonsense,” said Felicity. But she joined our circle + around the table, though she sat for a long time with a blank sheet before + her. + </p> + <p> + “Let’s each make a resolution in turn,” I said. “I’ll lead off.” + </p> + <p> + And, recalling with shame certain unpleasant differences of opinion I had + lately had with Felicity, I wrote down in my best hand, + </p> + <p> + “I shall try to keep my temper always.” + </p> + <p> + “You’d better,” said Felicity tactfully. + </p> + <p> + It was Dan’s turn next. + </p> + <p> + “I can’t think of anything to start with,” he said, gnawing his penholder + fiercely. + </p> + <p> + “You might make a resolution not to eat poison berries,” suggested + Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “You’d better make one not to nag people everlastingly,” retorted Dan. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, don’t quarrel the last night of the old year,” implored Cecily. + </p> + <p> + “You might resolve not to quarrel any time,” suggested Sara Ray. + </p> + <p> + “No, sir,” said Dan emphatically. “There’s no use making a resolution you + CAN’T keep. There are people in this family you’ve just GOT to quarrel + with if you want to live. But I’ve thought of one—I won’t do things + to spite people.” + </p> + <p> + Felicity—who really was in an unbearable mood that night—laughed + disagreeably; but Cecily gave her a fierce nudge, which probably + restrained her from speaking. + </p> + <p> + “I will not eat any apples,” wrote Felix. + </p> + <p> + “What on earth do you want to give up eating apples for?” asked Peter in + astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “Never mind,” returned Felix. + </p> + <p> + “Apples make people fat, you know,” said Felicity sweetly. + </p> + <p> + “It seems a funny kind of resolution,” I said doubtfully. “I think our + resolutions ought to be giving up wrong things or doing right ones.” + </p> + <p> + “You make your resolutions to suit yourself and I’ll make mine to suit + myself,” said Felix defiantly. + </p> + <p> + “I shall never get drunk,” wrote Peter painstakingly. + </p> + <p> + “But you never do,” said the Story Girl in astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “Well, it will be all the easier to keep the resolution,” argued Peter. + </p> + <p> + “That isn’t fair,” complained Dan. “If we all resolved not to do the + things we never do we’d all be on the Roll of Honour.” + </p> + <p> + “You let Peter alone,” said Felicity severely. “It’s a very good + resolution and one everybody ought to make.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall not be jealous,” wrote the Story Girl. + </p> + <p> + “But are you?” I asked, surprised. + </p> + <p> + The Story Girl coloured and nodded. “Of one thing,” she confessed, “but + I’m not going to tell what it is.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m jealous sometimes, too,” confessed Sara Ray, “and so my first + resolution will be ‘I shall try not to feel jealous when I hear the other + girls in school describing all the sick spells they’ve had.’” + </p> + <p> + “Goodness, do you want to be sick?” demanded Felix in astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “It makes a person important,” explained Sara Ray. + </p> + <p> + “I am going to try to improve my mind by reading good books and listening + to older people,” wrote Cecily. + </p> + <p> + “You got that out of the Sunday School paper,” cried Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “It doesn’t matter where I got it,” said Cecily with dignity. “The main + thing is to keep it.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s your turn, Felicity,” I said. + </p> + <p> + Felicity tossed her beautiful golden head. + </p> + <p> + “I told you I wasn’t going to make any resolutions. Go on yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall always study my grammar lesson,” I wrote—I, who loathed + grammar with a deadly loathing. + </p> + <p> + “I hate grammar too,” sighed Sara Ray. “It seems so unimportant.” + </p> + <p> + Sara was rather fond of a big word, but did not always get hold of the + right one. I rather suspected that in the above instance she really meant + uninteresting. + </p> + <p> + “I won’t get mad at Felicity, if I can help it,” wrote Dan. + </p> + <p> + “I’m sure I never do anything to make you mad,” exclaimed Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think it’s polite to make resolutions about your sisters,” said + Peter. + </p> + <p> + “He can’t keep it anyway,” scoffed Felicity. “He’s got such an awful + temper.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s a family failing,” flashed Dan, breaking his resolution ere the ink + on it was dry. + </p> + <p> + “There you go,” taunted Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll work all my arithmetic problems without any help,” scribbled Felix. + </p> + <p> + “I wish I could resolve that, too,” sighed Sara Ray, “but it wouldn’t be + any use. I’d never be able to do those compound multiplication sums the + teacher gives us to do at home every night if I didn’t get Judy Pineau to + help me. Judy isn’t a good reader and she can’t spell AT ALL, but you + can’t stick her in arithmetic as far as she went herself. I feel sure,” + concluded poor Sara, in a hopeless tone, “that I’ll NEVER be able to + understand compound multiplication.” + </p> +<p class="pre"> + “‘Multiplication is vexation,<br> + <span style="margin-left: 4em;">Division is as bad,</span><br> + The rule of three perplexes me,<br> + <span style="margin-left: 4em;">And fractions drive me mad,’”</span> + </p> + <p> + quoted Dan. + </p> + <p> + “I haven’t got as far as fractions yet,” sighed Sara, “and I hope I’ll be + too big to go to school before I do. I hate arithmetic, but I am + PASSIONATELY fond of geography.” + </p> + <p> + “I will not play tit-tat-x on the fly leaves of my hymn book in church,” + wrote Peter. + </p> + <p> + “Mercy, did you ever do such a thing?” exclaimed Felicity in horror. + </p> + <p> + Peter nodded shamefacedly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes—that Sunday Mr. Bailey preached. He was so long-winded, I got + awful tired, and, anyway, he was talking about things I couldn’t + understand, so I played tit-tat-x with one of the Markdale boys. It was + the day I was sitting up in the gallery.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I hope if you ever do the like again you won’t do it in OUR pew,” + said Felicity severely. + </p> + <p> + “I ain’t going to do it at all,” said Peter. “I felt sort of mean all the + rest of the day.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall try not to be vexed when people interrupt me when I’m telling + stories,” wrote the Story Girl. “but it will be hard,” she added with a + sigh. + </p> + <p> + “I never mind being interrupted,” said Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “I shall try to be cheerful and smiling all the time,” wrote Cecily. + </p> + <p> + “You are, anyway,” said Sara Ray loyally. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t believe we ought to be cheerful ALL the time,” said the Story + Girl. “The Bible says we ought to weep with those who weep.” + </p> + <p> + “But maybe it means that we’re to weep cheerfully,” suggested Cecily. + </p> + <p> + “Sorter as if you were thinking, ‘I’m very sorry for you but I’m mighty + glad I’m not in the scrape too,’” said Dan. + </p> + <p> + “Dan, don’t be irreverent,” rebuked Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “I know a story about old Mr. and Mrs. Davidson of Markdale,” said the + Story Girl. “She was always smiling and it used to aggravate her husband, + so one day he said very crossly, ‘Old lady, what ARE you grinning at?’ + ‘Oh, well, Abiram, everything’s so bright and pleasant, I’ve just got to + smile.’ + </p> + <p> + “Not long after there came a time when everything went wrong—the + crop failed and their best cow died, and Mrs. Davidson had rheumatism; and + finally Mr. Davidson fell and broke his leg. But still Mrs. Davidson + smiled. ‘What in the dickens are you grinning about now, old lady?’ he + demanded. ‘Oh, well, Abiram,’ she said, ‘everything is so dark and + unpleasant I’ve just got to smile.’ ‘Well,’ said the old man crossly, ‘I + think you might give your face a rest sometimes.’” + </p> + <p> + “I shall not talk gossip,” wrote Sara Ray with a satisfied air. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, don’t you think that’s a little TOO strict?” asked Cecily anxiously. + “Of course, it’s not right to talk MEAN gossip, but the harmless kind + doesn’t hurt. If I say to you that Emmy MacPhail is going to get a new fur + collar this winter, THAT is harmless gossip, but if I say I don’t see how + Emmy MacPhail can afford a new fur collar when her father can’t pay my + father for the oats he got from him, that would be MEAN gossip. If I were + you, Sara, I’d put MEAN gossip.” + </p> + <p> + Sara consented to this amendment. + </p> + <p> + “I will be polite to everybody,” was my third resolution, which passed + without comment. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll try not to use slang since Cecily doesn’t like it,” wrote Dan. + </p> + <p> + “I think some slang is real cute,” said Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “The Family Guide says it’s very vulgar,” grinned Dan. “Doesn’t it, Sara + Stanley?” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t disturb me,” said the Story Girl dreamily. “I’m just thinking a + beautiful thought.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve thought of a resolution to make,” cried Felicity. “Mr. Marwood said + last Sunday we should always try to think beautiful thoughts and then our + lives would be very beautiful. So I shall resolve to think a beautiful + thought every morning before breakfast.” + </p> + <p> + “Can you only manage one a day?” queried Dan. + </p> + <p> + “And why before breakfast?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Because it’s easier to think on an empty stomach,” said Peter, in all + good faith. But Felicity shot a furious glance at him. + </p> + <p> + “I selected that time,” she explained with dignity, “because when I’m + brushing my hair before my glass in the morning I’ll see my resolution and + remember it.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Marwood meant that ALL our thoughts ought to be beautiful,” said the + Story Girl. “If they were, people wouldn’t be afraid to say what they + think.” + </p> + <p> + “They oughtn’t to be afraid to, anyhow,” said Felix stoutly. “I’m going to + make a resolution to say just what I think always.” + </p> + <p> + “And do you expect to get through the year alive if you do?” asked Dan. + </p> + <p> + “It might be easy enough to say what you think if you could always be sure + just what you DO think,” said the Story Girl. “So often I can’t be sure.” + </p> + <p> + “How would you like it if people always said just what they think to you?” + asked Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “I’m not very particular what SOME people think of me,” rejoined Felix. + </p> + <p> + “I notice you don’t like to be told by anybody that you’re fat,” retorted + Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, dear me, I do wish you wouldn’t all say such sarcastic things to each + other,” said poor Cecily plaintively. “It sounds so horrid the last night + of the old year. Dear knows where we’ll all be this night next year. + Peter, it’s your turn.” + </p> + <p> + “I will try,” wrote Peter, “to say my prayers every night regular, and not + twice one night because I don’t expect to have time the next,—like I + did the night before the party,” he added. + </p> + <p> + “I s’pose you never said your prayers until we got you to go to church,” + said Felicity—who had had no hand in inducing Peter to go to church, + but had stoutly opposed it, as recorded in the first volume of our family + history. + </p> + <p> + “I did, too,” said Peter. “Aunt Jane taught me to say my prayers. Ma + hadn’t time, being as father had run away; ma had to wash at night same as + in day-time.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall learn to cook,” wrote the Story Girl, frowning. + </p> + <p> + “You’d better resolve not to make puddings of—” began Felicity, then + stopped as suddenly as if she had bitten off the rest of her sentence and + swallowed it. Cecily had nudged her, so she had probably remembered the + Story Girl’s threat that she would never tell another story if she was + ever twitted with the pudding she had made from sawdust. But we all knew + what Felicity had started to say and the Story Girl dealt her a most + uncousinly glance. + </p> + <p> + “I will not cry because mother won’t starch my aprons,” wrote Sara Ray. + </p> + <p> + “Better resolve not to cry about anything,” said Dan kindly. + </p> + <p> + Sara Ray shook her head forlornly. + </p> + <p> + “That would be too hard to keep. There are times when I HAVE to cry. It’s + a relief.” + </p> + <p> + “Not to the folks who have to hear you,” muttered Dan aside to Cecily. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, hush,” whispered Cecily back. “Don’t go and hurt her feelings the + last night of the old year. Is it my turn again? Well, I’ll resolve not to + worry because my hair is not curly. But, oh, I’ll never be able to help + wishing it was.” + </p> + <p> + “Why don’t you curl it as you used to do, then?” asked Dan. + </p> + <p> + “You know very well that I’ve never put my hair up in curl papers since + the time Peter was dying of the measles,” said Cecily reproachfully. “I + resolved then I wouldn’t because I wasn’t sure it was quite right.” + </p> + <p> + “I will keep my finger-nails neat and clean,” I wrote. “There, that’s four + resolutions. I’m not going to make any more. Four’s enough.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall always think twice before I speak,” wrote Felix. + </p> + <p> + “That’s an awful waste of time,” commented Dan, “but I guess you’ll need + to if you’re always going to say what you think.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m going to stop with three,” said Peter. + </p> + <p> + “I will have all the good times I can,” wrote the Story Girl. + </p> + <p> + “THAT’S what I call sensible,” said Dan. + </p> + <p> + “It’s a very easy resolution to keep, anyhow,” commented Felix. + </p> + <p> + “I shall try to like reading the Bible,” wrote Sara Ray. + </p> + <p> + “You ought to like reading the Bible without trying to,” exclaimed + Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “If you had to read seven chapters of it every time you were naughty I + don’t believe you would like it either,” retorted Sara Ray with a flash of + spirit. + </p> + <p> + “I shall try to believe only half of what I hear,” was Cecily’s concluding + resolution. + </p> + <p> + “But which half?” scoffed Dan. + </p> + <p> + “The best half,” said sweet Cecily simply. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll try to obey mother ALWAYS,” wrote Sara Ray, with a tremendous sigh, + as if she fully realized the difficulty of keeping such a resolution. “And + that’s all I’m going to make.” + </p> + <p> + “Felicity has only made one,” said the Story Girl. + </p> + <p> + “I think it better to make just one and keep it than make a lot and break + them,” said Felicity loftily. + </p> + <p> + She had the last word on the subject, for it was time for Sara Ray to go, + and our circle broke up. Sara and Felix departed and we watched them down + the lane in the moonlight—Sara walking demurely in one runner track, + and Felix stalking grimly along in the other. I fear the romantic beauty + of that silver shining night was entirely thrown away on my mischievous + brother. + </p> + <p> + And it was, as I remember it, a most exquisite night—a white poem, a + frosty, starry lyric of light. It was one of those nights on which one + might fall asleep and dream happy dreams of gardens of mirth and song, + feeling all the while through one’s sleep the soft splendour and radiance + of the white moon-world outside, as one hears soft, far-away music + sounding through the thoughts and words that are born of it. + </p> + <p> + As a matter of fact, however, Cecily dreamed that night that she saw three + full moons in the sky, and wakened up crying with the horror of it. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br><br><br><br> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. THE FIRST NUMBER OF “OUR MAGAZINE” + </h2> + <p> + The first number of Our Magazine was ready on New Year’s Day, and we read + it that evening in the kitchen. All our staff had worked nobly and we were + enormously proud of the result, although Dan still continued to scoff at a + paper that wasn’t printed. The Story Girl and I read it turnabout while + the others, except Felix, ate apples. It opened with a short + </p> + <p> + EDITORIAL + </p> + <p> + With this number Our Magazine makes its first bow to the public. All the + editors have done their best and the various departments are full of + valuable information and amusement. The tastefully designed cover is by a + famous artist, Mr. Blair Stanley, who sent it to us all the way from + Europe at the request of his daughter. Mr. Peter Craig, our enterprising + literary editor, contributes a touching love story. (Peter, aside, in a + gratified pig’s whisper: “I never was called ‘Mr.’ before.”) Miss Felicity + King’s essays on Shakespeare is none the worse for being an old school + composition, as it is new to most of our readers. Miss Cecily King + contributes a thrilling article of adventure. The various departments are + ably edited, and we feel that we have reason to be proud of Our Magazine. + But we shall not rest on our oars. “Excelsior” shall ever be our motto. We + trust that each succeeding issue will be better than the one that went + before. We are well aware of many defects, but it is easier to see them + than to remedy them. Any suggestion that would tend to the improvement of + Our Magazine will be thankfully received, but we trust that no criticism + will be made that will hurt anyone’s feelings. Let us all work together in + harmony, and strive to make Our Magazine an influence for good and a + source of innocent pleasure, and let us always remember the words of the + poet. + </p> +<p class="pre"> + “The heights by great men reached and kept<br> + <span style="margin-left: 4em;">Were not attained by sudden flight,</span><br> + But they, while their companions slept,<br> + <span style="margin-left: 4em;">Were toiling upwards in the night.”</span> + </p> + <p> + (Peter, IMPRESSIVELY:—“I’ve read many a worse editorial in the + Enterprise.”) + </p> + <p> + ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE + </p> + <p> + Shakespeare’s full name was William Shakespeare. He did not always spell + it the same way. He lived in the reign of Queen Elizabeth and wrote a + great many plays. His plays are written in dialogue form. Some people + think they were not written by Shakespeare but by another man of the same + name. I have read some of them because our school teacher says everybody + ought to read them, but I did not care much for them. There are some + things in them I cannot understand. I like the stories of Valeria H. + Montague in the Family Guide ever so much better. They are more exciting + and truer to life. Romeo and Juliet was one of the plays I read. It was + very sad. Juliet dies and I don’t like stories where people die. I like it + better when they all get married especially to dukes and earls. + Shakespeare himself was married to Anne Hatheway. They are both dead now. + They have been dead a good while. He was a very famous man. + </p> +<p class="center"> + FELICITY KING. +</p> + <p> + (PETER, MODESTLY: “I don’t know much about Shakespeare myself but I’ve got + a book of his plays that belonged to my Aunt Jane, and I guess I’ll have + to tackle him as soon as I finish with the Bible.”) + </p> + <p> + THE STORY OF AN ELOPEMENT FROM CHURCH + </p> + <p> + This is a true story. It happened in Markdale to an uncle of my mothers. + He wanted to marry Miss Jemima Parr. Felicity says Jemima is not a + romantic name for a heroin of a story but I cant help it in this case + because it is a true story and her name realy was Jemima. My mothers uncle + was named Thomas Taylor. He was poor at that time and so the father of + Miss Jemima Parr did not want him for a soninlaw and told him he was not + to come near the house or he would set the dog on him. Miss Jemima Parr + was very pretty and my mothers uncle Thomas was just crazy about her and + she wanted him too. She cried almost every night after her father forbid + him to come to the house except the nights she had to sleep or she would + have died. And she was so frightened he might try to come for all and get + tore up by the dog and it was a bull-dog too that would never let go. But + mothers uncle Thomas was too cute for that. He waited till one day there + was preaching in the Markdale church in the middle of the week because it + was sacrament time and Miss Jemima Parr and her family all went because + her father was an elder. My mothers uncle Thomas went too and set in the + pew just behind Miss Jemima Parrs family. When they all bowed their heads + at prayer time Miss Jemima Parr didnt but set bolt uprite and my mothers + uncle Thomas bent over and wispered in her ear. I dont know what he said + so I cant right it but Miss Jemima Parr blushed that is turned red and + nodded her head. Perhaps some people may think that my mothers uncle + Thomas shouldent of wispered at prayer time in church but you must + remember that Miss Jemima Parrs father had thretened to set the dog on him + and that was hard lines when he was a respektable young man though not + rich. Well when they were singing the last sam my mothers uncle Thomas got + up and went out very quitely and as soon as church was out Miss Jemima + Parr walked out too real quick. Her family never suspekted anything and + they hung round talking to folks and shaking hands while Miss Jemima Parr + and my mothers uncle Thomas were eloping outside. And what do you suppose + they eloped in. Why in Miss Jemima Parrs fathers slay. And when he went + out they were gone and his slay was gone also his horse. Of course my + mothers uncle Thomas didnt steal the horse. He just borroed it and sent it + home the next day. But before Miss Jemima Parrs father could get another + rig to follow them they were so far away he couldent catch them before + they got married. And they lived happy together forever afterwards. + Mothers uncle Thomas lived to be a very old man. He died very suddent. He + felt quite well when he went to sleep and when he woke up he was dead. + </p> +<p class="center"> + PETER CRAIG. +</p> + <p> + MY MOST EXCITING ADVENTURE + </p> + <p> + The editor says we must all write up our most exciting adventure for Our + Magazine. My most exciting adventure happened a year ago last November. I + was nearly frightened to death. Dan says he wouldn’t of been scared and + Felicity says she would of known what it was but it’s easy to talk. + </p> + <p> + It happened the night I went down to see Kitty Marr. I thought when I went + that Aunt Olivia was visiting there and I could come home with her. But + she wasn’t there and I had to come home alone. Kitty came a piece of the + way but she wouldn’t come any further than Uncle James Frewen’s gate. She + said it was because it was so windy she was afraid she would get the + tooth-ache and not because she was frightened of the ghost of the dog that + haunted the bridge in Uncle James’ hollow. I did wish she hadn’t said + anything about the dog because I mightn’t of thought about it if she + hadn’t. I had to go on alone thinking of it. I’d heard the story often but + I’d never believed in it. They said the dog used to appear at one end of + the bridge and walk across it with people and vanish when he got to the + other end. He never tried to bite anyone but one wouldn’t want to meet the + ghost of a dog even if one didn’t believe in him. I knew there was no such + thing as ghosts and I kept saying a paraphrase over to myself and the + Golden Text of the next Sunday School lesson but oh, how my heart beat + when I got near the hollow! It was so dark. You could just see things + dim-like but you couldn’t see what they were. When I got to the bridge I + walked along sideways with my back to the railing so I couldn’t think the + dog was behind me. And then just in the middle of the bridge I met + something. It was right before me and it was big and black, just about the + size of a Newfoundland dog, and I thought I could see a white nose. And it + kept jumping about from one side of the bridge to the other. Oh, I hope + none of my readers will ever be so frightened as I was then. I was too + frightened to run back because I was afraid it would chase me and I + couldn’t get past it, it moved so quick, and then it just made one spring + right on me and I felt its claws and I screamed and fell down. It rolled + off to one side and laid there quite quiet but I didn’t dare move and I + don’t know what would have become of me if Amos Cowan hadn’t come along + that very minute with a lantern. And there was me sitting in the middle of + the bridge and that awful thing beside me. And what do you think it was + but a big umbrella with a white handle? Amos said it was his umbrella and + it had blown away from him and he had to go back and get the lantern to + look for it. I felt like asking him what on earth he was going about with + an umbrella open when it wasent raining. But the Cowans do such queer + things. You remember the time Jerry Cowan sold us God’s picture. Amos took + me right home and I was thankful for I don’t know what would have become + of me if he hadn’t come along. I couldn’t sleep all night and I never want + to have any more adventures like that one. + </p> +<p class="center"> + CECILY KING. +</p> + <p> + PERSONALS + </p> + <p> + Mr. Dan King felt somewhat indisposed the day after Christmas—probably + as the result of too much mince pie. (DAN, INDIGNANTLY:—“I wasn’t. I + only et one piece!”) + </p> + <p> + Mr. Peter Craig thinks he saw the Family Ghost on Christmas Eve. But the + rest of us think all he saw was the white calf with the red tail. (PETER, + MUTTERING SULKILY:—“It’s a queer calf that would walk up on end and + wring its hands.”) + </p> + <p> + Miss Cecily King spent the night of Dec. 20th with Miss Kitty Marr. They + talked most of the night about new knitted lace patterns and their beaus + and were very sleepy in school next day. (CECILY, SHARPLY:—“We never + mentioned such things!”) + </p> + <p> + Patrick Grayfur, Esq., was indisposed yesterday, but seems to be enjoying + his usual health to-day. + </p> + <p> + The King family expect their Aunt Eliza to visit them in January. She is + really our great-aunt. We have never seen her but we are told she is very + deaf and does not like children. So Aunt Janet says we must make ourselves + scarece when she comes. + </p> + <p> + Miss Cecily King has undertaken to fill with names a square of the + missionary quilt which the Mission Band is making. You pay five cents to + have your name embroidered in a corner, ten cents to have it in the + centre, and a quarter if you want it left off altogether. (CECILY, + INDIGNANTLY:—“That isn’t the way at all.”) + </p> + <p> + ADS. + </p> + <p> + WANTED—A remedy to make a fat boy thin. Address, “Patient Sufferer, + care of Our Magazine.” + </p> + <p> + (FELIX, SOURLY:—“Sara Ray never got that up. I’ll bet it was Dan. + He’d better stick to his own department.”) + </p> + <p> + HOUSEHOLD DEPARTMENT + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Alexander King killed all her geese the twentieth of December. We all + helped pick them. We had one Christmas Day and will have one every + fortnight the rest of the winter. + </p> + <p> + The bread was sour last week because mother wouldn’t take my advice. I + told her it was too warm for it in the corner behind the stove. + </p> + <p> + Miss Felicity King invented a new recete for date cookies recently, which + everybody said were excelent. I am not going to publish it though, because + I don’t want other people to find it out. + </p> + <p> + ANXIOUS INQUIRER:—If you want to remove inkstains place the stain + over steam and apply salt and lemon juice. If it was Dan who sent this + question in I’d advise him to stop wiping his pen on his shirt sleeves and + then he wouldn’t have so many stains. + </p> +<p class="center"> + FELICITY KING. +</p> + <p> + ETIQUETTE DEPARTMENT + </p> + <p> + F-l-x:—Yes, you should offer your arm to a lady when seeing her + home, but don’t keep her standing too long at the gate while you say good + night. + </p> + <p> + (FELIX, ENRAGED:—“I never asked such a question.”) + </p> + <p> + C-c-l-y:—No, it is not polite to use “Holy Moses” or “dodgasted” in + ordinary conversation. + </p> + <p> + (Cecily had gone down cellar to replenish the apple plate, so this passed + without protest.) + </p> + <p> + S-r-a:—No, it isn’t polite to cry all the time. As to whether you + should ask a young man in, it all depends on whether he went home with you + of his own accord or was sent by some elderly relative. + </p> + <p> + F-l-t-y:—It does not break any rule of etiquette if you keep a + button off your best young man’s coat for a keepsake. But don’t take more + than one or his mother might miss them. + </p> +<p class="center"> + DAN KING. +</p> + <p> + FASHION NOTES + </p> + <p> + Knitted mufflers are much more stylish than crocheted ones this winter. It + is nice to have one the same colour as your cap. + </p> + <p> + Red mittens with a black diamond pattern on the back are much run after. + Em Frewen’s grandma knits hers for her. She can knit the double diamond + pattern and Em puts on such airs about it, but I think the single diamond + is in better taste. + </p> + <p> + The new winter hats at Markdale are very pretty. It is so exciting to pick + a hat. Boys can’t have that fun. Their hats are so much alike. + </p> +<p class="center"> + CECILY KING. +</p> + <p> + FUNNY PARAGRAPHS + </p> + <p> + This is a true joke and really happened. + </p> + <p> + There was an old local preacher in New Brunswick one time whose name was + Samuel Clask. He used to preach and pray and visit the sick just like a + regular minister. One day he was visiting a neighbour who was dying and he + prayed the Lord to have mercy on him because he was very poor and had + worked so hard all his life that he hadn’t much time to attend to + religion. + </p> + <p> + “And if you don’t believe me, O Lord,” Mr. Clask finished up with, “just + take a look at his hands.” + </p> +<p class="center"> + FELIX KING. +</p> + <p> + GENERAL INFORMATION BUREAU + </p> + <p> + DAN:—Do porpoises grow on trees or vines? + </p> + <p> + Ans. Neither. They inhabit the deep sea. + </p> +<p class="center"> + FELIX KING. +</p> + <p> + (DAN, AGGRIEVED:—“Well, I’d never heard of porpoises and it sounded + like something that grew. But you needn’t have gone and put it in the + paper.” + </p> + <p> + FELIX:—“It isn’t any worse than the things you put in about me that + I never asked at all.” + </p> + <p> + CECILY, SOOTHINGLY:—“Oh, well, boys, it’s all in fun, and I think + Our Magazine is perfectly elegant.” + </p> + <p> + FELICITY, FAILING TO SEE THE STORY GIRL AND BEVERLEY EXCHANGING WINKS + BEHIND HER BACK:—“It certainly is, though SOME PEOPLE were so + opposed to starting it.”) + </p> + <p> + What harmless, happy fooling it all was! How we laughed as we read and + listened and devoured apples! Blow high, blow low, no wind can ever quench + the ruddy glow of that faraway winter night in our memories. And though + Our Magazine never made much of a stir in the world, or was the means of + hatching any genius, it continued to be capital fun for us throughout the + year. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br><br><br><br> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI. GREAT-AUNT ELIZA’S VISIT + </h2> + <p> + It was a diamond winter day in February—clear, cold, hard, + brilliant. The sharp blue sky shone, the white fields and hills glittered, + the fringe of icicles around the eaves of Uncle Alec’s house sparkled. + Keen was the frost and crisp the snow over our world; and we young fry of + the King households were all agog to enjoy life—for was it not + Saturday, and were we not left all alone to keep house? + </p> + <p> + Aunt Janet and Aunt Olivia had had their last big “kill” of market poultry + the day before; and early in the morning all our grown-ups set forth to + Charlottetown, to be gone the whole day. They left us many charges as + usual, some of which we remembered and some of which we forgot; but with + Felicity in command none of us dared stray far out of line. The Story Girl + and Peter came over, of course, and we all agreed that we would haste and + get the work done in the forenoon, that we might have an afternoon of + uninterrupted enjoyment. A taffy-pull after dinner and then a jolly hour + of coasting on the hill field before supper were on our programme. But + disappointment was our portion. We did manage to get the taffy made but + before we could sample the result satisfactorily, and just as the girls + were finishing with the washing of the dishes, Felicity glanced out of the + window and exclaimed in tones of dismay, + </p> + <p> + “Oh, dear me, here’s Great-aunt Eliza coming up the lane! Now, isn’t that + too mean?” + </p> + <p> + We all looked out to see a tall, gray-haired lady approaching the house, + looking about her with the slightly puzzled air of a stranger. We had been + expecting Great-aunt Eliza’s advent for some weeks, for she was visiting + relatives in Markdale. We knew she was liable to pounce down on us any + time, being one of those delightful folk who like to “surprise” people, + but we had never thought of her coming that particular day. It must be + confessed that we did not look forward to her visit with any pleasure. + None of us had ever seen her, but we knew she was very deaf, and had very + decided opinions as to the way in which children should behave. + </p> + <p> + “Whew!” whistled Dan. “We’re in for a jolly afternoon. She’s deaf as a + post and we’ll have to split our throats to make her hear at all. I’ve a + notion to skin out.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, don’t talk like that, Dan,” said Cecily reproachfully. “She’s old and + lonely and has had a great deal of trouble. She has buried three husbands. + We must be kind to her and do the best we can to make her visit pleasant.” + </p> + <p> + “She’s coming to the back door,” said Felicity, with an agitated glance + around the kitchen. “I told you, Dan, that you should have shovelled the + snow away from the front door this morning. Cecily, set those pots in the + pantry quick—hide those boots, Felix—shut the cupboard door, + Peter—Sara, straighten up the lounge. She’s awfully particular and + ma says her house is always as neat as wax.” + </p> + <p> + To do Felicity justice, while she issued orders to the rest of us, she was + flying busily about herself, and it was amazing how much was accomplished + in the way of putting the kitchen in perfect order during the two minutes + in which Great-aunt Eliza was crossing the yard. + </p> + <p> + “Fortunately the sitting-room is tidy and there’s plenty in the pantry,” + said Felicity, who could face anything undauntedly with a well-stocked + larder behind her. + </p> + <p> + Further conversation was cut short by a decided rap at the door. Felicity + opened it. + </p> + <p> + “Why, how do you do, Aunt Eliza?” she said loudly. + </p> + <p> + A slightly bewildered look appeared on Aunt Eliza’s face. Felicity + perceived she had not spoken loudly enough. + </p> + <p> + “How do you do, Aunt Eliza,” she repeated at the top of her voice. “Come + in—we are glad to see you. We’ve been looking for you for ever so + long.” + </p> + <p> + “Are your father and mother at home?” asked Aunt Eliza, slowly. + </p> + <p> + “No, they went to town today. But they’ll be home this evening.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m sorry they’re away,” said Aunt Eliza, coming in, “because I can stay + only a few hours.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that’s too bad,” shouted poor Felicity, darting an angry glance at + the rest of us, as if to demand why we didn’t help her out. “Why, we’ve + been thinking you’d stay a week with us anyway. You MUST stay over + Sunday.” + </p> + <p> + “I really can’t. I have to go to Charlottetown tonight,” returned Aunt + Eliza. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you’ll take off your things and stay to tea, at least,” urged + Felicity, as hospitably as her strained vocal chords would admit. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I think I’ll do that. I want to get acquainted with my—my + nephews and nieces,” said Aunt Eliza, with a rather pleasant glance around + our group. If I could have associated the thought of such a thing with my + preconception of Great-aunt Eliza I could have sworn there was a twinkle + in her eye. But of course it was impossible. “Won’t you introduce + yourselves, please?” + </p> + <p> + Felicity shouted our names and Great-aunt Eliza shook hands all round. She + performed the duty grimly and I concluded I must have been mistaken about + the twinkle. She was certainly very tall and dignified and imposing—altogether + a great-aunt to be respected. + </p> + <p> + Felicity and Cecily took her to the spare room and then left her in the + sitting-room while they returned to the kitchen, to discuss the matter in + family conclave. + </p> + <p> + “Well, and what do you think of dear Aunt Eliza?” asked Dan. + </p> + <p> + “S-s-s-sh,” warned Cecily, with a glance at the half-open hall door. + </p> + <p> + “Pshaw,” scoffed Dan, “she can’t hear us. There ought to be a law against + anyone being as deaf as that.” + </p> + <p> + “She’s not so old-looking as I expected,” said Felix. “If her hair wasn’t + so white she wouldn’t look much older than your mother.” + </p> + <p> + “You don’t have to be very old to be a great-aunt,” said Cecily. “Kitty + Marr has a great-aunt who is just the same age as her mother. I expect it + was burying so many husbands turned her hair white. But Aunt Eliza doesn’t + look just as I expected she would either.” + </p> + <p> + “She’s dressed more stylishly than I expected,” said Felicity. “I thought + she’d be real old-fashioned, but her clothes aren’t too bad at all.” + </p> + <p> + “She wouldn’t be bad-looking if ‘tweren’t for her nose,” said Peter. “It’s + too long, and crooked besides.” + </p> + <p> + “You needn’t criticize our relations like that,” said Felicity tartly. + </p> + <p> + “Well, aren’t you doing it yourselves?” expostulated Peter. + </p> + <p> + “That’s different,” retorted Felicity. “Never you mind Great-aunt Eliza’s + nose.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, don’t expect me to talk to her,” said Dan, “‘cause I won’t.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m going to be very polite to her,” said Felicity. “She’s rich. But how + are we to entertain her, that’s the question.” + </p> + <p> + “What does the Family Guide say about entertaining your rich, deaf old + aunt?” queried Dan ironically. + </p> + <p> + “The Family Guide says we should be polite to EVERYBODY,” said Cecily, + with a reproachful look at Dan. + </p> + <p> + “The worst of it is,” said Felicity, looking worried, “that there isn’t a + bit of old bread in the house and she can’t eat new, I’ve heard father + say. It gives her indigestion. What will we do?” + </p> + <p> + “Make a pan of rusks and apologize for having no old bread,” suggested the + Story Girl, probably by way of teasing Felicity. The latter, however, took + it in all good faith. + </p> + <p> + “The Family Guide says we should never apologize for things we can’t help. + It says it’s adding insult to injury to do it. But you run over home for a + loaf of stale bread, Sara, and it’s a good idea about the rusks. I’ll make + a panful.” + </p> + <p> + “Let me make them,” said the Story Girl, eagerly. “I can make real good + rusks now.” + </p> + <p> + “No, it wouldn’t do to trust you,” said Felicity mercilessly. “You might + make some queer mistake and Aunt Eliza would tell it all over the country. + She’s a fearful old gossip. I’ll make the rusks myself. She hates cats, so + we mustn’t let Paddy be seen. And she’s a Methodist, so mind nobody says + anything against Methodists to her.” + </p> + <p> + “Who’s going to say anything, anyhow?” asked Peter belligerently. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder if I might ask her for her name for my quilt square?” speculated + Cecily. “I believe I will. She looks so much friendlier than I expected. + Of course she’ll choose the five-cent section. She’s an estimable old + lady, but very economical.” + </p> + <p> + “Why don’t you say she’s so mean she’d skin a flea for its hide and + tallow?” said Dan. “That’s the plain truth.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I’m going to see about getting tea,” said Felicity, “so the rest of + you will have to entertain her. You better go in and show her the + photographs in the album. Dan, you do it.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, that’s a girl’s job,” said Dan. “I’d look nice sitting up to + Aunt Eliza and yelling out that this was Uncle Jim and ‘tother Cousin + Sarah’s twins, wouldn’t I? Cecily or the Story Girl can do it.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know all the pictures in your album,” said the Story Girl + hastily. + </p> + <p> + “I s’pose I’ll have to do it, though I don’t like to,” sighed Cecily. “But + we ought to go in. We’ve left her alone too long now. She’ll think we have + no manners.” + </p> + <p> + Accordingly we all filed in rather reluctantly. Great-aunt Eliza was + toasting her toes—clad, as we noted, in very smart and shapely shoes—at + the stove and looking quite at her ease. Cecily, determined to do her duty + even in the face of such fearful odds as Great-aunt Eliza’s deafness, + dragged a ponderous, plush-covered album from its corner and proceeded to + display and explain the family photographs. She did her brave best but she + could not shout like Felicity, and half the time, as she confided to me + later on, she felt that Great-aunt Eliza did not hear one word she said, + because she didn’t seem to take in who the people were, though, just like + all deaf folks, she wouldn’t let on. Great-aunt Eliza certainly didn’t + talk much; she looked at the photographs in silence, but she smiled now + and then. That smile bothered me. It was so twinkly and so very + un-great-aunt-Elizaish. But I felt indignant with her. I thought she might + have shown a little more appreciation of Cecily’s gallant efforts to + entertain. + </p> + <p> + It was very dull for the rest of us. The Story Girl sat rather sulkily in + her corner; she was angry because Felicity would not let her make the + rusks, and also, perhaps, a little vexed because she could not charm + Great-aunt Eliza with her golden voice and story-telling gift. Felix and I + looked at each other and wished ourselves out in the hill field, careering + gloriously adown its gleaming crust. + </p> + <p> + But presently a little amusement came our way. Dan, who was sitting behind + Great-aunt Eliza, and consequently out of her view, began making comments + on Cecily’s explanation of this one and that one among the photographs. In + vain Cecily implored him to stop. It was too good fun to give up. For the + next half-hour the dialogue ran after this fashion, while Peter and Felix + and I, and even the Story Girl, suffered agonies trying to smother our + bursts of laughter—for Great-aunt Eliza could see if she couldn’t + hear: + </p> + <p> + CECILY, SHOUTING:—“That is Mr. Joseph Elliott of Markdale, a second + cousin of mother’s.” + </p> + <p> + DAN:—“Don’t brag of it, Sis. He’s the man who was asked if somebody + else said something in sincerity and old Joe said ‘No, he said it in my + cellar.’” + </p> + <p> + CECILY:—“This isn’t anybody in our family. It’s little Xavy Gautier + who used to be hired with Uncle Roger.” + </p> + <p> + DAN:—“Uncle Roger sent him to fix a gate one day and scolded him + because he didn’t do it right, and Xavy was mad as hops and said ‘How you + ‘spect me to fix dat gate? I never learned jogerfy.’” + </p> + <p> + CECILY, WITH AN ANGUISHED GLANCE AT DAN:—“This is Great-uncle Robert + King.” + </p> + <p> + DAN:—“He’s been married four times. Don’t you think that’s often + enough, dear great-aunty?” + </p> + <p> + CECILY:—“(Dan!!) This is a nephew of Mr. Ambrose Marr’s. He lives + out west and teaches school.” + </p> + <p> + DAN:—“Yes, and Uncle Roger says he doesn’t know enough not to sleep + in a field with the gate open.” + </p> + <p> + CECILY:—“This is Miss Julia Stanley, who used to teach in Carlisle a + few years ago.” + </p> + <p> + DAN:—“When she resigned the trustees had a meeting to see if they’d + ask her to stay and raise her supplement. Old Highland Sandy was alive + then and he got up and said, ‘If she for go let her for went. Perhaps she + for marry.’” + </p> + <p> + CECILY, WITH THE AIR OF A MARTYR:—“This is Mr. Layton, who used to + travel around selling Bibles and hymn books and Talmage’s sermons.” + </p> + <p> + DAN:—“He was so thin Uncle Roger used to say he always mistook him + for a crack in the atmosphere. One time he stayed here all night and went + to prayer meeting and Mr. Marwood asked him to lead in prayer. It had been + raining ‘most every day for three weeks, and it was just in haymaking + time, and everybody thought the hay was going to be ruined, and old Layton + got up and prayed that God would send gentle showers on the growing crops, + and I heard Uncle Roger whisper to a fellow behind me, ‘If somebody don’t + choke him off we won’t get the hay made this summer.’” + </p> + <p> + CECILY, IN EXASPERATION:—“(Dan, shame on you for telling such + irreverent stories.) This is Mrs. Alexander Scott of Markdale. She has + been very sick for a long time.” + </p> + <p> + DAN:—“Uncle Roger says all that keeps her alive is that she’s scared + her husband will marry again.” + </p> + <p> + CECILY:—“This is old Mr. James MacPherson who used to live behind + the graveyard.” + </p> + <p> + DAN:—“He’s the man who told mother once that he always made his own + iodine out of strong tea and baking soda.” + </p> + <p> + CECILY:—“This is Cousin Ebenezer MacPherson on the Markdale road.” + </p> + <p> + DAN:—“Great temperance man! He never tasted rum in his life. He took + the measles when he was forty-five and was crazy as a loon with them, and + the doctor ordered them to give him a dose of brandy. When he swallowed it + he looked up and says, solemn as an owl, ‘Give it to me oftener and more + at a time.’” + </p> + <p> + CECILY, IMPLORINGLY:—“(Dan, do stop. You make me so nervous I don’t + know what I’m doing.) This is Mr. Lemuel Goodridge. He is a minister.” + </p> + <p> + DAN:—“You ought to see his mouth. Uncle Roger says the drawing + string has fell out of it. It just hangs loose—so fashion.” + </p> + <p> + Dan, whose own mouth was far from being beautiful, here gave an imitation + of the Rev. Lemuel’s, to the utter undoing of Peter, Felix, and myself. + Our wild guffaws of laughter penetrated even Great-aunt Eliza’s deafness, + and she glanced up with a startled face. What we would have done I do not + know had not Felicity at that moment appeared in the doorway with + panic-stricken eyes and exclaimed, + </p> + <p> + “Cecily, come here for a moment.” + </p> + <p> + Cecily, glad of even a temporary respite, fled to the kitchen and we heard + her demanding what was the matter. + </p> + <p> + “Matter!” exclaimed Felicity, tragically. “Matter enough! Some of you left + a soup plate with molasses in it on the pantry table and Pat got into it + and what do you think? He went into the spare room and walked all over + Aunt Eliza’s things on the bed. You can see his tracks plain as plain. + What in the world can we do? She’ll be simply furious.” + </p> + <p> + I looked apprehensively at Great-aunt Eliza; but she was gazing intently + at a picture of Aunt Janet’s sister’s twins, a most stolid, uninteresting + pair; but evidently Great-aunt Eliza found them amusing for she was + smiling widely over them. + </p> + <p> + “Let us take a little clean water and a soft bit of cotton,” came Cecily’s + clear voice from the kitchen, “and see if we can’t clean the molasses off. + The coat and hat are both cloth, and molasses isn’t like grease.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, we can try, but I wish the Story Girl would keep her cat home,” + grumbled Felicity. + </p> + <p> + The Story Girl here flew out to defend her pet, and we four boys sat on, + miserably conscious of Great-aunt Eliza, who never said a word to us, + despite her previously expressed desire to become acquainted with us. She + kept on looking at the photographs and seemed quite oblivious of our + presence. + </p> + <p> + Presently the girls returned, having, as transpired later, been so + successful in removing the traces of Paddy’s mischief that it was not + deemed necessary to worry Great-aunt Eliza with any account of it. + Felicity announced tea and, while Cecily conveyed Great-aunt Eliza out to + the dining-room, lingered behind to consult with us for a moment. + </p> + <p> + “Ought we to ask her to say grace?” she wanted to know. + </p> + <p> + “I know a story,” said the Story Girl, “about Uncle Roger when he was just + a young man. He went to the house of a very deaf old lady and when they + sat down to the table she asked him to say grace. Uncle Roger had never + done such a thing in his life and he turned as red as a beet and looked + down and muttered, ‘E-r-r, please excuse me—I—I’m not + accustomed to doing that.’ Then he looked up and the old lady said ‘Amen,’ + loudly and cheerfully. She thought Uncle Roger was saying grace all the + time.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think it’s right to tell funny stories about such things,” said + Felicity coldly. “And I asked for your opinion, not for a story.” + </p> + <p> + “If we don’t ask her, Felix must say it, for he’s the only one who can, + and we must have it, or she’d be shocked.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, ask her—ask her,” advised Felix hastily. + </p> + <p> + She was asked accordingly and said grace without any hesitation, after + which she proceeded to eat heartily of the excellent supper Felicity had + provided. The rusks were especially good and Great-aunt Eliza ate three of + them and praised them. Apart from that she said little and during the + first part of the meal we sat in embarrassed silence. Towards the last, + however, our tongues were loosened, and the Story Girl told us a tragic + tale of old Charlottetown and a governor’s wife who had died of a broken + heart in the early days of the colony. + </p> + <p> + “They say that story isn’t true,” said Felicity. “They say what she really + died of was indigestion. The Governor’s wife who lives there now is a + relation of our own. She is a second cousin of father’s but we’ve never + seen her. Her name was Agnes Clark. And mind you, when father was a young + man he was dead in love with her and so was she with him.” + </p> + <p> + “Who ever told you that?” exclaimed Dan. + </p> + <p> + “Aunt Olivia. And I’ve heard ma teasing father about it, too. Of course, + it was before father got acquainted with mother.” + </p> + <p> + “Why didn’t your father marry her?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Well, she just simply wouldn’t marry him in the end. She got over being + in love with him. I guess she was pretty fickle. Aunt Olivia said father + felt awful about it for awhile, but he got over it when he met ma. Ma was + twice as good-looking as Agnes Clark. Agnes was a sight for freckles, so + Aunt Olivia says. But she and father remained real good friends. Just + think, if she had married him we would have been the children of the + Governor’s wife.” + </p> + <p> + “But she wouldn’t have been the Governor’s wife then,” said Dan. + </p> + <p> + “I guess it’s just as good being father’s wife,” declared Cecily loyally. + </p> + <p> + “You might think so if you saw the Governor,” chuckled Dan. “Uncle Roger + says it would be no harm to worship him because he doesn’t look like + anything in the heavens above or on the earth beneath or the waters under + the earth.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Uncle Roger just says that because he’s on the opposite side of + politics,” said Cecily. “The Governor isn’t really so very ugly. I saw him + at the Markdale picnic two years ago. He’s very fat and bald and + red-faced, but I’ve seen far worse looking men.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m afraid your seat is too near the stove, Aunt Eliza,” shouted + Felicity. + </p> + <p> + Our guest, whose face was certainly very much flushed, shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, I’m very comfortable,” she said. But her voice had the effect of + making us uncomfortable. There was a queer, uncertain little sound in it. + Was Great-aunt Eliza laughing at us? We looked at her sharply but her face + was very solemn. Only her eyes had a suspicious appearance. Somehow, we + did not talk much more the rest of the meal. + </p> + <p> + When it was over Great-aunt Eliza said she was very sorry but she must + really go. Felicity politely urged her to stay, but was much relieved when + Great-aunt Eliza adhered to her intention of going. When Felicity took her + to the spare room Cecily slipped upstairs and presently came back with a + little parcel in her hand. + </p> + <p> + “What have you got there?” demanded Felicity suspiciously. + </p> + <p> + “A—a little bag of rose-leaves,” faltered Cecily. “I thought I’d + give them to Aunt Eliza.” + </p> + <p> + “The idea! Don’t you do such a thing,” said Felicity contemptuously. + “She’d think you were crazy.” + </p> + <p> + “She was awfully nice when I asked her for her name for the quilt,” + protested Cecily, “and she took a ten-cent section after all. So I’d like + to give her the rose-leaves—and I’m going to, too, Miss Felicity.” + </p> + <p> + Great-aunt Eliza accepted the little gift quite graciously, bade us all + good-bye, said she had enjoyed herself very much, left messages for father + and mother, and finally betook herself away. We watched her cross the + yard, tall, stately, erect, and disappear down the lane. Then, as often + aforetime, we gathered together in the cheer of the red hearth-flame, + while outside the wind of a winter twilight sang through fair white + valleys brimmed with a reddening sunset, and a faint, serene, silver-cold + star glimmered over the willow at the gate. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Felicity, drawing a relieved breath, “I’m glad she’s gone. + She certainly is queer, just as mother said.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s a different kind of queerness from what I expected, though,” said + the Story Girl meditatively. “There’s something I can’t quite make out + about Aunt Eliza. I don’t think I altogether like her.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m precious sure I don’t,” said Dan. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well, never mind. She’s gone now and that’s the last of it,” said + Cecily comfortingly. + </p> + <p> + But it wasn’t the last of it—not by any manner of means was it! When + our grown-ups returned almost the first words Aunt Janet said were, + </p> + <p> + “And so you had the Governor’s wife to tea?” + </p> + <p> + We all stared at her. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know what you mean,” said Felicity. “We had nobody to tea except + Great-aunt Eliza. She came this afternoon and—” + </p> + <p> + “Great-aunt Eliza? Nonsense,” said Aunt Janet. “Aunt Eliza was in town + today. She had tea with us at Aunt Louisa’s. But wasn’t Mrs. Governor + Lesley here? We met her on her way back to Charlottetown and she told us + she was. She said she was visiting a friend in Carlisle and thought she’d + call to see father for old acquaintance sake. What in the world are all + you children staring like that for? Your eyes are like saucers.” + </p> + <p> + “There was a lady here to tea,” said Felicity miserably, “but we thought + it was Great-aunt Eliza—she never SAID she wasn’t—I thought + she acted queer—and we all yelled at her as if she was deaf—and + said things to each other about her nose—and Pat running over her + clothes—” + </p> + <p> + “She must have heard all you said while I was showing her the photographs, + Dan,” cried Cecily. + </p> + <p> + “And about the Governor at tea time,” chuckled unrepentant Dan. + </p> + <p> + “I want to know what all this means,” said Aunt Janet sternly. + </p> + <p> + She knew in due time, after she had pieced the story together from our + disjointed accounts. She was horrified, and Uncle Alec was mildly + disturbed, but Uncle Roger roared with laughter and Aunt Olivia echoed it. + </p> + <p> + “To think you should have so little sense!” said Aunt Janet in a disgusted + tone. + </p> + <p> + “I think it was real mean of her to pretend she was deaf,” said Felicity, + almost on the verge of tears. + </p> + <p> + “That was Agnes Clark all over,” chuckled Uncle Roger. “How she must have + enjoyed this afternoon!” + </p> + <p> + She had enjoyed it, as we learned the next day, when a letter came from + her. + </p> + <p> + “Dear Cecily and all the rest of you,” wrote the Governor’s wife, “I want + to ask you to forgive me for pretending to be Aunt Eliza. I suspect it was + a little horrid of me, but really I couldn’t resist the temptation, and if + you will forgive me for it I will forgive you for the things you said + about the Governor, and we will all be good friends. You know the Governor + is a very nice man, though he has the misfortune not to be handsome. + </p> + <p> + “I had just a splendid time at your place, and I envy your Aunt Eliza her + nephews and nieces. You were all so nice to me, and I didn’t dare to be a + bit nice to you lest I should give myself away. But I’ll make up for that + when you come to see me at Government House, as you all must the very next + time you come to town. I’m so sorry I didn’t see Paddy, for I love pussy + cats, even if they do track molasses over my clothes. And, Cecily, thank + you ever so much for that little bag of pot-pourri. It smells like a + hundred rose gardens, and I have put it between the sheets for my very + sparest room bed, where you shall sleep when you come to see me, you dear + thing. And the Governor wants you to put his name on the quilt square, + too, in the ten-cent section. + </p> + <p> + “Tell Dan I enjoyed his comments on the photographs very much. They were + quite a refreshing contrast to the usual explanations of ‘who’s who.’ And + Felicity, your rusks were perfection. Do send me your recipe for them, + there’s a darling. + </p> + <p> + “Yours most cordially, + </p> +<p class="center"> + AGNES CLARK LESLEY. +</p> + <p> + “Well, it was decent of her to apologize, anyhow,” commented Dan. + </p> + <p> + “If we only hadn’t said that about the Governor,” moaned Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “How did you make your rusks?” asked Aunt Janet. “There was no + baking-powder in the house, and I never could get them right with soda and + cream of tartar.” + </p> + <p> + “There was plenty of baking-powder in the pantry,” said Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “No, there wasn’t a particle. I used the last making those cookies + Thursday morning.” + </p> + <p> + “But I found another can nearly full, away back on the top shelf, ma,—the + one with the yellow label. I guess you forgot it was there.” + </p> + <p> + Aunt Janet stared at her pretty daughter blankly. Then amazement gave + place to horror. + </p> + <p> + “Felicity King!” she exclaimed. “You don’t mean to tell me that you raised + those rusks with the stuff that was in that old yellow can?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I did,” faltered Felicity, beginning to look scared. “Why, ma, what + was the matter with it?” + </p> + <p> + “Matter! That stuff was TOOTH-POWDER, that’s what it was. Your Cousin Myra + broke the bottle her tooth-powder was in when she was here last winter and + I gave her that old can to keep it in. She forgot to take it when she went + away and I put it on that top shelf. I declare you must all have been + bewitched yesterday.” + </p> + <p> + Poor, poor Felicity! If she had not always been so horribly vain over her + cooking and so scornfully contemptuous of other people’s aspirations and + mistakes along that line, I could have found it in my heart to pity her. + </p> + <p> + The Story Girl would have been more than human if she had not betrayed a + little triumphant amusement, but Peter stood up for his lady manfully. + </p> + <p> + “The rusks were splendid, anyhow, so what difference does it make what + they were raised with?” + </p> + <p> + Dan, however, began to taunt Felicity with her tooth-powder rusks, and + kept it up for the rest of his natural life. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t forget to send the Governor’s wife the recipe for them,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Felicity, with eyes tearful and cheeks crimson from mortification, rushed + from the room, but never, never did the Governor’s wife get the recipe for + those rusks. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br><br><br><br> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII. WE VISIT COUSIN MATTIE’S + </h2> + <p> + One Saturday in March we walked over to Baywater, for a long-talked-of + visit to Cousin Mattie Dilke. By the road, Baywater was six miles away, + but there was a short cut across hills and fields and woods which was + scantly three. We did not look forward to our visit with any particular + delight, for there was nobody at Cousin Mattie’s except grown-ups who had + been grown up so long that it was rather hard for them to remember they + had ever been children. But, as Felicity told us, it was necessary to + visit Cousin Mattie at least once a year, or else she would be “huffed,” + so we concluded we might as well go and have it over. + </p> + <p> + “Anyhow, we’ll get a splendiferous dinner,” said Dan. “Cousin Mattie’s a + great cook and there’s nothing stingy about her.” + </p> + <p> + “You are always thinking of your stomach,” said Felicity pleasantly. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you know I couldn’t get along very well without it, darling,” + responded Dan who, since New Year’s, had adopted a new method of dealing + with Felicity—whether by way of keeping his resolution or because he + had discovered that it annoyed Felicity far more than angry retorts, + deponent sayeth not. He invariably met her criticisms with a good-natured + grin and a flippant remark with some tender epithet tagged on to it. Poor + Felicity used to get hopelessly furious over it. + </p> + <p> + Uncle Alec was dubious about our going that day. He looked abroad on the + general dourness of gray earth and gray air and gray sky, and said a storm + was brewing. But Cousin Mattie had been sent word that we were coming, and + she did not like to be disappointed, so he let us go, warning us to stay + with Cousin Mattie all night if the storm came on while we were there. + </p> + <p> + We enjoyed our walk—even Felix enjoyed it, although he had been + appointed to write up the visit for Our Magazine and was rather weighed + down by the responsibility of it. What mattered it though the world were + gray and wintry? We walked the golden road and carried spring time in our + hearts, and we beguiled our way with laughter and jest, and the tales the + Story Girl told us—myths and legends of elder time. + </p> + <p> + The walking was good, for there had lately been a thaw and everything was + frozen. We went over fields, crossed by spidery trails of gray fences, + where the withered grasses stuck forlornly up through the snow; we + lingered for a time in a group of hill pines, great, majestic + tree-creatures, friends of evening stars; and finally struck into the belt + of fir and maple which intervened between Carlisle and Baywater. It was in + this locality that Peg Bowen lived, and our way lay near her house though + not directly in sight of it. We hoped we would not meet her, for since the + affair of the bewitchment of Paddy we did not know quite what to think of + Peg; the boldest of us held his breath as we passed her haunts, and drew + it again with a sigh of relief when they were safely left behind. + </p> + <p> + The woods were full of the brooding stillness that often precedes a storm, + and the wind crept along their white, cone-sprinkled floors with a low, + wailing cry. Around us were solitudes of snow, arcades picked out in pearl + and silver, long avenues of untrodden marble whence sprang the cathedral + columns of the firs. We were all sorry when we were through the woods and + found ourselves looking down into the snug, commonplace, farmstead-dotted + settlement of Baywater. + </p> + <p> + “There’s Cousin Mattie’s house—that big white one at the turn of the + road,” said the Story Girl. “I hope she has that dinner ready, Dan. I’m + hungry as a wolf after our walk.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish Cousin Mattie’s husband was still alive,” said Dan. “He was an + awful nice old man. He always had his pockets full of nuts and apples. I + used to like going there better when he was alive. Too many old women + don’t suit me.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Dan, Cousin Mattie and her sisters-in-law are just as nice and kind + as they can be,” reproached Cecily. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, they’re kind enough, but they never seem to see that a fellow gets + over being five years old if he only lives long enough,” retorted Dan. + </p> + <p> + “I know a story about Cousin Mattie’s husband,” said the Story Girl. “His + name was Ebenezer, you know—” + </p> + <p> + “Is it any wonder he was thin and stunted looking?” said Dan. + </p> + <p> + “Ebenezer is just as nice a name as Daniel,” said Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “Do you REALLY think so, my angel?” inquired Dan, in honey-sweet tones. + </p> + <p> + “Go on. Remember your second resolution,” I whispered to the Story Girl, + who was stalking along with an outraged expression. + </p> + <p> + The Story Girl swallowed something and went on. + </p> + <p> + “Cousin Ebenezer had a horror of borrowing. He thought it was simply a + dreadful disgrace to borrow ANYTHING. Well, you know he and Cousin Mattie + used to live in Carlisle, where the Rays now live. This was when + Grandfather King was alive. One day Cousin Ebenezer came up the hill and + into the kitchen where all the family were. Uncle Roger said he looked as + if he had been stealing sheep. He sat for a whole hour in the kitchen and + hardly spoke a word, but just looked miserable. At last he got up and said + in a desperate sort of way, ‘Uncle Abraham, can I speak with you in + private for a minute?’ ‘Oh, certainly,’ said grandfather, and took him + into the parlour. Cousin Ebenezer shut the door, looked all around him and + then said imploringly, ‘MORE PRIVATE STILL.’ So grandfather took him into + the spare room and shut that door. He was getting frightened. He thought + something terrible must have happened Cousin Ebenezer. Cousin Ebenezer + came right up to grandfather, took hold of the lapel of his coat, and said + in a whisper, ‘Uncle Abraham, CAN—YOU—LEND—ME—AN—AXE?’” + </p> + <p> + “He needn’t have made such a mystery about it,” said Cecily, who had + missed the point entirely, and couldn’t see why the rest of us were + laughing. But Cecily was such a darling that we did not mind her lack of a + sense of humour. + </p> + <p> + “It’s kind of mean to tell stories like that about people who are dead,” + said Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “Sometimes it’s safer than when they’re alive though, sweetheart,” + commented Dan. + </p> + <p> + We had our expected good dinner at Cousin Mattie’s—may it be counted + unto her for righteousness. She and her sisters-in-law, Miss Louisa Jane + and Miss Caroline, were very kind to us. We had quite a nice time, + although I understood why Dan objected to them when they patted us all on + the head and told us whom we resembled and gave us peppermint lozenges. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br><br><br><br> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII. WE VISIT PEG BOWEN + </h2> + <p> + We left Cousin Mattie’s early, for it still looked like a storm, though no + more so than it had in the morning. We intended to go home by a different + path—one leading through cleared land overgrown with scrub maple, + which had the advantage of being farther away from Peg Bowen’s house. We + hoped to be home before it began to storm, but we had hardly reached the + hill above the village when a fine, driving snow began to fall. It would + have been wiser to have turned back even then; but we had already come a + mile and we thought we would have ample time to reach home before it + became really bad. We were sadly mistaken; by the time we had gone another + half-mile we were in the thick of a bewildering, blinding snowstorm. But + it was by now just as far back to Cousin Mattie’s as it was to Uncle + Alec’s, so we struggled on, growing more frightened at every step. We + could hardly face the stinging snow, and we could not see ten feet ahead + of us. It had turned bitterly cold and the tempest howled all around us in + white desolation under the fast-darkening night. The narrow path we were + trying to follow soon became entirely obliterated and we stumbled blindly + on, holding to each other, and trying to peer through the furious whirl + that filled the air. Our plight had come upon us so suddenly that we could + not realize it. Presently Peter, who was leading the van because he was + supposed to know the path best, stopped. + </p> + <p> + “I can’t see the road any longer,” he shouted. “I don’t know where we + are.” + </p> + <p> + We all stopped and huddled together in a miserable group. Fear filled our + hearts. It seemed ages ago that we had been snug and safe and warm at + Cousin Mattie’s. Cecily began to cry with cold. Dan, in spite of her + protests, dragged off his overcoat and made her put it on. + </p> + <p> + “We can’t stay here,” he said. “We’ll all freeze to death if we do. Come + on—we’ve got to keep moving. The snow ain’t so deep yet. Take hold + of my hand, Cecily. We must all hold together. Come, now.” + </p> + <p> + “It won’t be nice to be frozen to death, but if we get through alive think + what a story we’ll have to tell,” said the Story Girl between her + chattering teeth. + </p> + <p> + In my heart I did not believe we would ever get through alive. It was + almost pitch dark now, and the snow grew deeper every moment. We were + chilled to the heart. I thought how nice it would be to lie down and rest; + but I remembered hearing that that was fatal, and I endeavoured to stumble + on with the others. It was wonderful how the girls kept up, even Cecily. + It occurred to me to be thankful that Sara Ray was not with us. + </p> + <p> + But we were wholly lost now. All around us was a horror of great darkness. + Suddenly Felicity fell. We dragged her up, but she declared she could not + go on—she was done out. + </p> + <p> + “Have you any idea where we are?” shouted Dan to Peter. + </p> + <p> + “No,” Peter shouted back, “the wind is blowing every which way. I haven’t + any idea where home is.” + </p> + <p> + Home! Would we ever see it again? We tried to urge Felicity on, but she + only repeated drowsily that she must lie down and rest. Cecily, too, was + reeling against me. The Story Girl still stood up staunchly and counselled + struggling on, but she was numb with cold and her words were hardly + distinguishable. Some wild idea was in my mind that we must dig a hole in + the snow and all creep into it. I had read somewhere that people had thus + saved their lives in snowstorms. Suddenly Felix gave a shout. + </p> + <p> + “I see a light,” he cried. + </p> + <p> + “Where? Where?” We all looked but could see nothing. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t see it now but I saw it a moment ago,” shouted Felix. “I’m sure I + did. Come on—over in this direction.” + </p> + <p> + Inspired with fresh hope we hurried after him. Soon we all saw the light—and + never shone a fairer beacon. A few more steps and, coming into the shelter + of the woodland on the further side, we realized where we were. + </p> + <p> + “That’s Peg Bowen’s house,” exclaimed Peter, stopping short in dismay. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t care whose house it is,” declared Dan. “We’ve got to go to it.” + </p> + <p> + “I s’pose so,” acquiesced Peter ruefully. “We can’t freeze to death even + if she is a witch.” + </p> + <p> + “For goodness’ sake don’t say anything about witches so close to her + house,” gasped Felicity. “I’ll be thankful to get in anywhere.” + </p> + <p> + We reached the house, climbed the flight of steps that led to that + mysterious second story door, and Dan rapped. The door opened promptly and + Peg Bowen stood before us, in what seemed exactly the same costume she had + worn on the memorable day when we had come, bearing gifts, to propitiate + her in the matter of Paddy. + </p> + <p> + “Behind her was a dim room scantly illumined by the one small candle that + had guided us through the storm; but the old Waterloo stove was colouring + the gloom with tremulous, rose-red whorls of light, and warm and cosy + indeed seemed Peg’s retreat to us snow-covered, frost-chilled, benighted + wanderers. + </p> + <p> + “Gracious goodness, where did yez all come from?” exclaimed Peg. “Did they + turn yez out?” + </p> + <p> + “We’ve been over to Baywater, and we got lost in the storm coming back,” + explained Dan. “We didn’t know where we were till we saw your light. I + guess we’ll have to stay here till the storm is over—if you don’t + mind.” + </p> + <p> + “And if it won’t inconvenience you,” said Cecily timidly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it’s no inconvenience to speak of. Come in. Well, yez HAVE got some + snow on yez. Let me get a broom. You boys stomp your feet well and shake + your coats. You girls give me your things and I’ll hang them up. Guess yez + are most froze. Well, sit up to the stove and git het up.” + </p> + <p> + Peg bustled away to gather up a dubious assortment of chairs, with backs + and rungs missing, and in a few minutes we were in a circle around her + roaring stove, getting dried and thawed out. In our wildest flights of + fancy we had never pictured ourselves as guests at the witch’s + hearth-stone. Yet here we were; and the witch herself was actually brewing + a jorum of ginger tea for Cecily, who continued to shiver long after the + rest of us were roasted to the marrow. Poor Sis drank that scalding + draught, being in too great awe of Peg to do aught else. + </p> + <p> + “That’ll soon fix your shivers,” said our hostess kindly. “And now I’ll + get yez all some tea.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, please don’t trouble,” said the Story Girl hastily. + </p> + <p> + “‘Tain’t any trouble,” said Peg briskly; then, with one of the sudden + changes to fierceness which made her such a terrifying personage, “Do yez + think my vittels ain’t clean?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, no,” cried Felicity quickly, before the Story Girl could speak, + “none of us would ever think THAT. Sara only meant she didn’t want you to + go to any bother on our account.” + </p> + <p> + “It ain’t any bother,” said Peg, mollified. “I’m spry as a cricket this + winter, though I have the realagy sometimes. Many a good bite I’ve had in + your ma’s kitchen. I owe yez a meal.” + </p> + <p> + No more protests were made. We sat in awed silence, gazing with timid + curiosity about the room, the stained, plastered walls of which were + well-nigh covered with a motley assortment of pictures, chromos, and + advertisements, pasted on without much regard for order or character. + </p> + <p> + We had heard much of Peg’s pets and now we saw them. Six cats occupied + various cosy corners; one of them, the black goblin which had so terrified + us in the summer, blinked satirically at us from the centre of Peg’s bed. + Another, a dilapidated, striped beastie, with both ears and one eye gone, + glared at us from the sofa in the corner. A dog, with only three legs, lay + behind the stove; a crow sat on a roost above our heads, in company with a + matronly old hen; and on the clock shelf were a stuffed monkey and a + grinning skull. We had heard that a sailor had given Peg the monkey. But + where had she got the skull? And whose was it? I could not help puzzling + over these gruesome questions. + </p> + <p> + Presently tea was ready and we gathered around the festal board—a + board literally as well as figuratively, for Peg’s table was the work of + her own unskilled hands. The less said about the viands of that meal, and + the dishes they were served in, the better. But we ate them—bless + you, yes!—as we would have eaten any witch’s banquet set before us. + Peg might or might not be a witch—common sense said not; but we knew + she was quite capable of turning every one of us out of doors in one of + her sudden fierce fits if we offended her; and we had no mind to trust + ourselves again to that wild forest where we had fought a losing fight + with the demon forces of night and storm. + </p> + <p> + But it was not an agreeable meal in more ways than one. Peg was not at all + careful of anybody’s feelings. She hurt Felix’s cruelly as she passed him + his cup of tea. + </p> + <p> + “You’ve gone too much to flesh, boy. So the magic seed didn’t work, hey?” + </p> + <p> + How in the world had Peg found out about that magic seed? Felix looked + uncommonly foolish. + </p> + <p> + “If you’d come to me in the first place I’d soon have told you how to get + thin,” said Peg, nodding wisely. + </p> + <p> + “Won’t you tell me now?” asked Felix eagerly, his desire to melt his too + solid flesh overcoming his dread and shame. + </p> + <p> + “No, I don’t like being second fiddle,” answered Peg with a crafty smile. + “Sara, you’re too scrawny and pale—not much like your ma. I knew her + well. She was counted a beauty, but she made no great things of a match. + Your father had some money but he was a tramp like meself. Where is he + now?” + </p> + <p> + “In Rome,” said the Story Girl rather shortly. + </p> + <p> + “People thought your ma was crazy when she took him. But she’d a right to + please herself. Folks is too ready to call other folks crazy. There’s + people who say I’M not in my right mind. Did yez ever”—Peg fixed + Felicity with a piercing glance—“hear anything so ridiculous?” + </p> + <p> + “Never,” said Felicity, white to the lips. + </p> + <p> + “I wish everybody was as sane as I am,” said Peg scornfully. Then she + looked poor Felicity over critically. “You’re good-looking but proud. And + your complexion won’t wear. It’ll be like your ma’s yet—too much red + in it.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that’s better than being the colour of mud,” muttered Peter, who + wasn’t going to hear his lady traduced, even by a witch. All the thanks he + got was a furious look from Felicity, but Peg had not heard him and now + she turned her attention to Cecily. + </p> + <p> + “You look delicate. I daresay you’ll never live to grow up.” + </p> + <p> + Cecily’s lip trembled and Dan’s face turned crimson. + </p> + <p> + “Shut up,” he said to Peg. “You’ve no business to say such things to + people.” + </p> + <p> + I think my jaw dropped. I know Peter’s and Felix’s did. Felicity broke in + wildly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, don’t mind him, Miss Bowen. He’s got SUCH a temper—that’s just + the way he talks to us all at home. PLEASE excuse him.” + </p> + <p> + “Bless you, I don’t mind him,” said Peg, from whom the unexpected seemed + to be the thing to expect. “I like a lad of spurrit. And so your father + run away, did he, Peter? He used to be a beau of mine—he seen me + home three times from singing school when we was young. Some folks said he + did it for a dare. There’s such a lot of jealousy in the world, ain’t + there? Do you know where he is now?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Peter. + </p> + <p> + “Well, he’s coming home before long,” said Peg mysteriously. + </p> + <p> + “Who told you that?” cried Peter in amazement. + </p> + <p> + “Better not ask,” responded Peg, looking up at the skull. + </p> + <p> + If she meant to make the flesh creep on our bones she succeeded. But now, + much to our relief, the meal was over and Peg invited us to draw our + chairs up to the stove again. + </p> + <p> + “Make yourselves at home,” she said, producing her pipe from her pocket. + “I ain’t one of the kind who thinks their houses too good to live in. + Guess I won’t bother washing the dishes. They’ll do yez for breakfast if + yez don’t forget your places. I s’pose none of yez smokes.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Felicity, rather primly. + </p> + <p> + “Then yez don’t know what’s good for yez,” retorted Peg, rather grumpily. + But a few whiffs of her pipe placated her and, observing Cecily sigh, she + asked her kindly what was the matter. + </p> + <p> + “I’m thinking how worried they’ll be at home about us,” explained Cecily. + </p> + <p> + “Bless you, dearie, don’t be worrying over that. I’ll send them word that + yez are all snug and safe here.” + </p> + <p> + “But how can you?” cried amazed Cecily. + </p> + <p> + “Better not ask,” said Peg again, with another glance at the skull. + </p> + <p> + An uncomfortable silence followed, finally broken by Peg, who introduced + her pets to us and told how she had come by them. The black cat was her + favourite. + </p> + <p> + “That cat knows more than I do, if yez’ll believe it,” she said proudly. + “I’ve got a rat too, but he’s a bit shy when strangers is round. Your cat + got all right again that time, didn’t he?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the Story Girl. + </p> + <p> + “Thought he would,” said Peg, nodding sagely. “I seen to that. Now, don’t + yez all be staring at the hole in my dress.” + </p> + <p> + “We weren’t,” was our chorus of protest. + </p> + <p> + “Looked as if yez were. I tore that yesterday but I didn’t mend it. I was + brought up to believe that a hole was an accident but a patch was a + disgrace. And so your Aunt Olivia is going to be married after all?” + </p> + <p> + This was news to us. We felt and looked dazed. + </p> + <p> + “I never heard anything of it,” said the Story Girl. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it’s true enough. She’s a great fool. I’ve no faith in husbands. But + one good thing is she ain’t going to marry that Henry Jacobs of Markdale. + He wants her bad enough. Just like his presumption,—thinking himself + good enough for a King. His father is the worst man alive. He chased me + off his place with his dog once. But I’ll get even with him yet.” + </p> + <p> + Peg looked very savage, and visions of burned barns floated through our + minds. + </p> + <p> + “He’ll be punished in hell, you know,” said Peter timidly. + </p> + <p> + “But I won’t be there to see that,” rejoined Peg. “Some folks say I’ll go + there because I don’t go to church oftener. But I don’t believe it.” + </p> + <p> + “Why don’t you go?” asked Peter, with a temerity that bordered on + rashness. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I’ve got so sunburned I’m afraid folks might take me for an Injun,” + explained Peg, quite seriously. “Besides, your minister makes such awful + long prayers. Why does he do it?” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose he finds it easier to talk to God than to people,” suggested + Peter reflectively. + </p> + <p> + “Well, anyway, I belong to the round church,” said Peg comfortably, “and + so the devil can’t catch ME at the corners. I haven’t been to Carlisle + church for over three years. I thought I’d a-died laughing the last time I + was there. Old Elder Marr took up the collection that day. He’d on a pair + of new boots and they squeaked all the way up and down the aisles. And + every time the boots squeaked the elder made a face, like he had + toothache. It was awful funny. How’s your missionary quilt coming on, + Cecily?” + </p> + <p> + Was there anything Peg didn’t know? + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” said Cecily. + </p> + <p> + “You can put my name on it, if you want to.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, thank you. Which section—the five-cent one or the ten-cent + one?” asked Cecily timidly. + </p> + <p> + “The ten-cent one, of course. The best is none too good for me. I’ll give + you the ten cents another time. I’m short of change just now—not + being as rich as Queen Victory. There’s her picture up there—the one + with the blue sash and diamint crown and the lace curting on her head. Can + any of yez tell me this—is Queen Victory a married woman?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, but her husband is dead,” answered the Story Girl. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I s’pose they couldn’t have called her an old maid, seeing she was + a queen, even if she’d never got married. Sometimes I sez to myself, ‘Peg, + would you like to be Queen Victory?’ But I never know what to answer. In + summer, when I can roam anywhere in the woods and the sunshine—I + wouldn’t be Queen Victory for anything. But when it’s winter and cold and + I can’t git nowheres—I feel as if I wouldn’t mind changing places + with her.” + </p> + <p> + Peg put her pipe back in her mouth and began to smoke fiercely. The candle + wick burned long, and was topped by a little cap of fiery red that seemed + to wink at us like an impish gnome. The most grotesque shadow of Peg + flickered over the wall behind her. The one-eyed cat remitted his grim + watch and went to sleep. Outside the wind screamed like a ravening beast + at the window. Suddenly Peg removed her pipe from her mouth, bent forward, + gripped my wrist with her sinewy fingers until I almost cried out with + pain, and gazed straight into my face. I felt horribly frightened of her. + She seemed an entirely different creature. A wild light was in her eyes, a + furtive, animal-like expression was on her face. When she spoke it was in + a different voice and in different language. + </p> + <p> + “Do you hear the wind?” she asked in a thrilling whisper. “What IS the + wind? What IS the wind?” + </p> + <p> + “I—I—don’t know,” I stammered. + </p> + <p> + “No more do I,” said Peg, “and nobody knows. Nobody knows what the wind + is. I wish I could find out. I mightn’t be so afraid of the wind if I knew + what it was. I am afraid of it. When the blasts come like that I want to + crouch down and hide me. But I can tell you one thing about the wind—it’s + the only free thing in the world—THE—ONLY—FREE—THING. + Everything else is subject to some law, but the wind is FREE. It bloweth + where it listeth and no man can tame it. It’s free—that’s why I love + it, though I’m afraid of it. It’s a grand thing to be free—free free—free!” + </p> + <p> + Peg’s voice rose almost to a shriek. We were dreadfully frightened, for we + knew there were times when she was quite crazy and we feared one of her + “spells” was coming on her. But with a swift movement she turned the man’s + coat she wore up over her shoulders and head like a hood, completely + hiding her face. Then she crouched forward, elbows on knees, and relapsed + into silence. None of us dared speak or move. We sat thus for half an + hour. Then Peg jumped up and said briskly in her usual tone, + </p> + <p> + “Well, I guess yez are all sleepy and ready for bed. You girls can sleep + in my bed over there, and I’ll take the sofy. Yez can put the cat off if + yez like, though he won’t hurt yez. You boys can go downstairs. There’s a + big pile of straw there that’ll do yez for a bed, if yez put your coats + on. I’ll light yez down, but I ain’t going to leave yez a light for fear + yez’d set fire to the place.” + </p> + <p> + Saying good-night to the girls, who looked as if they thought their last + hour was come, we went to the lower room. It was quite empty, save for a + pile of fire wood and another of clean straw. Casting a stealthy glance + around, ere Peg withdrew the light, I was relieved to see that there were + no skulls in sight. We four boys snuggled down in the straw. We did not + expect to sleep, but we were very tired and before we knew it our eyes + were shut, to open no more till morning. The poor girls were not so + fortunate. They always averred they never closed an eye. Four things + prevented them from sleeping. In the first place Peg snored loudly; in the + second place the fitful gleams of firelight kept flickering over the skull + for half the night and making gruesome effects on it; in the third place + Peg’s pillows and bedclothes smelled rankly of tobacco smoke; and in the + fourth place they were afraid the rat Peg had spoken of might come out to + make their acquaintance. Indeed, they were sure they heard him skirmishing + about several times. + </p> + <p> + When we wakened in the morning the storm was over and a young morning was + looking through rosy eyelids across a white world. The little clearing + around Peg’s cabin was heaped with dazzling drifts, and we boys fell to + and shovelled out a road to her well. She gave us breakfast—stiff + oatmeal porridge without milk, and a boiled egg apiece. Cecily could NOT + eat her porridge; she declared she had such a bad cold that she had no + appetite; a cold she certainly had; the rest of us choked our messes down + and after we had done so Peg asked us if we had noticed a soapy taste. + </p> + <p> + “The soap fell into the porridge while I was making it,” she said. “But,”—smacking + her lips,—“I’m going to make yez an Irish stew for dinner. It’ll be + fine.” + </p> + <p> + An Irish stew concocted by Peg! No wonder Dan said hastily, + </p> + <p> + “You are very kind but we’ll have to go right home.” + </p> + <p> + “Yez can’t walk,” said Peg. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, we can. The drifts are so hard they’ll carry, and the snow will + be pretty well blown off the middle of the fields. It’s only + three-quarters of a mile. We boys will go home and get a pung and come + back for you girls.” + </p> + <p> + But the girls wouldn’t listen to this. They must go with us, even Cecily. + </p> + <p> + “Seems to me yez weren’t in such a hurry to leave last night,” observed + Peg sarcastically. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it’s only because they’ll be so anxious about us at home, and it’s + Sunday and we don’t want to miss Sunday School,” explained Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I hope your Sunday School will do yez good,” said Peg, rather + grumpily. But she relented again at the last and gave Cecily a wishbone. + </p> + <p> + “Whatever you wish on that will come true,” she said. “But you only have + the one wish, so don’t waste it.” + </p> + <p> + “We’re so much obliged to you for all your trouble,” said the Story Girl + politely. + </p> + <p> + “Never mind the trouble. The expense is the thing,” retorted Peg grimly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” Felicity hesitated. “If you would let us pay you—give you + something—” + </p> + <p> + “No, thank yez,” responded Peg loftily. “There is people who take money + for their hospitality, I’ve heerd, but I’m thankful to say I don’t + associate with that class. Yez are welcome to all yez have had here, if + yez ARE in a big hurry to get away.” + </p> + <p> + She shut the door behind us with something of a slam, and her black cat + followed us so far, with stealthy, furtive footsteps, that we were + frightened of it. Eventually it turned back; then, and not till then, did + we feel free to discuss our adventure. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I’m thankful we’re out of THAT,” said Felicity, drawing a long + breath. “Hasn’t it just been an awful experience?” + </p> + <p> + “We might all have been found frozen stark and stiff this morning,” + remarked the Story Girl with apparent relish. + </p> + <p> + “I tell you, it was a lucky thing we got to Peg Bowen’s,” said Dan. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Marwood says there is no such thing as luck,” protested Cecily. “We + ought to say it was Providence instead.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Peg and Providence don’t seem to go together very well, somehow,” + retorted Dan. “If Peg is a witch it must be the Other One she’s in co. + with.” + </p> + <p> + “Dan, it’s getting to be simply scandalous the way you talk,” said + Felicity. “I just wish ma could hear you.” + </p> + <p> + “Is soap in porridge any worse than tooth-powder in rusks, lovely + creature?” asked Dan. + </p> + <p> + “Dan, Dan,” admonished Cecily, between her coughs, “remember it’s Sunday.” + </p> + <p> + “It seems hard to remember that,” said Peter. “It doesn’t seem a mite like + Sunday and it seems awful long since yesterday.” + </p> + <p> + “Cecily, you’ve got a dreadful cold,” said the Story Girl anxiously. + </p> + <p> + “In spite of Peg’s ginger tea,” added Felix. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that ginger tea was AWFUL,” exclaimed poor Cecily. “I thought I’d + never get it down—it was so hot with ginger—and there was so + much of it! But I was so frightened of offending Peg I’d have tried to + drink it all if there had been a bucketful. Oh, yes, it’s very easy for + you all to laugh! You didn’t have to drink it.” + </p> + <p> + “We had to eat two meals, though,” said Felicity with a shiver. “And I + don’t know when those dishes of hers were washed. I just shut my eyes and + took gulps.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you notice the soapy taste in the porridge?” asked the Story Girl. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, there were so many queer tastes about it I didn’t notice one more + than another,” answered Felicity wearily. + </p> + <p> + “What bothers me,” remarked Peter absently, “is that skull. Do you suppose + Peg really finds things out by it?” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense! How could she?” scoffed Felix, bold as a lion in daylight. + </p> + <p> + “She didn’t SAY she did, you know,” I said cautiously. + </p> + <p> + “Well, we’ll know in time if the things she said were going to happen do,” + mused Peter. + </p> + <p> + “Do you suppose your father is really coming home?” queried Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “I hope not,” answered Peter decidedly. + </p> + <p> + “You ought to be ashamed of yourself,” said Felicity severely. + </p> + <p> + “No, I oughtn’t. Father got drunk all the time he was home, and wouldn’t + work and was bad to mother,” said Peter defiantly. “She had to support him + as well as herself and me. I don’t want to see any father coming home, and + you’d better believe it. Of course, if he was the right sort of a father + it’d be different.” + </p> + <p> + “What I would like to know is if Aunt Olivia is going to be married,” said + the Story Girl absently. “I can hardly believe it. But now that I think of + it—Uncle Roger has been teasing her ever since she was in Halifax + last summer.” + </p> + <p> + “If she does get married you’ll have to come and live with us,” said + Cecily delightedly. + </p> + <p> + Felicity did not betray so much delight and the Story Girl remarked with a + weary little sigh that she hoped Aunt Olivia wouldn’t. We all felt rather + weary, somehow. Peg’s predictions had been unsettling, and our nerves had + all been more or less strained during our sojourn under her roof. We were + glad when we found ourselves at home. + </p> + <p> + The folks had not been at all troubled about us, but it was because they + were sure the storm had come up before we would think of leaving Cousin + Mattie’s and not because they had received any mysterious message from + Peg’s skull. We were relieved at this, but on the whole, our adventure had + not done much towards clearing up the vexed question of Peg’s witchcraft. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br><br><br><br> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX. EXTRACTS FROM THE FEBRUARY AND MARCH NUMBERS OF “OUR MAGAZINE” + </h2> + <p> + <br> RESOLUTION HONOUR ROLL + </p> + <p> + Miss Felicity King. + </p> + <p> + HONOURABLE MENTION + </p> + <p> + Mr. Felix King. Mr. Peter Craig. Miss Sara Ray. + </p> + <p> + EDITORIAL + </p> + <p> + The editor wishes to make a few remarks about the Resolution Honour Roll. + As will be seen, only one name figures on it. Felicity says she has + thought a beautiful thought every morning before breakfast without missing + one morning, not even the one we were at Peg Bowen’s. Some of our number + think it not fair that Felicity should be on the honour roll (FELICITY, + ASIDE: “That’s Dan, of course.”) when she only made one resolution and + won’t tell us what any of the thoughts were. So we have decided to give + honourable mention to everybody who has kept one resolution perfect. Felix + has worked all his arithmetic problems by himself. He complains that he + never got more than a third of them right and the teacher has marked him + away down; but one cannot keep resolutions without some inconvenience. + Peter has never played tit-tat-x in church or got drunk and says it wasn’t + as bad as he expected. (PETER, INDIGNANTLY: “I never said it.” CECILY, + SOOTHINGLY: “Now, Peter, Bev only meant that as a joke.”) Sara Ray has + never talked any mean gossip, but does not find conversation as + interesting as it used to be. (SARA RAY, WONDERINGLY: “I don’t remember of + saying that.”) + </p> + <p> + Felix did not eat any apples until March, but forgot and ate seven the day + we were at Cousin Mattie’s. (FELIX: “I only ate five!”) He soon gave up + trying to say what he thought always. He got into too much trouble. We + think Felix ought to change to old Grandfather King’s rule. It was, “Hold + your tongue when you can, and when you can’t tell the truth.” Cecily feels + she has not read all the good books she might, because some she tried to + read were very dull and the Pansy books were so much more interesting. And + it is no use trying not to feel bad because her hair isn’t curly and she + has marked that resolution out. The Story Girl came very near to keeping + her resolution to have all the good times possible, but she says she + missed two, if not three, she might have had. Dan refuses to say anything + about his resolutions and so does the editor. + </p> + <p> + PERSONALS + </p> + <p> + We regret that Miss Cecily King is suffering from a severe cold. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Alexander Marr of Markdale died very suddenly last week. We never + heard of his death till he was dead. + </p> + <p> + Miss Cecily King wishes to state that she did not ask the question about + “Holy Moses” and the other word in the January number. Dan put it in for a + mean joke. + </p> + <p> + The weather has been cold and fine. We have only had one bad storm. The + coasting on Uncle Roger’s hill continues good. + </p> + <p> + Aunt Eliza did not favour us with a visit after all. She took cold and had + to go home. We were sorry that she had a cold but glad that she had to go + home. Cecily said she thought it wicked of us to be glad. But when we + asked her “cross her heart” if she wasn’t glad herself she had to say she + was. + </p> + <p> + Miss Cecily King has got three very distinguished names on her quilt + square. They are the Governor and his wife and a witch’s. + </p> + <p> + The King family had the honour of entertaining the Governor’s wife to tea + on February the seventeenth. We are all invited to visit Government House + but some of us think we won’t go. + </p> + <p> + A tragic event occurred last Tuesday. Mrs. James Frewen came to tea and + there was no pie in the house. Felicity has not yet fully recovered. + </p> + <p> + A new boy is coming to school. His name is Cyrus Brisk and his folks moved + up from Markdale. He says he is going to punch Willy Fraser’s head if + Willy keeps on thinking he is Miss Cecily King’s beau. + </p> + <p> + (CECILY: “I haven’t ANY beau! I don’t mean to think of such a thing for at + least eight years yet!”) + </p> + <p> + Miss Alice Reade of Charlottetown Royalty has come to Carlisle to teach + music. She boards at Mr. Peter Armstrong’s. The girls are all going to + take music lessons from her. Two descriptions of her will be found in + another column. Felix wrote one, but the girls thought he did not do her + justice, so Cecily wrote another one. She admits she copied most of the + description out of Valeria H. Montague’s story Lord Marmaduke’s First, + Last, and Only Love; or the Bride of the Castle by the Sea, but says they + fit Miss Reade better than anything she could make up. + </p> + <p> + HOUSEHOLD DEPARTMENT + </p> + <p> + Always keep the kitchen tidy and then you needn’t mind if company comes + unexpectedly. + </p> + <p> + ANXIOUS INQUIRER: We don’t know anything that will take the stain out of a + silk dress when a soft-boiled egg is dropped on it. Better not wear your + silk dress so often, especially when boiling eggs. + </p> + <p> + Ginger tea is good for colds. + </p> + <p> + OLD HOUSEKEEPER: Yes, when the baking-powder gives out you can use + tooth-powder instead. + </p> + <p> + (FELICITY: “I never wrote that! I don’t care, I don’t think it’s fair for + other people to be putting things in my department!”) + </p> + <p> + Our apples are not keeping well this year. They are rotting; and besides + father says we eat an awful lot of them. + </p> + <p> + PERSEVERANCE: I will give you the recipe for dumplings you ask for. But + remember it is not everyone who can make dumplings, even from the recipe. + There’s a knack in it. + </p> + <p> + If the soap falls into the porridge do not tell your guests about it until + they have finished eating it because it might take away their appetite. + </p> +<p class="center"> + FELICITY KING. +</p> + <p> + ETIQUETTE DEPARTMENT + </p> + <p> + P-r C-g:—Do not criticize people’s noses unless you are sure they + can’t hear you, and don’t criticize your best girl’s great-aunt’s nose in + any case. + </p> + <p> + (FELICITY, TOSSING HER HEAD: “Oh, my! I s’pose Dan thought that was extra + smart.”) + </p> + <p> + C-y K-g:—When my most intimate friend walks with another girl and + exchanges lace patterns with her, what ought I to do? Ans. Adopt a + dignified attitude. + </p> + <p> + F-y K-g:—It is better not to wear your second best hat to church, + but if your mother says you must it is not for me to question her + decision. + </p> + <p> + (FELICITY: “Dan just copied that word for word out of the Family Guide, + except about the hat part.”) + </p> + <p> + P-r C-g:—Yes, it would be quite proper to say good evening to the + family ghost if you met it. + </p> + <p> + F-x K-g:—No, it is not polite to sleep with your mouth open. What’s + more, it isn’t safe. Something might fall into it. + </p> +<p class="center"> + DAN KING. +</p> + <p> + FASHION NOTES + </p> + <p> + Crocheted watch pockets are all the rage now. If you haven’t a watch they + do to carry your pencil in or a piece of gum. + </p> + <p> + It is stylish to have hair ribbons to match your dress. But it is hard to + match gray drugget. I like scarlet for that. + </p> + <p> + It is stylish to pin a piece of ribbon on your coat the same colour as + your chum wears in her hair. Mary Martha Cowan saw them doing it in town + and started us doing it here. I always wear Kitty’s ribbon and Kitty wears + mine, but the Story Girl thinks it is silly. + </p> +<p class="center"> + CECILY KING. +</p> + <p> + AN ACCOUNT OF OUR VISIT TO COUSIN MATTIE’S + </p> + <p> + We all walked over to Cousin Mattie’s last week. They were all well there + and we had a fine dinner. On our way back a snow-storm came up and we got + lost in the woods. We didn’t know where we were or nothing. If we hadn’t + seen a light I guess we’d all have been frozen and snowed over, and they + would never have found us till spring and that would be very sad. But we + saw a light and made for it and it was Peg Bowen’s. Some people think she + is a witch and it’s hard to tell, but she was real hospitable and took us + all in. Her house was very untidy but it was warm. She has a skull. I mean + a loose skull, not her own. She lets on it tells her things, but Uncle + Alec says it couldn’t because it was only an Indian skull that old Dr. + Beecham had and Peg stole it when he died, but Uncle Roger says he + wouldn’t trust himself with Peg’s skull for anything. She gave us supper. + It was a horrid meal. The Story Girl says I must not tell what I found in + the bread and butter because it would be too disgusting to read in Our + Magazine but it don’t matter because we were all there, except Sara Ray, + and know what it was. We stayed all night and us boys slept in straw. None + of us had ever slept on straw before. We got home in the morning. That is + all I can write about our visit to Cousin Mattie’s. + </p> +<p class="center"> + FELIX KING. +</p> + <p> + MY WORST ADVENTURE + </p> + <p> + It’s my turn to write it so I suppose I must. I guess my worst adventure + was two years ago when a whole lot of us were coasting on Uncle Rogers + hill. Charlie Cowan and Fred Marr had started, but half-way down their + sled got stuck and I run down to shove them off again. Then I stood there + just a moment to watch them with my back to the top of the hill. While I + was standing there Rob Marr started Kitty and Em Frewen off on his sled. + His sled had a wooden tongue in it and it slanted back over the girls’ + heads. I was right in the way and they yelled to me to get out, but just + as I heard them it struck me. The sled took me between the legs and I was + histed back over the tongue and dropped in a heap behind before I knew + what had happened to me. I thought a tornado had struck me. The girls + couldn’t stop though they thought I was killed, but Rob came tearing down + and helped me up. He was awful scared but I wasn’t killed nor my back + wasn’t broken but my nose bled something awful and kept on bleeding for + three days. Not all the time but by spells. + </p> +<p class="center"> + DAN KING. +</p> + <p> + THE STORY OF HOW CARLISLE GOT ITS NAME + </p> + <p> + This is a true story to. Long ago there was a girl lived in charlotte + town. I dont know her name so I cant right it and maybe it is just as well + for Felicity might think it wasnt romantik like Miss Jemima Parrs. She was + awful pretty and a young englishman who had come out to make his fortune + fell in love with her and they were engaged to be married the next spring. + His name was Mr. Carlisle. In the winter he started off to hunt cariboo + for a spell. Cariboos lived on the island then. There aint any here now. + He got to where it is Carlisle now. It wasn’t anything then only woods and + a few indians. He got awful sick and was sick for ever so long in a indian + camp and only an old micmac squaw to wait on him. Back in town they all + thought he was dead and his girl felt bad for a little while and then got + over it and took up with another beau. The girls say that wasnt romantik + but I think it was sensible but if it had been me that died I’d have felt + bad if she forgot me so soon. But he hadnt died and when he got back to + town he went right to her house and walked in and there she was standing + up to be married to the other fellow. Poor Mr. Carlisle felt awful. He was + sick and week and it went to his head. He just turned and run and run till + he got back to the old micmac’s camp and fell in front of it. But the + indians had gone because it was spring and it didnt matter because he + really was dead this time and people come looking for him from town and + found him and buryed him there and called the place after him. They say + the girl was never happy again and that was hard lines on her but maybe + she deserved it. + </p> +<p class="center"> + PETER CRAIG. +</p> + <p> + MISS ALICE READE + </p> + <p> + Miss Alice Reade is a very pretty girl. She has kind of curly blackish + hair and big gray eyes and a pale face. She is tall and thin but her + figure is pretty fair and she has a nice mouth and a sweet way of + speaking. The girls are crazy about her and talk about her all the time. + </p> +<p class="center"> + FELIX KING. +</p> + <p> + BEAUTIFUL ALICE + </p> + <p> + That is what we girls call Miss Reade among ourselves. She is divinely + beautiful. Her magnificent wealth of raven hair flows back in glistening + waves from her sun-kissed brow. (DAN: “If Felix had said she was sunburned + you’d have all jumped on him.” (CECILY, COLDLY: “Sun-kissed doesn’t mean + sunburned.” DAN: “What does it mean then?” CECILY, EMBARRASSED: “I—I + don’t know. But Miss Montague says the Lady Geraldine’s brow was + sun-kissed and of course an earl’s daughter wouldn’t be sunburned. “THE + STORY GIRL: “Oh, don’t interrupt the reading like this. It spoils it.”) + Her eyes are gloriously dark and deep, like midnight lakes mirroring the + stars of heaven. Her features are like sculptured marble and her mouth is + a trembling, curving Cupid’s bow. (PETER, ASIDE: “What kind of a thing is + that?”) Her creamy skin is as fair and flawless as the petals of a white + lily. Her voice is like the ripple of a woodland brook and her slender + form is matchless in its symmetry. (DAN: “That’s Valeria’s way of putting + it, but Uncle Roger says she don’t show her feed much.” FELICITY: “Dan! if + Uncle Roger is vulgar you needn’t be!”) Her hands are like a poet’s + dreams. She dresses so nicely and looks so stylish in her clothes. Her + favourite colour is blue. Some people think she is stiff and some say she + is stuck-up, but she isn’t a bit. It’s just that she is different from + them and they don’t like it. She is just lovely and we adore her.) + </p> +<p class="center"> + CECILY KING. +</p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br><br><br><br> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X. DISAPPEARANCE OF PADDY + </h2> + <p> + As I remember, the spring came late that year in Carlisle. It was May + before the weather began to satisfy the grown-ups. But we children were + more easily pleased, and we thought April a splendid month because the + snow all went early and left gray, firm, frozen ground for our rambles and + games. As the days slipped by they grew more gracious; the hillsides began + to look as if they were thinking of mayflowers; the old orchard was washed + in a bath of tingling sunshine and the sap stirred in the big trees; by + day the sky was veiled with delicate cloud drift, fine and filmy as woven + mist; in the evenings a full, low moon looked over the valleys, as pallid + and holy as some aureoled saint; a sound of laughter and dream was on the + wind and the world grew young with the mirth of April breezes. + </p> + <p> + “It’s so nice to be alive in the spring,” said the Story Girl one twilight + as we swung on the boughs of Uncle Stephen’s walk. + </p> + <p> + “It’s nice to be alive any time,” said Felicity, complacently. + </p> + <p> + “But it’s nicer in the spring,” insisted the Story Girl. “When I’m dead I + think I’ll FEEL dead all the rest of the year, but when spring comes I’m + sure I’ll feel like getting up and being alive again.” + </p> + <p> + “You do say such queer things,” complained Felicity. “You won’t be really + dead any time. You’ll be in the next world. And I think it’s horrid to + talk about people being dead anyhow.” + </p> + <p> + “We’ve all got to die,” said Sara Ray solemnly, but with a certain relish. + It was as if she enjoyed looking forward to something in which nothing, + neither an unsympathetic mother, nor the cruel fate which had made her a + colourless little nonentity, could prevent her from being the chief + performer. + </p> + <p> + “I sometimes think,” said Cecily, rather wearily, “that it isn’t so + dreadful to die young as I used to suppose.” + </p> + <p> + She prefaced her remark with a slight cough, as she had been all too apt + to do of late, for the remnants of the cold she had caught the night we + were lost in the storm still clung to her. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t talk such nonsense, Cecily,” cried the Story Girl with unwonted + sharpness, a sharpness we all understood. All of us, in our hearts, though + we never spoke of it to each other, thought Cecily was not as well as she + ought to be that spring, and we hated to hear anything said which seemed + in any way to touch or acknowledge the tiny, faint shadow which now and + again showed itself dimly athwart our sunshine. + </p> + <p> + “Well, it was you began talking of being dead,” said Felicity angrily. “I + don’t think it’s right to talk of such things. Cecily, are you sure your + feet ain’t damp? We ought to go in anyhow—it’s too chilly out here + for you.” + </p> + <p> + “You girls had better go,” said Dan, “but I ain’t going in till old Isaac + Frewen goes. I’ve no use for him.” + </p> + <p> + “I hate him, too,” said Felicity, agreeing with Dan for once in her life. + “He chews tobacco all the time and spits on the floor—the horrid + pig!” + </p> + <p> + “And yet his brother is an elder in the church,” said Sara Ray + wonderingly. + </p> + <p> + “I know a story about Isaac Frewen,” said the Story Girl. “When he was + young he went by the name of Oatmeal Frewen and he got it this way. He was + noted for doing outlandish things. He lived at Markdale then and he was a + great, overgrown, awkward fellow, six feet tall. He drove over to Baywater + one Saturday to visit his uncle there and came home the next afternoon, + and although it was Sunday he brought a big bag of oatmeal in the wagon + with him. When he came to Carlisle church he saw that service was going on + there, and he concluded to stop and go in. But he didn’t like to leave his + oatmeal outside for fear something would happen to it, because there were + always mischievous boys around, so he hoisted the bag on his back and + walked into church with it and right to the top of the aisle to + Grandfather King’s pew. Grandfather King used to say he would never forget + it to his dying day. The minister was preaching and everything was quiet + and solemn when he heard a snicker behind him. Grandfather King turned + around with a terrible frown—for you know in those days it was + thought a dreadful thing to laugh in church—to rebuke the offender; + and what did he see but that great, hulking young Isaac stalking up the + aisle, bending a little forward under the weight of a big bag of oatmeal? + Grandfather King was so amazed he couldn’t laugh, but almost everyone else + in the church was laughing, and grandfather said he never blamed them, for + no funnier sight was ever seen. Young Isaac turned into grandfather’s pew + and thumped the bag of oatmeal down on the seat with a thud that cracked + it. Then he plumped down beside it, took off his hat, wiped his face, and + settled back to listen to the sermon, just as if it was all a matter of + course. When the service was over he hoisted his bag up again, marched out + of church, and drove home. He could never understand why it made so much + talk; but he was known by the name of Oatmeal Frewen for years.” + </p> + <p> + Our laughter, as we separated, rang sweetly through the old orchard and + across the far, dim meadows. Felicity and Cecily went into the house and + Sara Ray and the Story Girl went home, but Peter decoyed me into the + granary to ask advice. + </p> + <p> + “You know Felicity has a birthday next week,” he said, “and I want to + write her an ode.” + </p> + <p> + “A—a what?” I gasped. + </p> + <p> + “An ode,” repeated Peter, gravely. “It’s poetry, you know. I’ll put it in + Our Magazine.” + </p> + <p> + “But you can’t write poetry, Peter,” I protested. + </p> + <p> + “I’m going to try,” said Peter stoutly. “That is, if you think she won’t + be offended at me.” + </p> + <p> + “She ought to feel flattered,” I replied. + </p> + <p> + “You never can tell how she’ll take things,” said Peter gloomily. “Of + course I ain’t going to sign my name, and if she ain’t pleased I won’t + tell her I wrote it. Don’t you let on.” + </p> + <p> + I promised I wouldn’t and Peter went off with a light heart. He said he + meant to write two lines every day till he got it done. + </p> + <p> + Cupid was playing his world-old tricks with others than poor Peter that + spring. Allusion has been made in these chronicles to one, Cyrus Brisk, + and to the fact that our brown-haired, soft-voiced Cecily had found favour + in the eyes of the said Cyrus. Cecily did not regard her conquest with any + pride. On the contrary, it annoyed her terribly to be teased about Cyrus. + She declared she hated both him and his name. She was as uncivil to him as + sweet Cecily could be to anyone, but the gallant Cyrus was nothing + daunted. He laid determined siege to Cecily’s young heart by all the + methods known to love-lorn swains. He placed delicate tributes of spruce + gum, molasses taffy, “conversation” candies and decorated slate pencils on + her desk; he persistently “chose” her in all school games calling for a + partner; he entreated to be allowed to carry her basket from school; he + offered to work her sums for her; and rumour had it that he had made a + wild statement to the effect that he meant to ask if he might see her home + some night from prayer meeting. Cecily was quite frightened that he would; + she confided to me that she would rather die than walk home with him, but + that if he asked her she would be too bashful to say no. So far, however, + Cyrus had not molested her out of school, nor had he as yet thumped Willy + Fraser—who was reported to be very low in his spirits over the whole + affair. + </p> + <p> + And now Cyrus had written Cecily a letter—a love letter, mark you. + Moreover, he had sent it through the post-office, with a real stamp on it. + Its arrival made a sensation among us. Dan brought it from the office and, + recognizing the handwriting of Cyrus, gave Cecily no peace until she + showed us the letter. It was a very sentimental and rather ill-spelled + epistle in which the inflammable Cyrus reproached her in heart-rending + words for her coldness, and begged her to answer his letter, saying that + if she did he would keep the secret “in violets.” Cyrus probably meant + “inviolate” but Cecily thought it was intended for a poetical touch. He + signed himself “your troo lover, Cyrus Brisk” and added in a postcript + that he couldn’t eat or sleep for thinking of her. + </p> + <p> + “Are you going to answer it?” asked Dan. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not,” said Cecily with dignity. + </p> + <p> + “Cyrus Brisk wants to be kicked,” growled Felix, who never seemed to be + any particular friend of Willy Fraser’s either. “He’d better learn how to + spell before he takes to writing love letters.” + </p> + <p> + “Maybe Cyrus will starve to death if you don’t,” suggested Sara Ray. + </p> + <p> + “I hope he will,” said Cecily cruelly. She was truly vexed over the + letter; and yet, so contradictory a thing is the feminine heart, even at + twelve years old, I think she was a little flattered by it also. It was + her first love letter and she confided to me that it gives you a very + queer feeling to get it. At all events—the letter, though + unanswered, was not torn up. I feel sure Cecily preserved it. But she + walked past Cyrus next morning at school with a frozen countenance, + evincing not the slightest pity for his pangs of unrequited affection. + Cecily winced when Pat caught a mouse, visited a school chum the day the + pigs were killed that she might not hear their squealing, and would not + have stepped on a caterpillar for anything; yet she did not care at all + how much she made the brisk Cyrus suffer. + </p> + <p> + Then, suddenly, all our spring gladness and Maytime hopes were blighted as + by a killing frost. Sorrow and anxiety pervaded our days and embittered + our dreams by night. Grim tragedy held sway in our lives for the next + fortnight. + </p> + <p> + Paddy disappeared. One night he lapped his new milk as usual at Uncle + Roger’s dairy door and then sat blandly on the flat stone before it, + giving the world assurance of a cat, sleek sides glistening, plumy tail + gracefully folded around his paws, brilliant eyes watching the stir and + flicker of bare willow boughs in the twilight air above him. That was the + last seen of him. In the morning he was not. + </p> + <p> + At first we were not seriously alarmed. Paddy was no roving Thomas, but + occasionally he vanished for a day or so. But when two days passed without + his return we became anxious, the third day worried us greatly, and the + fourth found us distracted. + </p> + <p> + “Something has happened to Pat,” the Story Girl declared miserably. “He + never stayed away from home more than two days in his life.” + </p> + <p> + “What could have happened to him?” asked Felix. + </p> + <p> + “He’s been poisoned—or a dog has killed him,” answered the Story + Girl in tragic tones. + </p> + <p> + Cecily began to cry at this; but tears were of no avail. Neither was + anything else, apparently. We searched every nook and cranny of barns and + out-buildings and woods on both the King farms; we inquired far and wide; + we roved over Carlisle meadows calling Paddy’s name, until Aunt Janet grew + exasperated and declared we must stop making such exhibitions of + ourselves. But we found and heard no trace of our lost pet. The Story Girl + moped and refused to be comforted; Cecily declared she could not sleep at + night for thinking of poor Paddy dying miserably in some corner to which + he had dragged his failing body, or lying somewhere mangled and torn by a + dog. We hated every dog we saw on the ground that he might be the guilty + one. + </p> + <p> + “It’s the suspense that’s so hard,” sobbed the Story Girl. “If I just knew + what had happened to him it wouldn’t be QUITE so hard. But I don’t know + whether he’s dead or alive. He may be living and suffering, and every + night I dream that he has come home and when I wake up and find it’s only + a dream it just breaks my heart.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s ever so much worse than when he was so sick last fall,” said Cecily + drearily. “Then we knew that everything was done for him that could be + done.” + </p> + <p> + We could not appeal to Peg Bowen this time. In our desperation we would + have done it, but Peg was far away. With the first breath of spring she + was up and off, answering to the lure of the long road. She had not been + seen in her accustomed haunts for many a day. Her pets were gaining their + own living in the woods and her house was locked up. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br><br><br><br> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI. THE WITCH’S WISHBONE + </h2> + <p> + When a fortnight had elapsed we gave up all hope. + </p> + <p> + “Pat is dead,” said the Story Girl hopelessly, as we returned one evening + from a bootless quest to Andrew Cowan’s where a strange gray cat had been + reported—a cat which turned out to be a yellowish brown nondescript, + with no tail to speak of. + </p> + <p> + “I’m afraid so,” I acknowledged at last. + </p> + <p> + “If only Peg Bowen had been at home she could have found him for us,” + asserted Peter. “Her skull would have told her where he was.” + </p> + <p> + “I wonder if the wishbone she gave me would have done any good,” cried + Cecily suddenly. “I’d forgotten all about it. Oh, do you suppose it’s too + late yet?” + </p> + <p> + “There’s nothing in a wishbone,” said Dan impatiently. + </p> + <p> + “You can’t be sure. She TOLD me I’d get the wish I made on it. I’m going + to try whenever I get home.” + </p> + <p> + “It can’t do any harm, anyhow,” said Peter, “but I’m afraid you’ve left it + too late. If Pat is dead even a witch’s wishbone can’t bring him back to + life.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll never forgive myself for not thinking about it before,” mourned + Cecily. + </p> + <p> + As soon as we got home she flew to the little box upstairs where she kept + her treasures, and brought therefrom the dry and brittle wishbone. + </p> + <p> + “Peg told me how it must be done. I’m to hold the wishbone with both + hands, like this, and walk backward, repeating the wish nine times. And + when I’ve finished the ninth time I’m to turn around nine times, from + right to left, and then the wish will come true right away.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you expect to see Pat when you finish turning?” said Dan skeptically. + </p> + <p> + None of us had any faith in the incantation except Peter, and, by + infection, Cecily. You never could tell what might happen. Cecily took the + wishbone in her trembling little hands and began her backward pacing, + repeating solemnly, “I wish that we may find Paddy alive, or else his + body, so that we can bury him decently.” By the time Cecily had repeated + this nine times we were all slightly infected with the desperate hope that + something might come of it; and when she had made her nine gyrations we + looked eagerly down the sunset lane, half expecting to see our lost pet. + But we saw only the Awkward Man turning in at the gate. This was almost as + surprising as the sight of Pat himself would have been; but there was no + sign of Pat and hope flickered out in every breast but Peter’s. + </p> + <p> + “You’ve got to give the spell time to work,” he expostulated. “If Pat was + miles away when it was wished it wouldn’t be reasonable to expect to see + him right off.” + </p> + <p> + But we of little faith had already lost that little, and it was a very + disconsolate group which the Awkward Man presently joined. + </p> + <p> + He was smiling—his rare, beautiful smile which only children ever + saw—and he lifted his hat to the girls with no trace of the shyness + and awkwardness for which he was notorious. + </p> + <p> + “Good evening,” he said. “Have you little people lost a cat lately?” + </p> + <p> + We stared. Peter said “I knew it!” in a triumphant pig’s whisper. The + Story Girl started eagerly forward. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Mr. Dale, can you tell us anything of Paddy?” she cried. + </p> + <p> + “A silver gray cat with black points and very fine marking?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes!” + </p> + <p> + “Alive?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, doesn’t that beat the Dutch!” muttered Dan. + </p> + <p> + But we were all crowding about the Awkward Man, demanding where and when + he had found Paddy. + </p> + <p> + “You’d better come over to my place and make sure that it really is your + cat,” suggested the Awkward Man, “and I’ll tell you all about finding him + on the way. I must warn you that he is pretty thin—but I think he’ll + pull through.” + </p> + <p> + We obtained permission to go without much difficulty, although the spring + evening was wearing late, for Aunt Janet said she supposed none of us + would sleep a wink that night if we didn’t. A joyful procession followed + the Awkward Man and the Story Girl across the gray, star-litten meadows to + his home and through his pine-guarded gate. + </p> + <p> + “You know that old barn of mine back in the woods?” said the Awkward Man. + “I go to it only about once in a blue moon. There was an old barrel there, + upside down, one side resting on a block of wood. This morning I went to + the barn to see about having some hay hauled home, and I had occasion to + move the barrel. I noticed that it seemed to have been moved slightly + since my last visit, and it was now resting wholly on the floor. I lifted + it up—and there was a cat lying on the floor under it. I had heard + you had lost yours and I took it this was your pet. I was afraid he was + dead at first. He was lying there with his eyes closed; but when I bent + over him he opened them and gave a pitiful little mew; or rather his mouth + made the motion of a mew, for he was too weak to utter a sound.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, poor, poor Paddy,” said tender-hearted Cecily tearfully. + </p> + <p> + “He couldn’t stand, so I carried him home and gave him just a little milk. + Fortunately he was able to lap it. I gave him a little more at intervals + all day, and when I left he was able to crawl around. I think he’ll be all + right, but you’ll have to be careful how you feed him for a few days. + Don’t let your hearts run away with your judgment and kill him with + kindness.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you suppose any one put him under that barrel?” asked the Story Girl. + </p> + <p> + “No. The barn was locked. Nothing but a cat could get in. I suppose he + went under the barrel, perhaps in pursuit of a mouse, and somehow knocked + it off the block and so imprisoned himself.” + </p> + <p> + Paddy was sitting before the fire in the Awkward Man’s clean, bare + kitchen. Thin! Why, he was literally skin and bone, and his fur was dull + and lustreless. It almost broke our hearts to see our beautiful Paddy + brought so low. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, how he must have suffered!” moaned Cecily. + </p> + <p> + “He’ll be as prosperous as ever in a week or two,” said the Awkward Man + kindly. + </p> + <p> + The Story Girl gathered Paddy up in her arms. Most mellifluously did he + purr as we crowded around to stroke him; with friendly joy he licked our + hands with his little red tongue; poor Paddy was a thankful cat; he was no + longer lost, starving, imprisoned, helpless; he was with his comrades once + more and he was going home—home to his old familiar haunts of + orchard and dairy and granary, to his daily rations of new milk and cream, + to the cosy corner of his own fireside. We trooped home joyfully, the + Story Girl in our midst carrying Paddy hugged against her shoulder. Never + did April stars look down on a happier band of travellers on the golden + road. There was a little gray wind out in the meadows that night, and it + danced along beside us on viewless, fairy feet, and sang a delicate song + of the lovely, waiting years, while the night laid her beautiful hands of + blessing over the world. + </p> + <p> + “You see what Peg’s wishbone did,” said Peter triumphantly. + </p> + <p> + “Now, look here, Peter, don’t talk nonsense,” expostulated Dan. “The + Awkward Man found Paddy this morning and had started to bring us word + before Cecily ever thought of the wishbone. Do you mean to say you believe + he wouldn’t have come walking up our lane just when he did if she had + never thought of it?” + </p> + <p> + “I mean to say that I wouldn’t mind if I had several wishbones of the same + kind,” retorted Peter stubbornly. + </p> + <p> + “Of course I don’t think the wishbone had really anything to do with our + getting Paddy back, but I’m glad I tried it, for all that,” remarked + Cecily in a tone of satisfaction. + </p> + <p> + “Well, anyhow, we’ve got Pat and that’s the main thing,” said Felix. + </p> + <p> + “And I hope it will be a lesson to him to stay home after this,” commented + Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “They say the barrens are full of mayflowers,” said the Story Girl. “Let + us have a mayflower picnic tomorrow to celebrate Paddy’s safe return.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br><br><br><br> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII. FLOWERS O’ MAY + </h2> + <p> + Accordingly we went a-maying, following the lure of dancing winds to a + certain westward sloping hill lying under the spirit-like blue of spring + skies, feathered over with lisping young pines and firs, which cupped + little hollows and corners where the sunshine got in and never got out + again, but stayed there and grew mellow, coaxing dear things to bloom long + before they would dream of waking up elsewhere. + </p> + <p> + ‘Twas there we found our mayflowers, after faithful seeking. Mayflowers, + you must know, never flaunt themselves; they must be sought as becomes + them, and then they will yield up their treasures to the seeker—clusters + of star-white and dawn-pink that have in them the very soul of all the + springs that ever were, re-incarnated in something it seems gross to call + perfume, so exquisite and spiritual is it. + </p> + <p> + We wandered gaily over the hill, calling to each other with laughter and + jest, getting parted and delightfully lost in that little pathless + wilderness, and finding each other unexpectedly in nooks and dips and + sunny silences, where the wind purred and gentled and went softly. When + the sun began to hang low, sending great fan-like streamers of radiance up + to the zenith, we foregathered in a tiny, sequestered valley, full of + young green fern, lying in the shadow of a wooded hill. In it was a + shallow pool—a glimmering green sheet of water on whose banks nymphs + might dance as blithely as ever they did on Argive hill or in Cretan dale. + There we sat and stripped the faded leaves and stems from our spoil, + making up the blossoms into bouquets to fill our baskets with sweetness. + The Story Girl twisted a spray of divinest pink in her brown curls, and + told us an old legend of a beautiful Indian maiden who died of a broken + heart when the first snows of winter were falling, because she believed + her long-absent lover was false. But he came back in the spring time from + his long captivity; and when he heard that she was dead he sought her + grave to mourn her, and lo, under the dead leaves of the old year he found + sweet sprays of a blossom never seen before, and knew that it was a + message of love and remembrance from his dark-eyed sweet-heart. + </p> + <p> + “Except in stories Indian girls are called squaws,” remarked practical + Dan, tying his mayflowers together in one huge, solid, cabbage-like bunch. + Not for Dan the bother of filling his basket with the loose sprays, + mingled with feathery elephant’s-ears and trails of creeping spruce, as + the rest of us, following the Story Girl’s example, did. Nor would he + admit that ours looked any better than his. + </p> + <p> + “I like things of one kind together. I don’t like them mixed,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “You have no taste,” said Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “Except in my mouth, best beloved,” responded Dan. + </p> + <p> + “You do think you are so smart,” retorted Felicity, flushing with anger. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t quarrel this lovely day,” implored Cecily. + </p> + <p> + “Nobody’s quarrelling, Sis. I ain’t a bit mad. It’s Felicity. What on + earth is that at the bottom of your basket, Cecily?” + </p> + <p> + “It’s a History of the Reformation in France,” confessed poor Cecily, “by + a man named D-a-u-b-i-g-n-y. I can’t pronounce it. I heard Mr. Marwood + saying it was a book everyone ought to read, so I began it last Sunday. I + brought it along today to read when I got tired picking flowers. I’d ever + so much rather have brought Ester Reid. There’s so much in the history I + can’t understand, and it is so dreadful to read of people being burned to + death. But I felt I OUGHT to read it.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you really think your mind has improved any?” asked Sara Ray + seriously, wreathing the handle of her basket with creeping spruce. + </p> + <p> + “No, I’m afraid it hasn’t one bit,” answered Cecily sadly. “I feel that I + haven’t succeeded very well in keeping my resolutions.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve kept mine,” said Felicity complacently. + </p> + <p> + “It’s easy to keep just one,” retorted Cecily, rather resentfully. + </p> + <p> + “It’s not so easy to think beautiful thoughts,” answered Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “It’s the easiest thing in the world,” said the Story Girl, tiptoeing to + the edge of the pool to peep at her own arch reflection, as some nymph + left over from the golden age might do. “Beautiful thoughts just crowd + into your mind at times.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, AT TIMES. But that’s different from thinking one REGULARLY at a + given hour. And mother is always calling up the stairs for me to hurry up + and get dressed, and it’s VERY hard sometimes.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s so,” conceded the Story Girl. “There ARE times when I can’t think + anything but gray thoughts. Then, other days, I think pink and blue and + gold and purple and rainbow thoughts all the time.” + </p> + <p> + “The idea! As if thoughts were coloured,” giggled Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, they are!” cried the Story Girl. “Why, I can always SEE the colour of + any thought I think. Can’t you?” + </p> + <p> + “I never heard of such a thing,” declared Felicity, “and I don’t believe + it. I believe you are just making that up.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed I’m not. Why, I always supposed everyone thought in colours. It + must be very tiresome if you don’t.” + </p> + <p> + “When you think of me what colour is it?” asked Peter curiously. + </p> + <p> + “Yellow,” answered the Story Girl promptly. “And Cecily is a sweet pink, + like those mayflowers, and Sara Ray is very pale blue, and Dan is red and + Felix is yellow, like Peter, and Bev is striped.” + </p> + <p> + “What colour am I?” asked Felicity, amid the laughter at my expense. + </p> + <p> + “You’re—you’re like a rainbow,” answered the Story Girl rather + reluctantly. She had to be honest, but she would rather not have + complimented Felicity. “And you needn’t laugh at Bev. His stripes are + beautiful. It isn’t HE that is striped. It’s just the THOUGHT of him. Peg + Bowen is a queer sort of yellowish green and the Awkward Man is lilac. + Aunt Olivia is pansy-purple mixed with gold, and Uncle Roger is navy + blue.” + </p> + <p> + “I never heard such nonsense,” declared Felicity. The rest of us were + rather inclined to agree with her for once. We thought the Story Girl was + making fun of us. But I believe she really had a strange gift of thinking + in colours. In later years, when we were grown up, she told me of it + again. She said that everything had colour in her thought; the months of + the year ran through all the tints of the spectrum, the days of the week + were arrayed as Solomon in his glory, morning was golden, noon orange, + evening crystal blue, and night violet. Every idea came to her mind robed + in its own especial hue. Perhaps that was why her voice and words had such + a charm, conveying to the listeners’ perception such fine shadings of + meaning and tint and music. + </p> + <p> + “Well, let’s go and have something to eat,” suggested Dan. “What colour is + eating, Sara?” + </p> + <p> + “Golden brown, just the colour of a molasses cooky,” laughed the Story + Girl. + </p> + <p> + We sat on the ferny bank of the pool and ate of the generous basket Aunt + Janet had provided, with appetites sharpened by the keen spring air and + our wilderness rovings. Felicity had made some very nice sandwiches of ham + which we all appreciated except Dan, who declared he didn’t like things + minced up and dug out of the basket a chunk of boiled pork which he + proceeded to saw up with a jack-knife and devour with gusto. + </p> + <p> + “I told ma to put this in for me. There’s some CHEW to it,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “You are not a bit refined,” commented Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “Not a morsel, my love,” grinned Dan. + </p> + <p> + “You make me think of a story I heard Uncle Roger telling about Cousin + Annetta King,” said the Story Girl. “Great-uncle Jeremiah King used to + live where Uncle Roger lives now, when Grandfather King was alive and + Uncle Roger was a boy. In those days it was thought rather coarse for a + young lady to have too hearty an appetite, and she was more admired if she + was delicate about what she ate. Cousin Annetta set out to be very refined + indeed. She pretended to have no appetite at all. One afternoon she was + invited to tea at Grandfather King’s when they had some special company—people + from Charlottetown. Cousin Annetta said she could hardly eat anything. + ‘You know, Uncle Abraham,’ she said, in a very affected, fine-young-lady + voice, ‘I really hardly eat enough to keep a bird alive. Mother says she + wonders how I continue to exist.’ And she picked and pecked until + Grandfather King declared he would like to throw something at her. After + tea Cousin Annetta went home, and just about dark Grandfather King went + over to Uncle Jeremiah’s on an errand. As he passed the open, lighted + pantry window he happened to glance in, and what do you think he saw? + Delicate Cousin Annetta standing at the dresser, with a big loaf of bread + beside her and a big platterful of cold, boiled pork in front of her; and + Annetta was hacking off great chunks, like Dan there, and gobbling them + down as if she was starving. Grandfather King couldn’t resist the + temptation. He stepped up to the window and said, ‘I’m glad your appetite + has come back to you, Annetta. Your mother needn’t worry about your + continuing to exist as long as you can tuck away fat, salt pork in that + fashion.’ + </p> + <p> + “Cousin Annetta never forgave him, but she never pretended to be delicate + again.” + </p> + <p> + “The Jews don’t believe in eating pork,” said Peter. + </p> + <p> + “I’m glad I’m not a Jew and I guess Cousin Annetta was too,” said Dan. + </p> + <p> + “I like bacon, but I can never look at a pig without wondering if they + were ever intended to be eaten,” remarked Cecily naively. + </p> + <p> + When we finished our lunch the barrens were already wrapping themselves in + a dim, blue dusk and falling upon rest in dell and dingle. But out in the + open there was still much light of a fine emerald-golden sort and the + robins whistled us home in it. “Horns of Elfland” never sounded more + sweetly around hoary castle and ruined fane than those vesper calls of the + robins from the twilight spruce woods and across green pastures lying + under the pale radiance of a young moon. + </p> + <p> + When we reached home we found that Miss Reade had been up to the hill farm + on an errand and was just leaving. The Story Girl went for a walk with her + and came back with an important expression on her face. + </p> + <p> + “You look as if you had a story to tell,” said Felix. + </p> + <p> + “One is growing. It isn’t a whole story yet,” answered the Story Girl + mysteriously. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” asked Cecily. + </p> + <p> + “I can’t tell you till it’s fully grown,” said the Story Girl. “But I’ll + tell you a pretty little story the Awkward Man told us—told me—tonight. + He was walking in his garden as we went by, looking at his tulip beds. His + tulips are up ever so much higher than ours, and I asked him how he + managed to coax them along so early. And he said HE didn’t do it—it + was all the work of the pixies who lived in the woods across the brook. + There were more pixy babies than usual this spring, and the mothers were + in a hurry for the cradles. The tulips are the pixy babies’ cradles, it + seems. The mother pixies come out of the woods at twilight and rock their + tiny little brown babies to sleep in the tulip cups. That is the reason + why tulip blooms last so much longer than other blossoms. The pixy babies + must have a cradle until they are grown up. They grow very fast, you see, + and the Awkward Man says on a spring evening, when the tulips are out, you + can hear the sweetest, softest, clearest, fairy music in his garden, and + it is the pixy folk singing as they rock the pixy babies to sleep.” + </p> + <p> + “Then the Awkward Man says what isn’t true,” said Felicity severely. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br><br><br><br> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII. A SURPRISING ANNOUNCEMENT + </h2> + <p> + “Nothing exciting has happened for ever so long,” said the Story Girl + discontentedly, one late May evening, as we lingered under the wonderful + white bloom of the cherry trees. There was a long row of them in the + orchard, with a Lombardy poplar at either end, and a hedge of lilacs + behind. When the wind blew over them all the spicy breezes of Ceylon’s + isle were never sweeter. + </p> + <p> + It was a time of wonder and marvel, of the soft touch of silver rain on + greening fields, of the incredible delicacy of young leaves, of blossom in + field and garden and wood. The whole world bloomed in a flush and tremor + of maiden loveliness, instinct with all the evasive, fleeting charm of + spring and girlhood and young morning. We felt and enjoyed it all without + understanding or analyzing it. It was enough to be glad and young with + spring on the golden road. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t like excitement very much,” said Cecily. “It makes one so tired. + I’m sure it was exciting enough when Paddy was missing, but we didn’t find + that very pleasant.” + </p> + <p> + “No, but it was interesting,” returned the Story Girl thoughtfully. “After + all, I believe I’d rather be miserable than dull.” + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn’t then,” said Felicity decidedly. “And you need never be dull + when you have work to do. ‘Satan finds some mischief still for idle hands + to do!’” + </p> + <p> + “Well, mischief is interesting,” laughed the Story Girl. “And I thought + you didn’t think it lady-like to speak of that person, Felicity?” + </p> + <p> + “It’s all right if you call him by his polite name,” said Felicity + stiffly. + </p> + <p> + “Why does the Lombardy poplar hold its branches straight up in the air + like that, when all the other poplars hold theirs out or hang them down?” + interjected Peter, who had been gazing intently at the slender spire + showing darkly against the fine blue eastern sky. + </p> + <p> + “Because it grows that way,” said Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “Oh I know a story about that,” cried the Story Girl. “Once upon a time an + old man found the pot of gold at the rainbow’s end. There IS a pot there, + it is said, but it is very hard to find because you can never get to the + rainbow’s end before it vanishes from your sight. But this old man found + it, just at sunset, when Iris, the guardian of the rainbow gold, happened + to be absent. As he was a long way from home, and the pot was very big and + heavy, he decided to hide it until morning and then get one of his sons to + go with him and help him carry it. So he hid it under the boughs of the + sleeping poplar tree. + </p> + <p> + “When Iris came back she missed the pot of gold and of course she was in a + sad way about it. She sent Mercury, the messenger of the gods, to look for + it, for she didn’t dare leave the rainbow again, lest somebody should run + off with that too. Mercury asked all the trees if they had seen the pot of + gold, and the elm, oak and pine pointed to the poplar and said, + </p> + <p> + “‘The poplar can tell you where it is.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘How can I tell you where it is?’ cried the poplar, and she held up all + her branches in surprise, just as we hold up our hands—and down + tumbled the pot of gold. The poplar was amazed and indignant, for she was + a very honest tree. She stretched her boughs high above her head and + declared that she would always hold them like that, so that nobody could + hide stolen gold under them again. And she taught all the little poplars + she knew to stand the same way, and that is why Lombardy poplars always + do. But the aspen poplar leaves are always shaking, even on the very + calmest day. And do you know why?” + </p> + <p> + And then she told us the old legend that the cross on which the Saviour of + the world suffered was made of aspen poplar wood and so never again could + its poor, shaken, shivering leaves know rest or peace. There was an aspen + in the orchard, the very embodiment of youth and spring in its litheness + and symmetry. Its little leaves were hanging tremulously, not yet so fully + blown as to hide its development of bough and twig, making poetry against + the spiritual tints of a spring sunset. + </p> + <p> + “It does look sad,” said Peter, “but it is a pretty tree, and it wasn’t + its fault.” + </p> + <p> + “There’s a heavy dew and it’s time we stopped talking nonsense and went + in,” decreed Felicity. “If we don’t we’ll all have a cold, and then we’ll + be miserable enough, but it won’t be very exciting.” + </p> + <p> + “All the same, I wish something exciting would happen,” finished the Story + Girl, as we walked up through the orchard, peopled with its nun-like + shadows. + </p> + <p> + “There’s a new moon tonight, so may be you’ll get your wish,” said Peter. + “My Aunt Jane didn’t believe there was anything in the moon business, but + you never can tell.” + </p> + <p> + The Story Girl did get her wish. Something happened the very next day. She + joined us in the afternoon with a quite indescribable expression on her + face, compounded of triumph, anticipation, and regret. Her eyes betrayed + that she had been crying, but in them shone a chastened exultation. + Whatever the Story Girl mourned over it was evident she was not without + hope. + </p> + <p> + “I have some news to tell you,” she said importantly. “Can you guess what + it is?” + </p> + <p> + We couldn’t and wouldn’t try. + </p> + <p> + “Tell us right off,” implored Felix. “You look as if it was something + tremendous.” + </p> + <p> + “So it is. Listen—Aunt Olivia is going to be married.” + </p> + <p> + We stared in blank amazement. Peg Bowen’s hint had faded from our minds + and we had never put much faith in it. + </p> + <p> + “Aunt Olivia! I don’t believe it,” cried Felicity flatly. “Who told you?” + </p> + <p> + “Aunt Olivia herself. So it is perfectly true. I’m awfully sorry in one + way—but oh, won’t it be splendid to have a real wedding in the + family? She’s going to have a big wedding—and I am to be + bridesmaid.” + </p> + <p> + “I shouldn’t think you were old enough to be a bridesmaid,” said Felicity + sharply. + </p> + <p> + “I’m nearly fifteen. Anyway, Aunt Olivia says I have to be.” + </p> + <p> + “Who’s she going to marry?” asked Cecily, gathering herself together after + the shock, and finding that the world was going on just the same. + </p> + <p> + “His name is Dr. Seton and he is a Halifax man. She met him when she was + at Uncle Edward’s last summer. They’ve been engaged ever since. The + wedding is to be the third week in June.” + </p> + <p> + “And our school concert comes off the next week,” complained Felicity. + “Why do things always come together like that? And what are you going to + do if Aunt Olivia is going away?” + </p> + <p> + “I’m coming to live at your house,” answered the Story Girl rather + timidly. She did not know how Felicity might like that. But Felicity took + it rather well. + </p> + <p> + “You’ve been here most of the time anyhow, so it’ll just be that you’ll + sleep and eat here, too. But what’s to become of Uncle Roger?” + </p> + <p> + “Aunt Olivia says he’ll have to get married, too. But Uncle Roger says + he’d rather hire a housekeeper than marry one, because in the first case + he could turn her off if he didn’t like her, but in the second case he + couldn’t.” + </p> + <p> + “There’ll be a lot of cooking to do for the wedding,” reflected Felicity + in a tone of satisfaction. + </p> + <p> + “I s’pose Aunt Olivia will want some rusks made. I hope she has plenty of + tooth-powder laid in,” said Dan. + </p> + <p> + “It’s a pity you don’t use some of that tooth-powder you’re so fond of + talking about yourself,” retorted Felicity. “When anyone has a mouth the + size of yours the teeth show so plain.” + </p> + <p> + “I brush my teeth every Sunday,” asseverated Dan. + </p> + <p> + “Every Sunday! You ought to brush them every DAY.” + </p> + <p> + “Did anyone ever hear such nonsense?” demanded Dan sincerely. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you know, it really does say so in the Family Guide,” said Cecily + quietly. + </p> + <p> + “Then the Family Guide people must have lots more spare time than I have,” + retorted Dan contemptuously. + </p> + <p> + “Just think, the Story Girl will have her name in the papers if she’s + bridesmaid,” marvelled Sara Ray. + </p> + <p> + “In the Halifax papers, too,” added Felix, “since Dr. Seton is a Halifax + man. What is his first name?” + </p> + <p> + “Robert.” + </p> + <p> + “And will we have to call him Uncle Robert?” + </p> + <p> + “Not until he’s married to her. Then we will, of course.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope your Aunt Olivia won’t disappear before the ceremony,” remarked + Sara Ray, who was surreptitiously reading “The Vanquished Bride,” by + Valeria H. Montague in the Family Guide. + </p> + <p> + “I hope Dr. Seton won’t fail to show up, like your cousin Rachel Ward’s + beau,” said Peter. + </p> + <p> + “That makes me think of another story I read the other day about + Great-uncle Andrew King and Aunt Georgina,” laughed the Story Girl. “It + happened eighty years ago. It was a very stormy winter and the roads were + bad. Uncle Andrew lived in Carlisle, and Aunt Georgina—she was Miss + Georgina Matheson then—lived away up west, so he couldn’t get to see + her very often. They agreed to be married that winter, but Georgina + couldn’t set the day exactly because her brother, who lived in Ontario, + was coming home for a visit, and she wanted to be married while he was + home. So it was arranged that she was to write Uncle Andrew and tell him + what day to come. She did, and she told him to come on a Tuesday. But her + writing wasn’t very good and poor Uncle Andrew thought she wrote Thursday. + So on Thursday he drove all the way to Georgina’s home to be married. It + was forty miles and a bitter cold day. But it wasn’t any colder than the + reception he got from Georgina. She was out in the porch, with her head + tied up in a towel, picking geese. She had been all ready Tuesday, and her + friends and the minister were there, and the wedding supper prepared. But + there was no bridegroom and Georgina was furious. Nothing Uncle Andrew + could say would appease her. She wouldn’t listen to a word of explanation, + but told him to go, and never show his nose there again. So poor Uncle + Andrew had to go ruefully home, hoping that she would relent later on, + because he was really very much in love with her.” + </p> + <p> + “And did she?” queried Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “She did. Thirteen years exactly from that day they were married. It took + her just that long to forgive him.” + </p> + <p> + “It took her just that long to find out she couldn’t get anybody else,” + said Dan, cynically. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br><br><br><br> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIV. A PRODIGAL RETURNS + </h2> + <p> + Aunt Olivia and the Story Girl lived in a whirlwind of dressmaking after + that, and enjoyed it hugely. Cecily and Felicity also had to have new + dresses for the great event, and they talked of little else for a + fortnight. Cecily declared that she hated to go to sleep because she was + sure to dream that she was at Aunt Olivia’s wedding in her old faded + gingham dress and a ragged apron. + </p> + <p> + “And no shoes or stockings,” she added, “and I can’t move, and everyone + walks past and looks at my feet.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s only in a dream,” mourned Sara Ray, “but I may have to wear my + last summer’s white dress to the wedding. It’s too short, but ma says it’s + plenty good for this summer. I’ll be so mortified if I have to wear it.” + </p> + <p> + “I’d rather not go at all than wear a dress that wasn’t nice,” said + Felicity pleasantly. + </p> + <p> + “I’d go to the wedding if I had to go in my school dress,” cried Sara Ray. + “I’ve never been to anything. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” + </p> + <p> + “My Aunt Jane always said that if you were neat and tidy it didn’t matter + whether you were dressed fine or not,” said Peter. + </p> + <p> + “I’m sick and tired of hearing about your Aunt Jane,” said Felicity + crossly. + </p> + <p> + Peter looked grieved but held his peace. Felicity was very hard on him + that spring, but his loyalty never wavered. Everything she said or did was + right in Peter’s eyes. + </p> + <p> + “It’s all very well to be neat and tidy,” said Sara Ray, “but I like a + little style too.” + </p> + <p> + “I think you’ll find your mother will get you a new dress after all,” + comforted Cecily. “Anyway, nobody will notice you because everyone will be + looking at the bride. Aunt Olivia will make a lovely bride. Just think how + sweet she’ll look in a white silk dress and a floating veil.” + </p> + <p> + “She says she is going to have the ceremony performed out here in the + orchard under her own tree,” said the Story Girl. “Won’t that be romantic? + It almost makes me feel like getting married myself.” + </p> + <p> + “What a way to talk,” rebuked Felicity, “and you only fifteen.” + </p> + <p> + “Lots of people have been married at fifteen,” laughed the Story Girl. + “Lady Jane Gray was.” + </p> + <p> + “But you are always saying that Valeria H. Montague’s stories are silly + and not true to life, so that is no argument,” retorted Felicity, who knew + more about cooking than about history, and evidently imagined that the + Lady Jane Gray was one of Valeria’s titled heroines. + </p> + <p> + The wedding was a perennial source of conversation among us in those days; + but presently its interest palled for a time in the light of another quite + tremendous happening. One Saturday night Peter’s mother called to take him + home with her for Sunday. She had been working at Mr. James Frewen’s, and + Mr. Frewen was driving her home. We had never seen Peter’s mother before, + and we looked at her with discreet curiosity. She was a plump, black-eyed + little woman, neat as a pin, but with a rather tired and care-worn face + that looked as if it should have been rosy and jolly. Life had been a hard + battle for her, and I rather think that her curly-headed little lad was + all that had kept heart and spirit in her. Peter went home with her and + returned Sunday evening. We were in the orchard sitting around the Pulpit + Stone, where we had, according to the custom of the households of King, + been learning our golden texts and memory verses for the next Sunday + School lesson. Paddy, grown sleek and handsome again, was sitting on the + stone itself, washing his jowls. + </p> + <p> + Peter joined us with a very queer expression on his face. He seemed + bursting with some news which he wanted to tell and yet hardly liked to. + </p> + <p> + “Why are you looking so mysterious, Peter?” demanded the Story Girl. + </p> + <p> + “What do you think has happened?” asked Peter solemnly. + </p> + <p> + “What has?” + </p> + <p> + “My father has come home,” answered Peter. + </p> + <p> + The announcement produced all the sensation he could have wished. We + crowded around him in excitement. + </p> + <p> + “Peter! When did he come back?” + </p> + <p> + “Saturday night. He was there when ma and I got home. It give her an awful + turn. I didn’t know him at first, of course.” + </p> + <p> + “Peter Craig, I believe you are glad your father has come back,” cried the + Story Girl. + </p> + <p> + “‘Course I’m glad,” retorted Peter. + </p> + <p> + “And after you saying you didn’t want ever to see him again,” said + Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “You just wait. You haven’t heard my story yet. I wouldn’t have been glad + to see father if he’d come back the same as he went away. But he is a + changed man. He happened to go into a revival meeting one night this + spring and he got converted. And he’s come home to stay, and he says he’s + never going to drink another drop, but he’s going to look after his + family. Ma isn’t to do any more washing for nobody but him and me, and I’m + not to be a hired boy any longer. He says I can stay with your Uncle Roger + till the fall ‘cause I promised I would, but after that I’m to stay home + and go to school right along and learn to be whatever I’d like to be. I + tell you it made me feel queer. Everything seemed to be upset. But he gave + ma forty dollars—every cent he had—so I guess he really is + converted.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope it will last, I’m sure,” said Felicity. She did not say it + nastily, however. We were all glad for Peter’s sake, though a little dizzy + over the unexpectedness of it all. + </p> + <p> + “This is what I’D like to know,” said Peter. “How did Peg Bowen know my + father was coming home? Don’t you tell me she isn’t a witch after that.” + </p> + <p> + “And she knew about your Aunt Olivia’s wedding, too,” added Sara Ray. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well, she likely heard that from some one. Grown up folks talk things + over long before they tell them to children,” said Cecily. + </p> + <p> + “Well, she couldn’t have heard father was coming home from any one,” + answered Peter. “He was converted up in Maine, where nobody knew him, and + he never told a soul he was coming till he got here. No, you can believe + what you like, but I’m satisfied at last that Peg is a witch and that + skull of hers does tell her things. She told me father was coming home and + he come!” + </p> + <p> + “How happy you must be,” sighed Sara Ray romantically. “It’s just like + that story in the Family Guide, where the missing earl comes home to his + family just as the Countess and Lady Violetta are going to be turned out + by the cruel heir.” + </p> + <p> + Felicity sniffed. + </p> + <p> + “There’s some difference, I guess. The earl had been imprisoned for years + in a loathsome dungeon.” + </p> + <p> + Perhaps Peter’s father had too, if we but realized it—imprisoned in + the dungeon of his own evil appetites and habits, than which none could be + more loathsome. But a Power, mightier than the forces of evil, had struck + off his fetters and led him back to his long-forfeited liberty and light. + And no countess or lady of high degree could have welcomed a long-lost + earl home more joyfully than the tired little washerwoman had welcomed the + erring husband of her youth. + </p> + <p> + But in Peter’s ointment of joy there was a fly or two. So very, very few + things are flawless in this world, even on the golden road. + </p> + <p> + “Of course I’m awful glad that father has come back and that ma won’t have + to wash any more,” he said with a sigh, “but there are two things that + kind of worry me. My Aunt Jane always said that it didn’t do any good to + worry, and I s’pose it don’t, but it’s kind of a relief.” + </p> + <p> + “What’s worrying you?” asked Felix. + </p> + <p> + “Well, for one thing I’ll feel awful bad to go away from you all. I’ll + miss you just dreadful, and I won’t even be able to go to the same school. + I’ll have to go to Markdale school.” + </p> + <p> + “But you must come and see us often,” said Felicity graciously. “Markdale + isn’t so far away, and you could spend every other Saturday afternoon with + us anyway.” + </p> + <p> + Peter’s black eyes filled with adoring gratitude. + </p> + <p> + “That’s so kind of you, Felicity. I’ll come as often as I can, of course; + but it won’t be the same as being around with you all the time. The other + thing is even worse. You see, it was a Methodist revival father got + converted in, and so of course he joined the Methodist church. He wasn’t + anything before. He used to say he was a Nothingarian and lived up to it—kind + of bragging like. But he’s a strong Methodist now, and is going to go to + Markdale Methodist church and pay to the salary. Now what’ll he say when I + tell him I’m a Presbyterian?” + </p> + <p> + “You haven’t told him, yet?” asked the Story Girl. + </p> + <p> + “No, I didn’t dare. I was scared he’d say I’d have to be a Methodist.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Methodists are pretty near as good as Presbyterians,” said + Felicity, with the air of one making a great concession. + </p> + <p> + “I guess they’re every bit as good,” retorted Peter. “But that ain’t the + point. I’ve got to be a Presbyterian, ‘cause I stick to a thing when I + once decide it. But I expect father will be mad when he finds out.” + </p> + <p> + “If he’s converted he oughtn’t to get mad,” said Dan. + </p> + <p> + “Well, lots o’ people do. But if he isn’t mad he’ll be sorry, and that’ll + be even worse, for a Presbyterian I’m bound to be. But I expect it will + make things unpleasant.” + </p> + <p> + “You needn’t tell him anything about it,” advised Felicity. “Just keep + quiet and go to the Methodist church until you get big, and then you can + go where you please.” + </p> + <p> + “No, that wouldn’t be honest,” said Peter sturdily. “My Aunt Jane always + said it was best to be open and above board in everything, and especially + in religion. So I’ll tell father right out, but I’ll wait a few weeks so + as not to spoil things for ma too soon if he acts up.” + </p> + <p> + Peter was not the only one who had secret cares. Sara Ray was beginning to + feel worried over her looks. I heard her and Cecily talking over their + troubles one evening while I was weeding the onion bed and they were + behind the hedge knitting lace. I did not mean to eavesdrop. I supposed + they knew I was there until Cecily overwhelmed me with indignation later + on. + </p> + <p> + “I’m so afraid, Cecily, that I’m going to be homely all my life,” said + poor Sara with a tremble in her voice. “You can stand being ugly when you + are young if you have any hope of being better looking when you grow up. + But I’m getting worse. Aunt Mary says I’m going to be the very image of + Aunt Matilda. And Aunt Matilda is as homely as she can be. It isn’t”—and + poor Sara sighed—“a very cheerful prospect. If I am ugly nobody will + ever want to marry me, and,” concluded Sara candidly, “I don’t want to be + an old maid.” + </p> + <p> + “But plenty of girls get married who aren’t a bit pretty,” comforted + Cecily. “Besides, you are real nice looking at times, Sara. I think you + are going to have a nice figure.” + </p> + <p> + “But just look at my hands,” moaned Sara. “They’re simply covered with + warts.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, the warts will all disappear before you grow up,” said Cecily. + </p> + <p> + “But they won’t disappear before the school concert. How am I to get up + there and recite? You know there is one line in my recitation, ‘She waved + her lily-white hand,’ and I have to wave mine when I say it. Fancy waving + a lily-white hand all covered with warts. I’ve tried every remedy I ever + heard of, but nothing does any good. Judy Pineau said if I rubbed them + with toad-spit it would take them away for sure. But how am I to get any + toad-spit?” + </p> + <p> + “It doesn’t sound like a very nice remedy, anyhow,” shuddered Cecily. “I’d + rather have the warts. But do you know, I believe if you didn’t cry so + much over every little thing, you’d be ever so much better looking. Crying + spoils your eyes and makes the end of your nose red.” + </p> + <p> + “I can’t help crying,” protested Sara. “My feelings are so very sensitive. + I’ve given up trying to keep THAT resolution.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, men don’t like cry-babies,” said Cecily sagely. Cecily had a good + deal of Mother Eve’s wisdom tucked away in that smooth, brown head of + hers. + </p> + <p> + “Cecily, do you ever intend to be married?” asked Sara in a confidential + tone. + </p> + <p> + “Goodness!” cried Cecily, quite shocked. “It will be time enough when I + grow up to think of that, Sara.” + </p> + <p> + “I should think you’d have to think of it now, with Cyrus Brisk as crazy + after you as he is.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish Cyrus Brisk was at the bottom of the Red Sea,” exclaimed Cecily, + goaded into a spurt of temper by mention of the detested name. + </p> + <p> + “What has Cyrus been doing now?” asked Felicity, coming around the corner + of the hedge. + </p> + <p> + “Doing NOW! It’s ALL the time. He just worries me to death,” returned + Cecily angrily. “He keeps writing me letters and putting them in my desk + or in my reader. I never answer one of them, but he keeps on. And in the + last one, mind you, he said he’d do something desperate right off if I + wouldn’t promise to marry him when we grew up.” + </p> + <p> + “Just think, Cecily, you’ve had a proposal already,” said Sara Ray in an + awe-struck tone. + </p> + <p> + “But he hasn’t done anything desperate yet, and that was last week,” + commented Felicity, with a toss of her head. + </p> + <p> + “He sent me a lock of his hair and wanted one of mine in exchange,” + continued Cecily indignantly. “I tell you I sent his back to him pretty + quick.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you never answer any of his letters?” asked Sara Ray. + </p> + <p> + “No, indeed! I guess not!” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know,” said Felicity, “I believe if you wrote him just once and + told him your exact opinion of him in good plain English it would cure him + of his nonsense.” + </p> + <p> + “I couldn’t do that. I haven’t enough spunk,” confessed Cecily with a + blush. “But I’ll tell you what I did do once. He wrote me a long letter + last week. It was just awfully SOFT, and every other word was spelled + wrong. He even spelled baking soda, ‘bacon soda!’” + </p> + <p> + “What on earth had he to say about baking soda in a love-letter?” asked + Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, he said his mother sent him to the store for some and he forgot it + because he was thinking about me. Well, I just took his letter and wrote + in all the words, spelled right, above the wrong ones, in red ink, just as + Mr. Perkins makes us do with our dictation exercises, and sent it back to + him. I thought maybe he’d feel insulted and stop writing to me.” + </p> + <p> + “And did he?” + </p> + <p> + “No, he didn’t. It is my opinion you can’t insult Cyrus Brisk. He is too + thick-skinned. He wrote another letter, and thanked me for correcting his + mistakes, and said it made him feel glad because it showed I was beginning + to take an interest in him when I wanted him to spell better. Did you + ever? Miss Marwood says it is wrong to hate anyone, but I don’t care, I + hate Cyrus Brisk.” + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Cyrus Brisk WOULD be an awful name,” giggled Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “Flossie Brisk says Cyrus is ruining all the trees on his father’s place + cutting your name on them,” said Sara Ray. “His father told him he would + whip him if he didn’t stop, but Cyrus keeps right on. He told Flossie it + relieved his feelings. Flossie says he cut yours and his together on the + birch tree in front of the parlour window, and a row of hearts around + them.” + </p> + <p> + “Just where every visitor can see them, I suppose,” lamented Cecily. “He + just worries my life out. And what I mind most of all is, he sits and + looks at me in school with such melancholy, reproachful eyes when he ought + to be working sums. I won’t look at him, but I FEEL him staring at me, and + it makes me so nervous.” + </p> + <p> + “They say his mother was out of her mind at one time,” said Felicity. + </p> + <p> + I do not think Felicity was quite well pleased that Cyrus should have + passed over her rose-red prettiness to set his affections on that demure + elf of a Cecily. She did not want the allegiance of Cyrus in the least, + but it was something of a slight that he had not wanted her to want it. + </p> + <p> + “And he sends me pieces of poetry he cuts out of the papers,” Cecily went + on, “with lots of the lines marked with a lead pencil. Yesterday he put + one in his letter, and this is what he marked: + </p> +<p class="pre"> + “‘If you will not relent to me<br> + Then must I learn to know<br> + Darkness alone till life be flown. +</p> + <p> + Here—I have the piece in my sewing-bag—I’ll read it all to + you.” + </p> + <p> + Those three graceless girls read the sentimental rhyme and giggled over + it. Poor Cyrus! His young affections were sadly misplaced. But after all, + though Cecily never relented towards him, he did not condemn himself to + darkness alone till life was flown. Quite early in life he wedded a stout, + rosy, buxom lass, the very antithesis of his first love; he prospered in + his undertakings, raised a large and respectable family, and was + eventually appointed a Justice of the Peace. Which was all very sensible + of Cyrus. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br><br><br><br> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XV. THE RAPE OF THE LOCK + </h2> + <p> + June was crowded full of interest that year. We gathered in with its sheaf + of fragrant days the choicest harvest of childhood. Things happened right + along. Cecily declared she hated to go to sleep for fear she might miss + something. There were so many dear delights along the golden road to give + us pleasure—the earth dappled with new blossom, the dance of shadows + in the fields, the rustling, rain-wet ways of the woods, the faint + fragrance in meadow lanes, liltings of birds and croon of bees in the old + orchard, windy pipings on the hills, sunset behind the pines, limpid dews + filling primrose cups, crescent moons through darklings boughs, soft + nights alight with blinking stars. We enjoyed all these boons, + unthinkingly and light-heartedly, as children do. And besides these, there + was the absorbing little drama of human life which was being enacted all + around us, and in which each of us played a satisfying part—the gay + preparations for Aunt Olivia’s mid-June wedding, the excitement of + practising for the concert with which our school-teacher, Mr. Perkins, had + elected to close the school year, and Cecily’s troubles with Cyrus Brisk, + which furnished unholy mirth for the rest of us, though Cecily could not + see the funny side of it at all. + </p> + <p> + Matters went from bad to worse in the case of the irrepressible Cyrus. He + continued to shower Cecily with notes, the spelling of which showed no + improvement; he worried the life out of her by constantly threatening to + fight Willy Fraser—although, as Felicity sarcastically pointed out, + he never did it. + </p> + <p> + “But I’m always afraid he will,” said Cecily, “and it would be such a + DISGRACE to have two boys fighting over me in school.” + </p> + <p> + “You must have encouraged Cyrus a little in the beginning or he’d never + have been so persevering,” said Felicity unjustly. + </p> + <p> + “I never did!” cried outraged Cecily. “You know very well, Felicity King, + that I hated Cyrus Brisk ever since the very first time I saw his big, + fat, red face. So there!” + </p> + <p> + “Felicity is just jealous because Cyrus didn’t take a notion to her + instead of you, Sis,” said Dan. + </p> + <p> + “Talk sense!” snapped Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “If I did you wouldn’t understand me, sweet little sister,” rejoined + aggravating Dan. + </p> + <p> + Finally Cyrus crowned his iniquities by stealing the denied lock of + Cecily’s hair. One sunny afternoon in school, Cecily and Kitty Marr asked + and received permission to sit out on the side bench before the open + window, where the cool breeze swept in from the green fields beyond. To + sit on this bench was always considered a treat, and was only allowed as a + reward of merit; but Cecily and Kitty had another reason for wishing to + sit there. Kitty had read in a magazine that sun-baths were good for the + hair; so both she and Cecily tossed their long braids over the window-sill + and let them hang there in the broiling sun-shine. And while Cecily sat + thus, diligently working a fraction sum on her slate, that base Cyrus + asked permission to go out, having previously borrowed a pair of scissors + from one of the big girls who did fancy work at the noon recess. Outside, + Cyrus sneaked up close to the window and cut off a piece of Cecily’s hair. + </p> + <p> + This rape of the lock did not produce quite such terrible consequences as + the more famous one in Pope’s poem, but Cecily’s soul was no less agitated + than Belinda’s. She cried all the way home from school about it, and only + checked her tears when Dan declared he’d fight Cyrus and make him give it + up. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, You mustn’t.” said Cecily, struggling with her sobs. “I won’t + have you fighting on my account for anything. And besides, he’d likely + lick you—he’s so big and rough. And the folks at home might find out + all about it, and Uncle Roger would never give me any peace, and mother + would be cross, for she’d never believe it wasn’t my fault. It wouldn’t be + so bad if he’d only taken a little, but he cut a great big chunk right off + the end of one of the braids. Just look at it. I’ll have to cut the other + to make them fair—and they’ll look so awful stubby.” + </p> + <p> + But Cyrus’ acquirement of the chunk of hair was his last triumph. His + downfall was near; and, although it involved Cecily in a most humiliating + experience, over which she cried half the following night, in the end she + confessed it was worth undergoing just to get rid of Cyrus. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Perkins was an exceedingly strict disciplinarian. No communication of + any sort was permitted between his pupils during school hours. Anyone + caught violating this rule was promptly punished by the infliction of one + of the weird penances for which Mr. Perkins was famous, and which were + generally far worse than ordinary whipping. + </p> + <p> + One day in school Cyrus sent a letter across to Cecily. Usually he left + his effusions in her desk, or between the leaves of her books; but this + time it was passed over to her under cover of the desk through the hands + of two or three scholars. Just as Em Frewen held it over the aisle Mr. + Perkins wheeled around from his station before the blackboard and caught + her in the act. + </p> + <p> + “Bring that here, Emmeline,” he commanded. + </p> + <p> + Cyrus turned quite pale. Em carried the note to Mr. Perkins. He took it, + held it up, and scrutinized the address. + </p> + <p> + “Did you write this to Cecily, Emmeline?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “No, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Who wrote it then?” + </p> + <p> + Em said quite shamelessly that she didn’t know—it had just been + passed over from the next row. + </p> + <p> + “And I suppose you have no idea where it came from?” said Mr. Perkins, + with his frightful, sardonic grin. “Well, perhaps Cecily can tell us. You + may take your seat, Emmeline, and you will remain at the foot of your + spelling class for a week as punishment for passing the note. Cecily, come + here.” + </p> + <p> + Indignant Em sat down and poor, innocent Cecily was haled forth to public + ignominy. She went with a crimson face. + </p> + <p> + “Cecily,” said her tormentor, “do you know who wrote this letter to you?” + </p> + <p> + Cecily, like a certain renowned personage, could not tell a lie. + </p> + <p> + “I—I think so, sir,” she murmured faintly. + </p> + <p> + “Who was it?” + </p> + <p> + “I can’t tell you that,” stammered Cecily, on the verge of tears. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said Mr. Perkins politely. “Well, I suppose I could easily find out + by opening it. But it is very impolite to open other people’s letters. I + think I have a better plan. Since you refuse to tell me who wrote it, open + it yourself, take this chalk, and copy the contents on the blackboard that + we may all enjoy them. And sign the writer’s name at the bottom.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” gasped Cecily, choosing the lesser of two evils, “I’ll tell you who + wrote it—it was— + </p> + <p> + “Hush!” Mr. Perkins checked her with a gentle motion of his hand. He was + always most gentle when most inexorable. “You did not obey me when I first + ordered you to tell me the writer. You cannot have the privilege of doing + so now. Open the note, take the chalk, and do as I command you.” + </p> + <p> + Worms will turn, and even meek, mild, obedient little souls like Cecily + may be goaded to the point of wild, sheer rebellion. + </p> + <p> + “I—I won’t!” she cried passionately. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Perkins, martinet though he was, would hardly, I think, have inflicted + such a punishment on Cecily, who was a favourite of his, had he known the + real nature of that luckless missive. But, as he afterwards admitted, he + thought it was merely a note from some other girl, of such trifling sort + as school-girls are wont to write; and moreover, he had already committed + himself to the decree, which, like those of Mede and Persian, must not + alter. To let Cecily off, after her mad defiance, would be to establish a + revolutionary precedent. + </p> + <p> + “So you really think you won’t?” he queried smilingly. “Well, on second + thoughts, you may take your choice. Either you will do as I have bidden + you, or you will sit for three days with”—Mr. Perkins’ eye skimmed + over the school-room to find a boy who was sitting alone—“with Cyrus + Brisk.” + </p> + <p> + This choice of Mr. Perkins, who knew nothing of the little drama of + emotions that went on under the routine of lessons and exercises in his + domain, was purely accidental, but we took it at the time as a stroke of + diabolical genius. It left Cecily no choice. She would have done almost + anything before she would have sat with Cyrus Brisk. With flashing eyes + she tore open the letter, snatched up the chalk, and dashed at the + blackboard. + </p> + <p> + In a few minutes the contents of that letter graced the expanse usually + sacred to more prosaic compositions. I cannot reproduce it verbatim, for I + had no after opportunity of refreshing my memory. But I remember that it + was exceedingly sentimental and exceedingly ill-spelled—for Cecily + mercilessly copied down poor Cyrus’ mistakes. He wrote her that he wore + her hare over his hart—“and he stole it,” Cecily threw passionately + over her shoulder at Mr. Perkins—that her eyes were so sweet and + lovely that he couldn’t find words nice enuf to describ them, that he + could never forget how butiful she had looked in prar meeting the evening + before, and that some meels he couldn’t eat for thinking of her, with more + to the same effect and he signed it “yours till deth us do part, Cyrus + Brisk.” + </p> + <p> + As the writing proceeded we scholars exploded into smothered laughter, + despite our awe of Mr. Perkins. Mr. Perkins himself could not keep a + straight face. He turned abruptly away and looked out of the window, but + we could see his shoulders shaking. When Cecily had finished and had + thrown down the chalk with bitter vehemence, he turned around with a very + red face. + </p> + <p> + “That will do. You may sit down. Cyrus, since it seems you are the guilty + person, take the eraser and wipe that off the board. Then go stand in the + corner, facing the room, and hold your arms straight above your head until + I tell you to take them down.” + </p> + <p> + Cyrus obeyed and Cecily fled to her seat and wept, nor did Mr. Perkins + meddle with her more that day. She bore her burden of humiliation bitterly + for several days, until she was suddenly comforted by a realization that + Cyrus had ceased to persecute her. He wrote no more letters, he gazed no + longer in rapt adoration, he brought no more votive offerings of gum and + pencils to her shrine. At first we thought he had been cured by the + unmerciful chaffing he had to undergo from his mates, but eventually his + sister told Cecily the true reason. Cyrus had at last been driven to + believe that Cecily’s aversion to him was real, and not merely the defence + of maiden coyness. If she hated him so intensely that she would rather + write that note on the blackboard than sit with him, what use was it to + sigh like a furnace longer for her? Mr. Perkins had blighted love’s young + dream for Cyrus with a killing frost. Thenceforth sweet Cecily kept the + noiseless tenor of her way unvexed by the attentions of enamoured swains. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br><br><br><br> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVI. AUNT UNA’S STORY + </h2> + <p> + Felicity, and Cecily, Dan, Felix, Sara Ray and I were sitting one evening + on the mossy stones in Uncle Roger’s hill pasture, where we had sat the + morning the Story Girl told us the tale of the Wedding Veil of the Proud + Princess. But it was evening now and the valley beneath us was brimmed up + with the glow of the afterlight. Behind us, two tall, shapely spruce trees + rose up against the sunset, and through the dark oriel of their sundered + branches an evening star looked down. We sat on a little strip of emerald + grassland and before us was a sloping meadow all white with daisies. + </p> + <p> + We were waiting for Peter and the Story Girl. Peter had gone to Markdale + after dinner to spend the afternoon with his reunited parents because it + was his birthday. He had left us grimly determined to confess to his + father the dark secret of his Presbyterianism, and we were anxious to know + what the result had been. The Story Girl had gone that morning with Miss + Reade to visit the latter’s home near Charlottetown, and we expected soon + to see her coming gaily along over the fields from the Armstrong place. + </p> + <p> + Presently Peter came jauntily stepping along the field path up the hill. + </p> + <p> + “Hasn’t Peter got tall?” said Cecily. + </p> + <p> + “Peter is growing to be a very fine looking boy,” decreed Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “I notice he’s got ever so much handsomer since his father came home,” + said Dan, with a killing sarcasm that was wholly lost on Felicity, who + gravely responded that she supposed it was because Peter felt so much + freer from care and responsibility. + </p> + <p> + “What luck, Peter?” yelled Dan, as soon as Peter was within earshot. + </p> + <p> + “Everything’s all right,” he shouted jubilantly. “I told father right off, + licketty-split, as soon as I got home,” he added when he reached us. “I + was anxious to have it over with. I says, solemn-like, ‘Dad, there’s + something I’ve got to tell you, and I don’t know how you’ll take it, but + it can’t be helped,’ I says. Dad looked pretty sober, and he says, says + he, ‘What have you been up to, Peter? Don’t be afraid to tell me. I’ve + been forgiven to seventy times seven, so surely I can forgive a little, + too?’ ‘Well,’ I says, desperate-like, ‘the truth is, father, I’m a + Presbyterian. I made up my mind last summer, the time of the Judgment Day, + that I’d be a Presbyterian, and I’ve got to stick to it. I’m sorry I can’t + be a Methodist, like you and mother and Aunt Jane, but I can’t and that’s + all there is to it,’ I says. Then I waited, scared-like. But father, he + just looked relieved and he says, says he, ‘Goodness, boy, you can be a + Presbyterian or anything else you like, so long as it’s Protestant. I’m + not caring,’ he says. ‘The main thing is that you must be good and do + what’s right.’ I tell you,” concluded Peter emphatically, “father is a + Christian all right.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I suppose your mind will be at rest now,” said Felicity. “What’s + that you have in your buttonhole?” + </p> + <p> + “That’s a four-leaved clover,” answered Peter exultantly. “That means good + luck for the summer. I found it in Markdale. There ain’t much clover in + Carlisle this year of any kind of leaf. The crop is going to be a failure. + Your Uncle Roger says it’s because there ain’t enough old maids in + Carlisle. There’s lots of them in Markdale, and that’s the reason, he + says, why they always have such good clover crops there.” + </p> + <p> + “What on earth have old maids to do with it?” cried Cecily. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t believe they’ve a single thing to do with it, but Mr. Roger says + they have, and he says a man called Darwin proved it. This is the + rigmarole he got off to me the other day. The clover crop depends on there + being plenty of bumble-bees, because they are the only insects with + tongues long enough to—to—fer—fertilize—I think he + called it the blossoms. But mice eat bumble-bees and cats eat mice and old + maids keep cats. So your Uncle Roger says the more old maids the more + cats, and the more cats the fewer field-mice, and the fewer field-mice the + more bumble-bees, and the more bumble-bees the better clover crops.” + </p> + <p> + “So don’t worry if you do get to be old maids, girls,” said Dan. + “Remember, you’ll be helping the clover crops.” + </p> + <p> + “I never heard such stuff as you boys talk,” said Felicity, “and Uncle + Roger is no better.” + </p> + <p> + “There comes the Story Girl,” cried Cecily eagerly. “Now we’ll hear all + about Beautiful Alice’s home.” + </p> + <p> + The Story Girl was bombarded with eager questions as soon as she arrived. + Miss Reade’s home was a dream of a place, it appeared. The house was just + covered with ivy and there was a most delightful old garden—“and,” + added the Story Girl, with the joy of a connoisseur who has found a rare + gem, “the sweetest little story connected with it. And I saw the hero of + the story too.” + </p> + <p> + “Where was the heroine?” queried Cecily. + </p> + <p> + “She is dead.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, of course she’d have to die,” exclaimed Dan in disgust. “I’d like a + story where somebody lived once in awhile.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve told you heaps of stories where people lived,” retorted the Story + Girl. “If this heroine hadn’t died there wouldn’t have been any story. She + was Miss Reade’s aunt and her name was Una, and I believe she must have + been just like Miss Reade herself. Miss Reade told me all about her. When + we went into the garden I saw in one corner of it an old stone bench + arched over by a couple of pear trees and all grown about with grass and + violets. And an old man was sitting on it—a bent old man with long, + snow-white hair and beautiful sad blue eyes. He seemed very lonely and + sorrowful and I wondered that Miss Reade didn’t speak to him. But she + never let on she saw him and took me away to another part of the garden. + After awhile he got up and went away and then Miss Reade said, ‘Come over + to Aunt Una’s seat and I will tell you about her and her lover—that + man who has just gone out.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Oh, isn’t he too old for a lover?’ I said. + </p> + <p> + “Beautiful Alice laughed and said it was forty years since he had been her + Aunt Una’s lover. He had been a tall, handsome young man then, and her + Aunt Una was a beautiful girl of nineteen. + </p> + <p> + “We went over and sat down and Miss Reade told me all about her. She said + that when she was a child she had heard much of her Aunt Una—that + she seemed to have been one of those people who are not soon forgotten, + whose personality seems to linger about the scenes of their lives long + after they have passed away.” + </p> + <p> + “What is a personality? Is it another word for ghost?” asked Peter. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said the Story Girl shortly. “I can’t stop in a story to explain + words.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t believe you know what it is yourself,” said Felicity. + </p> + <p> + The Story Girl picked up her hat, which she had thrown down on the grass, + and placed it defiantly on her brown curls. + </p> + <p> + “I’m going in,” she announced. “I have to help Aunt Olivia ice a cake + tonight, and you all seem more interested in dictionaries than stories.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s not fair,” I exclaimed. “Dan and Felix and Sara Ray and Cecily and + I have never said a word. It’s mean to punish us for what Peter and + Felicity did. We want to hear the rest of the story. Never mind what a + personality is but go on—and, Peter, you young ass, keep still.” + </p> + <p> + “I only wanted to know,” muttered Peter sulkily. + </p> + <p> + “I DO know what personality is, but it’s hard to explain,” said the Story + Girl, relenting. “It’s what makes you different from Dan, Peter, and me + different from Felicity or Cecily. Miss Reade’s Aunt Una had a personality + that was very uncommon. And she was beautiful, too, with white skin and + night-black eyes and hair—a ‘moonlight beauty,’ Miss Reade called + it. She used to keep a kind of a diary, and Miss Reade’s mother used to + read parts of it to her. She wrote verses in it and they were lovely; and + she wrote descriptions of the old garden which she loved very much. Miss + Reade said that everything in the garden, plot or shrub or tree, recalled + to her mind some phrase or verse of her Aunt Una’s, so that the whole + place seemed full of her, and her memory haunted the walks like a faint, + sweet perfume. + </p> + <p> + “Una had, as I’ve told you, a lover; and they were to have been married on + her twentieth birthday. Her wedding dress was to have been a gown of white + brocade with purple violets in it. But a little while before it she took + ill with fever and died; and she was buried on her birthday instead of + being married. It was just in the time of opening roses. Her lover has + been faithful to her ever since; he has never married, and every June, on + her birthday, he makes a pilgrimage to the old garden and sits for a long + time in silence on the bench where he used to woo her on crimson eves and + moonlight nights of long ago. Miss Reade says she always loves to see him + sitting there because it gives her such a deep and lasting sense of the + beauty and strength of love which can thus outlive time and death. And + sometimes, she says, it gives her a little eerie feeling, too, as if her + Aunt Una were really sitting there beside him, keeping tryst, although she + has been in her grave for forty years.” + </p> + <p> + “It would be real romantic to die young and have your lover make a + pilgrimage to your garden every year,” reflected Sara Ray. + </p> + <p> + “It would be more comfortable to go on living and get married to him,” + said Felicity. “Mother says all those sentimental ideas are bosh and I + expect they are. It’s a wonder Beautiful Alice hasn’t a beau herself. She + is so pretty and lady-like.” + </p> + <p> + “The Carlisle fellows all say she is too stuck up,” said Dan. + </p> + <p> + “There’s nobody in Carlisle half good enough for her,” cried the Story + Girl, “except—ex-cept—” + </p> + <p> + “Except who?” asked Felix. + </p> + <p> + “Never mind,” said the Story Girl mysteriously. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br><br><br><br> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVII. AUNT OLIVIA’S WEDDING + </h2> + <p> + What a delightful, old-fashioned, wholesome excitement there was about + Aunt Olivia’s wedding! The Monday and Tuesday preceding it we did not go + to school at all, but were all kept home to do chores and run errands. The + cooking and decorating and arranging that went on those two days was + amazing, and Felicity was so happy over it all that she did not even + quarrel with Dan—though she narrowly escaped it when he told her + that the Governor’s wife was coming to the wedding. + </p> + <p> + “Mind you have some of her favourite rusks for her,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “I guess,” said Felicity with dignity, “that Aunt Olivia’s wedding supper + will be good enough for even a Governor’s wife.” + </p> + <p> + “I s’pose none of us except the Story Girl will get to the first table,” + said Felix, rather gloomily. + </p> + <p> + “Never mind,” comforted Felicity. “There’s a whole turkey to be kept for + us, and a freezerful of ice cream. Cecily and I are going to wait on the + tables, and we’ll put away a little of everything that’s extra nice for + our suppers.” + </p> + <p> + “I do so want to have my supper with you,” sighed Sara Ray, “but I s’pose + ma will drag me with her wherever she goes. She won’t trust me out of her + sight a minute the whole evening—I know she won’t.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll get Aunt Olivia to ask her to let you have your supper with us,” + said Cecily. “She can’t refuse the bride’s request.” + </p> + <p> + “You don’t know all ma can do,” returned Sara darkly. “No, I feel that + I’ll have to eat my supper with her. But I suppose I ought to be very + thankful I’m to get to the wedding at all, and that ma did get me a new + white dress for it. Even yet I’m so scared something will happen to + prevent me from getting to it.” + </p> + <p> + Monday evening shrouded itself in clouds, and all night long the voice of + the wind answered to the voice of the rain. Tuesday the downpour + continued. We were quite frantic about it. Suppose it kept on raining over + Wednesday! Aunt Olivia couldn’t be married in the orchard then. That would + be too bad, especially when the late apple tree had most obligingly kept + its store of blossom until after all the other trees had faded and then + burst lavishly into bloom for Aunt Olivia’s wedding. That apple tree was + always very late in blooming, and this year it was a week later than + usual. It was a sight to see—a great tree-pyramid with high, + far-spreading boughs, over which a wealth of rosy snow seemed to have been + flung. Never had bride a more magnificent canopy. + </p> + <p> + To our rapture, however, it cleared up beautifully Tuesday evening, and + the sun, before setting in purple pomp, poured a flood of wonderful + radiance over the whole great, green, diamond-dripping world, promising a + fair morrow. Uncle Alec drove off to the station through it to bring home + the bridegroom and his best man. Dan was full of a wild idea that we + should all meet them at the gate, armed with cowbells and tin-pans, and + “charivari” them up the lane. Peter sided with him, but the rest of us + voted down the suggestion. + </p> + <p> + “Do you want Dr. Seton to think we are a pack of wild Indians?” asked + Felicity severely. “A nice opinion he’d have of our manners!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it’s the only chance we’ll have to chivaree them,” grumbled Dan. + “Aunt Olivia wouldn’t mind. SHE can take a joke.” + </p> + <p> + “Ma would kill you if you did such a thing,” warned Felicity. “Dr. Seton + lives in Halifax and they NEVER chivaree people there. He would think it + very vulgar.” + </p> + <p> + “Then he should have stayed in Halifax and got married there,” retorted + Dan, sulkily. + </p> + <p> + We were very curious to see our uncle-elect. When he came and Uncle Alec + took him into the parlour, we were all crowded into the dark corner behind + the stairs to peep at him. Then we fled to the moonlight world outside and + discussed him at the dairy. + </p> + <p> + “He’s bald,” said Cecily disappointedly. + </p> + <p> + “And RATHER short and stout,” said Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “He’s forty, if he’s a day,” said Dan. + </p> + <p> + “Never you mind,” cried the Story Girl loyally, “Aunt Olivia loves him + with all her heart.” + </p> + <p> + “And more than that, he’s got lots of money,” added Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “Well, he may be all right,” said Peter, “but it’s my opinion that your + Aunt Olivia could have done just as well on the Island.” + </p> + <p> + “YOUR opinion doesn’t matter very much to our family,” said Felicity + crushingly. + </p> + <p> + But when we made the acquaintance of Dr. Seton next morning we liked him + enormously, and voted him a jolly good fellow. Even Peter remarked aside + to me that he guessed Miss Olivia hadn’t made much of a mistake after all, + though it was plain he thought she was running a risk in not sticking to + the Island. The girls had not much time to discuss him with us. They were + all exceedingly busy and whisked about at such a rate that they seemed to + possess the power of being in half a dozen places at once. The importance + of Felicity was quite terrible. But after dinner came a lull. + </p> + <p> + “Thank goodness, everything is ready at last,” breathed Felicity devoutly, + as we foregathered for a brief space in the fir wood. “We’ve nothing more + to do now but get dressed. It’s really a serious thing to have a wedding + in the family.” + </p> + <p> + “I have a note from Sara Ray,” said Cecily. “Judy Pineau brought it up + when she brought Mrs. Ray’s spoons. Just let me read it to you:— + </p> +<p class="pre"> + DEAREST CECILY:—A DREADFUL MISFORTUNE has happened to me. Last + night I went with Judy to water the cows and in the spruce bush we + found a WASPS’ NEST and Judy thought it was AN OLD ONE and she + POKED IT WITH A STICK. And it was a NEW ONE, full of wasps, and + they all flew out and STUNG US TERRIBLY, on the face and hands. + My face is all swelled up and I can HARDLY SEE out of one eye. + The SUFFERING was awful but I didn’t mind that as much as being + scared ma wouldn’t take me to the wedding. But she says I can go + and I’m going. I know that I am a HARD-LOOKING SIGHT, but it + isn’t anything catching. I am writing this so that you won’t get + a shock when you see me. Isn’t it SO STRANGE to think your dear + Aunt Olivia is going away? How you will miss her! But your loss + will be her gain. +<br> + <span class="right"> “‘Au revoir,<br> + “‘Your loving chum,<br> + SARA RAY.’”</span> + </p> + <p> + “That poor child,” said the Story Girl. + </p> + <p> + “Well, all I hope is that strangers won’t take her for one of the family,” + remarked Felicity in a disgusted tone. + </p> + <p> + Aunt Olivia was married at five o’clock in the orchard under the late + apple tree. It was a pretty scene. The air was full of the perfume of + apple bloom, and the bees blundered foolishly and delightfully from one + blossom to another, half drunken with perfume. The old orchard was full of + smiling guests in wedding garments. Aunt Olivia was most beautiful amid + the frost of her bridal veil, and the Story Girl, in an unusually long + white dress, with her brown curls clubbed up behind, looked so tall and + grown-up that we hardly recognized her. After the ceremony—during + which Sara Ray cried all the time—there was a royal wedding supper, + and Sara Ray was permitted to eat her share of the feast with us. + </p> + <p> + “I’m glad I was stung by the wasps after all,” she said delightedly. “If I + hadn’t been ma would never have let me eat with you. She just got tired + explaining to people what was the matter with my face, and so she was glad + to get rid of me. I know I look awful, but, oh, wasn’t the bride a dream?” + </p> + <p> + We missed the Story Girl, who, of course, had to have her supper at the + bridal table; but we were a hilarious little crew and the girls had nobly + kept their promise to save tid-bits for us. By the time the last table was + cleared away Aunt Olivia and our new uncle were ready to go. There was an + orgy of tears and leavetakings, and then they drove away into the odorous + moonlight night. Dan and Peter pursued them down the lane with a fiendish + din of bells and pans, much to Felicity’s wrath. But Aunt Olivia and Uncle + Robert took it in good part and waved their hands back to us with peals of + laughter. + </p> + <p> + “They’re just that pleased with themselves that they wouldn’t mind if + there was an earthquake,” said Felix, grinning. + </p> + <p> + “It’s been splendid and exciting, and everything went off well,” sighed + Cecily, “but, oh dear, it’s going to be so queer and lonesome without Aunt + Olivia. I just believe I’ll cry all night.” + </p> + <p> + “You’re tired to death, that’s what’s the matter with you,” said Dan, + returning. “You girls have worked like slaves today.” + </p> + <p> + “Tomorrow will be even harder,” said Felicity comfortingly. “Everything + will have to be cleaned up and put away.” + </p> + <p> + Peg Bowen paid us a call the next day and was regaled with a feast of fat + things left over from the supper. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I’ve had all I can eat,” she said, when she had finished and + brought out her pipe. “And that doesn’t happen to me every day. There + ain’t been as much marrying as there used to be, and half the time they + just sneak off to the minister, as if they were ashamed of it, and get + married without any wedding or supper. That ain’t the King way, though. + And so Olivia’s gone off at last. She weren’t in any hurry but they tell + me she’s done well. Time’ll show.” + </p> + <p> + “Why don’t you get married yourself, Peg?” queried Uncle Roger teasingly. + We held our breath over his temerity. + </p> + <p> + “Because I’m not so easy to please as your wife will be,” retorted Peg. + </p> + <p> + She departed in high good humour over her repartee. Meeting Sara Ray on + the doorstep she stopped and asked her what was the matter with her face. + </p> + <p> + “Wasps,” stammered Sara Ray, laconic from terror. + </p> + <p> + “Humph! And your hands?” + </p> + <p> + “Warts.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll tell you what’ll take them away. You get a pertater and go out under + the full moon, cut the pertater in two, rub your warts with one half and + say, ‘One, two, three, warts, go away from me.’ Then rub them with the + other half and say, ‘One, two, three, four, warts, never trouble me more.’ + Then bury the pertater and never tell a living soul where you buried it. + You won’t have no more warts. Mind you bury the pertater, though. If you + don’t, and anyone picks it up, she’ll get your warts.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br><br><br><br> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVIII. SARA RAY HELPS OUT + </h2> + <p> + We all missed Aunt Olivia greatly; she had been so merry and + companionable, and had possessed such a knack of understanding small fry. + But youth quickly adapts itself to changed conditions; in a few weeks it + seemed as if the Story Girl had always been living at Uncle Alec’s, and as + if Uncle Roger had always had a fat, jolly housekeeper with a double chin + and little, twinkling blue eyes. I don’t think Aunt Janet ever quite got + over missing Aunt Olivia, or looked upon Mrs. Hawkins as anything but a + necessary evil; but life resumed its even tenor on the King farm, broken + only by the ripples of excitement over the school concert and letters from + Aunt Olivia describing her trip through the land of Evangeline. We + incorporated the letters in Our Magazine under the heading “From Our + Special Correspondent” and were very proud of them. + </p> + <p> + At the end of June our school concert came off and was a great event in + our young lives. It was the first appearance of most of us on any + platform, and some of us were very nervous. We all had recitations, except + Dan, who had refused flatly to take any part and was consequently + care-free. + </p> + <p> + “I’m sure I shall die when I find myself up on that platform, facing + people,” sighed Sara Ray, as we talked the affair over in Uncle Stephen’s + Walk the night before the concert. + </p> + <p> + “I’m afraid I’ll faint,” was Cecily’s more moderate foreboding. + </p> + <p> + “I’m not one single bit nervous,” said Felicity complacently. + </p> + <p> + “I’m not nervous this time,” said the Story Girl, “but the first time I + recited I was.” + </p> + <p> + “My Aunt Jane,” remarked Peter, “used to say that an old teacher of hers + told her that when she was going to recite or speak in public she must + just get it firmly into her mind that it was only a lot of cabbage heads + she had before her, and she wouldn’t be nervous.” + </p> + <p> + “One mightn’t be nervous, but I don’t think there would be much + inspiration in reciting to cabbage heads,” said the Story Girl decidedly. + “I want to recite to PEOPLE, and see them looking interested and + thrilled.” + </p> + <p> + “If I can only get through my piece without breaking down I don’t care + whether I thrill people or not,” said Sara Ray. + </p> + <p> + “I’m afraid I’ll forget mine and get stuck,” foreboded Felix. “Some of you + fellows be sure and prompt me if I do—and do it quick, so’s I won’t + get worse rattled.” + </p> + <p> + “I know one thing,” said Cecily resolutely, “and that is, I’m going to + curl my hair for to-morrow night. I’ve never curled it since Peter almost + died, but I simply must tomorrow night, for all the other girls are going + to have theirs in curls.” + </p> + <p> + “The dew and heat will take all the curl out of yours and then you’ll look + like a scarecrow,” warned Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “No, I won’t. I’m going to put my hair up in paper tonight and wet it with + a curling-fluid that Judy Pineau uses. Sara brought me up a bottle of it. + Judy says it is great stuff—your hair will keep in curl for days, no + matter how damp the weather is. I’ll leave my hair in the papers till + tomorrow evening, and then I’ll have beautiful curls.” + </p> + <p> + “You’d better leave your hair alone,” said Dan gruffly. “Smooth hair is + better than a lot of fly-away curls.” + </p> + <p> + But Cecily was not to be persuaded. Curls she craved and curls she meant + to have. + </p> + <p> + “I’m thankful my warts have all gone, any-way,” said Sara Ray. + </p> + <p> + “So they have,” exclaimed Felicity. “Did you try Peg’s recipe?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I didn’t believe in it but I tried it. For the first few days + afterwards I kept watching my warts, but they didn’t go away, and then I + gave up and forgot them. But one day last week I just happened to look at + my hands and there wasn’t a wart to be seen. It was the most amazing + thing.” + </p> + <p> + “And yet you’ll say Peg Bowen isn’t a witch,” said Peter. + </p> + <p> + “Pshaw, it was just the potato juice,” scoffed Dan. + </p> + <p> + “It was a dry old potato I had, and there wasn’t much juice in it,” said + Sara Ray. “One hardly knows what to believe. But one thing is certain—my + warts are gone.” + </p> + <p> + Cecily put her hair up in curl-papers that night, thoroughly soaked in + Judy Pineau’s curling-fluid. It was a nasty job, for the fluid was very + sticky, but Cecily persevered and got it done. Then she went to bed with a + towel tied over her head to protect the pillow. She did not sleep well and + had uncanny dreams, but she came down to breakfast with an expression of + triumph. The Story Girl examined her head critically and said, + </p> + <p> + “Cecily, if I were you I’d take those papers out this morning.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no; if I do my hair will be straight again by night. I mean to leave + them in till the last minute.” + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn’t do that—I really wouldn’t,” persisted the Story Girl. + “If you do your hair will be too curly and all bushy and fuzzy.” + </p> + <p> + Cecily finally yielded and went upstairs with the Story Girl. Presently we + heard a little shriek—then two little shrieks—then three. Then + Felicity came flying down and called her mother. Aunt Janet went up and + presently came down again with a grim mouth. She filled a large pan with + warm water and carried it upstairs. We dared ask her no questions, but + when Felicity came down to wash the dishes we bombarded her. + </p> + <p> + “What on earth is the matter with Cecily?” demanded Dan. “Is she sick?” + </p> + <p> + “No, she isn’t. I warned her not to put her hair in curls but she wouldn’t + listen to me. I guess she wishes she had now. When people haven’t natural + curly hair they shouldn’t try to make it curly. They get punished if they + do.” + </p> + <p> + “Look here, Felicity, never mind all that. Just tell us what has happened + Sis.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, this is what has happened her. That ninny of a Sara Ray brought up + a bottle of mucilage instead of Judy’s curling-fluid, and Cecily put her + hair up with THAT. It’s in an awful state.” + </p> + <p> + “Good gracious!” exclaimed Dan. “Look here, will she ever get it out?” + </p> + <p> + “Goodness knows. She’s got her head in soak now. Her hair is just matted + together hard as a board. That’s what comes of vanity,” said Felicity, + than whom no vainer girl existed. + </p> + <p> + Poor Cecily paid dearly enough for HER vanity. She spent a bad forenoon, + made no easier by her mother’s severe rebukes. For an hour she “soaked” + her head; that is, she stood over a panful of warm water and kept dipping + her head in with tightly shut eyes. Finally her hair softened sufficiently + to be disentangled from the curl papers; and then Aunt Janet subjected it + to a merciless shampoo. Eventually they got all the mucilage washed out of + it and Cecily spent the remainder of the forenoon sitting before the open + oven door in the hot kitchen drying her ill-used tresses. She felt very + down-hearted; her hair was of that order which, glossy and smooth + normally, is dry and harsh and lustreless for several days after being + shampooed. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll look like a fright tonight,” said the poor child to me with + trembling voice. “The ends will be sticking out all over my head.” + </p> + <p> + “Sara Ray is a perfect idiot,” I said wrathfully + </p> + <p> + “Oh, don’t be hard on poor Sara. She didn’t mean to bring me mucilage. + It’s really all my own fault, I know. I made a solemn vow when Peter was + dying that I would never curl my hair again, and I should have kept it. It + isn’t right to break solemn vows. But my hair will look like dried hay + tonight.” + </p> + <p> + Poor Sara Ray was quite overwhelmed when she came up and found what she + had done. Felicity was very hard on her, and Aunt Janet was coldly + disapproving, but sweet Cecily forgave her unreservedly, and they walked + to the school that night with their arms about each other’s waists as + usual. + </p> + <p> + The school-room was crowded with friends and neighbours. Mr. Perkins was + flying about, getting things into readiness, and Miss Reade, who was the + organist of the evening, was sitting on the platform, looking her sweetest + and prettiest. She wore a delightful white lace hat with a fetching little + wreath of tiny forget-me-nots around the brim, a white muslin dress with + sprays of blue violets scattered over it, and a black lace scarf. + </p> + <p> + “Doesn’t she look angelic?” said Cecily rapturously. + </p> + <p> + “Mind you,” said Sara Ray, “the Awkward Man is here—in the corner + behind the door. I never remember seeing him at a concert before.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose he came to hear the Story Girl recite,” said Felicity. “He is + such a friend of hers.” + </p> + <p> + The concert went off very well. Dialogues, choruses and recitations + followed each other in rapid succession. Felix got through his without + “getting stuck,” and Peter did excellently, though he stuffed his hands in + his trousers pockets—a habit of which Mr. Perkins had vainly tried + to break him. Peter’s recitation was one greatly in vogue at that time, + beginning, + </p> +<p class="pre"> + “My name is Norval; on the Grampian hills<br> + My father feeds his flocks.” + </p> + <p> + At our first practice Peter had started gaily in, rushing through the + first line with no thought whatever of punctuation—“My name is + Norval on the Grampian Hills.” + </p> + <p> + “Stop, stop, Peter,” quoth Mr. Perkins, sarcastically, “your name might be + Norval if you were never on the Grampian Hills. There’s a semi-colon in + that line, I wish you to remember.” + </p> + <p> + Peter did remember it. Cecily neither fainted nor failed when it came her + turn. She recited her little piece very well, though somewhat + mechanically. I think she really did much better than if she had had her + desired curls. The miserable conviction that her hair, alone among that + glossy-tressed bevy, was looking badly, quite blotted out all nervousness + and self-consciousness from her mind. Her hair apart, she looked very + pretty. The prevailing excitement had made bright her eye and flushed her + cheeks rosily—too rosily, perhaps. I heard a Carlisle woman behind + me whisper that Cecily King looked consumptive, just like her Aunt + Felicity; and I hated her fiercely for it. + </p> + <p> + Sara Ray also managed to get through respectably, although she was + pitiably nervous. Her bow was naught but a short nod—“as if her head + worked on wires,” whispered Felicity uncharitably—and the wave of + her lily-white hand more nearly resembled an agonized jerk than a wave. We + all felt relieved when she finished. She was, in a sense, one of “our + crowd,” and we had been afraid she would disgrace us by breaking down. + </p> + <p> + Felicity followed her and recited her selection without haste, without + rest, and absolutely without any expression whatever. But what mattered it + how she recited? To look at her was sufficient. What with her splendid + fleece of golden curls, her great, brilliant blue eyes, her exquisitely + tinted face, her dimpled hands and arms, every member of the audience must + have felt it was worth the ten cents he had paid merely to see her. + </p> + <p> + The Story Girl followed. An expectant silence fell over the room, and Mr. + Perkins’ face lost the look of tense anxiety it had worn all the evening. + Here was a performer who could be depended on. No need to fear stage + fright or forgetfulness on her part. The Story Girl was not looking her + best that night. White never became her, and her face was pale, though her + eyes were splendid. But nobody thought about her appearance when the power + and magic of her voice caught and held her listeners spellbound. + </p> + <p> + Her recitation was an old one, figuring in one of the School Readers, and + we scholars all knew it off by heart. Sara Ray alone had not heard the + Story Girl recite it. The latter had not been drilled at practices as had + the other pupils, Mr. Perkins choosing not to waste time teaching her what + she already knew far better than he did. The only time she had recited it + had been at the “dress rehearsal” two nights before, at which Sara Ray had + not been present. + </p> + <p> + In the poem a Florentine lady of old time, wedded to a cold and cruel + husband, had died, or was supposed to have died, and had been carried to + “the rich, the beautiful, the dreadful tomb” of her proud family. In the + night she wakened from her trance and made her escape. Chilled and + terrified, she had made her way to her husband’s door, only to be driven + away brutally as a restless ghost by the horror-stricken inmates. A + similar reception awaited her at her father’s. Then she had wandered + blindly through the streets of Florence until she had fallen exhausted at + the door of the lover of her girlhood. He, unafraid, had taken her in and + cared for her. On the morrow, the husband and father, having discovered + the empty tomb, came to claim her. She refused to return to them and the + case was carried to the court of law. The verdict given was that a woman + who had been “to burial borne” and left for dead, who had been driven from + her husband’s door and from her childhood home, “must be adjudged as dead + in law and fact,” was no more daughter or wife, but was set free to form + what new ties she would. The climax of the whole selection came in the + line, + </p> + <p> + “The court pronounces the defendant—DEAD!” and the Story Girl was + wont to render it with such dramatic intensity and power that the veriest + dullard among her listeners could not have missed its force and + significance. + </p> + <p> + She swept along through the poem royally, playing on the emotions of her + audience as she had so often played on ours in the old orchard. Pity, + terror, indignation, suspense, possessed her hearers in turn. In the court + scene she surpassed herself. She was, in very truth, the Florentine judge, + stern, stately, impassive. Her voice dropped into the solemnity of the + all-important line, + </p> + <p> + “‘The court pronounces the defendant—’” + </p> + <p> + She paused for a breathless moment, the better to bring out the tragic + import of the last word. + </p> + <p> + “DEAD,” piped up Sara Ray in her shrill, plaintive little voice. + </p> + <p> + The effect, to use a hackneyed but convenient phrase, can better be + imagined than described. Instead of the sigh of relieved tension that + should have swept over the audience at the conclusion of the line, a burst + of laughter greeted it. The Story Girl’s performance was completely + spoiled. She dealt the luckless Sara a glance that would have slain her on + the spot could glances kill, stumbled lamely and impotently through the + few remaining lines of her recitation, and fled with crimson cheeks to + hide her mortification in the little corner that had been curtained off + for a dressing-room. Mr. Perkins looked things not lawful to be uttered, + and the audience tittered at intervals for the rest of the performance. + </p> + <p> + Sara Ray alone remained serenely satisfied until the close of the concert, + when we surrounded her with a whirlwind of reproaches. + </p> + <p> + “Why,” she stammered aghast, “what did I do? I—I thought she was + stuck and that I ought to prompt her quick.” + </p> + <p> + “You little fool, she just paused for effect,” cried Felicity angrily. + Felicity might be rather jealous of the Story Girl’s gift, but she was + furious at beholding “one of our family” made ridiculous in such a + fashion. “You have less sense than anyone I ever heard of, Sara Ray.” + </p> + <p> + Poor Sara dissolved in tears. + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t know. I thought she was stuck,” she wailed again. + </p> + <p> + She cried all the way home, but we did not try to comfort her. We felt + quite out of patience with her. Even Cecily was seriously annoyed. This + second blunder of Sara’s was too much even for her loyalty. We saw her + turn in at her own gate and go sobbing up her lane with no relenting. + </p> + <p> + The Story Girl was home before us, having fled from the schoolhouse as + soon as the programme was over. We tried to sympathize with her but she + would not be sympathized with. + </p> + <p> + “Please don’t ever mention it to me again,” she said, with compressed + lips. “I never want to be reminded of it. Oh, that little IDIOT!” + </p> + <p> + “She spoiled Peter’s sermon last summer and now she’s spoiled your + recitation,” said Felicity. “I think it’s time we gave up associating with + Sara Ray.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, don’t be quite so hard on her,” pleaded Cecily. “Think of the life + the poor child has to live at home. I know she’ll cry all night.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, let’s go to bed,” growled Dan. “I’m good and ready for it. I’ve had + enough of school concerts.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br><br><br><br> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIX. BY WAY OF THE STARS + </h2> + <p> + But for two of us the adventures of the night were not yet over. Silence + settled down over the old house—the eerie, whisperful, creeping + silence of night. Felix and Dan were already sound asleep; I was drifting + near the coast o’ dreams when I was aroused by a light tap on the door. + </p> + <p> + “Bev, are you asleep?” came in the Story Girl’s whisper. + </p> + <p> + “No, what is it?” + </p> + <p> + “S-s-h. Get up and dress and come out. I want you.” + </p> + <p> + With a good deal of curiosity and some misgiving I obeyed. What was in the + wind now? Outside in the hall I found the Story Girl, with a candle in her + hand, and her hat and jacket. + </p> + <p> + “Where are you going?” I whispered in amazement. + </p> + <p> + “Hush. I’ve got to go to the school and you must come with me. I left my + coral necklace there. The clasp came loose and I was so afraid I’d lose it + that I took it off and put it in the bookcase. I was feeling so upset when + the concert was over that I forgot all about it.” + </p> + <p> + The coral necklace was a very handsome one which had belonged to the Story + Girl’s mother. She had never been permitted to wear it before, and it had + only been by dint of much coaxing that she had induced Aunt Janet to let + her wear it to the concert. + </p> + <p> + “But there’s no sense in going for it in the dead of night,” I objected. + “It will be quite safe. You can go for it in the morning.” + </p> + <p> + “Lizzie Paxton and her daughter are going to clean the school tomorrow, + and I heard Lizzie say tonight she meant to be at it by five o’clock to + get through before the heat of the day. You know perfectly well what Liz + Paxton’s reputation is. If she finds that necklace I’ll never see it + again. Besides, if I wait till the morning, Aunt Janet may find out that I + left it there and she’d never let me wear it again. No, I’m going for it + now. If you’re afraid,” added the Story Girl with delicate scorn, “of + course you needn’t come.” + </p> + <p> + Afraid! I’d show her! + </p> + <p> + “Come on,” I said. + </p> + <p> + We slipped out of the house noiselessly and found ourselves in the + unutterable solemnity and strangeness of a dark night. It was a new + experience, and our hearts thrilled and our nerves tingled to the charm of + it. Never had we been abroad before at such an hour. The world around us + was not the world of daylight. ‘Twas an alien place, full of weird, + evasive enchantment and magicry. + </p> + <p> + Only in the country can one become truly acquainted with the night. There + it has the solemn calm of the infinite. The dim wide fields lie in + silence, wrapped in the holy mystery of darkness. A wind, loosened from + wild places far away, steals out to blow over dewy, star-lit, immemorial + hills. The air in the pastures is sweet with the hush of dreams, and one + may rest here like a child on its mother’s breast. + </p> + <p> + “Isn’t it wonderful?” breathed the Story Girl as we went down the long + hill. “Do you know, I can forgive Sara Ray now. I thought tonight I never + could—but now it doesn’t matter any more. I can even see how funny + it was. Oh, wasn’t it funny? ‘DEAD’ in that squeaky little voice of + Sara’s! I’ll just behave to her tomorrow as if nothing had happened. It + seems so long ago now, here in the night.” + </p> + <p> + Neither of us ever forgot the subtle delight of that stolen walk. A spell + of glamour was over us. The breezes whispered strange secrets of + elf-haunted glens, and the hollows where the ferns grew were brimmed with + mystery and romance. Ghostlike scents crept out of the meadows to meet us, + and the fir wood before we came to the church was a living sweetness of + Junebells growing in abundance. + </p> + <p> + Junebells have another and more scientific name, of course. But who could + desire a better name than Junebells? They are so perfect in their way that + they seem to epitomize the very scent and charm of the forest, as if the + old wood’s daintiest thoughts had materialized in blossom; and not all the + roses by Bendameer’s stream are as fragrant as a shallow sheet of + Junebells under the boughs of fir. + </p> + <p> + There were fireflies abroad that night, too, increasing the gramarye of + it. There is certainly something a little supernatural about fireflies. + Nobody pretends to understand them. They are akin to the tribes of fairy, + survivals of the elder time when the woods and hills swarmed with the + little green folk. It is still very easy to believe in fairies when you + see those goblin lanterns glimmering among the fir tassels. + </p> + <p> + “Isn’t it beautiful?” said the Story Girl in rapture. “I wouldn’t have + missed it for anything. I’m glad I left my necklace. And I am glad you are + with me, Bev. The others wouldn’t understand so well. I like you because I + don’t have to talk to you all the time. It’s so nice to walk with someone + you don’t have to talk to. Here is the graveyard. Are you frightened to + pass it, Bev?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I don’t think I’m frightened,” I answered slowly, “but I have a queer + feeling.” + </p> + <p> + “So have I. But it isn’t fear. I don’t know what it is. I feel as if + something was reaching out of the graveyard to hold me—something + that wanted life—I don’t like it—let’s hurry. But isn’t it + strange to think of all the dead people in there who were once alive like + you and me. I don’t feel as if I could EVER die. Do you?” + </p> + <p> + “No, but everybody must. Of course we go on living afterwards, just the + same. Don’t let’s talk of such things here,” I said hurriedly. + </p> + <p> + When we reached the school I contrived to open a window. We scrambled in, + lighted a lamp and found the missing necklace. The Story Girl stood on the + platform and gave an imitation of the catastrophe of the evening that made + me shout with laughter. We prowled around for sheer delight over being + there at an unearthly hour when everybody supposed we were sound asleep in + our beds. It was with regret that we left, and we walked home as slowly as + we could to prolong the adventure. + </p> + <p> + “Let’s never tell anyone,” said the Story Girl, as we reached home. “Let’s + just have it as a secret between us for ever and ever—something that + nobody else knows a thing about but you and me.” + </p> + <p> + “We’d better keep it a secret from Aunt Janet anyhow,” I whispered, + laughing. “She’d think we were both crazy.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s real jolly to be crazy once in a while,” said the Story Girl. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br><br><br><br> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XX. EXTRACTS FROM “OUR MAGAZINE” + </h2> + <p> + EDITORIAL + </p> + <p> + As will be seen there is no Honour Roll in this number. Even Felicity has + thought all the beautiful thoughts that can be thought and cannot think + any more. Peter has never got drunk but, under existing circumstances, + that is not greatly to his credit. As for our written resolutions they + have silently disappeared from our chamber walls and the place that once + knew them knows them no more for ever. (PETER, PERPLEXEDLY: “Seems to me + I’ve heard something like that before.”) It is very sad but we will all + make some new resolutions next year and maybe it will be easier to keep + those. + </p> + <p> + THE STORY OF THE LOCKET THAT WAS BAKED + </p> + <p> + This was a story my Aunt Jane told me about her granma when she was a + little girl. Its funny to think of baking a locket, but it wasn’t to eat. + She was my great granma but Ill call her granma for short. It happened + when she was ten years old. Of course she wasent anybodys granma then. Her + father and mother and her were living in a new settlement called Brinsley. + Their nearest naybor was a mile away. One day her Aunt Hannah from + Charlottetown came and wanted her ma to go visiting with her. At first + granma’s ma thought she couldent go because it was baking day and granma’s + pa was away. But granma wasent afraid to stay alone and she knew how to + bake the bread so she made her ma go and her Aunt Hannah took off the + handsome gold locket and chain she was waring round her neck and hung it + on granmas and told her she could ware it all day. Granma was awful + pleased for she had never had any jewelry. She did all the chores and then + was needing the loaves when she looked up and saw a tramp coming in and he + was an awful villenus looking tramp. He dident even pass the time of day + but just set down on a chair. Poor granma was awful fritened and she + turned her back on him and went on needing the loaf cold and trembling—that + is, granma was trembling not the loaf. She was worried about the locket. + She didn’t know how she could hide it for to get anywhere she would have + to turn round and pass him. + </p> + <p> + All of a suddent she thought she would hide it in the bread. She put her + hand up and pulled it hard and quick and broke the fastening and needed it + right into the loaf. Then she put the loaf in the pan and set it in the + oven. + </p> + <p> + The tramp hadent seen her do it and then he asked for something to eat. + Granma got him up a meal and when hed et it he began prowling about the + kitchen looking into everything and opening the cubbord doors. Then he + went into granma’s mas room and turned the buro drawers and trunk inside + out and threw the things in them all about. All he found was a purse with + a dollar in it and he swore about it and took it and went away. When + granma was sure he was really gone she broke down and cried. She forgot + all about the bread and it burned as black as coal. When she smelled it + burning granma run and pulled it out. She was awful scared the locket was + spoiled but she sawed open the loaf and it was there safe and sound. When + her Aunt Hannah came back she said granma deserved the locket because she + had saved it so clever and she gave it to her and grandma always wore it + and was very proud of it. And granma used to say that was the only loaf of + bread she ever spoiled in her life. + </p> +<p class="center"> + PETER CRAIG. +</p> + <p> + (FELICITY: “Those stories are all very well but they are only true + stories. It’s easy enough to write true stories. I thought Peter was + appointed fiction editor, but he has never written any fiction since the + paper started. That’s not MY idea of a fiction editor. He ought to make up + stories out of his own head.” PETER, SPUNKILY: “I can do it, too, and I + will next time. And it ain’t easier to write true stories. It’s harder, + ‘cause you have to stick to facts.” FELICITY: “I don’t believe you could + make up a story.” PETER: “I’ll show you!”) + </p> + <p> + MY MOST EXCITING ADVENTURE + </p> + <p> + It’s my turn to write it but I’m SO NERVOUS. My worst adventure happened + TWO YEARS AGO. It was an awful one. I had a striped ribbon, striped brown + and yellow and I LOST IT. I was very sorry for it was a handsome ribbon + and all the girls in school were jealous of it. (FELICITY: “I wasn’t. I + didn’t think it one bit pretty.” CECILY: “Hush!”) I hunted everywhere but + I couldn’t find it. Next day was Sunday and I was running into the house + by the front door and I saw SOMETHING LYING ON THE STEP and I thought it + was my ribbon and I made a grab at it as I passed. But, oh, it was A + SNAKE! Oh, I can never describe how I felt when I felt that awful thing + WRIGGLING IN MY HAND. I let it go and SCREAMED AND SCREAMED, and ma was + cross at me for yelling on Sunday and made me read seven chapters in the + Bible but I didn’t mind that much after what I had come through. I would + rather DIE than have SUCH AN EXPERIENCE again. + </p> +<p class="center"> + SARA RAY. +</p> +<p class="pre"> + TO FELICITY ON HER BERTHDAY<br> +<br> + Oh maiden fair with golden hair<br> + And brow of purest white,<br> + Id fight for you I’d die for you<br> + Let me be your faithful knite.<br> +<br> + This is your berthday blessed day<br> + You are thirteen years old today<br> + May you be happy and fair as you are now<br> + Until your hair is gray.<br> +<br> + I gaze into your shining eyes,<br> + They are so blue and bright.<br> + Id fight for you Id die for you<br> + Let me be your faithful knite.<br> +<br> + A FRIEND. +</p> + <p> + (DAN: “Great snakes, who got that up? I’ll bet it was Peter.” FELICITY, + WITH DIGNITY: “Well, it’s more than YOU could do. YOU couldn’t write + poetry to save your life.” PETER, ASIDE TO BEVERLEY: “She seems quite + pleased. I’m glad I wrote it, but it was awful hard work.”) + </p> + <p> + PERSONALS + </p> + <p> + Patrick Grayfur, Esq., caused his friends great anxiety recently by a + prolonged absence from home. When found he was very thin but is now as fat + and conceited as ever. + </p> + <p> + On Wednesday, June 20th, Miss Olivia King was united in the bonds of holy + matrimony to Dr. Robert Seton of Halifax. Miss Sara Stanley was + bridesmaid, and Mr. Andrew Seton attended the groom. The young couple + received many handsome presents. Rev. Mr. Marwood tied the nuptial knot. + After the ceremony a substantial repast was served in Mrs. Alex King’s + well-known style and the happy couple left for their new home in Nova + Scotia. Their many friends join in wishing them a very happy and + prosperous journey through life. + </p> +<p class="pre"> + A precious one from us is gone,<br> + A voice we loved is stilled.<br> + A place is vacant in our home<br> + That never can be filled. +</p> + <p> + (THE STORY GIRL: “Goodness, that sounds as if somebody had died. I’ve seen + that verse on a tombstone. WHO wrote that notice?” FELICITY, WHO WROTE IT: + “I think it is just as appropriate to a wedding as to a funeral!”) + </p> + <p> + Our school concert came off on the evening of June 29th and was a great + success. We made ten dollars for the library. + </p> + <p> + We regret to chronicle that Miss Sara Ray met with a misfortune while + taking some violent exercise with a wasps’ nest recently. The moral is + that it is better not to monkey with a wasps’ nest, new or old. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. C. B. Hawkins of Baywater is keeping house for Uncle Roger. She is a + very large woman. Uncle Roger says he has to spend too much time walking + round her, but otherwise she is an excellent housekeeper. + </p> + <p> + It is reported that the school is haunted. A mysterious light was seen + there at two o’clock one night recently. + </p> + <p> + (THE STORY GIRL AND I EXCHANGE KNOWING SMILES BEHIND THE OTHERS’ BACKS.) + </p> + <p> + Dan and Felicity had a fight last Tuesday—not with fists but with + tongues. Dan came off best—as usual. (FELICITY LAUGHS + SARCASTICALLY.) + </p> + <p> + Mr. Newton Craig of Markdale returned home recently after a somewhat + prolonged visit in foreign parts. We are glad to welcome Mr. Craig back to + our midst. + </p> + <p> + Billy Robinson was hurt last week. A cow kicked him. I suppose it is + wicked of us to feel glad but we all do feel glad because of the way he + cheated us with the magic seed last summer. + </p> + <p> + On April 1st Uncle Roger sent Mr. Peter Craig to the manse to borrow the + biography of Adam’s grandfather. Mr. Marwood told Peter he didn’t think + Adam had any grandfather and advised him to go home and look at the + almanac. (PETER, SOURLY: “Your Uncle Roger thought he was pretty smart.” + FELICITY, SEVERELY: “Uncle Roger IS smart. It was so easy to fool you.”) + </p> + <p> + A pair of blue birds have built a nest in a hole in the sides of the well, + just under the ferns. We can see the eggs when we look down. They are so + cunning. + </p> + <p> + Felix sat down on a tack one day in May. Felix thinks house-cleaning is + great foolishness. + </p> + <p> + ADS. + </p> + <p> + LOST—STOLEN—OR STRAYED—A HEART. Finder will be rewarded + by returning same to Cyrus E. Brisk, Desk 7, Carlisle School. + </p> + <p> + LOST OR STOLEN. A piece of brown hair about three inches long and one inch + thick. Finder will kindly return to Miss Cecily King, Desk 15, Carlisle + School. + </p> + <p> + (CECILY: “Cyrus keeps my hair in his Bible for a bookmark, so Flossie + tells me. He says he means to keep it always for a remembrance though he + has given up hope.” DAN: “I’ll steal it out of his Bible in Sunday + School.” CECILY, BLUSHING: “Oh, let him keep it if it is any comfort to + him. Besides, it isn’t right to steal.” DAN: “He stole it.” CECILY: “But + Mr. Marwood says two wrongs never make a right.”) + </p> + <p> + HOUSEHOLD DEPARTMENT + </p> + <p> + Aunt Olivia’s wedding cake was said to be the best one of its kind ever + tasted in Carlisle. Me and mother made it. + </p> + <p> + ANXIOUS INQUIRER:—It is not advisable to curl your hair with + mucilage if you can get anything else. Quince juice is better. (CECILY, + BITTERLY: “I suppose I’ll never hear the last of that mucilage.” DAN: “Ask + her who used tooth-powder to raise biscuits?”) + </p> + <p> + We had rhubarb pies for the first time this spring last week. They were + fine but hard on the cream. + </p> +<p class="center"> + FELICITY KING. +</p> + <p> + ETIQUETTE DEPARTMENT + </p> + <p> + PATIENT SUFFERER:—What will I do when a young man steals a lock of + my hair? Ans.:—Grow some more. + </p> + <p> + No, F-l-x, a little caterpillar is not called a kittenpillar. (FELIX, + ENRAGED: “I never asked that! Dan just makes that etiquette column up from + beginning to end!” FELICITY: “I don’t see what that kind of a question has + to do with etiquette anyhow.”) + </p> + <p> + Yes, P-t-r, it is quite proper to treat a lady friend to ice cream twice + if you can afford it. + </p> + <p> + No, F-l-c-t-y, it is not ladylike to chew tobacco. Better stick to spruce + gum. + </p> +<p class="center"> + DAN KING. +</p> + <p> + FASHION NOTES + </p> + <p> + Frilled muslin aprons will be much worn this summer. It is no longer + fashionable to trim them with knitted lace. One pocket is considered + smart. + </p> + <p> + Clam-shells are fashionable keepsakes. You write your name and the date + inside one and your friend writes hers in the other and you exchange. + </p> +<p class="center"> + CECILY KING. +</p> + <p> + FUNNY PARAGRAPHS + </p> + <p> + MR. PERKINS:—“Peter, name the large islands of the world.” + </p> + <p> + PETER:—“The Island, the British Isles and Australia.” (PETER, + DEFIANTLY: “Well, Mr. Perkins said he guessed I was right, so you needn’t + laugh.”) + </p> + <p> + This is a true joke and really happened. It’s about Mr. Samuel Clask + again. He was once leading a prayer meeting and he looked through the + window and saw the constable driving up and guessed he was after him + because he was always in debt. So in a great hurry he called on Brother + Casey to lead in prayer and while Brother Casey was praying with his eyes + shut and everybody else had their heads bowed Mr. Clask got out of the + window and got away before the constable got in because he didn’t like to + come in till the prayer was finished. + </p> + <p> + Uncle Roger says it was a smart trick on Mr. Clask’s part, but I don’t + think there was much religion about it. + </p> +<p class="center"> + FELIX KING. +</p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br><br><br><br> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXI. PEG BOWEN COMES TO CHURCH + </h2> + <p> + When those of us who are still left of that band of children who played + long years ago in the old orchard and walked the golden road together in + joyous companionship, foregather now and again in our busy lives and talk + over the events of those many merry moons—there are some of our + adventures that gleam out more vividly in memory than the others, and are + oftener discussed. The time we bought God’s picture from Jerry Cowan—the + time Dan ate the poison berries—the time we heard the ghostly bell + ring—the bewitchment of Paddy—the visit of the Governor’s wife—and + the night we were lost in the storm—all awaken reminiscent jest and + laughter; but none more than the recollection of the Sunday Peg Bowen came + to church and sat in our pew. Though goodness knows, as Felicity would + say, we did not think it any matter for laughter at the time—far + from it. + </p> + <p> + It was one Sunday evening in July. Uncle Alec and Aunt Janet, having been + out to the morning service, did not attend in the evening, and we small + fry walked together down the long hill road, wearing Sunday attire and + trying, more or less successfully, to wear Sunday faces also. Those walks + to church, through the golden completeness of the summer evenings, were + always very pleasant to us, and we never hurried, though, on the other + hand, we were very careful not to be late. + </p> + <p> + This particular evening was particularly beautiful. It was cool after a + hot day, and wheat fields all about us were ripening to their harvestry. + The wind gossiped with the grasses along our way, and over them the + buttercups danced, goldenly-glad. Waves of sinuous shadow went over the + ripe hayfields, and plundering bees sang a freebooting lilt in wayside + gardens. + </p> + <p> + “The world is so lovely tonight,” said the Story Girl. “I just hate the + thought of going into the church and shutting all the sunlight and music + outside. I wish we could have the service outside in summer.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think that would be very religious,” said Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “I’d feel ever so much more religious outside than in,” retorted the Story + Girl. + </p> + <p> + “If the service was outside we’d have to sit in the graveyard and that + wouldn’t be very cheerful,” said Felix. + </p> + <p> + “Besides, the music isn’t shut out,” added Felicity. “The choir is + inside.” + </p> + <p> + “‘Music has charms to soothe a savage breast,’” quoted Peter, who was + getting into the habit of adorning his conversation with similar gems. + “That’s in one of Shakespeare’s plays. I’m reading them now, since I got + through with the Bible. They’re great.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t see when you get time to read them,” said Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I read them Sunday afternoons when I’m home.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t believe they’re fit to read on Sundays,” exclaimed Felicity. + “Mother says Valeria Montague’s stories ain’t.” + </p> + <p> + “But Shakespeare’s different from Valeria,” protested Peter. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t see in what way. He wrote a lot of things that weren’t true, just + like Valeria, and he wrote swear words too. Valeria never does that. Her + characters all talk in a very refined fashion.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I always skip the swear words,” said Peter. “And Mr. Marwood said + once that the Bible and Shakespeare would furnish any library well. So you + see he put them together, but I’m sure that he would never say that the + Bible and Valeria would make a library.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, all I know is, I shall never read Shakespeare on Sunday,” said + Felicity loftily. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder what kind of a preacher young Mr. Davidson is,” speculated + Cecily. + </p> + <p> + “Well, we’ll know when we hear him tonight,” said the Story Girl. “He + ought to be good, for his uncle before him was a fine preacher, though a + very absent-minded man. But Uncle Roger says the supply in Mr. Marwood’s + vacation never amounts to much. I know an awfully funny story about old + Mr. Davidson. He used to be the minister in Baywater, you know, and he had + a large family and his children were very mischievous. One day his wife + was ironing and she ironed a great big nightcap with a frill round it. One + of the children took it when she wasn’t looking and hid it in his father’s + best beaver hat—the one he wore on Sundays. When Mr. Davidson went + to church next Sunday he put the hat on without ever looking into the + crown. He walked to church in a brown study and at the door he took off + his hat. The nightcap just slipped down on his head, as if it had been put + on, and the frill stood out around his face and the string hung down his + back. But he never noticed it, because his thoughts were far away, and he + walked up the church aisle and into the pulpit, like that. One of his + elders had to tiptoe up and tell him what he had on his head. He plucked + it off in a dazed fashion, held it up, and looked at it. ‘Bless me, it is + Sally’s nightcap!’ he exclaimed mildly. ‘I do not know how I could have + got it on.’ Then he just stuffed it into his pocket calmly and went on + with the service, and the long strings of the nightcap hung down out of + his pocket all the time.” + </p> + <p> + “It seems to me,” said Peter, amid the laughter with which we greeted the + tale, “that a funny story is funnier when it is about a minister than it + is about any other man. I wonder why.” + </p> + <p> + “Sometimes I don’t think it is right to tell funny stories about + ministers,” said Felicity. “It certainly isn’t respectful.” + </p> + <p> + “A good story is a good story—no matter who it’s about,” said the + Story Girl with ungrammatical relish. + </p> + <p> + There was as yet no one in the church when we reached it, so we took our + accustomed ramble through the graveyard surrounding it. The Story Girl had + brought flowers for her mother’s grave as usual, and while she arranged + them on it the rest of us read for the hundredth time the epitaph on + Great-Grandfather King’s tombstone, which had been composed by + Great-Grandmother King. That epitaph was quite famous among the little + family traditions that entwine every household with mingled mirth and + sorrow, smiles and tears. It had a perennial fascination for us and we + read it over every Sunday. Cut deeply in the upright slab of red Island + sandstone, the epitaph ran as follows:— + </p> + <p> + SWEET DEPARTED SPIRIT + </p> +<p class="pre"> + Do receive the vows a grateful widow pays,<br> + Each future day and night shall hear her speak her Isaac’s praise.<br> + Though thy beloved form must in the grave decay<br> + Yet from her heart thy memory no time, no change shall steal away.<br> + Do thou from mansions of eternal bliss<br> + Remember thy distressed relict.<br> + Look on her with an angel’s love—<br> + Soothe her sad life and cheer her end<br> + Through this world’s dangers and its griefs.<br> + Then meet her with thy well-known smiles and welcome<br> + At the last great day. +</p> + <p> + “Well, I can’t make out what the old lady was driving at,” said Dan. + </p> + <p> + “That’s a nice way to speak of your great-grandmother,” said Felicity + severely. + </p> + <p> + “How does The Family Guide say you ought to speak of your great-grandma, + sweet one?” asked Dan. + </p> + <p> + “There is one thing about it that puzzles me,” remarked Cecily. “She calls + herself a GRATEFUL widow. Now, what was she grateful for?” + </p> + <p> + “Because she was rid of him at last,” said graceless Dan. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it couldn’t have been that,” protested Cecily seriously. “I’ve always + heard that Great-Grandfather and Great-Grandmother were very much attached + to each other.” + </p> + <p> + “Maybe, then, it means she was grateful that she’d had him as long as she + did,” suggested Peter. + </p> + <p> + “She was grateful to him because he had been so kind to her in life, I + think,” said Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “What is a ‘distressed relict’?” asked Felix. + </p> + <p> + “‘Relict’ is a word I hate,” said the Story Girl. “It sounds so much like + relic. Relict means just the same as widow, only a man can be a relict, + too.” + </p> + <p> + “Great-Grandmother seemed to run short of rhymes at the last of the + epitaph,” commented Dan. + </p> + <p> + “Finding rhymes isn’t as easy as you might think,” avowed Peter, out of + his own experience. + </p> + <p> + “I think Grandmother King intended the last of the epitaph to be in blank + verse,” said Felicity with dignity. + </p> + <p> + There was still only a sprinkling of people in the church when we went in + and took our places in the old-fashioned, square King pew. We had just got + comfortably settled when Felicity said in an agitated whisper, “Here is + Peg Bowen!” + </p> + <p> + We all stared at Peg, who was pacing composedly up the aisle. We might be + excused for so doing, for seldom were the decorous aisles of Carlisle + church invaded by such a figure. Peg was dressed in her usual short + drugget skirt, rather worn and frayed around the bottom, and a waist of + brilliant turkey red calico. She wore no hat, and her grizzled black hair + streamed in elf locks over her shoulders. Face, arms and feet were bare—and + face, arms and feet were liberally powdered with FLOUR. Certainly no one + who saw Peg that night could ever forget the apparition. + </p> + <p> + Peg’s black eyes, in which shone a more than usually wild and fitful + light, roved scrutinizingly over the church, then settled on our pew. + </p> + <p> + “She’s coming here,” whispered Felicity in horror. “Can’t we spread out + and make her think the pew is full?” + </p> + <p> + But the manoeuvre was too late. The only result was that Felicity and the + Story Girl in moving over left a vacant space between them and Peg + promptly plumped down in it. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I’m here,” she remarked aloud. “I did say once I’d never darken the + door of Carlisle church again, but what that boy there”—nodding at + Peter—“said last winter set me thinking, and I concluded maybe I’d + better come once in a while, to be on the safe side.” + </p> + <p> + Those poor girls were in an agony. Everybody in the church was looking at + our pew and smiling. We all felt that we were terribly disgraced; but we + could do nothing. Peg was enjoying herself hugely, beyond all doubt. From + where she sat she could see the whole church, including pulpit and + gallery, and her black eyes darted over it with restless glances. + </p> + <p> + “Bless me, there’s Sam Kinnaird,” she exclaimed, still aloud. “He’s the + man that dunned Jacob Marr for four cents on the church steps one Sunday. + I heard him. ‘I think, Jacob, you owe me four cents on that cow you bought + last fall. Rec’llect you couldn’t make the change?’ Well, you know, + ‘twould a-made a cat laugh. The Kinnairds were all mighty close, I can + tell you. That’s how they got rich.” + </p> + <p> + What Sam Kinnaird felt or thought during this speech, which everyone in + the church must have heard, I know not. Gossip had it that he changed + colour. We wretched occupants of the King pew were concerned only with our + own outraged feelings. + </p> + <p> + “And there’s Melita Ross,” went on Peg. “She’s got the same bonnet on she + had last time I was in Carlisle church six years ago. Some folks has the + knack of making things last. But look at the style Mrs. Elmer Brewer + wears, will yez? Yez wouldn’t think her mother died in the poor-house, + would yez, now?” + </p> + <p> + Poor Mrs. Brewer! From the tip of her smart kid shoes to the dainty + cluster of ostrich tips in her bonnet—she was most immaculately and + handsomely arrayed; but I venture to think she could have taken small + pleasure in her fashionable attire that evening. Some of the unregenerate, + including Dan, were shaking with suppressed laughter, but most of the + people looked as if they were afraid to smile, lest their turn should come + next. + </p> + <p> + “There’s old Stephen Grant coming in,” exclaimed Peg viciously, shaking + her floury fist at him, “and looking as if butter wouldn’t melt in his + mouth. He may be an elder, but he’s a scoundrel just the same. He set fire + to his house to get the insurance and then blamed ME for doing it. But I + got even with him for it. Oh, yes! He knows that, and so do I! He, he!” + </p> + <p> + Peg chuckled quite fiendishly and Stephen Grant tried to look as if + nothing had been said. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, will the minister never come?” moaned Felicity in my ear. “Surely + she’ll have to stop then.” + </p> + <p> + But the minister did not come and Peg had no intention of stopping. + </p> + <p> + “There’s Maria Dean.” she resumed. “I haven’t seen Maria for years. I + never call there for she never seems to have anything to eat in the house. + She was a Clayton and the Claytons never could cook. Maria sorter looks as + if she’d shrunk in the wash, now, don’t she? And there’s Douglas + Nicholson. His brother put rat poison in the family pancakes. Nice little + trick that, wasn’t it? They say it was by mistake. I hope it WAS a + mistake. His wife is all rigged out in silk. Yez wouldn’t think to look at + her she was married in cotton—and mighty thankful to get married in + anything, it’s my opinion. There’s Timothy Patterson. He’s the meanest man + alive—meaner’n Sam Kinnaird even. Timothy pays his children five + cents apiece to go without their suppers, and then steals the cents out of + their pockets after they’ve gone to bed. It’s a fact. And when his old + father died he wouldn’t let his wife put his best shirt on him. He said + his second best was plenty good to be buried in. That’s another fact.” + </p> + <p> + “I can’t stand much more of this,” wailed Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “See here, Miss Bowen, you really oughtn’t to talk like that about + people,” expostulated Peter in a low tone, goaded thereto, despite his awe + of Peg, by Felicity’s anguish. + </p> + <p> + “Bless you, boy,” said Peg good-humouredly, “the only difference between + me and other folks is that I say these things out loud and they just think + them. If I told yez all the things I know about the people in this + congregation you’d be amazed. Have a peppermint?” + </p> + <p> + To our horror Peg produced a handful of peppermint lozenges from the + pocket of her skirt and offered us one each. We did not dare refuse but we + each held our lozenge very gingerly in our hands. + </p> + <p> + “Eat them,” commanded Peg rather fiercely. + </p> + <p> + “Mother doesn’t allow us to eat candy in church,” faltered Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I’ve seen just as fine ladies as your ma give their children + lozenges in church,” said Peg loftily. She put a peppermint in her own + mouth and sucked it with gusto. We were relieved, for she did not talk + during the process; but our relief was of short duration. A bevy of three + very smartly dressed young ladies, sweeping past our pew, started Peg off + again. + </p> + <p> + “Yez needn’t be so stuck up,” she said, loudly and derisively. “Yez was + all of yez rocked in a flour barrel. And there’s old Henry Frewen, still + above ground. I called my parrot after him because their noses were + exactly alike. Look at Caroline Marr, will yez? That’s a woman who’d like + pretty well to get married, And there’s Alexander Marr. He’s a real + Christian, anyhow, and so’s his dog. I can always size up what a man’s + religion amounts to by the kind of dog he keeps. Alexander Marr is a good + man.” + </p> + <p> + It was a relief to hear Peg speak well of somebody; but that was the only + exception she made. + </p> + <p> + “Look at Dave Fraser strutting in,” she went on. “That man has thanked God + so often that he isn’t like other people that it’s come to be true. He + isn’t! And there’s Susan Frewen. She’s jealous of everybody. She’s even + jealous of Old Man Rogers because he’s buried in the best spot in the + graveyard. Seth Erskine has the same look he was born with. They say the + Lord made everybody but I believe the devil made all the Erskines.” + </p> + <p> + “She’s getting worse all the time. What WILL she say next?” whispered poor + Felicity. + </p> + <p> + But her martyrdom was over at last. The minister appeared in the pulpit + and Peg subsided into silence. She folded her bare, floury arms over her + breast and fastened her black eyes on the young preacher. Her behaviour + for the next half-hour was decorum itself, save that when the minister + prayed that we might all be charitable in judgment Peg ejaculated “Amen” + several times, loudly and forcibly, somewhat to the discomfiture of the + Young man, to whom Peg was a stranger. He opened his eyes, glanced at our + pew in a startled way, then collected himself and went on. + </p> + <p> + Peg listened to the sermon, silently and motionlessly, until Mr. Davidson + was half through. Then she suddenly got on her feet. + </p> + <p> + “This is too dull for me,” she exclaimed. “I want something more + exciting.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Davidson stopped short and Peg marched down the aisle in the midst of + complete silence. Half way down the aisle she turned around and faced the + minister. + </p> + <p> + “There are so many hypocrites in this church that it isn’t fit for decent + people to come to,” she said. “Rather than be such hypocrites as most of + you are it would be better for you to go miles into the woods and commit + suicide.” + </p> + <p> + Wheeling about, she strode to the door. Then she turned for a Parthian + shot. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve felt kind of worried for God sometimes, seeing He has so much to + attend to,” she said, “but I see I needn’t be, so long’s there’s plenty of + ministers to tell Him what to do.” + </p> + <p> + With that Peg shook the dust of Carlisle church from her feet. Poor Mr. + Davidson resumed his discourse. Old Elder Bayley, whose attention an + earthquake could not have distracted from the sermon, afterwards declared + that it was an excellent and edifying exhortation, but I doubt if anyone + else in Carlisle church tasted it much or gained much good therefrom. + Certainly we of the King household did not. We could not even remember the + text when we reached home. Felicity was comfortless. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Davidson would be sure to think she belonged to our family when she + was in our pew,” she said bitterly. “Oh, I feel as if I could never get + over such a mortification! Peter, I do wish you wouldn’t go telling people + they ought to go to church. It’s all your fault that this happened.” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind, it will be a good story to tell sometime,” remarked the Story + Girl with relish. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br><br><br><br> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXII. THE YANKEE STORM + </h2> + <p> + In an August orchard six children and a grown-up were sitting around the + pulpit stone. The grown-up was Miss Reade, who had been up to give the + girls their music lesson and had consented to stay to tea, much to the + rapture of the said girls, who continued to worship her with unabated and + romantic ardour. To us, over the golden grasses, came the Story Girl, + carrying in her hand a single large poppy, like a blood-red chalice filled + with the wine of August wizardry. She proffered it to Miss Reade and, as + the latter took it into her singularly slender, beautiful hand, I saw a + ring on her third finger. I noticed it, because I had heard the girls say + that Miss Reade never wore rings, not liking them. It was not a new ring; + it was handsome, but of an old-fashioned design and setting, with a glint + of diamonds about a central sapphire. Later on, when Miss Reade had gone, + I asked the Story Girl if she had noticed the ring. She nodded, but seemed + disinclined to say more about it. + </p> + <p> + “Look here, Sara,” I said, “there’s something about that ring—something + you know.” + </p> + <p> + “I told you once there was a story growing but you would have to wait + until it was fully grown,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + “Is Miss Reade going to marry anybody—anybody we know?” I persisted. + </p> + <p> + “Curiosity killed a cat,” observed the Story Girl coolly. “Miss Reade + hasn’t told me that she was going to marry anybody. You will find out all + that is good for you to know in due time.” + </p> + <p> + When the Story Girl put on grown-up airs I did not like her so well, and I + dropped the subject with a dignity that seemed to amuse her mightily. + </p> + <p> + She had been away for a week, visiting cousins in Markdale, and she had + come home with a new treasure-trove of stories, most of which she had + heard from the old sailors of Markdale Harbour. She had promised that + morning to tell us of “the most tragic event that had ever been known on + the north shore,” and we now reminded her of her promise. + </p> + <p> + “Some call it the ‘Yankee Storm,’ and others the ‘American Gale,’” she + began, sitting down by Miss Reade and beaming, because the latter put her + arm around her waist. “It happened nearly forty years ago, in October of + 1851. Old Mr. Coles at the Harbour told me all about it. He was a young + man then and he says he can never forget that dreadful time. You know in + those days hundreds of American fishing schooners used to come down to the + Gulf every summer to fish mackerel. On one beautiful Saturday night in + this October of 1851, more than one hundred of these vessels could be + counted from Markdale Capes. By Monday night more than seventy of them had + been destroyed. Those which had escaped were mostly those which went into + harbour Saturday night, to keep Sunday. Mr. Coles says the rest stayed + outside and fished all day Sunday, same as through the week, and HE says + the storm was a judgment on them for doing it. But he admits that even + some of them got into harbour later on and escaped, so it’s hard to know + what to think. But it is certain that on Sunday night there came up a + sudden and terrible storm—the worst, Mr. Coles says, that has ever + been known on the north shore. It lasted for two days and scores of + vessels were driven ashore and completely wrecked. The crews of most of + the vessels that went ashore on the sand beaches were saved, but those + that struck on the rocks went to pieces and all hands were lost. For weeks + after the storm the north shore was strewn with the bodies of drowned men. + Think of it! Many of them were unknown and unrecognizable, and they were + buried in Markdale graveyard. Mr. Coles says the schoolmaster who was in + Markdale then wrote a poem on the storm and Mr. Coles recited the first + two verses to me. + </p> +<p class="pre"> + “‘Here are the fishers’ hillside graves,<br> + The church beside, the woods around,<br> + Below, the hollow moaning waves<br> + Where the poor fishermen were drowned.<br> +<br> + “‘A sudden tempest the blue welkin tore,<br> + The seamen tossed and torn apart<br> + Rolled with the seaweed to the shore<br> + While landsmen gazed with aching heart.’ +</p> + <p> + “Mr. Coles couldn’t remember any more of it. But the saddest of all the + stories of the Yankee Storm was the one about the Franklin Dexter. The + Franklin Dexter went ashore on the Markdale Capes and all on board + perished, the Captain and three of his brothers among them. These four + young men were the sons of an old man who lived in Portland, Maine, and + when he heard what had happened he came right down to the Island to see if + he could find their bodies. They had all come ashore and had been buried + in Markdale graveyard; but he was determined to take them up and carry + them home for burial. He said he had promised their mother to take her + boys home to her and he must do it. So they were taken up and put on board + a sailing vessel at Markdale Harbour to be taken back to Maine, while the + father himself went home on a passenger steamer. The name of the sailing + vessel was the Seth Hall, and the captain’s name was Seth Hall, too. + Captain Hall was a dreadfully profane man and used to swear blood-curdling + oaths. On the night he sailed out of Markdale Harbour the old sailors + warned him that a storm was brewing and that it would catch him if he did + not wait until it was over. The captain had become very impatient because + of several delays he had already met with, and he was in a furious temper. + He swore a wicked oath that he would sail out of Markdale Harbour that + night and ‘God Almighty Himself shouldn’t catch him.’ He did sail out of + the harbour; and the storm did catch him, and the Seth Hall went down with + all hands, the dead and the living finding a watery grave together. So the + poor old mother up in Maine never had her boys brought back to her after + all. Mr. Coles says it seems as if it were foreordained that they should + not rest in a grave, but should lie beneath the waves until the day when + the sea gives up its dead.” + </p> +<p class="center"> + “‘They sleep as well beneath that purple tide<br> + As others under turf,’”<br> + </p> + <p> + quoted Miss Reade softly. “I am very thankful,” she added, “that I am not + one of those whose dear ones ‘go down to the sea in ships.’ It seems to me + that they have treble their share of this world’s heartache.” + </p> + <p> + “Uncle Stephen was a sailor and he was drowned,” said Felicity, “and they + say it broke Grandmother King’s heart. I don’t see why people can’t be + contented on dry land.” + </p> + <p> + Cecily’s tears had been dropping on the autograph quilt square she was + faithfully embroidering. She had been diligently collecting names for it + ever since the preceding autumn and had a goodly number; but Kitty Marr + had one more and this was certainly a fly in Cecily’s ointment. + </p> + <p> + “Besides, one I’ve got isn’t paid for—Peg Bowen’s,” she lamented, + “and I don’t suppose it ever will be, for I’ll never dare to ask her for + it.” + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn’t put it on at all,” said Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don’t dare not to. She’d be sure to find out I didn’t and then + she’d be very angry. I wish I could get just one more name and then I’d be + contented. But I don’t know of a single person who hasn’t been asked + already.” + </p> + <p> + “Except Mr. Campbell,” said Dan. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, of course nobody would ask Mr. Campbell. We all know it would be of + no use. He doesn’t believe in missions at all—in fact, he says he + detests the very mention of missions—and he never gives one cent to + them.” + </p> + <p> + “All the same, I think he ought to be asked, so that he wouldn’t have the + excuse that nobody DID ask him,” declared Dan. + </p> + <p> + “Do you really think so, Dan?” asked Cecily earnestly. + </p> + <p> + “Sure,” said Dan, solemnly. Dan liked to tease even Cecily a wee bit now + and then. + </p> + <p> + Cecily relapsed into anxious thought, and care sat visibly on her brow for + the rest of the day. Next morning she came to me and said: + </p> + <p> + “Bev, would you like to go for a walk with me this afternoon?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” I replied. “Any particular where?” + </p> + <p> + “I’m going to see Mr. Campbell and ask him for his name for my square,” + said Cecily resolutely. “I don’t suppose it will do any good. He wouldn’t + give anything to the library last summer, you remember, till the Story + Girl told him that story about his grandmother. She won’t go with me this + time—I don’t know why. I can’t tell a story and I’m frightened to + death just to think of going to him. But I believe it is my duty; and + besides I would love to get as many names on my square as Kitty Marr has. + So if you’ll go with me we’ll go this afternoon. I simply COULDN’T go + alone.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br><br><br><br> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIII. A MISSIONARY HEROINE + </h2> + <p> + Accordingly, that afternoon we bearded the lion in his den. The road we + took was a beautiful one, for we went “cross lots,” and we enjoyed it, in + spite of the fact that we did not expect the interview with Mr. Campbell + to be a very pleasant one. To be sure, he had been quite civil on the + occasion of our last call upon him, but the Story Girl had been with us + then and had beguiled him into good-humour and generosity by the magic of + her voice and personality. We had no such ally now, and Mr. Campbell was + known to be virulently opposed to missions in any shape or form. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know whether it would have been any better if I could have put on + my good clothes,” said Cecily, with a rueful glance at her print dress, + which, though neat and clean, was undeniably faded and RATHER short and + tight. “The Story Girl said it would, and I wanted to, but mother wouldn’t + let me. She said it was all nonsense, and Mr. Campbell would never notice + what I had on.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s my opinion that Mr. Campbell notices a good deal more than you’d + think for,” I said sagely. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I wish our call was over,” sighed Cecily. “I can’t tell you how I + dread it.” + </p> + <p> + “Now, see here, Sis,” I said cheerfully, “let’s not think about it till we + get there. It’ll only spoil our walk and do no good. Let’s just forget it + and enjoy ourselves.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll try,” agreed Cecily, “but it’s ever so much easier to preach than to + practise.” + </p> + <p> + Our way lay first over a hill top, gallantly plumed with golden rod, where + cloud shadows drifted over us like a gypsying crew. Carlisle, in all its + ripely tinted length and breadth, lay below us, basking in the August + sunshine, that spilled over the brim of the valley to the far-off Markdale + Harbour, cupped in its harvest-golden hills. + </p> + <p> + Then came a little valley overgrown with the pale purple bloom of thistles + and elusively haunted with their perfume. You say that thistles have no + perfume? Go you to a brook hollow where they grow some late summer + twilight at dewfall; and on the still air that rises suddenly to meet you + will come a waft of faint, aromatic fragrance, wondrously sweet and + evasive, the distillation of that despised thistle bloom. + </p> + <p> + Beyond this the path wound through a forest of fir, where a wood wind wove + its murmurous spell and a wood brook dimpled pellucidly among the shadows—the + dear, companionable, elfin shadows—that lurked under the low growing + boughs. Along the edges of that winding path grew banks of velvet green + moss, starred with clusters of pigeon berries. Pigeon berries are not to + be eaten. They are woolly, tasteless things. But they are to be looked at + in their glowing scarlet. They are the jewels with which the forest of + cone-bearers loves to deck its brown breast. Cecily gathered some and + pinned them on hers, but they did not become her. I thought how witching + the Story Girl’s brown curls would have looked twined with those brilliant + clusters. Perhaps Cecily was thinking of it, too, for she presently said, + </p> + <p> + “Bev, don’t you think the Story Girl is changing somehow?” + </p> + <p> + “There are times—just times—when she seems to belong more + among the grown-ups than among us,” I said, reluctantly, “especially when + she puts on her bridesmaid dress.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, she’s the oldest of us, and when you come to think of it, she’s + fifteen,—that’s almost grown-up,” sighed Cecily. Then she added, + with sudden vehemence, “I hate the thought of any of us growing up. + Felicity says she just longs to be grown-up, but I don’t, not a bit. I + wish I could just stay a little girl for ever—and have you and Felix + and all the others for playmates right along. I don’t know how it is—but + whenever I think of being grown-up I seem to feel tired.” + </p> + <p> + Something about Cecily’s speech—or the wistful look that had crept + into her sweet brown eyes—made me feel vaguely uncomfortable; I was + glad that we were at the end of our journey, with Mr. Campbell’s big house + before us, and his dog sitting gravely at the veranda steps. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, dear,” said Cecily, with a shiver, “I’d been hoping that dog wouldn’t + be around.” + </p> + <p> + “He never bites,” I assured her. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps he doesn’t, but he always looks as if he was going to,” rejoined + Cecily. + </p> + <p> + The dog continued to look, and, as we edged gingerly past him and up the + veranda steps, he turned his head and kept on looking. What with Mr. + Campbell before us and the dog behind, Cecily was trembling with + nervousness; but perhaps it was as well that the dour brute was there, + else I verily believe she would have turned and fled shamelessly when we + heard steps in the hall. + </p> + <p> + It was Mr. Campbell’s housekeeper who came to the door, however; she + ushered us pleasantly into the sitting-room where Mr. Campbell was + reading. He laid down his book with a slight frown and said nothing at all + in response to our timid “good afternoon.” But after we had sat for a few + minutes in wretched silence, wishing ourselves a thousand miles away, he + said, with a chuckle, + </p> + <p> + “Well, is it the school library again?” + </p> + <p> + Cecily had remarked as we were coming that what she dreaded most of all + was introducing the subject; but Mr. Campbell had given her a splendid + opening, and she plunged wildly in at once, rattling her explanation off + nervously with trembling voice and flushed cheeks. + </p> + <p> + “No, it’s our Mission Band autograph quilt, Mr. Campbell. There are to be + as many squares in it as there are members in the Band. Each one has a + square and is collecting names for it. If you want to have your name on + the quilt you pay five cents, and if you want to have it right in the + round spot in the middle of the square you must pay ten cents. Then when + we have got all the names we can we will embroider them on the squares. + The money is to go to the little girl our Band is supporting in Korea. I + heard that nobody had asked you, so I thought perhaps you would give me + your name for my square.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Campbell drew his black brows together in a scowl. + </p> + <p> + “Stuff and nonsense!” he exclaimed angrily. “I don’t believe in Foreign + Missions—don’t believe in them at all. I never give a cent to them.” + </p> + <p> + “Five cents isn’t a very large sum,” said Cecily earnestly. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Campbell’s scowl disappeared and he laughed. + </p> + <p> + “It wouldn’t break me,” he admitted, “but it’s the principle of the thing. + And as for that Mission Band of yours, if it wasn’t for the fun you get + out of it, catch one of you belonging. You don’t really care a rap more + for the heathen than I do.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, we do,” protested Cecily. “We do think of all the poor little + children in Korea, and we like to think we are helping them, if it’s ever + so little. We ARE in earnest, Mr. Campbell—indeed we are.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t believe it—don’t believe a word of it,” said Mr. Campbell + impolitely. “You’ll do things that are nice and interesting. You’ll get up + concerts, and chase people about for autographs and give money your + parents give you and that doesn’t cost you either time or labour. But you + wouldn’t do anything you disliked for the heathen children—you + wouldn’t make any real sacrifice for them—catch you!” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed we would,” cried Cecily, forgetting her timidity in her zeal. “I + just wish I had a chance to prove it to you.” + </p> + <p> + “You do, eh? Come, now, I’ll take you at your word. I’ll test you. + Tomorrow is Communion Sunday and the church will be full of folks and + they’ll all have their best clothes on. If you go to church tomorrow in + the very costume you have on at present, without telling anyone why you do + so, until it is all over, I’ll give you—why, I vow I’ll give you + five dollars for that quilt of yours.” + </p> + <p> + Poor Cecily! To go to church in a faded print dress, with a shabby little + old sun-hat and worn shoes! It was very cruel of Mr. Campbell. + </p> + <p> + “I—I don’t think mother would let me,” she faltered. + </p> + <p> + Her tormentor smiled grimly. + </p> + <p> + “It’s not hard to find some excuse,” he said sarcastically. + </p> + <p> + Cecily crimsoned and sat up facing Mr. Campbell spunkily. + </p> + <p> + “It’s NOT an excuse,” she said. “If mother will let me go to church like + this I’ll go. But I’ll have to tell HER why, Mr. Campbell, because I’m + certain she’d never let me if I didn’t.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you can tell all your own family,” said Mr. Campbell, “but remember, + none of them must tell it outside until Sunday is over. If they do, I’ll + be sure to find it out and then our bargain is off. If I see you in church + tomorrow, dressed as you are now, I’ll give you my name and five dollars. + But I won’t see you. You’ll shrink when you’ve had time to think it over.” + </p> + <p> + “I sha’n’t,” said Cecily resolutely. + </p> + <p> + “Well, we’ll see. And now come out to the barn with me. I’ve got the + prettiest little drove of calves out there you ever saw. I want you to see + them.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Campbell took us all over his barns and was very affable. He had + beautiful horses, cows and sheep, and I enjoyed seeing them. I don’t think + Cecily did, however. She was very quiet and even Mr. Campbell’s handsome + new span of dappled grays failed to arouse any enthusiasm in her. She was + already in bitter anticipation living over the martyrdom of the morrow. On + the way home she asked me seriously if I thought Mr. Campbell would go to + heaven when he died. + </p> + <p> + “Of course he will,” I said. “Isn’t he a member of the church?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, but I can’t imagine him fitting into heaven. You know he isn’t + really fond of anything but live stock.” + </p> + <p> + “He’s fond of teasing people, I guess,” I responded. “Are you really going + to church to-morrow in that dress, Sis?” + </p> + <p> + “If mother’ll let me I’ll have to,” said poor Cecily. “I won’t let Mr. + Campbell triumph over me. And I DO want to have as many names as Kitty + has. And I DO want to help the poor little Korean children. But it will be + simply dreadful. I don’t know whether I hope mother will or not.” + </p> + <p> + I did not believe she would, but Aunt Janet sometimes could be depended on + for the unexpected. She laughed and told Cecily she could please herself. + Felicity was in a rage over it, and declared SHE wouldn’t go to church if + Cecily went in such a rig. Dan sarcastically inquired if all she went to + church for was to show off her fine clothes and look at other people’s; + then they quarrelled and didn’t speak to each other for two days, much to + Cecily’s distress. + </p> + <p> + I suspect poor Sis wished devoutly that it might rain the next day; but it + was gloriously fine. We were all waiting in the orchard for the Story Girl + who had not begun to dress for church until Cecily and Felicity were + ready. Felicity was her prettiest in flower-trimmed hat, crisp muslin, + floating ribbons and trim black slippers. Poor Cecily stood beside her + mute and pale, in her faded school garb and heavy copper-toed boots. But + her face, if pale, was very determined. Cecily, having put her hand to the + plough, was not of those who turn back. + </p> + <p> + “You do look just awful,” said Felicity. “I don’t care—I’m going to + sit in Uncle James’ pew. I WON’T sit with you. There will be so many + strangers there, and all the Markdale people, and what will they think of + you? Some of them will never know the reason, either.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish the Story Girl would hurry,” was all poor Cecily said. “We’re + going to be late. It wouldn’t have been quite so hard if I could have got + there before anyone and slipped quietly into our pew.” + </p> + <p> + “Here she comes at last,” said Dan. “Why—what’s she got on?” + </p> + <p> + The Story Girl joined us with a quizzical smile on her face. Dan whistled. + Cecily’s pale cheeks flushed with understanding and gratitude. The Story + Girl wore her school print dress and hat also, and was gloveless and heavy + shod. + </p> + <p> + “You’re not going to have to go through this all alone, Cecily,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it won’t be half so hard now,” said Cecily, with a long breath of + relief. + </p> + <p> + I fancy it was hard enough even then. The Story Girl did not care a whit, + but Cecily rather squirmed under the curious glances that were cast at + her. She afterwards told me that she really did not think she could have + endured it if she had been alone. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Campbell met us under the elms in the churchyard, with a twinkle in + his eye. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you did it, Miss,” he said to Cecily, “but you should have been + alone. That was what I meant. I suppose you think you’ve cheated me + nicely.” + </p> + <p> + “No, she doesn’t,” spoke up the Story Girl undauntedly. “She was all + dressed and ready to come before she knew I was going to dress the same + way. So she kept her bargain faithfully, Mr. Campbell, and I think you + were cruel to make her do it.” + </p> + <p> + “You do, eh? Well, well, I hope you’ll forgive me. I didn’t think she’d do + it—I was sure feminine vanity would win the day over missionary + zeal. It seems it didn’t—though how much was pure missionary zeal + and how much just plain King spunk I’m doubtful. I’ll keep my promise, + Miss. You shall have your five dollars, and mind you put my name in the + round space. No five-cent corners for me.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br><br><br><br> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIV. A TANTALIZING REVELATION + </h2> + <p> + “I shall have something to tell you in the orchard this evening,” said the + Story Girl at breakfast one morning. Her eyes were very bright and + excited. She looked as if she had not slept a great deal. She had spent + the previous evening with Miss Reade and had not returned until the rest + of us were in bed. Miss Reade had finished giving music lessons and was + going home in a few days. Cecily and Felicity were in despair over this + and mourned as those without comfort. But the Story Girl, who had been + even more devoted to Miss Reade than either of them, had not, as I + noticed, expressed any regret and seemed to be very cheerful over the + whole matter. + </p> + <p> + “Why can’t you tell it now?” asked Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “Because the evening is the nicest time to tell things in. I only + mentioned it now so that you would have something interesting to look + forward to all day.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it about Miss Reade?” asked Cecily. + </p> + <p> + “Never mind.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll bet she’s going to be married,” I exclaimed, remembering the ring. + </p> + <p> + “Is she?” cried Felicity and Cecily together. + </p> + <p> + The Story Girl threw an annoyed glance at me. She did not like to have her + dramatic announcements forestalled. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t say that it is about Miss Reade or that it isn’t. You must just + wait till the evening.” + </p> + <p> + “I wonder what it is,” speculated Cecily, as the Story Girl left the room. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t believe it’s much of anything,” said Felicity, beginning to clear + away the breakfast dishes. “The Story Girl always likes to make so much + out of so little. Anyhow, I don’t believe Miss Reade is going to be + married. She hasn’t any beaus around here and Mrs. Armstrong says she’s + sure she doesn’t correspond with anybody. Besides, if she was she wouldn’t + be likely to tell the Story Girl.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, she might. They’re such friends, you know,” said Cecily. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Reade is no better friends with her than she is with me and you,” + retorted Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “No, but sometimes it seems to me that she’s a different kind of friend + with the Story Girl than she is with me and you,” reflected Cecily. “I + can’t just explain what I mean.” + </p> + <p> + “No wonder. Such nonsense,” sniffed Felicity. “It’s only some girl’s + secret, anyway,” said Dan, loftily. “I don’t feel much interest in it.” + </p> + <p> + But he was on hand with the rest of us that evening, interest or no + interest, in Uncle Stephen’s Walk, where the ripening apples were + beginning to glow like jewels among the boughs. + </p> + <p> + “Now, are you going to tell us your news?” asked Felicity impatiently. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Reade IS going to be married,” said the Story Girl. “She told me so + last night. She is going to be married in a fortnight’s time.” + </p> + <p> + “Who to?” exclaimed the girls. + </p> + <p> + “To”—the Story Girl threw a defiant glance at me as if to say, “You + can’t spoil the surprise of THIS, anyway,”—“to—the Awkward + Man.” + </p> + <p> + For a few moments amazement literally held us dumb. + </p> + <p> + “You’re not in earnest, Sara Stanley?” gasped Felicity at last. + </p> + <p> + “Indeed I am. I thought you’d be astonished. But I wasn’t. I’ve suspected + it all summer, from little things I’ve noticed. Don’t you remember that + evening last spring when I went a piece with Miss Reade and told you when + I came back that a story was growing? I guessed it from the way the + Awkward Man looked at her when I stopped to speak to him over his garden + fence.” + </p> + <p> + “But—the Awkward Man!” said Felicity helplessly. “It doesn’t seem + possible. Did Miss Reade tell you HERSELF?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose it must be true then. But how did it ever come about? He’s SO + shy and awkward. How did he ever manage to get up enough spunk to ask her + to marry him?” + </p> + <p> + “Maybe she asked him,” suggested Dan. + </p> + <p> + The Story Girl looked as if she might tell if she would. + </p> + <p> + “I believe that WAS the way of it,” I said, to draw her on. + </p> + <p> + “Not exactly,” she said reluctantly. “I know all about it but I can’t tell + you. I guessed part from things I’ve seen—and Miss Reade told me a + good deal—and the Awkward Man himself told me his side of it as we + came home last night. I met him just as I left Mr. Armstrong’s and we were + together as far as his house. It was dark and he just talked on as if he + were talking to himself—I think he forgot I was there at all, once + he got started. He has never been shy or awkward with me, but he never + talked as he did last night.” + </p> + <p> + “You might tell us what he said,” urged Cecily. “We’d never tell.” + </p> + <p> + The Story Girl shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “No, I can’t. You wouldn’t understand. Besides, I couldn’t tell it just + right. It’s one of the things that are hardest to tell. I’d spoil it if I + told it—now. Perhaps some day I’ll be able to tell it properly. It’s + very beautiful—but it might sound very ridiculous if it wasn’t told + just exactly the right way.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know what you mean, and I don’t believe you know yourself,” said + Felicity pettishly. “All that I can make out is that Miss Reade is going + to marry Jasper Dale, and I don’t like the idea one bit. She is so + beautiful and sweet. I thought she’d marry some dashing young man. Jasper + Dale must be nearly twenty years older than her—and he’s so queer + and shy—and such a hermit.” + </p> + <p> + “Miss Reade is perfectly happy,” said the Story Girl. “She thinks the + Awkward Man is lovely—and so he is. You don’t know him, but I do.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you needn’t put on such airs about it,” sniffed Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “I am not putting on any airs. But it’s true. Miss Reade and I are the + only people in Carlisle who really know the Awkward Man. Nobody else ever + got behind his shyness to find out just what sort of a man he is.” + </p> + <p> + “When are they to be married?” asked Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “In a fortnight’s time. And then they are coming right back to live at + Golden Milestone. Won’t it be lovely to have Miss Reade always so near + us?” + </p> + <p> + “I wonder what she’ll think about the mystery of Golden Milestone,” + remarked Felicity. + </p> + <p> + Golden Milestone was the beautiful name the Awkward Man had given his + home; and there was a mystery about it, as readers of the first volume of + these chronicles will recall. + </p> + <p> + “She knows all about the mystery and thinks it perfectly lovely—and + so do I,” said the Story Girl. + </p> + <p> + “Do YOU know the secret of the locked room?” cried Cecily. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, the Awkward Man told me all about it last night. I told you I’d find + out the mystery some time.” + </p> + <p> + “And what is it?” + </p> + <p> + “I can’t tell you that either.” + </p> + <p> + “I think you’re hateful and mean,” exclaimed Felicity. “It hasn’t anything + to do with Miss Reade, so I think you might tell us.” + </p> + <p> + “It has something to do with Miss Reade. It’s all about her.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don’t see how that can be when the Awkward Man never saw or heard + of Miss Reade until she came to Carlisle in the spring,” said Felicity + incredulously, “and he’s had that locked room for years.” + </p> + <p> + “I can’t explain it to you—but it’s just as I’ve said,” responded + the Story Girl. + </p> + <p> + “Well, it’s a very queer thing,” retorted Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “The name in the books in the room was Alice—and Miss Reade’s name + is Alice,” marvelled Cecily. “Did he know her before she came here?” + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Griggs says that room has been locked for ten years. Ten years ago + Miss Reade was just a little girl of ten. SHE couldn’t be the Alice of the + books,” argued Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder if she’ll wear the blue silk dress,” said Sara Ray. + </p> + <p> + “And what will she do about the picture, if it isn’t hers?” added Cecily. + </p> + <p> + “The picture couldn’t be hers, or Mrs. Griggs would have known her for the + same when she came to Carlisle,” said Felix. + </p> + <p> + “I’m going to stop wondering about it,” exclaimed Felicity crossly, + aggravated by the amused smile with which the Story Girl was listening to + the various speculations. “I think Sara is just as mean as mean when she + won’t tell us.” + </p> + <p> + “I can’t,” repeated the Story Girl patiently. + </p> + <p> + “You said one time you had an idea who ‘Alice’ was,” I said. “Was your + idea anything like the truth?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I guessed pretty nearly right.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you suppose they’ll keep the room locked after they are married?” + asked Cecily. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no. I can tell you that much. It is to be Miss Reade’s own particular + sitting room.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, then, perhaps we’ll see it some time ourselves, when we go to see + Miss Reade,” cried Cecily. + </p> + <p> + “I’d be frightened to go into it,” confessed Sara Ray. “I hate things with + mysteries. They always make me nervous.” + </p> + <p> + “I love them. They’re so exciting,” said the Story Girl. + </p> + <p> + “Just think, this will be the second wedding of people we know,” reflected + Cecily. “Isn’t that interesting?” + </p> + <p> + “I only hope the next thing won’t be a funeral,” remarked Sara Ray + gloomily. “There were three lighted lamps on our kitchen table last night, + and Judy Pineau says that’s a sure sign of a funeral.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, there are funerals going on all the time,” said Dan. + </p> + <p> + “But it means the funeral of somebody you know. I don’t believe in it—MUCH—but + Judy says she’s seen it come true time and again. I hope if it does it + won’t be anybody we know very well. But I hope it’ll be somebody I know a + LITTLE, because then I might get to the funeral. I’d just love to go to a + funeral.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s a dreadful thing to say,” commented Felicity in a shocked tone. + </p> + <p> + Sara Ray looked bewildered. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t see what is dreadful in it,” she protested. + </p> + <p> + “People don’t go to funerals for the fun of it,” said Felicity severely. + “And you just as good as said you hoped somebody you knew would die so + you’d get to the funeral.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no, I didn’t. I didn’t mean that AT ALL, Felicity. I don’t want + anybody to die; but what I meant was, if anybody I knew HAD to die there + might be a chance to go to the funeral. I’ve never been to a single + funeral yet, and it must be so interesting.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, don’t mix up talk about funerals with talk about weddings,” said + Felicity. “It isn’t lucky. I think Miss Reade is simply throwing herself + away, but I hope she’ll be happy. And I hope the Awkward Man will manage + to get married without making some awful blunder, but it’s more than I + expect.” + </p> + <p> + “The ceremony is to be very private,” said the Story Girl. + </p> + <p> + “I’d like to see them the day they appear out in church,” chuckled Dan. + “How’ll he ever manage to bring her in and show her into the pew? I’ll bet + he’ll go in first—or tramp on her dress—or fall over his + feet.” + </p> + <p> + “Maybe he won’t go to church at all the first Sunday and she’ll have to go + alone,” said Peter. “That happened in Markdale. A man was too bashful to + go to church the first time after getting married, and his wife went alone + till he got used to the idea.” + </p> + <p> + “They may do things like that in Markdale but that is not the way people + behave in Carlisle,” said Felicity loftily. + </p> + <p> + Seeing the Story Girl slipping away with a disapproving face I joined her. + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter, Sara?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “I hate to hear them talking like that about Miss Reade and Mr. Dale,” she + answered vehemently. “It’s really all so beautiful—but they make it + seem silly and absurd, somehow.” + </p> + <p> + “You might tell me all about it, Sara,” I insinuated. “I wouldn’t tell—and + I’d understand.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I think you would,” she said thoughtfully. “But I can’t tell it even + to you because I can’t tell it well enough yet. I’ve a feeling that + there’s only one way to tell it—and I don’t know the way yet. Some + day I’ll know it—and then I’ll tell you, Bev.” + </p> + <p> + Long, long after she kept her word. Forty years later I wrote to her, + across the leagues of land and sea that divided us, and told her that + Jasper Dale was dead; and I reminded her of her old promise and asked its + fulfilment. In reply she sent me the written love story of Jasper Dale and + Alice Reade. Now, when Alice sleeps under the whispering elms of the old + Carlisle churchyard, beside the husband of her youth, that story may be + given, in all its old-time sweetness, to the world. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br><br><br><br> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXV. THE LOVE STORY OF THE AWKWARD MAN + </h2> + <h3> + (Written by the Story Girl) + </h3> + <p> + Jasper Dale lived alone in the old homestead which he had named Golden + Milestone. In Carlisle this giving one’s farm a name was looked upon as a + piece of affectation; but if a place must be named why not give it a + sensible name with some meaning to it? Why Golden Milestone, when Pinewood + or Hillslope or, if you wanted to be very fanciful, Ivy Lodge, might be + had for the taking? + </p> + <p> + He had lived alone at Golden Milestone since his mother’s death; he had + been twenty then and he was close upon forty now, though he did not look + it. But neither could it be said that he looked young; he had never at any + time looked young with common youth; there had always been something in + his appearance that stamped him as different from the ordinary run of men, + and, apart from his shyness, built up an intangible, invisible barrier + between him and his kind. He had lived all his life in Carlisle; and all + the Carlisle people knew of or about him—although they thought they + knew everything—was that he was painfully, abnormally shy. He never + went anywhere except to church; he never took part in Carlisle’s simple + social life; even with most men he was distant and reserved; as for women, + he never spoke to or looked at them; if one spoke to him, even if she were + a matronly old mother in Israel, he was at once in an agony of painful + blushes. He had no friends in the sense of companions; to all outward + appearance his life was solitary and devoid of any human interest. + </p> + <p> + He had no housekeeper; but his old house, furnished as it had been in his + mother’s lifetime, was cleanly and daintily kept. The quaint rooms were as + free from dust and disorder as a woman could have had them. This was + known, because Jasper Dale occasionally had his hired man’s wife, Mrs. + Griggs, in to scrub for him. On the morning she was expected he betook + himself to woods and fields, returning only at night-fall. During his + absence Mrs. Griggs was frankly wont to explore the house from cellar to + attic, and her report of its condition was always the same—“neat as + wax.” To be sure, there was one room that was always locked against her, + the west gable, looking out on the garden and the hill of pines beyond. + But Mrs. Griggs knew that in the lifetime of Jasper Dale’s mother it had + been unfurnished. She supposed it still remained so, and felt no especial + curiosity concerning it, though she always tried the door. + </p> + <p> + Jasper Dale had a good farm, well cultivated; he had a large garden where + he worked most of his spare time in summer; it was supposed that he read a + great deal, since the postmistress declared that he was always getting + books and magazines by mail. He seemed well contented with his existence + and people let him alone, since that was the greatest kindness they could + do him. It was unsupposable that he would ever marry; nobody ever had + supposed it. + </p> + <p> + “Jasper Dale never so much as THOUGHT about a woman,” Carlisle oracles + declared. Oracles, however, are not always to be trusted. + </p> + <p> + One day Mrs. Griggs went away from the Dale place with a very curious + story, which she diligently spread far and wide. It made a good deal of + talk, but people, although they listened eagerly, and wondered and + questioned, were rather incredulous about it. They thought Mrs. Griggs + must be drawing considerably upon her imagination; there were not lacking + those who declared that she had invented the whole account, since her + reputation for strict veracity was not wholly unquestioned. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Griggs’s story was as follows:— + </p> + <p> + One day she found the door of the west gable unlocked. She went in, + expecting to see bare walls and a collection of odds and ends. Instead she + found herself in a finely furnished room. Delicate lace curtains hung + before the small, square, broad-silled windows. The walls were adorned + with pictures in much finer taste than Mrs. Griggs could appreciate. There + was a bookcase between the windows filled with choicely bound books. + Beside it stood a little table with a very dainty work-basket on it. By + the basket Mrs. Griggs saw a pair of tiny scissors and a silver thimble. A + wicker rocker, comfortable with silk cushions, was near it. Above the + bookcase a woman’s picture hung—a water-colour, if Mrs. Griggs had + but known it—representing a pale, very sweet face, with large, dark + eyes and a wistful expression under loose masses of black, lustrous hair. + Just beneath the picture, on the top shelf of the bookcase, was a vaseful + of flowers. Another vaseful stood on the table beside the basket. + </p> + <p> + All this was astonishing enough. But what puzzled Mrs. Griggs completely + was the fact that a woman’s dress was hanging over a chair before the + mirror—a pale blue, silken affair. And on the floor beside it were + two little blue satin slippers! + </p> + <p> + Good Mrs. Griggs did not leave the room until she had thoroughly explored + it, even to shaking out the blue dress and discovering it to be a tea-gown—wrapper, + she called it. But she found nothing to throw any light on the mystery. + The fact that the simple name “Alice” was written on the fly-leaves of all + the books only deepened it, for it was a name unknown in the Dale family. + In this puzzled state she was obliged to depart, nor did she ever find the + door unlocked again; and, discovering that people thought she was + romancing when she talked about the mysterious west gable at Golden + Milestone, she indignantly held her peace concerning the whole affair. + </p> + <p> + But Mrs. Griggs had told no more than the simple truth. Jasper Dale, under + all his shyness and aloofness, possessed a nature full of delicate romance + and poesy, which, denied expression in the common ways of life, bloomed + out in the realm of fancy and imagination. Left alone, just when the boy’s + nature was deepening into the man’s, he turned to this ideal kingdom for + all he believed the real world could never give him. Love—a strange, + almost mystical love—played its part here for him. He shadowed forth + to himself the vision of a woman, loving and beloved; he cherished it + until it became almost as real to him as his own personality and he gave + this dream woman the name he liked best—Alice. In fancy he walked + and talked with her, spoke words of love to her, and heard words of love + in return. When he came from work at the close of day she met him at his + threshold in the twilight—a strange, fair, starry shape, as elusive + and spiritual as a blossom reflected in a pool by moonlight—with + welcome on her lips and in her eyes. + </p> + <p> + One day, when he was in Charlottetown on business, he had been struck by a + picture in the window of a store. It was strangely like the woman of his + dream love. He went in, awkward and embarrassed, and bought it. When he + took it home he did not know where to put it. It was out of place among + the dim old engravings of bewigged portraits and conventional landscapes + on the walls of Golden Milestone. As he pondered the matter in his garden + that evening he had an inspiration. The sunset, flaming on the windows of + the west gable, kindled them into burning rose. Amid the splendour he + fancied Alice’s fair face peeping archly down at him from the room. The + inspiration came then. It should be her room; he would fit it up for her; + and her picture should hang there. + </p> + <p> + He was all summer carrying out his plan. Nobody must know or suspect, so + he must go slowly and secretly. One by one the furnishings were purchased + and brought home under cover of darkness. He arranged them with his own + hands. He bought the books he thought she would like best and wrote her + name in them; he got the little feminine knick-knacks of basket and + thimble. Finally he saw in a store a pale blue tea-gown and the satin + slippers. He had always fancied her as dressed in blue. He bought them and + took them home to her room. Thereafter it was sacred to her; he always + knocked on its door before he entered; he kept it sweet with fresh + flowers; he sat there in the purple summer evenings and talked aloud to + her or read his favourite books to her. In his fancy she sat opposite to + him in her rocker, clad in the trailing blue gown, with her head leaning + on one slender hand, as white as a twilight star. + </p> + <p> + But Carlisle people knew nothing of this—would have thought him + tinged with mild lunacy if they had known. To them, he was just the shy, + simple farmer he appeared. They never knew or guessed at the real Jasper + Dale. + </p> + <p> + One spring Alice Reade came to teach music in Carlisle. Her pupils + worshipped her, but the grown people thought she was rather too distant + and reserved. They had been used to merry, jolly girls who joined eagerly + in the social life of the place. Alice Reade held herself aloof from it—not + disdainfully, but as one to whom these things were of small importance. + She was very fond of books and solitary rambles; she was not at all shy + but she was as sensitive as a flower; and after a time Carlisle people + were content to let her live her own life and no longer resented her + unlikeness to themselves. + </p> + <p> + She boarded with the Armstrongs, who lived beyond Golden Milestone around + the hill of pines. Until the snow disappeared she went out to the main + road by the long Armstrong lane; but when spring came she was wont to take + a shorter way, down the pine hill, across the brook, past Jasper Dale’s + garden, and out through his lane. And one day, as she went by, Jasper Dale + was working in his garden. + </p> + <p> + He was on his knees in a corner, setting out a bunch of roots—an + unsightly little tangle of rainbow possibilities. It was a still spring + morning; the world was green with young leaves; a little wind blew down + from the pines and lost itself willingly among the budding delights of the + garden. The grass opened eyes of blue violets. The sky was high and + cloudless, turquoise-blue, shading off into milkiness on the far horizons. + Birds were singing along the brook valley. Rollicking robins were + whistling joyously in the pines. Jasper Dale’s heart was filled to + over-flowing with a realization of all the virgin loveliness around him; + the feeling in his soul had the sacredness of a prayer. At this moment he + looked up and saw Alice Reade. + </p> + <p> + She was standing outside the garden fence, in the shadow of a great pine + tree, looking not at him, for she was unaware of his presence, but at the + virginal bloom of the plum trees in a far corner, with all her delight in + it outblossoming freely in her face. For a moment Jasper Dale believed + that his dream love had taken visible form before him. She was like—so + like; not in feature, perhaps, but in grace and colouring—the grace + of a slender, lissome form and the colouring of cloudy hair and wistful, + dark gray eyes, and curving red mouth; and more than all, she was like her + in expression—in the subtle revelation of personality exhaling from + her like perfume from a flower. It was as if his own had come to him at + last and his whole soul suddenly leaped out to meet and welcome her. + </p> + <p> + Then her eyes fell upon him and the spell was broken. Jasper remained + kneeling mutely there, shy man once more, crimson with blushes, a strange, + almost pitiful creature in his abject confusion. A little smile flickered + about the delicate corners of her mouth, but she turned and walked swiftly + away down the lane. + </p> + <p> + Jasper looked after her with a new, painful sense of loss and loveliness. + It had been agony to feel her conscious eyes upon him, but he realized now + that there had been a strange sweetness in it, too. It was still greater + pain to watch her going from him. + </p> + <p> + He thought she must be the new music teacher but he did not even know her + name. She had been dressed in blue, too—a pale, dainty blue; but + that was of course; he had known she must wear it; and he was sure her + name must be Alice. When, later on, he discovered that it was, he felt no + surprise. + </p> + <p> + He carried some mayflowers up to the west gable and put them under the + picture. But the charm had gone out of the tribute; and looking at the + picture, he thought how scant was the justice it did her. Her face was so + much sweeter, her eyes so much softer, her hair so much more lustrous. The + soul of his love had gone from the room and from the picture and from his + dreams. When he tried to think of the Alice he loved he saw, not the + shadowy spirit occupant of the west gable, but the young girl who had + stood under the pine, beautiful with the beauty of moonlight, of starshine + on still water, of white, wind-swayed flowers growing in silent, shadowy + places. He did not then realize what this meant: had he realized it he + would have suffered bitterly; as it was he felt only a vague discomfort—a + curious sense of loss and gain commingled. + </p> + <p> + He saw her again that afternoon on her way home. She did not pause by the + garden but walked swiftly past. Thereafter, every day for a week he + watched unseen to see her pass his home. Once a little child was with her, + clinging to her hand. No child had ever before had any part in the shy + man’s dream life. But that night in the twilight the vision of the + rocking-chair was a girl in a blue print dress, with a little, + golden-haired shape at her knee—a shape that lisped and prattled and + called her “mother;” and both of them were his. + </p> + <p> + It was the next day that he failed for the first time to put flowers in + the west gable. Instead, he cut a loose handful of daffodils and, looking + furtively about him as if committing a crime, he laid them across the + footpath under the pine. She must pass that way; her feet would crush them + if she failed to see them. Then he slipped back into his garden, half + exultant, half repentant. From a safe retreat he saw her pass by and stoop + to lift his flowers. Thereafter he put some in the same place every day. + </p> + <p> + When Alice Reade saw the flowers she knew at once who had put them there, + and divined that they were for her. She lifted them tenderly in much + surprise and pleasure. She had heard all about Jasper Dale and his + shyness; but before she had heard about him she had seen him in church and + liked him. She thought his face and his dark blue eyes beautiful; she even + liked the long brown hair that Carlisle people laughed at. That he was + quite different from other people she had understood at once, but she + thought the difference in his favour. Perhaps her sensitive nature divined + and responded to the beauty in his. At least, in her eyes Jasper Dale was + never a ridiculous figure. + </p> + <p> + When she heard the story of the west gable, which most people disbelieved, + she believed it, although she did not understand it. It invested the shy + man with interest and romance. She felt that she would have liked, out of + no impertinent curiosity, to solve the mystery; she believed that it + contained the key to his character. + </p> + <p> + Thereafter, every day she found flowers under the pine tree; she wished to + see Jasper to thank him, unaware that he watched her daily from the screen + of shrubbery in his garden; but it was some time before she found the + opportunity. One evening she passed when he, not expecting her, was + leaning against his garden fence with a book in his hand. She stopped + under the pine. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Dale,” she said softly, “I want to thank you for your flowers.” + </p> + <p> + Jasper, startled, wished that he might sink into the ground. His anguish + of embarrassment made her smile a little. He could not speak, so she went + on gently. + </p> + <p> + “It has been so good of you. They have given me so much pleasure—I + wish you could know how much.” + </p> + <p> + “It was nothing—nothing,” stammered Jasper. His book had fallen on + the ground at her feet, and she picked it up and held it out to him. + </p> + <p> + “So you like Ruskin,” she said. “I do, too. But I haven’t read this.” + </p> + <p> + “If you—would care—to read it—you may have it,” Jasper + contrived to say. + </p> + <p> + She carried the book away with her. He did not again hide when she passed, + and when she brought the book back they talked a little about it over the + fence. He lent her others, and got some from her in return; they fell into + the habit of discussing them. Jasper did not find it hard to talk to her + now; it seemed as if he were talking to his dream Alice, and it came + strangely natural to him. He did not talk volubly, but Alice thought what + he did say was worth while. His words lingered in her memory and made + music. She always found his flowers under the pine, and she always wore + some of them, but she did not know if he noticed this or not. + </p> + <p> + One evening Jasper walked shyly with her from his gate up the pine hill. + After that he always walked that far with her. She would have missed him + much if he had failed to do so; yet it did not occur to her that she was + learning to love him. She would have laughed with girlish scorn at the + idea. She liked him very much; she thought his nature beautiful in its + simplicity and purity; in spite of his shyness she felt more delightfully + at home in his society than in that of any other person she had ever met. + He was one of those rare souls whose friendship is at once a pleasure and + a benediction, showering light from their own crystal clearness into all + the dark corners in the souls of others, until, for the time being at + least, they reflected his own nobility. But she never thought of love. + Like other girls she had her dreams of a possible Prince Charming, young + and handsome and debonair. It never occurred to her that he might be found + in the shy, dreamy recluse of Golden Milestone. + </p> + <p> + In August came a day of gold and blue. Alice Reade, coming through the + trees, with the wind blowing her little dark love-locks tricksily about + under her wide blue hat, found a fragrant heap of mignonette under the + pine. She lifted it and buried her face in it, drinking in the wholesome, + modest perfume. + </p> + <p> + She had hoped Jasper would be in his garden, since she wished to ask him + for a book she greatly desired to read. But she saw him sitting on the + rustic seat at the further side. His back was towards her, and he was + partially screened by a copse of lilacs. + </p> + <p> + Alice, blushing slightly, unlatched the garden gate, and went down the + path. She had never been in the garden before, and she found her heart + beating in a strange fashion. + </p> + <p> + He did not hear her footsteps, and she was close behind him when she heard + his voice, and realized that he was talking to himself, in a low, dreamy + tone. As the meaning of his words dawned on her consciousness she started + and grew crimson. She could not move or speak; as one in a dream she stood + and listened to the shy man’s reverie, guiltless of any thought of + eavesdropping. + </p> + <p> + “How much I love you, Alice,” Jasper Dale was saying, unafraid, with no + shyness in voice or manner. “I wonder what you would say if you knew. You + would laugh at me—sweet as you are, you would laugh in mockery. I + can never tell you. I can only dream of telling you. In my dream you are + standing here by me, dear. I can see you very plainly, my sweet lady, so + tall and gracious, with your dark hair and your maiden eyes. I can dream + that I tell you my love; that—maddest, sweetest dream of all—that + you love me in return. Everything is possible in dreams, you know, dear. + My dreams are all I have, so I go far in them, even to dreaming that you + are my wife. I dream how I shall fix up my dull old house for you. One + room will need nothing more—it is your room, dear, and has been + ready for you a long time—long before that day I saw you under the + pine. Your books and your chair and your picture are there, dear—only + the picture is not half lovely enough. But the other rooms of the house + must be made to bloom out freshly for you. What a delight it is thus to + dream of what I would do for you! Then I would bring you home, dear, and + lead you through my garden and into my house as its mistress. I would see + you standing beside me in the old mirror at the end of the hall—a + bride, in your pale blue dress, with a blush on your face. I would lead + you through all the rooms made ready for your coming, and then to your + own. I would see you sitting in your own chair and all my dreams would + find rich fulfilment in that royal moment. Oh, Alice, we would have a + beautiful life together! It’s sweet to make believe about it. You will + sing to me in the twilight, and we will gather early flowers together in + the spring days. When I come home from work, tired, you will put your arms + about me and lay your head on my shoulder. I will stroke it—so—that + bonny, glossy head of yours. Alice, my Alice—all mine in my dream—never + to be mine in real life—how I love you!” + </p> + <p> + The Alice behind him could bear no more. She gave a little choking cry + that betrayed her presence. Jasper Dale sprang up and gazed upon her. He + saw her standing there, amid the languorous shadows of August, pale with + feeling, wide-eyed, trembling. + </p> + <p> + For a moment shyness wrung him. Then every trace of it was banished by a + sudden, strange, fierce anger that swept over him. He felt outraged and + hurt to the death; he felt as if he had been cheated out of something + incalculably precious—as if sacrilege had been done to his most holy + sanctuary of emotion. White, tense with his anger, he looked at her and + spoke, his lips as pale as if his fiery words scathed them. + </p> + <p> + “How dare you? You have spied on me—you have crept in and listened! + How dare you? Do you know what you have done, girl? You have destroyed all + that made life worth while to me. My dream is dead. It could not live when + it was betrayed. And it was all I had. Oh, laugh at me—mock me! I + know that I am ridiculous! What of it? It never could have hurt you! Why + must you creep in like this to hear me and put me to shame? Oh, I love you—I + will say it, laugh as you will. Is it such a strange thing that I should + have a heart like other men? This will make sport for you! I, who love you + better than my life, better than any other man in the world can love you, + will be a jest to you all your life. I love you—and yet I think I + could hate you—you have destroyed my dream—you have done me + deadly wrong.” + </p> + <p> + “Jasper! Jasper!” cried Alice, finding her voice. His anger hurt her with + a pain she could not endure. It was unbearable that Jasper should be angry + with her. In that moment she realized that she loved him—that the + words he had spoken when unconscious of her presence were the sweetest she + had ever heard, or ever could hear. Nothing mattered at all, save that he + loved her and was angry with her. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t say such dreadful things to me,” she stammered, “I did not mean to + listen. I could not help it. I shall never laugh at you. Oh, Jasper”—she + looked bravely at him and the fine soul of her shone through the flesh + like an illuminating lamp—“I am glad that you love me! and I am glad + I chanced to overhear you, since you would never have had the courage to + tell me otherwise. Glad—glad! Do you understand, Jasper?” + </p> + <p> + Jasper looked at her with the eyes of one who, looking through pain, sees + rapture beyond. + </p> + <p> + “Is it possible?” he said, wonderingly. “Alice—I am so much older + than you—and they call me the Awkward Man—they say I am unlike + other people”— + </p> + <p> + “You ARE unlike other people,” she said softly, “and that is why I love + you. I know now that I must have loved you ever since I saw you.” + </p> + <p> + “I loved you long before I saw you,” said Jasper. + </p> + <p> + He came close to her and drew her into his arms, tenderly and reverently, + all his shyness and awkwardness swallowed up in the grace of his great + happiness. In the old garden he kissed her lips and Alice entered into her + own. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br><br><br><br> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVI. UNCLE BLAIR COMES HOME + </h2> + <p> + It happened that the Story Girl and I both got up very early on the + morning of the Awkward Man’s wedding day. Uncle Alec was going to + Charlottetown that day, and I, awakened at daybreak by the sounds in the + kitchen beneath us, remembered that I had forgotten to ask him to bring me + a certain school-book I wanted. So I hurriedly dressed and hastened down + to tell him before he went. I was joined on the stairs by the Story Girl, + who said she had wakened and, not feeling like going to sleep again, + thought she might as well get up. + </p> + <p> + “I had such a funny dream last night,” she said. “I dreamed that I heard a + voice calling me from away down in Uncle Stephen’s Walk—‘Sara, Sara, + Sara,’ it kept calling. I didn’t know whose it was, and yet it seemed like + a voice I knew. I wakened up while it was calling, and it seemed so real I + could hardly believe it was a dream. It was bright moonlight, and I felt + just like getting up and going out to the orchard. But I knew that would + be silly and of course I didn’t go. But I kept on wanting to and I + couldn’t sleep any more. Wasn’t it queer?” + </p> + <p> + When Uncle Alec had gone I proposed a saunter to the farther end of the + orchard, where I had left a book the preceding evening. A young morn was + walking rosily on the hills as we passed down Uncle Stephen’s Walk, with + Paddy trotting before us. High overhead was the spirit-like blue of paling + skies; the east was a great arc of crystal, smitten through with auroral + crimsonings; just above it was one milk-white star of morning, like a + pearl on a silver sea. A light wind of dawn was weaving an orient spell. + </p> + <p> + “It’s lovely to be up as early as this, isn’t it?” said the Story Girl. + “The world seems so different just at sunrise, doesn’t it? It makes me + feel just like getting up to see the sun rise every morning of my life + after this. But I know I won’t. I’ll likely sleep later than ever tomorrow + morning. But I wish I could.” + </p> + <p> + “The Awkward Man and Miss Reade are going to have a lovely day for their + wedding,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and I’m so glad. Beautiful Alice deserves everything good. Why, Bev—why, + Bev! Who is that in the hammock?” + </p> + <p> + I looked. The hammock was swung under the two end trees of the Walk. In it + a man was lying, asleep, his head pillowed on his overcoat. He was + sleeping easily, lightly, and wholesomely. He had a pointed brown beard + and thick wavy brown hair. His cheeks were a dusky red and the lashes of + his closed eyes were as long and dark and silken as a girl’s. He wore a + light gray suit, and on the slender white hand that hung down over the + hammock’s edge was a spark of diamond fire. + </p> + <p> + It seemed to me that I knew his face, although assuredly I had never seen + him before. While I groped among vague speculations the Story Girl gave a + queer, choked little cry. The next moment she had sprung over the + intervening space, dropped on her knees by the hammock, and flung her arms + about the man’s neck. + </p> + <p> + “Father! Father!” she cried, while I stood, rooted to the ground in my + amazement. + </p> + <p> + The sleeper stirred and opened two large, exceedingly brilliant hazel + eyes. For a moment he gazed rather blankly at the brown-curled young lady + who was embracing him. Then a most delightful smile broke over his face; + he sprang up and caught her to his heart. + </p> + <p> + “Sara—Sara—my little Sara! To think I didn’t know you at first + glance! But you are almost a woman. And when I saw you last you were just + a little girl of eight. My own little Sara!” + </p> + <p> + “Father—father—sometimes I’ve wondered if you were ever coming + back to me,” I heard the Story Girl say, as I turned and scuttled up the + Walk, realizing that I was not wanted there just then and would be little + missed. Various emotions and speculations possessed my mind in my retreat; + but chiefly did I feel a sense of triumph in being the bearer of exciting + news. + </p> + <p> + “Aunt Janet, Uncle Blair is here,” I announced breathlessly at the kitchen + door. + </p> + <p> + Aunt Janet, who was kneading her bread, turned round and lifted floury + hands. Felicity and Cecily, who were just entering the kitchen, rosy from + slumber, stopped still and stared at me. + </p> + <p> + “Uncle who?” exclaimed Aunt Janet. + </p> + <p> + “Uncle Blair—the Story Girl’s father, you know. He’s here.” + </p> + <p> + “WHERE?” + </p> + <p> + “Down in the orchard. He was asleep in the hammock. We found him there.” + </p> + <p> + “Dear me!” said Aunt Janet, sitting down helplessly. “If that isn’t like + Blair! Of course he couldn’t come like anybody else. I wonder,” she added + in a tone unheard by anyone else save myself, “I wonder if he has come to + take the child away.” + </p> + <p> + My elation went out like a snuffed candle. I had never thought of this. If + Uncle Blair took the Story Girl away would not life become rather + savourless on the hill farm? I turned and followed Felicity and Cecily out + in a very subdued mood. + </p> + <p> + Uncle Blair and the Story Girl were just coming out of the orchard. His + arm was about her and hers was on his shoulder. Laughter and tears were + contending in her eyes. Only once before—when Peter had come back + from the Valley of the Shadow—had I seen the Story Girl cry. Emotion + had to go very deep with her ere it touched the source of tears. I had + always known that she loved her father passionately, though she rarely + talked of him, understanding that her uncles and aunts were not + whole-heartedly his friends. + </p> + <p> + But Aunt Janet’s welcome was cordial enough, though a trifle flustered. + Whatever thrifty, hard-working farmer folk might think of gay, Bohemian + Blair Stanley in his absence, in his presence even they liked him, by the + grace of some winsome, lovable quality in the soul of him. He had “a way + with him”—revealed even in the manner with which he caught staid + Aunt Janet in his arms, swung her matronly form around as though she had + been a slim schoolgirl, and kissed her rosy cheek. + </p> + <p> + “Sister o’ mine, are you never going to grow old?” he said. “Here you are + at forty-five with the roses of sixteen—and not a gray hair, I’ll + wager.” + </p> + <p> + “Blair, Blair, it is you who are always young,” laughed Aunt Janet, not + ill pleased. “Where in the world did you come from? And what is this I + hear of your sleeping all night in the hammock?” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve been painting in the Lake District all summer, as you know,” + answered Uncle Blair, “and one day I just got homesick to see my little + girl. So I sailed for Montreal without further delay. I got here at eleven + last night—the station-master’s son drove me down. Nice boy. The old + house was in darkness and I thought it would be a shame to rouse you all + out of bed after a hard day’s work. So I decided that I would spend the + night in the orchard. It was moonlight, you know, and moonlight in an old + orchard is one of the few things left over from the Golden Age.” + </p> + <p> + “It was very foolish of you,” said practical Aunt Janet. “These September + nights are real chilly. You might have caught your death of cold—or + a bad dose of rheumatism.” + </p> + <p> + “So I might. No doubt it was foolish of me,” agreed Uncle Blair gaily. “It + must have been the fault, of the moonlight. Moonlight, you know, Sister + Janet, has an intoxicating quality. It is a fine, airy, silver wine, such + as fairies may drink at their revels, unharmed of it; but when a mere + mortal sips of it, it mounts straightway to his brain, to the undoing of + his daylight common sense. However, I have got neither cold nor + rheumatism, as a sensible person would have done had he ever been lured + into doing such a non-sensible thing; there is a special Providence for us + foolish folk. I enjoyed my night in the orchard; for a time I was + companioned by sweet old memories; and then I fell asleep listening to the + murmurs of the wind in those old trees yonder. And I had a beautiful + dream, Janet. I dreamed that the old orchard blossomed again, as it did + that spring eighteen years ago. I dreamed that its sunshine was the + sunshine of spring, not autumn. There was newness of life in my dream, + Janet, and the sweetness of forgotten words.” + </p> + <p> + “Wasn’t it strange about MY dream?” whispered the Story Girl to me. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you’d better come in and have some breakfast,” said Aunt Janet. + “These are my little girls—Felicity and Cecily.” + </p> + <p> + “I remember them as two most adorable tots,” said Uncle Blair, shaking + hands. “They haven’t changed quite so much as my own baby-child. Why, + she’s a woman, Janet—she’s a woman.” + </p> + <p> + “She’s child enough still,” said Aunt Janet hastily. + </p> + <p> + The Story Girl shook her long brown curls. + </p> + <p> + “I’m fifteen,” she said. “And you ought to see me in my long dress, + father.” + </p> + <p> + “We must not be separated any longer, dear heart,” I heard Uncle Blair say + tenderly. I hoped that he meant he would stay in Canada—not that he + would take the Story Girl away. + </p> + <p> + Apart from this we had a gay day with Uncle Blair. He evidently liked our + society better than that of the grown-ups, for he was a child himself at + heart, gay, irresponsible, always acting on the impulse of the moment. We + all found him a delightful companion. There was no school that day, as Mr. + Perkins was absent, attending a meeting of the Teachers’ Convention, so we + spent most of its golden hours in the orchard with Uncle Blair, listening + to his fascinating accounts of foreign wanderings. He also drew all our + pictures for us, and this was especially delightful, for the day of the + camera was only just dawning and none of us had ever had even our + photographs taken. Sara Ray’s pleasure was, as usual, quite spoiled by + wondering what her mother would say of it, for Mrs. Ray had, so it + appeared, some very peculiar prejudices against the taking or making of + any kind of picture whatsoever, owing to an exceedingly strict + interpretation of the second commandment. Dan suggested that she need not + tell her mother anything about it; but Sara shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll have to tell her. I’ve made it a rule to tell ma everything I do + ever since the Judgment Day.” + </p> + <p> + “Besides,” added Cecily seriously, “the Family Guide says one ought to + tell one’s mother everything.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s pretty hard sometimes, though,” sighed Sara. “Ma scolds so much when + I do tell her things, that it sort of discourages me. But when I think of + how dreadful I felt the time of the Judgment Day over deceiving her in + some things it nerves me up. I’d do almost anything rather than feel like + that the next time the Judgment Day comes.” + </p> + <p> + “Fe, fi, fo, fum, I smell a story,” said Uncle Blair. “What do you mean by + speaking of the Judgment Day in the past tense?” + </p> + <p> + The Story Girl told him the tale of that dreadful Sunday in the preceding + summer and we all laughed with him at ourselves. + </p> + <p> + “All the same,” muttered Peter, “I don’t want to have another experience + like that. I hope I’ll be dead the next time the Judgment Day comes.” + </p> + <p> + “But you’ll be raised up for it,” said Felix. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that’ll be all right. I won’t mind that. I won’t know anything about + it till it really happens. It’s the expecting it that’s the worst.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think you ought to talk of such things,” said Felicity. + </p> + <p> + When evening came we all went to Golden Milestone. We knew the Awkward Man + and his bride were expected home at sunset, and we meant to scatter + flowers on the path by which she must enter her new home. It was the Story + Girl’s idea, but I don’t think Aunt Janet would have let us go if Uncle + Blair had not pleaded for us. He asked to be taken along, too, and we + agreed, if he would stand out of sight when the newly married pair came + home. + </p> + <p> + “You see, father, the Awkward Man won’t mind us, because we’re only + children and he knows us well,” explained the Story Girl, “but if he sees + you, a stranger, it might confuse him and we might spoil the homecoming, + and that would be such a pity.” + </p> + <p> + So we went to Golden Milestone, laden with all the flowery spoil we could + plunder from both gardens. It was a clear amber-tinted September evening + and far away, over Markdale Harbour, a great round red moon was rising as + we waited. Uncle Blair was hidden behind the wind-blown tassels of the + pines at the gate, but he and the Story Girl kept waving their hands at + each other and calling out gay, mirthful jests. + </p> + <p> + “Do you really feel acquainted with your father?” whispered Sara Ray + wonderingly. “It’s long since you saw him.” + </p> + <p> + “If I hadn’t seen him for a hundred years it wouldn’t make any difference + that way,” laughed the Story Girl. + </p> + <p> + “S-s-h-s-s-h—they’re coming,” whispered Felicity excitedly. + </p> + <p> + And then they came—Beautiful Alice blushing and lovely, in the + prettiest of pretty blue dresses, and the Awkward Man, so fervently happy + that he quite forgot to be awkward. He lifted her out of the buggy + gallantly and led her forward to us, smiling. We retreated before them, + scattering our flowers lavishly on the path, and Alice Dale walked to the + very doorstep of her new home over a carpet of blossoms. On the step they + both paused and turned towards us, and we shyly did the proper thing in + the way of congratulations and good wishes. + </p> + <p> + “It was so sweet of you to do this,” said the smiling bride. + </p> + <p> + “It was lovely to be able to do it for you, dearest,” whispered the Story + Girl, “and oh, Miss Reade—Mrs. Dale, I mean—we all hope you’ll + be so, so happy for ever.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sure I shall,” said Alice Dale, turning to her husband. He looked + down into her eyes—and we were quite forgotten by both of them. We + saw it, and slipped away, while Jasper Dale drew his wife into their home + and shut the world out. + </p> + <p> + We scampered joyously away through the moonlit dusk. Uncle Blair joined us + at the gate and the Story Girl asked him what he thought of the bride. + </p> + <p> + “When she dies white violets will grow out of her dust,” he answered. + </p> + <p> + “Uncle Blair says even queerer things than the Story Girl,” Felicity + whispered to me. + </p> + <p> + And so that beautiful day went away from us, slipping through our fingers + as we tried to hold it. It hooded itself in shadows and fared forth on the + road that is lighted by the white stars of evening. It had been a gift of + Paradise. Its hours had all been fair and beloved. From dawn flush to fall + of night there had been naught to mar it. It took with it its smiles and + laughter. But it left the boon of memory. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br><br><br><br> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVII. THE OLD ORDER CHANGETH + </h2> + <p> + “I am going away with father when he goes. He is going to spend the winter + in Paris, and I am to go to school there.” + </p> + <p> + The Story Girl told us this one day in the orchard. There was a little + elation in her tone, but more regret. The news was not a great surprise to + us. We had felt it in the air ever since Uncle Blair’s arrival. Aunt Janet + had been very unwilling to let the Story Girl go. But Uncle Blair was + inexorable. It was time, he said, that she should go to a better school + than the little country one in Carlisle; and besides, he did not want her + to grow into womanhood a stranger to him. So it was finally decided that + she was to go. + </p> + <p> + “Just think, you are going to Europe,” said Sara Ray in an awe-struck + tone. “Won’t that be splendid!” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose I’ll like it after a while,” said the Story Girl slowly, “but I + know I’ll be dreadfully homesick at first. Of course, it will be lovely to + be with father, but oh, I’ll miss the rest of you so much!” + </p> + <p> + “Just think how WE’LL miss YOU,” sighed Cecily. “It will be so lonesome + here this winter, with you and Peter both gone. Oh, dear, I do wish things + didn’t have to change.” + </p> + <p> + Felicity said nothing. She kept looking down at the grass on which she + sat, absently pulling at the slender blades. Presently we saw two big + tears roll down over her cheeks. The Story Girl looked surprised. + </p> + <p> + “Are you crying because I’m going away, Felicity?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Of course I am,” answered Felicity, with a big sob. “Do you think I’ve no + f-f-eeling?” + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t think you’d care much,” said the Story Girl frankly. “You’ve + never seemed to like me very much.” + </p> + <p> + “I d-don’t wear my h-heart on my sleeve,” said poor Felicity, with an + attempt at dignity. “I think you m-might stay. Your father would let you + s-stay if you c-coaxed him.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you see I’d have to go some time,” sighed the Story Girl, “and the + longer it was put off the harder it would be. But I do feel dreadfully + about it. I can’t even take poor Paddy. I’ll have to leave him behind, and + oh, I want you all to promise to be kind to him for my sake.” + </p> + <p> + We all solemnly assured her that we would. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll g-give him cream every m-morning and n-night,” sobbed Felicity, “but + I’ll never be able to look at him without crying. He’ll make me think of + you.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I’m not going right away,” said the Story Girl, more cheerfully. + “Not till the last of October. So we have over a month yet to have a good + time in. Let’s all just determine to make it a splendid month for the + last. We won’t think about my going at all till we have to, and we won’t + have any quarrels among us, and we’ll just enjoy ourselves all we possibly + can. So don’t cry any more, Felicity. I’m awfully glad you do like me and + am sorry I’m going away, but let’s all forget it for a month.” + </p> + <p> + Felicity sighed, and tucked away her damp handkerchief. + </p> + <p> + “It isn’t so easy for me to forget things, but I’ll try,” she said + disconsolately, “and if you want any more cooking lessons before you go + I’ll be real glad to teach you anything I know.” + </p> + <p> + This was a high plane of self-sacrifice for Felicity to attain. But the + Story Girl shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “No, I’m not going to bother my head about cooking lessons this last + month. It’s too vexing.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you remember the time you made the pudding—” began Peter, and + suddenly stopped. + </p> + <p> + “Out of sawdust?” finished the Story Girl cheerfully. “You needn’t be + afraid to mention it to me after this. I don’t mind any more. I begin to + see the fun of it now. I should think I do remember it—and the time + I baked the bread before it was raised enough.” + </p> + <p> + “People have made worse mistakes than that,” said Felicity kindly. + </p> + <p> + “Such as using tooth-powd—” but here Dan stopped abruptly, + remembering the Story Girl’s plea for a beautiful month. Felicity + coloured, but said nothing—did not even LOOK anything. + </p> + <p> + “We HAVE had lots of fun together one way or another,” said Cecily, + retrospectively. + </p> + <p> + “Just think how much we’ve laughed this last year or so,” said the Story + Girl. “We’ve had good times together; but I think we’ll have lots more + splendid years ahead.” + </p> + <p> + “Eden is always behind us—Paradise always before,” said Uncle Blair, + coming up in time to hear her. He said it with a sigh that was immediately + lost in one of his delightful smiles. + </p> + <p> + “I like Uncle Blair so much better than I expected to,” Felicity confided + to me. “Mother says he’s a rolling stone, but there really is something + very nice about him, although he says a great many things I don’t + understand. I suppose the Story Girl will have a very gay time in Paris.” + </p> + <p> + “She’s going to school and she’ll have to study hard,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “She says she’s going to study for the stage,” said Felicity. “Uncle Roger + thinks it is all right, and says she’ll be very famous some day. But + mother thinks it’s dreadful, and so do I.” + </p> + <p> + “Aunt Julia is a concert singer,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that’s very different. But I hope poor Sara will get on all right,” + sighed Felicity. “You never know what may happen to a person in those + foreign countries. And everybody says Paris is such a wicked place. But we + must hope for the best,” she concluded in a resigned tone. + </p> + <p> + That evening the Story Girl and I drove the cows to pasture after milking, + and when we came home we sought out Uncle Blair in the orchard. He was + sauntering up and down Uncle Stephen’s Walk, his hands clasped behind him + and his beautiful, youthful face uplifted to the western sky where waves + of night were breaking on a dim primrose shore of sunset. + </p> + <p> + “See that star over there in the south-west?” he said, as we joined him. + “The one just above that pine? An evening star shining over a dark pine + tree is the whitest thing in the universe—because it is LIVING + whiteness—whiteness possessing a soul. How full this old orchard is + of twilight! Do you know, I have been trysting here with ghosts.” + </p> + <p> + “The Family Ghost?” I asked, very stupidly. + </p> + <p> + “No, not the Family Ghost. I never saw beautiful, broken-hearted Emily + yet. Your mother saw her once, Sara—that was a strange thing,” he + added absently, as if to himself. + </p> + <p> + “Did mother really see her?” whispered the Story Girl. + </p> + <p> + “Well, she always believed she did. Who knows?” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think there are such things as ghosts, Uncle Blair?” I asked + curiously. + </p> + <p> + “I never saw any, Beverley.” + </p> + <p> + “But you said you were trysting with ghosts here this evening,” said the + Story Girl. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes—the ghosts of the old years. I love this orchard because of + its many ghosts. We are good comrades, those ghosts and I; we walk and + talk—we even laugh together—sorrowful laughter that has + sorrow’s own sweetness. And always there comes to me one dear phantom and + wanders hand in hand with me—a lost lady of the old years.” + </p> + <p> + “My mother?” said the Story Girl very softly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, your mother. Here, in her old haunts, it is impossible for me to + believe that she can be dead—that her LAUGHTER can be dead. She was + the gayest, sweetest thing—and so young—only three years older + than you, Sara. Yonder old house had been glad because of her for eighteen + years when I met her first.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish I could remember her,” said the Story Girl, with a little sigh. “I + haven’t even a picture of her. Why didn’t you paint one, father?” + </p> + <p> + “She would never let me. She had some queer, funny, half-playful, + half-earnest superstition about it. But I always meant to when she would + become willing to let me. And then—she died. Her twin brother Felix + died the same day. There was something strange about that, too. I was + holding her in my arms and she was looking up at me; suddenly she looked + past me and gave a little start. ‘Felix!’ she said. For a moment she + trembled and then she smiled and looked up at me again a little + beseechingly. ‘Felix has come for me, dear,’ she said. ‘We were always + together before you came—you must not mind—you must be glad I + do not have to go alone.’ Well, who knows? But she left me, Sara—she + left me.” + </p> + <p> + There was that in Uncle Blair’s voice that kept us silent for a time. Then + the Story Girl said, still very softly: + </p> + <p> + “What did mother look like, father? I don’t look the least little bit like + her, do I?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I wish you did, you brown thing. Your mother’s face was as white as a + wood-lily, with only a faint dream of rose in her cheeks. She had the eyes + of one who always had a song in her heart—blue as a mist, those eyes + were. She had dark lashes, and a little red mouth that quivered when she + was very sad or very happy like a crimson rose too rudely shaken by the + wind. She was as slim and lithe as a young, white-stemmed birch tree. How + I loved her! How happy we were! But he who accepts human love must bind it + to his soul with pain, and she is not lost to me. Nothing is ever really + lost to us as long as we remember it.” + </p> + <p> + Uncle Blair looked up at the evening star. We saw that he had forgotten + us, and we slipped away, hand in hand, leaving him alone in the + memory-haunted shadows of the old orchard. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br><br><br><br> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVIII. THE PATH TO ARCADY + </h2> + <p> + October that year gathered up all the spilled sunshine of the summer and + clad herself in it as in a garment. The Story Girl had asked us to try to + make the last month together beautiful, and Nature seconded our efforts, + giving us that most beautiful of beautiful things—a gracious and + perfect moon of falling leaves. There was not in all that vanished October + one day that did not come in with auroral splendour and go out attended by + a fair galaxy of evening stars—not a day when there were not golden + lights in the wide pastures and purple hazes in the ripened distances. + Never was anything so gorgeous as the maple trees that year. Maples are + trees that have primeval fire in their souls. It glows out a little in + their early youth, before the leaves open, in the redness and + rosy-yellowness of their blossoms, but in summer it is carefully hidden + under a demure, silver-lined greenness. Then when autumn comes, the maples + give up trying to be sober and flame out in all the barbaric splendour and + gorgeousness of their real nature, making of the hills things out of an + Arabian Nights dream in the golden prime of good Haroun Alraschid. + </p> + <p> + You may never know what scarlet and crimson really are until you see them + in their perfection on an October hillside, under the unfathomable blue of + an autumn sky. All the glow and radiance and joy at earth’s heart seem to + have broken loose in a splendid determination to express itself for once + before the frost of winter chills her beating pulses. It is the year’s + carnival ere the dull Lenten days of leafless valleys and penitential + mists come. + </p> + <p> + The time of apple-picking had come around once more and we worked + joyously. Uncle Blair picked apples with us, and between him and the Story + Girl it was an October never to be forgotten. + </p> + <p> + “Will you go far afield for a walk with me to-day?” he said to her and me, + one idle afternoon of opal skies, pied meadows and misty hills. + </p> + <p> + It was Saturday and Peter had gone home; Felix and Dan were helping Uncle + Alec top turnips; Cecily and Felicity were making cookies for Sunday, so + the Story Girl and I were alone in Uncle Stephen’s Walk. + </p> + <p> + We liked to be alone together that last month, to think the long, long + thoughts of youth and talk about our futures. There had grown up between + us that summer a bond of sympathy that did not exist between us and the + others. We were older than they—the Story Girl was fifteen and I was + nearly that; and all at once it seemed as if we were immeasurably older + than the rest, and possessed of dreams and visions and forward-reaching + hopes which they could not possibly share or understand. At times we were + still children, still interested in childish things. But there came hours + when we seemed to our two selves very grown up and old, and in those hours + we talked our dreams and visions and hopes, vague and splendid, as all + such are, over together, and so began to build up, out of the rainbow + fragments of our childhood’s companionship, that rare and beautiful + friendship which was to last all our lives, enriching and enstarring them. + For there is no bond more lasting than that formed by the mutual + confidences of that magic time when youth is slipping from the sheath of + childhood and beginning to wonder what lies for it beyond those misty + hills that bound the golden road. + </p> + <p> + “Where are you going?” asked the Story Girl. + </p> + <p> + “To ‘the woods that belt the gray hillside’—ay, and overflow beyond + it into many a valley purple-folded in immemorial peace,” answered Uncle + Blair. “I have a fancy for one more ramble in Prince Edward Island woods + before I leave Canada again. But I would not go alone. So come, you two + gay youthful things to whom all life is yet fair and good, and we will + seek the path to Arcady. There will be many little things along our way to + make us glad. Joyful sounds will ‘come ringing down the wind;’ a wealth of + gypsy gold will be ours for the gathering; we will learn the potent, + unutterable charm of a dim spruce wood and the grace of flexile mountain + ashes fringing a lonely glen; we will tryst with the folk of fur and + feather; we’ll hearken to the music of gray old firs. Come, and you’ll + have a ramble and an afternoon that you will both remember all your + lives.” + </p> + <p> + We did have it; never has its remembrance faded; that idyllic afternoon of + roving in the old Carlisle woods with the Story Girl and Uncle Blair + gleams in my book of years, a page of living beauty. Yet it was but a few + hours of simplest pleasure; we wandered pathlessly through the sylvan calm + of those dear places which seemed that day to be full of a great + friendliness; Uncle Blair sauntered along behind us, whistling softly; + sometimes he talked to himself; we delighted in those brief reveries of + his; Uncle Blair was the only man I have ever known who could, when he so + willed, “talk like a book,” and do it without seeming ridiculous; perhaps + it was because he had the knack of choosing “fit audience, though few,” + and the proper time to appeal to that audience. + </p> + <p> + We went across the fields, intending to skirt the woods at the back of + Uncle Alec’s farm and find a lane that cut through Uncle Roger’s woods; + but before we came to it we stumbled on a sly, winding little path quite + by accident—if, indeed, there can be such a thing as accident in the + woods, where I am tempted to think we are led by the Good People along + such of their fairy ways as they have a mind for us to walk in. + </p> + <p> + “Go to, let us explore this,” said Uncle Blair. “It always drags terribly + at my heart to go past a wood lane if I can make any excuse at all for + traversing it: for it is the by-ways that lead to the heart of the woods + and we must follow them if we would know the forest and be known of it. + When we can really feel its wild heart beating against ours its subtle + life will steal into our veins and make us its own for ever, so that no + matter where we go or how wide we wander in the noisy ways of cities or + over the lone ways of the sea, we shall yet be drawn back to the forest to + find our most enduring kinship.” + </p> + <p> + “I always feel so SATISFIED in the woods,” said the Story Girl dreamily, + as we turned in under the low-swinging fir boughs. “Trees seem such + friendly things.” + </p> + <p> + “They are the most friendly things in God’s good creation,” said Uncle + Blair emphatically. “And it is so easy to live with them. To hold converse + with pines, to whisper secrets with the poplars, to listen to the tales of + old romance that beeches have to tell, to walk in eloquent silence with + self-contained firs, is to learn what real companionship is. Besides, + trees are the same all over the world. A beech tree on the slopes of the + Pyrenees is just what a beech tree here in these Carlisle woods is; and + there used to be an old pine hereabouts whose twin brother I was well + acquainted with in a dell among the Apennines. Listen to those squirrels, + will you, chattering over yonder. Did you ever hear such a fuss over + nothing? Squirrels are the gossips and busybodies of the woods; they + haven’t learned the fine reserve of its other denizens. But after all, + there is a certain shrill friendliness in their greeting.” + </p> + <p> + “They seem to be scolding us,” I said, laughing. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, they are not half such scolds as they sound,” answered Uncle Blair + gaily. “If they would but ‘tak a thought and mend’ their shrew-like ways + they would be dear, lovable creatures enough.” + </p> + <p> + “If I had to be an animal I think I’d like to be a squirrel,” said the + Story Girl. “It must be next best thing to flying.” + </p> + <p> + “Just see what a spring that fellow gave,” laughed Uncle Blair. “And now + listen to his song of triumph! I suppose that chasm he cleared seemed as + wide and deep to him as Niagara Gorge would to us if we leaped over it. + Well, the wood people are a happy folk and very well satisfied with + themselves.” + </p> + <p> + Those who have followed a dim, winding, balsamic path to the unexpected + hollow where a wood-spring lies have found the rarest secret the forest + can reveal. Such was our good fortune that day. At the end of our path we + found it, under the pines, a crystal-clear thing with lips unkissed by so + much as a stray sunbeam. + </p> + <p> + “It is easy to dream that this is one of the haunted springs of old + romance,” said Uncle Blair. “‘Tis an enchanted spot this, I am very sure, + and we should go softly, speaking low, lest we disturb the rest of a + white, wet naiad, or break some spell that has cost long years of mystic + weaving.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s so easy to believe things in the woods,” said the Story Girl, + shaping a cup from a bit of golden-brown birch bark and filling it at the + spring. + </p> + <p> + “Drink a toast in that water, Sara,” said Uncle Blair. “There’s not a + doubt that it has some potent quality of magic in it and the wish you wish + over it will come true.” + </p> + <p> + The Story Girl lifted her golden-hued flagon to her red lips. Her hazel + eyes laughed at us over the brim. + </p> + <p> + “Here’s to our futures,” she cried, “I wish that every day of our lives + may be better than the one that went before.” + </p> + <p> + “An extravagant wish—a very wish of youth,” commented Uncle Blair, + “and yet in spite of its extravagance, a wish that will come true if you + are true to yourselves. In that case, every day WILL be better than all + that went before—but there will be many days, dear lad and lass, + when you will not believe it.” + </p> + <p> + We did not understand him, but we knew Uncle Blair never explained his + meaning. When asked it he was wont to answer with a smile, “Some day + you’ll grow to it. Wait for that.” So we addressed ourselves to follow the + brook that stole away from the spring in its windings and doublings and + tricky surprises. + </p> + <p> + “A brook,” quoth Uncle Blair, “is the most changeful, bewitching, lovable + thing in the world. It is never in the same mind or mood two minutes. Here + it is sighing and murmuring as if its heart were broken. But listen—yonder + by the birches it is laughing as if it were enjoying some capital joke all + by itself.” + </p> + <p> + It was indeed a changeful brook; here it would make a pool, dark and + brooding and still, where we bent to look at our mirrored faces; then it + grew communicative and gossiped shallowly over a broken pebble bed where + there was a diamond dance of sunbeams and no troutling or minnow could + glide through without being seen. Sometimes its banks were high and steep, + hung with slender ashes and birches; again they were mere, low margins, + green with delicate mosses, shelving out of the wood. Once it came to a + little precipice and flung itself over undauntedly in an indignation of + foam, gathering itself up rather dizzily among the mossy stones below. It + was some time before it got over its vexation; it went boiling and + muttering along, fighting with the rotten logs that lie across it, and + making far more fuss than was necessary over every root that interfered + with it. We were getting tired of its ill-humour and talked of leaving it, + when it suddenly grew sweet-tempered again, swooped around a curve—and + presto, we were in fairyland. + </p> + <p> + It was a little dell far in the heart of the woods. A row of birches + fringed the brook, and each birch seemed more exquisitely graceful and + golden than her sisters. The woods receded from it on every hand, leaving + it lying in a pool of amber sunshine. The yellow trees were mirrored in + the placid stream, with now and then a leaf falling on the water, mayhap + to drift away and be used, as Uncle Blair suggested, by some adventurous + wood sprite who had it in mind to fare forth to some far-off, legendary + region where all the brooks ran into the sea. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, what a lovely place!” I exclaimed, looking around me with delight. + </p> + <p> + “A spell of eternity is woven over it, surely,” murmured Uncle Blair. + “Winter may not touch it, or spring ever revisit it. It should be like + this for ever.” + </p> + <p> + “Let us never come here again,” said the Story Girl softly, “never, no + matter how often we may be in Carlisle. Then we will never see it changed + or different. We can always remember it just as we see it now, and it will + be like this for ever for us.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m going to sketch it,” said Uncle Blair. + </p> + <p> + While he sketched it the Story Girl and I sat on the banks of the brook + and she told me the story of the Sighing Reed. It was a very simple little + story, that of the slender brown reed which grew by the forest pool and + always was sad and sighing because it could not utter music like the brook + and the birds and the winds. All the bright, beautiful things around it + mocked it and laughed at it for its folly. Who would ever look for music + in it, a plain, brown, unbeautiful thing? But one day a youth came through + the wood; he was as beautiful as the spring; he cut the brown reed and + fashioned it according to his liking; and then he put it to his lips and + breathed on it; and, oh, the music that floated through the forest! It was + so entrancing that everything—brooks and birds and winds—grew + silent to listen to it. Never had anything so lovely been heard; it was + the music that had for so long been shut up in the soul of the sighing + reed and was set free at last through its pain and suffering. + </p> + <p> + I had heard the Story Girl tell many a more dramatic tale; but that one + stands out for me in memory above them all, partly, perhaps, because of + the spot in which she told it, partly because it was the last one I was to + hear her tell for many years—the last one she was ever to tell me on + the golden road. + </p> + <p> + When Uncle Blair had finished his sketch the shafts of sunshine were + turning crimson and growing more and more remote; the early autumn + twilight was falling over the woods. We left our dell, saying good-bye to + it for ever, as the Story Girl had suggested, and we went slowly homeward + through the fir woods, where a haunting, indescribable odour stole out to + meet us. + </p> + <p> + “There is magic in the scent of dying fir,” Uncle Blair was saying aloud + to himself, as if forgetting he was not quite alone. “It gets into our + blood like some rare, subtly-compounded wine, and thrills us with + unutterable sweetnesses, as of recollections from some other fairer life, + lived in some happier star. Compared to it, all other scents seem heavy + and earth-born, luring to the valleys instead of the heights. But the tang + of the fir summons onward and upward to some ‘far-off, divine event’—some + spiritual peak of attainment whence we shall see with unfaltering, + unclouded vision the spires of some aerial City Beautiful, or the + fulfilment of some fair, fadeless land of promise.” + </p> + <p> + He was silent for a moment, then added in a lower tone, + </p> + <p> + “Felicity, you loved the scent of dying fir. If you were here tonight with + me—Felicity—Felicity!” + </p> + <p> + Something in his voice made me suddenly sad. I was comforted when I felt + the Story Girl slip her hand into mine. So we walked out of the woods into + the autumn dusk. + </p> + <p> + We were in a little valley. Half-way up the opposite slope a brush fire + was burning clearly and steadily in a maple grove. There was something + indescribably alluring in that fire, glowing so redly against the dark + background of forest and twilit hill. + </p> + <p> + “Let us go to it,” cried Uncle Blair, gaily, casting aside his sorrowful + mood and catching our hands. “A wood fire at night has a fascination not + to be resisted by those of mortal race. Hasten—we must not lose + time.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it will burn a long time yet,” I gasped, for Uncle Blair was whisking + us up the hill at a merciless rate. + </p> + <p> + “You can’t be sure. It may have been lighted by some good, honest + farmer-man, bent on tidying up his sugar orchard, but it may also, for + anything we know, have been kindled by no earthly woodman as a beacon or + summons to the tribes of fairyland, and may vanish away if we tarry.” + </p> + <p> + It did not vanish and presently we found ourselves in the grove. It was + very beautiful; the fire burned with a clear, steady glow and a soft + crackle; the long arcades beneath the trees were illuminated with a rosy + radiance, beyond which lurked companies of gray and purple shadows. + Everything was very still and dreamy and remote. + </p> + <p> + “It is impossible that out there, just over the hill, lies a village of + men, where tame household lamps are shining,” said Uncle Blair. + </p> + <p> + “I feel as if we must be thousands of miles away from everything we’ve + ever known,” murmured the Story Girl. + </p> + <p> + “So you are!” said Uncle Blair emphatically. “You’re back in the youth of + the race—back in the beguilement of the young world. Everything is + in this hour—the beauty of classic myths, the primal charm of the + silent and the open, the lure of mystery. Why, it’s a time and place when + and where everything might come true—when the men in green might + creep out to join hands and dance around the fire, or dryads steal from + their trees to warm their white limbs, grown chilly in October frosts, by + the blaze. I wouldn’t be much surprised if we should see something of the + kind. Isn’t that the flash of an ivory shoulder through yonder gloom? And + didn’t you see a queer little elfin face peering at us around that twisted + gray trunk? But one can’t be sure. Mortal eyesight is too slow and clumsy + a thing to match against the flicker of a pixy-litten fire.” + </p> + <p> + Hand in hand we wandered through that enchanted place, seeking the folk of + elf-land, “and heard their mystic voices calling, from fairy knoll and + haunted hill.” Not till the fire died down into ashes did we leave the + grove. Then we found that the full moon was gleaming lustrously from a + cloudless sky across the valley. Between us and her stretched up a tall + pine, wondrously straight and slender and branchless to its very top, + where it overflowed in a crest of dark boughs against the silvery + splendour behind it. Beyond, the hill farms were lying in a suave, white + radiance. + </p> + <p> + “Doesn’t it seem a long, long time to you since we left home this + afternoon?” asked the Story Girl. “And yet it is only a few hours.” + </p> + <p> + Only a few hours—true; yet such hours were worth a cycle of common + years untouched by the glory and the dream. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0029" id="link2HCH0029"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br><br><br><br> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIX. WE LOSE A FRIEND + </h2> + <p> + Our beautiful October was marred by one day of black tragedy—the day + Paddy died. For Paddy, after seven years of as happy a life as ever a cat + lived, died suddenly—of poison, as was supposed. Where he had + wandered in the darkness to meet his doom we did not know, but in the + frosty dawnlight he dragged himself home to die. We found him lying on the + doorstep when we got up, and it did not need Aunt Janet’s curt + announcement, or Uncle Blair’s reluctant shake of the head, to tell us + that there was no chance of our pet recovering this time. We felt that + nothing could be done. Lard and sulphur on his paws would be of no use, + nor would any visit to Peg Bowen avail. We stood around in mournful + silence; the Story Girl sat down on the step and took poor Paddy upon her + lap. + </p> + <p> + “I s’pose there’s no use even in praying now,” said Cecily desperately. + </p> + <p> + “It wouldn’t do any harm to try,” sobbed Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “You needn’t waste your prayers,” said Dan mournfully, “Pat is beyond + human aid. You can tell that by his eyes. Besides, I don’t believe it was + the praying cured him last time.” + </p> + <p> + “No, it was Peg Bowen,” declared Peter, “but she couldn’t have bewitched + him this time for she’s been away for months, nobody knows where.” + </p> + <p> + “If he could only TELL us where he feels the worst!” said Cecily + piteously. “It’s so dreadful to see him suffering and not be able to do a + single thing to help him!” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think he’s suffering much now,” I said comfortingly. + </p> + <p> + The Story Girl said nothing. She passed and repassed her long brown hand + gently over her pet’s glossy fur. Pat lifted his head and essayed to creep + a little nearer to his beloved mistress. The Story Girl drew his limp body + close in her arms. There was a plaintive little mew—a long quiver—and + Paddy’s friendly soul had fared forth to wherever it is that good cats go. + </p> + <p> + “Well, he’s gone,” said Dan, turning his back abruptly to us. + </p> + <p> + “It doesn’t seem as if it can be true,” sobbed Cecily. “This time + yesterday morning he was full of life.” + </p> + <p> + “He drank two full saucers of cream,” moaned Felicity, “and I saw him + catch a mouse in the evening. Maybe it was the last one he ever caught.” + </p> + <p> + “He did for many a mouse in his day,” said Peter, anxious to pay his + tribute to the departed. + </p> + <p> + “‘He was a cat—take him for all in all. We shall not look upon his + like again,’” quoted Uncle Blair. + </p> + <p> + Felicity and Cecily and Sara Ray cried so much that Aunt Janet lost + patience completely and told them sharply that they would have something + to cry for some day—which did not seem to comfort them much. The + Story Girl shed no tears, though the look in her eyes hurt more than + weeping. + </p> + <p> + “After all, perhaps it’s for the best,” she said drearily. “I’ve been + feeling so badly over having to go away and leave Paddy. No matter how + kind you’d all be to him I know he’d miss me terribly. He wasn’t like most + cats who don’t care who comes and goes as long as they get plenty to eat. + Paddy wouldn’t have been contented without me.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no-o-o, oh, no-o-o,” wailed Sara Ray lugubriously. + </p> + <p> + Felix shot a disgusted glance at her. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t see what YOU are making such a fuss about,” he said unfeelingly. + “He wasn’t your cat.” + </p> + <p> + “But I l-l-oved him,” sobbed Sara, “and I always feel bad when my friends + d-do.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish we could believe that cats went to heaven, like people,” sighed + Cecily. “Do you really think it isn’t possible?” + </p> + <p> + Uncle Blair shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “I’m afraid not. I’d like to think cats have a chance for heaven, but I + can’t. There’s nothing heavenly about cats, delightful creatures though + they are.” + </p> + <p> + “Blair, I’m really surprised to hear the things you say to the children,” + said Aunt Janet severely. + </p> + <p> + “Surely you wouldn’t prefer me to tell them that cats DO go to heaven,” + protested Uncle Blair. + </p> + <p> + “I think it’s wicked to carry on about an animal as those children do,” + answered Aunt Janet decidedly, “and you shouldn’t encourage them. Here + now, children, stop making a fuss. Bury that cat and get off to your apple + picking.” + </p> + <p> + We had to go to our work, but Paddy was not to be buried in any such + off-hand fashion as that. It was agreed that we should bury him in the + orchard at sunset that evening, and Sara Ray, who had to go home, declared + she would be back for it, and implored us to wait for her if she didn’t + come exactly on time. + </p> + <p> + “I mayn’t be able to get away till after milking,” she sniffed, “but I + don’t want to miss it. Even a cat’s funeral is better than none at all.” + </p> + <p> + “Horrid thing!” said Felicity, barely waiting until Sara was out of + earshot. + </p> + <p> + We worked with heavy hearts that day; the girls cried bitterly most of the + time and we boys whistled defiantly. But as evening drew on we began to + feel a sneaking interest in the details of the funeral. As Dan said, the + thing should be done properly, since Paddy was no common cat. The Story + Girl selected the spot for the grave, in a little corner behind the cherry + copse, where early violets enskied the grass in spring, and we boys dug + the grave, making it “soft and narrow,” as the heroine of the old ballad + wanted hers made. Sara Ray, who managed to come in time after all, and + Felicity stood and watched us, but Cecily and the Story Girl kept far + aloof. + </p> + <p> + “This time last night you never thought you’d be digging Pat’s grave + to-night,” sighed Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “We little k-know what a day will bring forth,” sobbed Sara. “I’ve heard + the minister say that and it is true.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course it’s true. It’s in the Bible; but I don’t think you should + repeat it in connection with a cat,” said Felicity dubiously. + </p> + <p> + When all was in readiness the Story Girl brought her pet through the + orchard where he had so often frisked and prowled. No useless coffin + enclosed his breast but he reposed in a neat cardboard box. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder if it would be right to say ‘ashes to ashes and dust to dust,’” + said Peter. + </p> + <p> + “No, it wouldn’t,” averred Felicity. “It would be real wicked.” + </p> + <p> + “I think we ought to sing a hymn, anyway,” asseverated Sara Ray. + </p> + <p> + “Well, we might do that, if it isn’t a very religious one,” conceded + Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “How would ‘Pull for the shore, sailor, pull for the shore,’ do?” asked + Cecily. “That never seemed to me a very religious hymn.” + </p> + <p> + “But it doesn’t seem very appropriate to a funeral occasion either,” said + Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “I think ‘Lead, kindly light,’ would be ever so much more suitable,” + suggested Sara Ray, “and it is kind of soothing and melancholy too.” + </p> + <p> + “We are not going to sing anything,” said the Story Girl coldly. “Do you + want to make the affair ridiculous? We will just fill up the grave quietly + and put a flat stone over the top.” + </p> + <p> + “It isn’t much like my idea of a funeral,” muttered Sara Ray + discontentedly. + </p> + <p> + “Never mind, we’re going to have a real obituary about him in Our + Magazine,” whispered Cecily consolingly. + </p> + <p> + “And Peter is going to cut his name on top of the stone,” added Felicity. + “Only we mustn’t let on to the grown-ups until it is done, because they + might say it wasn’t right.” + </p> + <p> + We left the orchard, a sober little band, with the wind of the gray + twilight blowing round us. Uncle Roger passed us at the gate. + </p> + <p> + “So the last sad obsequies are over?” he remarked with a grin. + </p> + <p> + And we hated Uncle Roger. But we loved Uncle Blair because he said + quietly, + </p> + <p> + “And so you’ve buried your little comrade?” + </p> + <p> + So much may depend on the way a thing is said. But not even Uncle Blair’s + sympathy could take the sting out of the fact that there was no Paddy to + get the froth that night at milking time. Felicity cried bitterly all the + time she was straining the milk. Many human beings have gone to their + graves unattended by as much real regret as followed that one gray pussy + cat to his. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0030" id="link2HCH0030"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br><br><br><br> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXX. PROPHECIES + </h2> + <p> + “Here’s a letter for you from father,” said Felix, tossing it to me as he + came through the orchard gate. We had been picking apples all day, but + were taking a mid-afternoon rest around the well, with a cup of its + sparkling cold water to refresh us. + </p> + <p> + I opened the letter rather indifferently, for father, with all his + excellent and lovable traits, was but a poor correspondent; his letters + were usually very brief and very unimportant. + </p> + <p> + This letter was brief enough, but it was freighted with a message of + weighty import. I sat gazing stupidly at the sheet after I had read it + until Felix exclaimed, + </p> + <p> + “Bev, what’s the matter with you? What’s in that letter?” + </p> + <p> + “Father is coming home,” I said dazedly. “He is to leave South America in + a fortnight and will be here in November to take us back to Toronto.” + </p> + <p> + Everybody gasped. Sara Ray, of course, began to cry, which aggravated me + unreasonably. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Felix, when he got his second wind, “I’ll be awful glad to + see father again, but I tell you I don’t like the thought of leaving + here.” + </p> + <p> + I felt exactly the same but, in view of Sara Ray’s tears, admit it I would + not; so I sat in grum silence while the other tongues wagged. + </p> + <p> + “If I were not going away myself I’d feel just terrible,” said the Story + Girl. “Even as it is I’m real sorry. I’d like to be able to think of you + as all here together when I’m gone, having good times and writing me about + them.” + </p> + <p> + “It’ll be awfully dull when you fellows go,” muttered Dan. + </p> + <p> + “I’m sure I don’t know what we’re ever going to do here this winter,” said + Felicity, with the calmness of despair. + </p> + <p> + “Thank goodness there are no more fathers to come back,” breathed Cecily + with a vicious earnestness that made us all laugh, even in the midst of + our dismay. + </p> + <p> + We worked very half-heartedly the rest of the day, and it was not until we + assembled in the orchard in the evening that our spirits recovered + something like their wonted level. It was clear and slightly frosty; the + sun had declined behind a birch on a distant hill and it seemed a tree + with a blazing heart of fire. The great golden willow at the lane gate was + laughter-shaken in the wind of evening. Even amid all the changes of our + shifting world we could not be hopelessly low-spirited—except Sara + Ray, who was often so, and Peter, who was rarely so. But Peter had been + sorely vexed in spirit for several days. The time was approaching for the + October issue of Our Magazine and he had no genuine fiction ready for it. + He had taken so much to heart Felicity’s taunt that his stories were all + true that he had determined to have a really-truly false one in the next + number. But the difficulty was to get anyone to write it. He had asked the + Story Girl to do it, but she refused; then he appealed to me and I + shirked. Finally Peter determined to write a story himself. + </p> + <p> + “It oughtn’t to be any harder than writing a poem and I managed that,” he + said dolefully. + </p> + <p> + He worked at it in the evenings in the granary loft, and the rest of us + forebore to question him concerning it, because he evidently disliked + talking about his literary efforts. But this evening I had to ask him if + he would soon have it ready, as I wanted to make up the paper. + </p> + <p> + “It’s done,” said Peter, with an air of gloomy triumph. “It don’t amount + to much, but anyhow I made it all out of my own head. Not one word of it + was ever printed or told before, and nobody can say there was.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I guess we have all the stuff in and I’ll have Our Magazine ready to + read by tomorrow night,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “I s’pose it will be the last one we’ll have,” sighed Cecily. “We can’t + carry it on after you all go, and it has been such fun.” + </p> + <p> + “Bev will be a real newspaper editor some day,” declared the Story Girl, + on whom the spirit of prophecy suddenly descended that night. + </p> + <p> + She was swinging on the bough of an apple tree, with a crimson shawl + wrapped about her head, and her eyes were bright with roguish fire. + </p> + <p> + “How do you know he will?” asked Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I can tell futures,” answered the Story Girl mysteriously. “I know + what’s going to happen to all of you. Shall I tell you?” + </p> + <p> + “Do, just for the fun of it,” I said. “Then some day we’ll know just how + near you came to guessing right. Go on. What else about me?” + </p> + <p> + “You’ll write books, too, and travel all over the world,” continued the + Story Girl. “Felix will be fat to the end of his life, and he will be a + grandfather before he is fifty, and he will wear a long black beard.” + </p> + <p> + “I won’t,” cried Felix disgustedly. “I hate whiskers. Maybe I can’t help + the grandfather part, but I CAN help having a beard.” + </p> + <p> + “You can’t. It’s written in the stars.” + </p> + <p> + “‘Tain’t. The stars can’t prevent me from shaving.” + </p> + <p> + “Won’t Grandpa Felix sound awful funny?” reflected Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “Peter will be a minister,” went on the Story Girl. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I might be something worse,” remarked Peter, in a not ungratified + tone. + </p> + <p> + “Dan will be a farmer and will marry a girl whose name begins with K and + he will have eleven children. And he’ll vote Grit.” + </p> + <p> + “I won’t,” cried scandalized Dan. “You don’t know a thing about it. Catch + ME ever voting Grit! As for the rest of it—I don’t care. Farming’s + well enough, though I’d rather be a sailor.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t talk such nonsense,” protested Felicity sharply. “What on earth do + you want to be a sailor for and be drowned?” + </p> + <p> + “All sailors aren’t drowned,” said Dan. + </p> + <p> + “Most of them are. Look at Uncle Stephen.” + </p> + <p> + “You ain’t sure he was drowned.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, he disappeared, and that is worse.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you know? Disappearing might be real easy.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s not very easy for your family.” + </p> + <p> + “Hush, let’s hear the rest of the predictions,” said Cecily. + </p> + <p> + “Felicity,” resumed the Story Girl gravely, “will marry a minister.” + </p> + <p> + Sara Ray giggled and Felicity blushed. Peter tried hard not to look too + self-consciously delighted. + </p> + <p> + “She will be a perfect housekeeper and will teach a Sunday School class + and be very happy all her life.” + </p> + <p> + “Will her husband be happy?” queried Dan solemnly. + </p> + <p> + “I guess he’ll be as happy as your wife,” retorted Felicity reddening. + </p> + <p> + “He’ll be the happiest man in the world,” declared Peter warmly. + </p> + <p> + “What about me?” asked Sara Ray. + </p> + <p> + The Story Girl looked rather puzzled. It was so hard to imagine Sara Ray + as having any kind of future. Yet Sara was plainly anxious to have her + fortune told and must be gratified. + </p> + <p> + “You’ll be married,” said the Story Girl recklessly, “and you’ll live to + be nearly a hundred years old, and go to dozens of funerals and have a + great many sick spells. You will learn not to cry after you are seventy; + but your husband will never go to church.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m glad you warned me,” said Sara Ray solemnly, “because now I know I’ll + make him promise before I marry him that he will go.” + </p> + <p> + “He won’t keep the promise,” said the Story Girl, shaking her head. “But + it is getting cold and Cecily is coughing. Let us go in.” + </p> + <p> + “You haven’t told my fortune,” protested Cecily disappointedly. + </p> + <p> + The Story Girl looked very tenderly at Cecily—at the smooth little + brown head, at the soft, shining eyes, at the cheeks that were often + over-rosy after slight exertion, at the little sunburned hands that were + always busy doing faithful work or quiet kindnesses. A very strange look + came over the Story Girl’s face; her eyes grew sad and far-reaching, as if + of a verity they pierced beyond the mists of hidden years. + </p> + <p> + “I couldn’t tell any fortune half good enough for you, dearest,” she said, + slipping her arm round Cecily. “You deserve everything good and lovely. + But you know I’ve only been in fun—of course I don’t know anything + about what’s going to happen to us.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you know more than you think for,” said Sara Ray, who seemed much + pleased with her fortune and anxious to believe it, despite the husband + who wouldn’t go to church. + </p> + <p> + “But I’d like to be told my fortune, even in fun,” persisted Cecily. + </p> + <p> + “Everybody you meet will love you as long as you live.” said the Story + Girl. “There that’s the very nicest fortune I can tell you, and it will + come true whether the others do or not, and now we must go in.” + </p> + <p> + We went, Cecily still a little disappointed. In later years I often + wondered why the Story Girl refused to tell her fortune that night. Did + some strange gleam of foreknowledge fall for a moment across her + mirth-making? Did she realize in a flash of prescience that there was no + earthly future for our sweet Cecily? Not for her were to be the + lengthening shadows or the fading garland. The end was to come while the + rainbow still sparkled on her wine of life, ere a single petal had fallen + from her rose of joy. Long life was before all the others who trysted that + night in the old homestead orchard; but Cecily’s maiden feet were never to + leave the golden road. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0031" id="link2HCH0031"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br><br><br><br> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXI. THE LAST NUMBER OF OUR MAGAZINE + </h2> + <p> + EDITORIAL + </p> + <p> + It is with heartfelt regret that we take up our pen to announce that this + will be the last number of Our Magazine. We have edited ten numbers of it + and it has been successful beyond our expectations. It has to be + discontinued by reason of circumstances over which we have no control and + not because we have lost interest in it. Everybody has done his or her + best for Our Magazine. Prince Edward Island expected everyone to do his + and her duty and everyone did it. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Dan King conducted the etiquette department in a way worthy of the + Family Guide itself. He is especially entitled to commendation because he + laboured under the disadvantage of having to furnish most of the questions + as well as the answers. Miss Felicity King has edited our helpful + household department very ably, and Miss Cecily King’s fashion notes were + always up to date. The personal column was well looked after by Miss Sara + Stanley and the story page has been a marked success under the able + management of Mr. Peter Craig, to whose original story in this issue, “The + Battle of the Partridge Eggs,” we would call especial attention. The + Exciting Adventure series has also been very popular. + </p> + <p> + And now, in closing, we bid farewell to our staff and thank them one and + all for their help and co-operation in the past year. We have enjoyed our + work and we trust that they have too. We wish them all happiness and + success in years to come, and we hope that the recollection of Our + Magazine will not be held least dear among the memories of their + childhood. + </p> + <p> + (SOBS FROM THE GIRLS): “INDEED IT WON’T!” OBITUARY + </p> + <p> + On October eighteenth, Patrick Grayfur departed for that bourne whence no + traveller returns. He was only a cat, but he had been our faithful friend + for a long time and we aren’t ashamed to be sorry for him. There are lots + of people who are not as friendly and gentlemanly as Paddy was, and he was + a great mouser. We buried all that was mortal of poor Pat in the orchard + and we are never going to forget him. We have resolved that whenever the + date of his death comes round we’ll bow our heads and pronounce his name + at the hour of his funeral. If we are anywhere where we can’t say the name + out loud we’ll whisper it. + </p> + <p> + “Farewell, dearest Paddy, in all the years that are to be We’ll cherish + your memory faithfully.”<a href="#linknote-1" id="linknoteref-1"><small>1</small></a> + </p> + <p> + MY MOST EXCITING ADVENTURE + </p> + <p> + My most exciting adventure was the day I fell off Uncle Roger’s loft two + years ago. I wasn’t excited until it was all over because I hadn’t time to + be. The Story Girl and I were looking for eggs in the loft. It was filled + with wheat straw nearly to the roof and it was an awful distance from us + to the floor. And wheat straw is so slippery. I made a little spring and + the straw slipped from under my feet and there I was going head first down + from the loft. It seemed to me I was an awful long time falling, but the + Story Girl says I couldn’t have been more than three seconds. But I know + that I thought five thoughts and there seemed to be quite a long time + between them. The first thing I thought was, what has happened, because I + really didn’t know at first, it was so sudden. Then after a spell I + thought the answer, I am falling off the loft. And then I thought, what + will happen to me when I strike the floor, and after another little spell + I thought, I’ll be killed. And then I thought, well, I don’t care. I + really wasn’t a bit frightened. I just was quite willing to be killed. If + there hadn’t been a big pile of chaff on the barn floor these words would + never have been written. But there was and I fell on it and wasn’t a bit + hurt, only my hair and mouth and eyes and ears got all full of chaff. The + strange part is that I wasn’t a bit frightened when I thought I was going + to be killed, but after all the danger was over I was awfully frightened + and trembled so the Story Girl had to help me into the house. + </p> +<p class="center"> + FELICITY KING. +</p> + <p> + THE BATTLE OF THE PARTRIDGE EGGS + </p> + <p> + Once upon a time there lived about half a mile from a forrest a farmer and + his wife and his sons and daughters and a granddaughter. The farmer and + his wife loved this little girl very much but she caused them great + trouble by running away into the woods and they often spent haf days + looking for her. One day she wondered further into the forrest than usual + and she begun to be hungry. Then night closed in. She asked a fox where + she could get something to eat. The fox told her he knew where there was a + partridges nest and a bluejays nest full of eggs. So he led her to the + nests and she took five eggs out of each. When the birds came home they + missed the eggs and flew into a rage. The bluejay put on his topcoat and + was going to the partridge for law when he met the partridge coming to + him. They lit up a fire and commenced sining their deeds when they heard a + tremendous howl close behind them. They jumped up and put out the fire and + were immejutly attacked by five great wolves. The next day the little girl + was rambelling through the woods when they saw her and took her prisoner. + After she had confessed that she had stole the eggs they told her to raise + an army. They would have to fight over the nests of eggs and whoever one + would have the eggs. So the partridge raised a great army of all kinds of + birds except robins and the little girl got all the robins and foxes and + bees and wasps. And best of all the little girl had a gun and plenty of + ammunishun. The leader of her army was a wolf. The result of the battle + was that all the birds were killed except the partridge and the bluejay + and they were taken prisoner and starved to death. + </p> + <p> + The little girl was then taken prisoner by a witch and cast into a dunjun + full of snakes where she died from their bites and people who went through + the forrest after that were taken prisoner by her ghost and cast into the + same dunjun where they died. About a year after the wood turned into a + gold castle and one morning everything had vanished except a piece of a + tree. + </p> +<p class="center"> + PETER CRAIG. +</p> + <p> + (DAN, WITH A WHISTLE:—“Well, I guess nobody can say Peter can’t + write fiction after THAT.” + </p> + <p> + SARA RAY, WIPING AWAY HER TEARS:—“It’s a very interesting story, but + it ends SO sadly.” + </p> + <p> + FELIX:—“What made you call it The Battle of the Partridge Eggs when + the bluejay had just as much to do with it?” + </p> + <p> + PETER, SHORTLY:—“Because it sounded better that way.” + </p> + <p> + FELICITY:—“Did she eat the eggs raw?” + </p> + <p> + SARA RAY:—“Poor little thing, I suppose if you’re starving you can’t + be very particular.” + </p> + <p> + CECILY, SIGHING:—“I wish you’d let her go home safe, Peter, and not + put her to such a cruel death.” + </p> + <p> + BEVERLEY:—“I don’t quite understand where the little girl got her + gun and ammunition.” + </p> + <p> + PETER, SUSPECTING THAT HE IS BEING MADE FUN OF:—“If you could write + a better story, why didn’t you? I give you the chance.” + </p> + <p> + THE STORY GIRL, WITH A PRETERNATURALLY SOLEMN FACE:—“You shouldn’t + criticize Peter’s story like that. It’s a fairy tale, you know, and + anything can happen in a fairy tale.” + </p> + <p> + FELICITY:—“There isn’t a word about fairies in it!” + </p> + <p> + CECILY:—“Besides, fairy tales always end nicely and this doesn’t.” + </p> + <p> + PETER, SULKILY:—“I wanted to punish her for running away from home.” + </p> + <p> + DAN:—“Well, I guess you did it all right.” + </p> + <p> + CECILY:—“Oh, well, it was very interesting, and that is all that is + really necessary in a story.” ) + </p> + <p> + PERSONALS + </p> + <p> + Mr. Blair Stanley is visiting friends and relatives in Carlisle. He + intends returning to Europe shortly. His daughter, Miss Sara, will + accompany him. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Alan King is expected home from South America next month. His sons + will return with him to Toronto. Beverley and Felix have made hosts of + friends during their stay in Carlisle and will be much missed in social + circles. + </p> + <p> + The Mission Band of Carlisle Presbyterian Church completed their + missionary quilt last week. Miss Cecily King collected the largest sum on + her square. Congratulations, Cecily. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Peter Craig will be residing in Markdale after October and will attend + school there this winter. Peter is a good fellow and we all wish him + success and prosperity. + </p> + <p> + Apple picking is almost ended. There was an unusually heavy crop this + year. Potatoes, not so good. + </p> + <p> + HOUSEHOLD DEPARTMENT + </p> + <p> + Apple pies are the order of the day. + </p> + <p> + Eggs are a very good price now. Uncle Roger says it isn’t fair to have to + pay as much for a dozen little eggs as a dozen big ones, but they go just + as far. + </p> +<p class="center"> + FELICITY KING. +</p> + <p> + ETIQUETTE DEPARTMENT + </p> + <p> + F-l-t-y. Is it considered good form to eat peppermints in church? Ans.; + No, not if a witch gives them to you. + </p> + <p> + No, F-l-x, we would not call Treasure Island or the Pilgrim’s Progress + dime novels. + </p> + <p> + Yes, P-t-r, when you call on a young lady and her mother offers you a + slice of bread and jam it is quite polite for you to accept it. + </p> +<p class="center"> + DAN KING. +</p> + <p> + FASHION NOTES + </p> + <p> + Necklaces of roseberries are very much worn now. + </p> + <p> + It is considered smart to wear your school hat tilted over your left eye. + </p> + <p> + Bangs are coming in. Em Frewen has them. She went to Summerside for a + visit and came back with them. All the girls in school are going to bang + their hair as soon as their mothers will let them. But I do not intend to + bang mine. + </p> +<p class="center"> + CECILY KING. +</p> + <p> + (SARA RAY, DESPAIRINGLY:—“I know ma will never let ME have bangs.”) + </p> + <p> + FUNNY PARAGRAPHS + </p> + <p> + D-n. What are details? C-l-y. I am not sure, but I think they are things + that are left over. + </p> + <p> + (CECILY, WONDERINGLY:—“I don’t see why that was put among the funny + paragraphs. Shouldn’t it have gone in the General Information + department?”) + </p> + <p> + Old Mr. McIntyre’s son on the Markdale Road had been very sick for several + years and somebody was sympathizing with him because his son was going to + die. “Oh,” Mr. McIntyre said, quite easy, “he might as weel be awa’. He’s + only retarding buzziness.” + </p> +<p class="center"> + FELIX KING. +</p> + <p> + GENERAL INFORMATION BUREAU + </p> + <p> + P-t-r. What kind of people live in uninhabited places? + </p> + <p> + Ans.: Cannibals, likely. + </p> +<p class="center"> + FELIX KING. +</p> + <p> + <a name="linknote-1" id="linknote-1"> + <!-- Note --></a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 1 (<a href="#linknoteref-1">return</a>)<br> [ The obituary was written by + Mr. Felix King, but the two lines of poetry were composed by Miss Sara + Ray.] + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0032" id="link2HCH0032"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br><br><br><br> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXII. OUR LAST EVENING TOGETHER + </h2> + <p> + IT was the evening before the day on which the Story Girl and Uncle Blair + were to leave us, and we were keeping our last tryst together in the + orchard where we had spent so many happy hours. We had made a pilgrimage + to all the old haunts—the hill field, the spruce wood, the dairy, + Grandfather King’s willow, the Pulpit Stone, Pat’s grave, and Uncle + Stephen’s Walk; and now we foregathered in the sere grasses about the old + well and feasted on the little jam turnovers Felicity had made that day + specially for the occasion. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder if we’ll ever all be together again,” sighed Cecily. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder when I’ll get jam turnovers like this again,” said the Story + Girl, trying to be gay but not making much of a success of it. + </p> + <p> + “If Paris wasn’t so far away I could send you a box of nice things now and + then,” said Felicity forlornly, “but I suppose there’s no use thinking of + that. Dear knows what they’ll give you to eat over there.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, the French have the reputation of being the best cooks in the world,” + rejoined the Story Girl, “but I know they can’t beat your jam turnovers + and plum puffs, Felicity. Many a time I’ll be hankering after them.” + </p> + <p> + “If we ever do meet again you’ll be grown up,” said Felicity gloomily. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you won’t have stood still yourselves, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “No, but that’s just the worst of it. We’ll all be different and + everything will be changed.” + </p> + <p> + “Just think,” said Cecily, “last New Year’s Eve we were wondering what + would happen this year; and what a lot of things have happened that we + never expected. Oh, dear!” + </p> + <p> + “If things never happened life would be pretty dull,” said the Story Girl + briskly. “Oh, don’t look so dismal, all of you.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s hard to be cheerful when everybody’s going away,” sighed Cecily. + </p> + <p> + “Well, let’s pretend to be, anyway,” insisted the Story Girl. “Don’t let’s + think of parting. Let’s think instead of how much we’ve laughed this last + year or so. I’m sure I shall never forget this dear old place. We’ve had + so many good times here.” + </p> + <p> + “And some bad times, too,” reminded Felix. + </p> + <p> + “Remember when Dan et the bad berries last summer?” + </p> + <p> + “And the time we were so scared over that bell ringing in the house,” + grinned Peter. + </p> + <p> + “And the Judgment Day,” added Dan. + </p> + <p> + “And the time Paddy was bewitched,” suggested Sara Ray. + </p> + <p> + “And when Peter was dying of the measles,” said Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “And the time Jimmy Patterson was lost,” said Dan. “Gee-whiz, but that + scared me out of a year’s growth.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you remember the time we took the magic seed,” grinned Peter. + </p> + <p> + “Weren’t we silly?” said Felicity. “I really can never look Billy Robinson + in the face when I meet him. I’m always sure he’s laughing at me in his + sleeve.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s Billy Robinson who ought to be ashamed when he meets you or any of + us,” commented Cecily severely. “I’d rather be cheated than cheat other + people.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mind the time we bought God’s picture?” asked Peter. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder if it’s where we buried it yet,” speculated Felix. + </p> + <p> + “I put a stone over it, just as we did over Pat,” said Cecily. + </p> + <p> + “I wish I could forget what God looks like,” sighed Sara Ray. “I can’t + forget it—and I can’t forget what the bad place is like either, ever + since Peter preached that sermon on it.” + </p> + <p> + “When you get to be a real minister you’ll have to preach that sermon over + again, Peter,” grinned Dan. + </p> + <p> + “My Aunt Jane used to say that people needed a sermon on that place once + in a while,” retorted Peter seriously. + </p> + <p> + “Do you mind the night I et the cucumbers and milk to make me dream?” said + Cecily. + </p> + <p> + And therewith we hunted out our old dream books to read them again, and, + forgetful of coming partings, laughed over them till the old orchard + echoed to our mirth. When we had finished we stood in a circle around the + well and pledged “eternal friendship” in a cup of its unrivalled water. + </p> + <p> + Then we joined hands and sang “Auld Lang Syne.” Sara Ray cried bitterly in + lieu of singing. + </p> + <p> + “Look here,” said the Story Girl, as we turned to leave the old orchard, + “I want to ask a favour of you all. Don’t say good-bye to me tomorrow + morning.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” demanded Felicity in astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “Because it’s such a hopeless sort of word. Don’t let’s SAY it at all. + Just see me off with a wave of your hands. It won’t seem half so bad then. + And don’t any of you cry if you can help it. I want to remember you all + smiling.” + </p> + <p> + We went out of the old orchard where the autumn night wind was beginning + to make its weird music in the russet boughs, and shut the little gate + behind us. Our revels there were ended. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0033" id="link2HCH0033"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br><br><br><br> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXIII. THE STORY GIRL GOES + </h2> + <p> + The morning dawned, rosy and clear and frosty. Everybody was up early, for + the travellers must leave in time to catch the nine o’clock train. The + horse was harnessed and Uncle Alec was waiting by the door. Aunt Janet was + crying, but everybody else was making a valiant effort not to. The Awkward + Man and Mrs. Dale came to see the last of their favourite. Mrs. Dale had + brought her a glorious sheaf of chrysanthemums, and the Awkward Man gave + her, quite gracefully, another little, old, limp book from his library. + </p> + <p> + “Read it when you are sad or happy or lonely or discouraged or hopeful,” + he said gravely. + </p> + <p> + “He has really improved very much since he got married,” whispered + Felicity to me. + </p> + <p> + Sara Stanley wore a smart new travelling suit and a blue felt hat with a + white feather. She looked so horribly grown up in it that we felt as if + she were lost to us already. + </p> + <p> + Sara Ray had vowed tearfully the night before that she would be up in the + morning to say farewell. But at this juncture Judy Pineau appeared to say + that Sara, with her usual luck, had a sore throat, and that her mother + consequently would not permit her to come. So Sara had written her parting + words in a three-cornered pink note. + </p> +<p class="pre"> + “My OWN DARLING FRIEND:—WORDS CANNOT EXPRESS my feelings over not + being able to go up this morning to say good-bye to one I so + FONDLY ADORE. When I think that I cannot SEE YOU AGAIN my heart + is almost TOO FULL FOR UTTERANCE. But mother says I cannot and I + MUST OBEY. But I will be present IN SPIRIT. It just BREAKS MY + HEART that you are going SO FAR AWAY. You have always been SO + KIND to me and never hurt my feelings AS SOME DO and I shall miss + you SO MUCH. But I earnestly HOPE AND PRAY that you will be HAPPY + AND PROSPEROUS wherever YOUR LOT IS CAST and not be seasick on THE + GREAT OCEAN. I hope you will find time AMONG YOUR MANY DUTIES to + write me a letter ONCE IN A WHILE. I shall ALWAYS REMEMBER YOU + and please remember me. I hope we WILL MEET AGAIN sometime, but + if not may we meet in A FAR BETTER WORLD where there are no SAD + PARTINGS. +<br> + “Your true and loving friend,<br> +<br> + <span class="right"> “SARA RAY”</span> + </p> + <p> + “Poor little Sara,” said the Story Girl, with a queer catch in her voice, + as she slipped the tear-blotted note into her pocket. “She isn’t a bad + little soul, and I’m <p class="center">sorry I couldn’t see her once more, though maybe it’s + just as well for she’d have to cry and set us all off. I WON’T cry. + Felicity, don’t you dare. Oh, you dear, darling people, I love you all so + much and I’ll go on loving you always.” + </p> + <p> + “Mind you write us every week at the very least,” said Felicity, winking + furiously. + </p> + <p> + “Blair, Blair, watch over the child well,” said Aunt Janet. “Remember, she + has no mother.” + </p> + <p> + The Story Girl ran over to the buggy and climbed in. Uncle Blair followed + her. Her arms were full of Mrs. Dale’s chrysanthemums, held close up to + her face, and her beautiful eyes shone softly at us over them. No + good-byes were said, as she wished. We all smiled bravely and waved our + hands as they drove out of the lane and down the moist red road into the + shadows of the fir wood in the valley. But we still stood there, for we + knew we should see the Story Girl once more. Beyond the fir wood was an + open curve in the road and she had promised to wave a last farewell as + they passed around it. + </p> + <p> + We watched the curve in silence, standing in a sorrowful little group in + the sunshine of the autumn morning. The delight of the world had been ours + on the golden road. It had enticed us with daisies and rewarded us with + roses. Blossom and lyric had waited on our wishes. Thoughts, careless and + sweet, had visited us. Laughter had been our comrade and fearless Hope our + guide. But now the shadow of change was over it. + </p> + <p> + “There she is,” cried Felicity. + </p> + <p> + The Story Girl stood up and waved her chrysanthemums at us. We waved + wildly back until the buggy had driven around the curve. Then we went + slowly and silently back to the house. The Story Girl was gone. + </p> +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 316 ***</div> + </body> +</html> diff --git a/316-h/images/cover.jpg b/316-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..d5e98a9 --- /dev/null +++ b/316-h/images/cover.jpg diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9840422 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #316 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/316) diff --git a/old/316.txt b/old/316.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..93c5226 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/316.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9360 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Golden Road, by Lucy Maud Montgomery + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Golden Road + +Author: Lucy Maud Montgomery + +Release Date: July 5, 2008 [EBook #316] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GOLDEN ROAD *** + + + + +Produced by John Hamm + + + + + +THE GOLDEN ROAD + +By L. M. Montgomery + + + "Life was a rose-lipped comrade + With purple flowers dripping from her fingers." + --The Author. + + + TO + THE MEMORY OF + Aunt Mary Lawson + WHO TOLD ME MANY OF THE TALES + REPEATED BY THE + STORY GIRL + + + + +FOREWORD + + +Once upon a time we all walked on the golden road. It was a fair +highway, through the Land of Lost Delight; shadow and sunshine were +blessedly mingled, and every turn and dip revealed a fresh charm and a +new loveliness to eager hearts and unspoiled eyes. + +On that road we heard the song of morning stars; we drank in fragrances +aerial and sweet as a May mist; we were rich in gossamer fancies and +iris hopes; our hearts sought and found the boon of dreams; the years +waited beyond and they were very fair; life was a rose-lipped comrade +with purple flowers dripping from her fingers. + +We may long have left the golden road behind, but its memories are the +dearest of our eternal possessions; and those who cherish them as such +may haply find a pleasure in the pages of this book, whose people are +pilgrims on the golden road of youth. + + + + + +THE GOLDEN ROAD + + + + +CHAPTER I. A NEW DEPARTURE + + +"I've thought of something amusing for the winter," I said as we +drew into a half-circle around the glorious wood-fire in Uncle Alec's +kitchen. + +It had been a day of wild November wind, closing down into a wet, eerie +twilight. Outside, the wind was shrilling at the windows and around the +eaves, and the rain was playing on the roof. The old willow at the gate +was writhing in the storm and the orchard was a place of weird music, +born of all the tears and fears that haunt the halls of night. But +little we cared for the gloom and the loneliness of the outside world; +we kept them at bay with the light of the fire and the laughter of our +young lips. + +We had been having a splendid game of Blind-Man's Buff. That is, it +had been splendid at first; but later the fun went out of it because we +found that Peter was, of malice prepense, allowing himself to be +caught too easily, in order that he might have the pleasure of catching +Felicity--which he never failed to do, no matter how tightly his eyes +were bound. What remarkable goose said that love is blind? Love can see +through five folds of closely-woven muffler with ease! + +"I'm getting tired," said Cecily, whose breath was coming rather quickly +and whose pale cheeks had bloomed into scarlet. "Let's sit down and get +the Story Girl to tell us a story." + +But as we dropped into our places the Story Girl shot a significant +glance at me which intimated that this was the psychological moment for +introducing the scheme she and I had been secretly developing for some +days. It was really the Story Girl's idea and none of mine. But she had +insisted that I should make the suggestion as coming wholly from myself. + +"If you don't, Felicity won't agree to it. You know yourself, Bev, how +contrary she's been lately over anything I mention. And if she goes +against it Peter will too--the ninny!--and it wouldn't be any fun if we +weren't all in it." + +"What is it?" asked Felicity, drawing her chair slightly away from +Peter's. + +"It is this. Let us get up a newspaper of our own--write it all +ourselves, and have all we do in it. Don't you think we can get a lot of +fun out of it?" + +Everyone looked rather blank and amazed, except the Story Girl. She knew +what she had to do, and she did it. + +"What a silly idea!" she exclaimed, with a contemptuous toss of her long +brown curls. "Just as if WE could get up a newspaper!" + +Felicity fired up, exactly as we had hoped. + +"I think it's a splendid idea," she said enthusiastically. "I'd like to +know why we couldn't get up as good a newspaper as they have in town! +Uncle Roger says the Daily Enterprise has gone to the dogs--all the news +it prints is that some old woman has put a shawl on her head and gone +across the road to have tea with another old woman. I guess we could do +better than that. You needn't think, Sara Stanley, that nobody but you +can do anything." + +"I think it would be great fun," said Peter decidedly. "My Aunt Jane +helped edit a paper when she was at Queen's Academy, and she said it was +very amusing and helped her a great deal." + +The Story Girl could hide her delight only by dropping her eyes and +frowning. + +"Bev wants to be editor," she said, "and I don't see how he can, with no +experience. Anyhow, it would be a lot of trouble." + +"Some people are so afraid of a little bother," retorted Felicity. + +"I think it would be nice," said Cecily timidly, "and none of us have +any experience of being editors, any more than Bev, so that wouldn't +matter." + +"Will it be printed?" asked Dan. + +"Oh, no," I said. "We can't have it printed. We'll just have to write it +out--we can buy foolscap from the teacher." + +"I don't think it will be much of a newspaper if it isn't printed," said +Dan scornfully. + +"It doesn't matter very much what YOU think," said Felicity. + +"Thank you," retorted Dan. + +"Of course," said the Story Girl hastily, not wishing to have Dan turned +against our project, "if all the rest of you want it I'll go in for it +too. I daresay it would be real good fun, now that I come to think of +it. And we'll keep the copies, and when we become famous they'll be +quite valuable." + +"I wonder if any of us ever will be famous," said Felix. + +"The Story Girl will be," I said. + +"I don't see how she can be," said Felicity skeptically. "Why, she's +just one of us." + +"Well, it's decided, then, that we're to have a newspaper," I resumed +briskly. "The next thing is to choose a name for it. That's a very +important thing." + +"How often are you going to publish it?" asked Felix. + +"Once a month." + +"I thought newspapers came out every day, or every week at least," said +Dan. + +"We couldn't have one every week," I explained. "It would be too much +work." + +"Well, that's an argument," admitted Dan. "The less work you can get +along with the better, in my opinion. No, Felicity, you needn't say it. +I know exactly what you want to say, so save your breath to cool your +porridge. I agree with you that I never work if I can find anything else +to do." + + + "'Remember it is harder still + To have no work to do,"' + + +quoted Cecily reprovingly. + +"I don't believe THAT," rejoined Dan. "I'm like the Irishman who said he +wished the man who begun work had stayed and finished it." + +"Well, is it decided that Bev is to be editor?" asked Felix. + +"Of course it is," Felicity answered for everybody. + +"Then," said Felix, "I move that the name be The King Monthly Magazine." + +"That sounds fine," said Peter, hitching his chair a little nearer +Felicity's. + +"But," said Cecily timidly, "that will leave out Peter and the Story +Girl and Sara Ray, just as if they didn't have a share in it. I don't +think that would be fair." + +"You name it then, Cecily," I suggested. + +"Oh!" Cecily threw a deprecating glance at the Story Girl and Felicity. +Then, meeting the contempt in the latter's gaze, she raised her head +with unusual spirit. + +"I think it would be nice just to call it Our Magazine," she said. "Then +we'd all feel as if we had a share in it." + +"Our Magazine it will be, then," I said. "And as for having a share in +it, you bet we'll all have a share in it. If I'm to be editor you'll all +have to be sub-editors, and have charge of a department." + +"Oh, I couldn't," protested Cecily. + +"You must," I said inexorably. "'England expects everyone to do his +duty.' That's our motto--only we'll put Prince Edward Island in place of +England. There must be no shirking. Now, what departments will we have? +We must make it as much like a real newspaper as we can." + +"Well, we ought to have an etiquette department, then," said Felicity. +"The Family Guide has one." + +"Of course we'll have one," I said, "and Dan will edit it." + +"Dan!" exclaimed Felicity, who had fondly expected to be asked to edit +it herself. + +"I can run an etiquette column as well as that idiot in the Family +Guide, anyhow," said Dan defiantly. "But you can't have an etiquette +department unless questions are asked. What am I to do if nobody asks +any?" + +"You must make some up," said the Story Girl. "Uncle Roger says that is +what the Family Guide man does. He says it is impossible that there can +be as many hopeless fools in the world as that column would stand for +otherwise." + +"We want you to edit the household department, Felicity," I said, seeing +a cloud lowering on that fair lady's brow. "Nobody can do that as well +as you. Felix will edit the jokes and the Information Bureau, and Cecily +must be fashion editor. Yes, you must, Sis. It's easy as wink. And the +Story Girl will attend to the personals. They're very important. Anyone +can contribute a personal, but the Story Girl is to see there are some +in every issue, even if she has to make them up, like Dan with the +etiquette." + +"Bev will run the scrap book department, besides the editorials," said +the Story Girl, seeing that I was too modest to say it myself. + +"Aren't you going to have a story page?" asked Peter. + +"We will, if you'll be fiction and poetry editor," I said. + +Peter, in his secret soul, was dismayed, but he would not blanch before +Felicity. + +"All right," he said, recklessly. + +"We can put anything we like in the scrap book department," I explained, +"but all the other contributions must be original, and all must have the +name of the writer signed to them, except the personals. We must all do +our best. Our Magazine is to be 'a feast of reason and flow of soul."' + +I felt that I had worked in two quotations with striking effect. The +others, with the exception of the Story Girl, looked suitably impressed. + +"But," said Cecily, reproachfully, "haven't you anything for Sara Ray to +do? She'll feel awful bad if she is left out." + +I had forgotten Sara Ray. Nobody, except Cecily, ever did remember +Sara Ray unless she was on the spot. But we decided to put her in as +advertising manager. That sounded well and really meant very little. + +"Well, we'll go ahead then," I said, with a sigh of relief that the +project had been so easily launched. "We'll get the first issue out +about the first of January. And whatever else we do we mustn't let Uncle +Roger get hold of it. He'd make such fearful fun of it." + +"I hope we can make a success of it," said Peter moodily. He had been +moody ever since he was entrapped into being fiction editor. + +"It will be a success if we are determined to succeed," I said. "'Where +there is a will there is always a way.'" + +"That's just what Ursula Townley said when her father locked her in her +room the night she was going to run away with Kenneth MacNair," said the +Story Girl. + +We pricked up our ears, scenting a story. + +"Who were Ursula Townley and Kenneth MacNair?" I asked. + +"Kenneth MacNair was a first cousin of the Awkward Man's grandfather, +and Ursula Townley was the belle of the Island in her day. Who do you +suppose told me the story--no, read it to me, out of his brown book?" + +"Never the Awkward Man himself!" I exclaimed incredulously. + +"Yes, he did," said the Story Girl triumphantly. "I met him one day +last week back in the maple woods when I was looking for ferns. He was +sitting by the spring, writing in his brown book. He hid it when he saw +me and looked real silly; but after I had talked to him awhile I just +asked him about it, and told him that the gossips said he wrote poetry +in it, and if he did would he tell me, because I was dying to know. He +said he wrote a little of everything in it; and then I begged him to +read me something out of it, and he read me the story of Ursula and +Kenneth." + +"I don't see how you ever had the face," said Felicity; and even Cecily +looked as if she thought the Story Girl had gone rather far. + +"Never mind that," cried Felix, "but tell us the story. That's the main +thing." + +"I'll tell it just as the Awkward Man read it, as far as I can," said +the Story Girl, "but I can't put all his nice poetical touches in, +because I can't remember them all, though he read it over twice for me." + + + + +CHAPTER II. A WILL, A WAY AND A WOMAN + + +"One day, over a hundred years ago, Ursula Townley was waiting for +Kenneth MacNair in a great beechwood, where brown nuts were falling +and an October wind was making the leaves dance on the ground like +pixy-people." + +"What are pixy-people?" demanded Peter, forgetting the Story Girl's +dislike of interruptions. + +"Hush," whispered Cecily. "That is only one of the Awkward Man's +poetical touches, I guess." + +"There were cultivated fields between the grove and the dark blue gulf; +but far behind and on each side were woods, for Prince Edward Island a +hundred years ago was not what it is today. The settlements were few and +scattered, and the population so scanty that old Hugh Townley boasted +that he knew every man, woman and child in it. + +"Old Hugh was quite a noted man in his day. He was noted for +several things--he was rich, he was hospitable, he was proud, he was +masterful--and he had for daughter the handsomest young woman in Prince +Edward Island. + +"Of course, the young men were not blind to her good looks, and she had +so many lovers that all the other girls hated her--" + +"You bet!" said Dan, aside-- + +"But the only one who found favour in her eyes was the very last man she +should have pitched her fancy on, at least if old Hugh were the +judge. Kenneth MacNair was a dark-eyed young sea-captain of the next +settlement, and it was to meet him that Ursula stole to the beechwood on +that autumn day of crisp wind and ripe sunshine. Old Hugh had forbidden +his house to the young man, making such a scene of fury about it that +even Ursula's high spirit quailed. Old Hugh had really nothing against +Kenneth himself; but years before either Kenneth or Ursula was born, +Kenneth's father had beaten Hugh Townley in a hotly contested election. +Political feeling ran high in those days, and old Hugh had never +forgiven the MacNair his victory. The feud between the families dated +from that tempest in the provincial teapot, and the surplus of votes +on the wrong side was the reason why, thirty years after, Ursula had to +meet her lover by stealth if she met him at all." + +"Was the MacNair a Conservative or a Grit?" asked Felicity. + +"It doesn't make any difference what he was," said the Story Girl +impatiently. "Even a Tory would be romantic a hundred years ago. Well, +Ursula couldn't see Kenneth very often, for Kenneth lived fifteen miles +away and was often absent from home in his vessel. On this particular +day it was nearly three months since they had met. + +"The Sunday before, young Sandy MacNair had been in Carlyle church. He +had risen at dawn that morning, walked bare-footed for eight miles along +the shore, carrying his shoes, hired a harbour fisherman to row him over +the channel, and then walked eight miles more to the church at Carlyle, +less, it is to be feared, from a zeal for holy things than that he might +do an errand for his adored brother, Kenneth. He carried a letter which +he contrived to pass into Ursula's hand in the crowd as the people came +out. This letter asked Ursula to meet Kenneth in the beechwood the +next afternoon, and so she stole away there when suspicious father and +watchful stepmother thought she was spinning in the granary loft." + +"It was very wrong of her to deceive her parents," said Felicity primly. + +The Story Girl couldn't deny this, so she evaded the ethical side of the +question skilfully. + +"I am not telling you what Ursula Townley ought to have done," she said +loftily. "I am only telling you what she DID do. If you don't want to +hear it you needn't listen, of course. There wouldn't be many stories to +tell if nobody ever did anything she shouldn't do. + +"Well, when Kenneth came, the meeting was just what might have been +expected between two lovers who had taken their last kiss three months +before. So it was a good half-hour before Ursula said, + +"'Oh, Kenneth, I cannot stay long--I shall be missed. You said in your +letter that you had something important to talk of. What is it?' + +"'My news is this, Ursula. Next Saturday morning my vessel, The Fair +Lady, with her captain on board, sails at dawn from Charlottetown +harbour, bound for Buenos Ayres. At this season this means a safe and +sure return--next May.' + +"'Kenneth!' cried Ursula. She turned pale and burst into tears. 'How can +you think of leaving me? Oh, you are cruel!' + +"'Why, no, sweetheart,' laughed Kenneth. 'The captain of The Fair Lady +will take his bride with him. We'll spend our honeymoon on the high +seas, Ursula, and the cold Canadian winter under southern palms.' + +"'You want me to run away with you, Kenneth?' exclaimed Ursula. + +"'Indeed, dear girl, there's nothing else to do!' + +"'Oh, I cannot!' she protested. 'My father would--' + +"'We'll not consult him--until afterward. Come, Ursula, you know there's +no other way. We've always known it must come to this. YOUR father will +never forgive me for MY father. You won't fail me now. Think of the +long parting if you send me away alone on such a voyage. Pluck up your +courage, and we'll let Townleys and MacNairs whistle their mouldy feuds +down the wind while we sail southward in The Fair Lady. I have a plan.' + +"'Let me hear it,' said Ursula, beginning to get back her breath. + +"'There is to be a dance at The Springs Friday night. Are you invited, +Ursula?' + +"'Yes.' + +"'Good. I am not--but I shall be there--in the fir grove behind the +house, with two horses. When the dancing is at its height you'll steal +out to meet me. Then 'tis but a fifteen mile ride to Charlottetown, +where a good minister, who is a friend of mine, will be ready to marry +us. By the time the dancers have tired their heels you and I will be on +our vessel, able to snap our fingers at fate.' + +"'And what if I do not meet you in the fir grove?' said Ursula, a little +impertinently. + +"'If you do not, I'll sail for South America the next morning, and many +a long year will pass ere Kenneth MacNair comes home again.' + +"Perhaps Kenneth didn't mean that, but Ursula thought he did, and it +decided her. She agreed to run away with him. Yes, of course that was +wrong, too, Felicity. She ought to have said, 'No, I shall be married +respectably from home, and have a wedding and a silk dress and +bridesmaids and lots of presents.' But she didn't. She wasn't as prudent +as Felicity King would have been." + +"She was a shameless hussy," said Felicity, venting on the long-dead +Ursula that anger she dare not visit on the Story Girl. + +"Oh, no, Felicity dear, she was just a lass of spirit. I'd have done the +same. And when Friday night came she began to dress for the dance with +a brave heart. She was to go to The Springs with her uncle and aunt, +who were coming on horseback that afternoon, and would then go on to The +Springs in old Hugh's carriage, which was the only one in Carlyle then. +They were to leave in time to reach The Springs before nightfall, for +the October nights were dark and the wooded roads rough for travelling. + +"When Ursula was ready she looked at herself in the glass with a good +deal of satisfaction. Yes, Felicity, she was a vain baggage, that same +Ursula, but that kind didn't all die out a hundred years ago. And she +had good reason for being vain. She wore the sea-green silk which had +been brought out from England a year before and worn but once--at the +Christmas ball at Government House. A fine, stiff, rustling silk it was, +and over it shone Ursula's crimson cheeks and gleaming eyes, and masses +of nut brown hair. + +"As she turned from the glass she heard her father's voice below, loud +and angry. Growing very pale, she ran out into the hall. Her father was +already half way upstairs, his face red with fury. In the hall below +Ursula saw her step-mother, looking troubled and vexed. At the door +stood Malcolm Ramsay, a homely neighbour youth who had been courting +Ursula in his clumsy way ever since she grew up. Ursula had always hated +him. + +"'Ursula!' shouted old Hugh, 'come here and tell this scoundrel he lies. +He says that you met Kenneth MacNair in the beechgrove last Tuesday. +Tell him he lies! Tell him he lies!' + +"Ursula was no coward. She looked scornfully at poor Ramsay. + +"'The creature is a spy and a tale-bearer,' she said, 'but in this he +does not lie. I DID meet Kenneth MacNair last Tuesday.' + +"'And you dare to tell me this to my face!' roared old Hugh. 'Back to +your room, girl! Back to your room and stay there! Take off that finery. +You go to no more dances. You shall stay in that room until I choose to +let you out. No, not a word! I'll put you there if you don't go. In with +you--ay, and take your knitting with you. Occupy yourself with that this +evening instead of kicking your heels at The Springs!' + +"He snatched a roll of gray stocking from the hall table and flung +it into Ursula's room. Ursula knew she would have to follow it, or be +picked up and carried in like a naughty child. So she gave the miserable +Ramsay a look that made him cringe, and swept into her room with her +head in the air. The next moment she heard the door locked behind +her. Her first proceeding was to have a cry of anger and shame and +disappointment. That did no good, and then she took to marching up and +down her room. It did not calm her to hear the rumble of the carriage +out of the gate as her uncle and aunt departed. + +"'Oh, what's to be done?' she sobbed. 'Kenneth will be furious. He will +think I have failed him and he will go away hot with anger against me. +If I could only send a word of explanation I know he would not leave me. +But there seems to be no way at all--though I have heard that there's +always a way when there's a will. Oh, I shall go mad! If the window +were not so high I would jump out of it. But to break my legs or my neck +would not mend the matter.' + +"The afternoon passed on. At sunset Ursula heard hoof-beats and ran to +the window. Andrew Kinnear of The Springs was tying his horse at the +door. He was a dashing young fellow, and a political crony of old Hugh. +No doubt he would be at the dance that night. Oh, if she could get +speech for but a moment with him! + +"When he had gone into the house, Ursula, turning impatiently from the +window, tripped and almost fell over the big ball of homespun yarn +her father had flung on the floor. For a moment she gazed at it +resentfully--then, with a gay little laugh, she pounced on it. The next +moment she was at her table, writing a brief note to Kenneth MacNair. +When it was written, Ursula unwound the gray ball to a considerable +depth, pinned the note on it, and rewound the yarn over it. A gray +ball, the color of the twilight, might escape observation, where a white +missive fluttering down from an upper window would surely be seen by +someone. Then she softly opened her window and waited. + +"It was dusk when Andrew went away. Fortunately old Hugh did not come to +the door with him. As Andrew untied his horse Ursula threw the ball with +such good aim that it struck him, as she had meant it to do, squarely on +the head. Andrew looked up at her window. She leaned out, put her finger +warningly on her lips, pointed to the ball, and nodded. Andrew, looking +somewhat puzzled, picked up the ball, sprang to his saddle, and galloped +off. + +"So far, well, thought Ursula. But would Andrew understand? Would he +have wit enough to think of exploring the big, knobby ball for its +delicate secret? And would he be at the dance after all? + +"The evening dragged by. Time had never seemed so long to Ursula. She +could not rest or sleep. It was midnight before she heard the patter of +a handful of gravel on her window-panes. In a trice she was leaning out. +Below in the darkness stood Kenneth MacNair. + +"'Oh, Kenneth, did you get my letter? And is it safe for you to be +here?' + +"'Safe enough. Your father is in bed. I've waited two hours down the +road for his light to go out, and an extra half-hour to put him to +sleep. The horses are there. Slip down and out, Ursula. We'll make +Charlottetown by dawn yet.' + +"'That's easier said than done, lad. I'm locked in. But do you go out +behind the new barn and bring the ladder you will find there.' + +"Five minutes later, Miss Ursula, hooded and cloaked, scrambled +soundlessly down the ladder, and in five more minutes she and Kenneth +were riding along the road. + +"'There's a stiff gallop before us, Ursula,' said Kenneth. + +"'I would ride to the world's end with you, Kenneth MacNair,' said +Ursula. Oh, of course she shouldn't have said anything of the sort, +Felicity. But you see people had no etiquette departments in those days. +And when the red sunlight of a fair October dawn was shining over the +gray sea The Fair Lady sailed out of Charlottetown harbour. On her deck +stood Kenneth and Ursula MacNair, and in her hand, as a most precious +treasure, the bride carried a ball of gray homespun yarn." + +"Well," said Dan, yawning, "I like that kind of a story. Nobody goes and +dies in it, that's one good thing." + +"Did old Hugh forgive Ursula?" I asked. + +"The story stopped there in the brown book," said the Story Girl, "but +the Awkward Man says he did, after awhile." + +"It must be rather romantic to be run away with," remarked Cecily, +wistfully. + +"Don't you get such silly notions in your head, Cecily King," said +Felicity, severely. + + + + +CHAPTER III. THE CHRISTMAS HARP + + +Great was the excitement in the houses of King as Christmas drew nigh. +The air was simply charged with secrets. Everybody was very penurious +for weeks beforehand and hoards were counted scrutinizingly every day. +Mysterious pieces of handiwork were smuggled in and out of sight, and +whispered consultations were held, about which nobody thought of being +jealous, as might have happened at any other time. Felicity was in her +element, for she and her mother were deep in preparations for the +day. Cecily and the Story Girl were excluded from these doings +with indifference on Aunt Janet's part and what seemed ostentatious +complacency on Felicity's. Cecily took this to heart and complained to +me about it. + +"I'm one of this family just as much as Felicity is," she said, with as +much indignation as Cecily could feel, "and I don't think she need +shut me out of everything. When I wanted to stone the raisins for the +mince-meat she said, no, she would do it herself, because Christmas +mince-meat was very particular--as if I couldn't stone raisins right! +The airs Felicity puts on about her cooking just make me sick," +concluded Cecily wrathfully. + +"It's a pity she doesn't make a mistake in cooking once in a while +herself," I said. "Then maybe she wouldn't think she knew so much more +than other people." + +All parcels that came in the mail from distant friends were taken charge +of by Aunts Janet and Olivia, not to be opened until the great day of +the feast itself. How slowly the last week passed! But even watched pots +will boil in the fulness of time, and finally Christmas day came, gray +and dour and frost-bitten without, but full of revelry and rose-red +mirth within. Uncle Roger and Aunt Olivia and the Story Girl came over +early for the day; and Peter came too, with his shining, morning face, +to be hailed with joy, for we had been afraid that Peter would not be +able to spend Christmas with us. His mother had wanted him home with +her. + +"Of course I ought to go," Peter had told me mournfully, "but we won't +have turkey for dinner, because ma can't afford it. And ma always cries +on holidays because she says they make her think of father. Of course +she can't help it, but it ain't cheerful. Aunt Jane wouldn't have cried. +Aunt Jane used to say she never saw the man who was worth spoiling her +eyes for. But I guess I'll have to spend Christmas at home." + +At the last moment, however, a cousin of Mrs. Craig's in Charlottetown +invited her for Christmas, and Peter, being given his choice of going or +staying, joyfully elected to stay. So we were all together, except Sara +Ray, who had been invited but whose mother wouldn't let her come. + +"Sara Ray's mother is a nuisance," snapped the Story Girl. "She just +lives to make that poor child miserable, and she won't let her go to the +party tonight, either." + +"It is just breaking Sara's heart that she can't," said Cecily +compassionately. "I'm almost afraid I won't enjoy myself for thinking of +her, home there alone, most likely reading the Bible, while we're at the +party." + +"She might be worse occupied than reading the Bible," said Felicity +rebukingly. + +"But Mrs. Ray makes her read it as a punishment," protested Cecily. +"Whenever Sara cries to go anywhere--and of course she'll cry +tonight--Mrs. Ray makes her read seven chapters in the Bible. I wouldn't +think that would make her very fond of it. And I'll not be able to talk +the party over with Sara afterwards--and that's half the fun gone." + +"You can tell her all about it," comforted Felix. + +"Telling isn't a bit like talking it over," retorted Cecily. "It's too +one-sided." + +We had an exciting time opening our presents. Some of us had more than +others, but we all received enough to make us feel comfortably that we +were not unduly neglected in the matter. The contents of the box which +the Story Girl's father had sent her from Paris made our eyes stick out. +It was full of beautiful things, among them another red silk dress--not +the bright, flame-hued tint of her old one, but a rich, dark crimson, +with the most distracting flounces and bows and ruffles; and with it +were little red satin slippers with gold buckles, and heels that made +Aunt Janet hold up her hands in horror. Felicity remarked scornfully +that she would have thought the Story Girl would get tired wearing red +so much, and even Cecily commented apart to me that she thought when +you got so many things all at once you didn't appreciate them as much as +when you only got a few. + +"I'd never get tired of red," said the Story Girl. "I just love it--it's +so rich and glowing. When I'm dressed in red I always feel ever so much +cleverer than in any other colour. Thoughts just crowd into my brain +one after the other. Oh, you darling dress--you dear, sheeny, red-rosy, +glistening, silky thing!" + +She flung it over her shoulder and danced around the kitchen. + +"Don't be silly, Sara," said Aunt Janet, a little stimy. She was a good +soul, that Aunt Janet, and had a kind, loving heart in her ample bosom. +But I fancy there were times when she thought it rather hard that the +daughter of a roving adventurer--as she considered him--like Blair +Stanley should disport herself in silk dresses, while her own daughters +must go clad in gingham and muslin--for those were the days when a +feminine creature got one silk dress in her lifetime, and seldom more +than one. + +The Story Girl also got a present from the Awkward Man--a little, +shabby, worn volume with a great many marks on the leaves. + +"Why, it isn't new--it's an old book!" exclaimed Felicity. "I didn't +think the Awkward Man was mean, whatever else he was." + +"Oh, you don't understand, Felicity," said the Story Girl patiently. +"And I don't suppose I can make you understand. But I'll try. I'd ten +times rather have this than a new book. It's one of his own, don't you +see--one that he has read a hundred times and loved and made a friend +of. A new book, just out of a shop, wouldn't be the same thing at all. +It wouldn't MEAN anything. I consider it a great compliment that he has +given me this book. I'm prouder of it than of anything else I've got." + +"Well, you're welcome to it," said Felicity. "I don't understand and I +don't want to. I wouldn't give anybody a Christmas present that wasn't +new, and I wouldn't thank anybody who gave me one." + +Peter was in the seventh heaven because Felicity had given him a +present--and, moreover, one that she had made herself. It was a bookmark +of perforated cardboard, with a gorgeous red and yellow worsted goblet +worked on it, and below, in green letters, the solemn warning, "Touch +Not The Cup." As Peter was not addicted to habits of intemperance, not +even to looking on dandelion wine when it was pale yellow, we did not +exactly see why Felicity should have selected such a device. But Peter +was perfectly satisfied, so nobody cast any blight on his happiness by +carping criticism. Later on Felicity told me she had worked the bookmark +for him because his father used to drink before he ran away. + +"I thought Peter ought to be warned in time," she said. + +Even Pat had a ribbon of blue, which he clawed off and lost half an hour +after it was tied on him. Pat did not care for vain adornments of the +body. + +We had a glorious Christmas dinner, fit for the halls of Lucullus, and +ate far more than was good for us, none daring to make us afraid on that +one day of the year. And in the evening--oh, rapture and delight!--we +went to Kitty Marr's party. + +It was a fine December evening; the sharp air of morning had mellowed +until it was as mild as autumn. There had been no snow, and the long +fields, sloping down from the homestead, were brown and mellow. A weird, +dreamy stillness had fallen on the purple earth, the dark fir woods, the +valley rims, the sere meadows. Nature seemed to have folded satisfied +hands to rest, knowing that her long wintry slumber was coming upon her. + +At first, when the invitations to the party had come, Aunt Janet had +said we could not go; but Uncle Alec interceded in our favour, perhaps +influenced thereto by Cecily's wistful eyes. If Uncle Alec had a +favourite among his children it was Cecily, and he had grown even more +indulgent towards her of late. Now and then I saw him looking at her +intently, and, following his eyes and thought, I had, somehow, seen that +Cecily was paler and thinner than she had been in the summer, and that +her soft eyes seemed larger, and that over her little face in moments of +repose there was a certain languor and weariness that made it very sweet +and pathetic. And I heard him tell Aunt Janet that he did not like to +see the child getting so much the look of her Aunt Felicity. + +"Cecily is perfectly well," said Aunt Janet sharply. "She's only growing +very fast. Don't be foolish, Alec." + +But after that Cecily had cups of cream where the rest of us got only +milk; and Aunt Janet was very particular to see that she had her rubbers +on whenever she went out. + +On this merry Christmas evening, however, no fears or dim foreshadowings +of any coming event clouded our hearts or faces. Cecily looked brighter +and prettier than I had ever seen her, with her softly shining eyes and +the nut brown gloss of her hair. Felicity was too beautiful for words; +and even the Story Girl, between excitement and the crimson silk array, +blossomed out with a charm and allurement more potent than any regular +loveliness--and this in spite of the fact that Aunt Olivia had tabooed +the red satin slippers and mercilessly decreed that stout shoes should +be worn. + +"I know just how you feel about it, you daughter of Eve," she said, with +gay sympathy, "but December roads are damp, and if you are going to +walk to Marrs' you are not going to do it in those frivolous Parisian +concoctions, even with overboots on; so be brave, dear heart, and show +that you have a soul above little red satin shoes." + +"Anyhow," said Uncle Roger, "that red silk dress will break the hearts +of all the feminine small fry at the party. You'd break their spirits, +too, if you wore the slippers. Don't do it, Sara. Leave them one wee +loophole of enjoyment." + +"What does Uncle Roger mean?" whispered Felicity. + +"He means you girls are all dying of jealousy because of the Story +Girl's dress," said Dan. + +"I am not of a jealous disposition," said Felicity loftily, "and she's +entirely welcome to the dress--with a complexion like that." + +But we enjoyed that party hugely, every one of us. And we enjoyed the +walk home afterwards, through dim, enshadowed fields where silvery +star-beams lay, while Orion trod his stately march above us, and a red +moon climbed up the black horizon's rim. A brook went with us part of +the way, singing to us through the dark--a gay, irresponsible vagabond +of valley and wilderness. + +Felicity and Peter walked not with us. Peter's cup must surely have +brimmed over that Christmas night. When we left the Marr house, he had +boldly said to Felicity, "May I see you home?" And Felicity, much to our +amazement, had taken his arm and marched off with him. The primness +of her was indescribable, and was not at all ruffled by Dan's hoot of +derision. As for me, I was consumed by a secret and burning desire to +ask the Story Girl if I might see HER home; but I could not screw my +courage to the sticking point. How I envied Peter his easy, insouciant +manner! I could not emulate him, so Dan and Felix and Cecily and the +Story Girl and I all walked hand in hand, huddling a little closer +together as we went through James Frewen's woods--for there are strange +harps in a fir grove, and who shall say what fingers sweep them? Mighty +and sonorous was the music above our heads as the winds of the night +stirred the great boughs tossing athwart the starlit sky. Perhaps it was +that aeolian harmony which recalled to the Story Girl a legend of elder +days. + +"I read such a pretty story in one of Aunt Olivia's books last night," +she said. "It was called 'The Christmas Harp.' Would you like to hear +it? It seems to me it would just suit this part of the road." + +"There isn't anything about--about ghosts in it, is there?" said Cecily +timidly. + +"Oh, no, I wouldn't tell a ghost story here for anything. I'd frighten +myself too much. This story is about one of the shepherds who saw the +angels on the first Christmas night. He was just a youth, and he loved +music with all his heart, and he longed to be able to express the melody +that was in his soul. But he could not; he had a harp and he often tried +to play on it; but his clumsy fingers only made such discord that +his companions laughed at him and mocked him, and called him a madman +because he would not give it up, but would rather sit apart by himself, +with his arms about his harp, looking up into the sky, while they +gathered around their fire and told tales to wile away their long night +vigils as they watched their sheep on the hills. But to him the thoughts +that came out of the great silence were far sweeter than their mirth; +and he never gave up the hope, which sometimes left his lips as a +prayer, that some day he might be able to express those thoughts in +music to the tired, weary, forgetful world. On the first Christmas night +he was out with his fellow shepherds on the hills. It was chill and +dark, and all, except him, were glad to gather around the fire. He sat, +as usual, by himself, with his harp on his knee and a great longing in +his heart. And there came a marvellous light in the sky and over the +hills, as if the darkness of the night had suddenly blossomed into a +wonderful meadow of flowery flame; and all the shepherds saw the angels +and heard them sing. And as they sang, the harp that the young shepherd +held began to play softly by itself, and as he listened to it he +realized that it was playing the same music that the angels sang +and that all his secret longings and aspirations and strivings were +expressed in it. From that night, whenever he took the harp in his +hands, it played the same music; and he wandered all over the world +carrying it; wherever the sound of its music was heard hate and discord +fled away and peace and good-will reigned. No one who heard it could +think an evil thought; no one could feel hopeless or despairing or +bitter or angry. When a man had once heard that music it entered into +his soul and heart and life and became a part of him for ever. Years +went by; the shepherd grew old and bent and feeble; but still he +roamed over land and sea, that his harp might carry the message of the +Christmas night and the angel song to all mankind. At last his strength +failed him and he fell by the wayside in the darkness; but his harp +played as his spirit passed; and it seemed to him that a Shining One +stood by him, with wonderful starry eyes, and said to him, 'Lo, the +music thy harp has played for so many years has been but the echo of the +love and sympathy and purity and beauty in thine own soul; and if at any +time in the wanderings thou hadst opened the door of that soul to evil +or envy or selfishness thy harp would have ceased to play. Now thy life +is ended; but what thou hast given to mankind has no end; and as long as +the world lasts, so long will the heavenly music of the Christmas harp +ring in the ears of men.' When the sun rose the old shepherd lay dead by +the roadside, with a smile on his face; and in his hands was a harp with +all its strings broken." + +We left the fir woods as the tale was ended, and on the opposite hill +was home. A dim light in the kitchen window betokened that Aunt Janet +had no idea of going to bed until all her young fry were safely housed +for the night. + +"Ma's waiting up for us," said Dan. "I'd laugh if she happened to go to +the door just as Felicity and Peter were strutting up. I guess she'll be +cross. It's nearly twelve." + +"Christmas will soon be over," said Cecily, with a sigh. "Hasn't it +been a nice one? It's the first we've all spent together. Do you suppose +we'll ever spend another together?" + +"Lots of 'em," said Dan cheerily. "Why not?" + +"Oh, I don't know," answered Cecily, her footsteps lagging somewhat. +"Only things seem just a little too pleasant to last." + +"If Willy Fraser had had as much spunk as Peter, Miss Cecily King +mightn't be so low spirited," quoth Dan, significantly. + +Cecily tossed her head and disdained reply. There are really some +remarks a self-respecting young lady must ignore. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. NEW YEAR RESOLUTIONS + + +If we did not have a white Christmas we had a white New Year. Midway +between the two came a heavy snowfall. It was winter in our orchard of +old delights then,--so truly winter that it was hard to believe summer +had ever dwelt in it, or that spring would ever return to it. There were +no birds to sing the music of the moon; and the path where the apple +blossoms had fallen were heaped with less fragrant drifts. But it was a +place of wonder on a moonlight night, when the snowy arcades shone +like avenues of ivory and crystal, and the bare trees cast fairy-like +traceries upon them. Over Uncle Stephen's Walk, where the snow had +fallen smoothly, a spell of white magic had been woven. Taintless and +wonderful it seemed, like a street of pearl in the new Jerusalem. + +On New Year's Eve we were all together in Uncle Alec's kitchen, which +was tacitly given over to our revels during the winter evenings. The +Story Girl and Peter were there, of course, and Sara Ray's mother had +allowed her to come up on condition that she should be home by eight +sharp. Cecily was glad to see her, but the boys never hailed her arrival +with over-much delight, because, since the dark began to come down +early, Aunt Janet always made one of us walk down home with her. We +hated this, because Sara Ray was always so maddeningly self-conscious +of having an escort. We knew perfectly well that next day in school she +would tell her chums as a "dead" secret that "So-and-So King saw her +home" from the hill farm the night before. Now, seeing a young lady home +from choice, and being sent home with her by your aunt or mother are two +entirely different things, and we thought Sara Ray ought to have sense +enough to know it. + +Outside there was a vivid rose of sunset behind the cold hills of fir, +and the long reaches of snowy fields glowed fairily pink in the western +light. The drifts along the edges of the meadows and down the lane +looked as if a series of breaking waves had, by the lifting of a +magician's wand, been suddenly transformed into marble, even to their +toppling curls of foam. + +Slowly the splendour died, giving place to the mystic beauty of a winter +twilight when the moon is rising. The hollow sky was a cup of blue. The +stars came out over the white glens and the earth was covered with a +kingly carpet for the feet of the young year to press. + +"I'm so glad the snow came," said the Story Girl. "If it hadn't the New +Year would have seemed just as dingy and worn out as the old. There's +something very solemn about the idea of a New Year, isn't there? Just +think of three hundred and sixty-five whole days, with not a thing +happened in them yet." + +"I don't suppose anything very wonderful will happen in them," said +Felix pessimistically. To Felix, just then, life was flat, stale and +unprofitable because it was his turn to go home with Sara Ray. + +"It makes me a little frightened to think of all that may happen in +them," said Cecily. "Miss Marwood says it is what we put into a year, +not what we get out of it, that counts at last." + +"I'm always glad to see a New Year," said the Story Girl. "I wish we +could do as they do in Norway. The whole family sits up until midnight, +and then, just as the clock is striking twelve, the father opens the +door and welcomes the New Year in. Isn't it a pretty custom?" + +"If ma would let us stay up till twelve we might do that too," said Dan, +"but she never will. I call it mean." + +"If I ever have children I'll let them stay up to watch the New Year +in," said the Story Girl decidedly. + +"So will I," said Peter, "but other nights they'll have to go to bed at +seven." + +"You ought to be ashamed, speaking of such things," said Felicity, with +a scandalized face. + +Peter shrank into the background abashed, no doubt believing that he had +broken some Family Guide precept all to pieces. + +"I didn't know it wasn't proper to mention children," he muttered +apologetically. + +"We ought to make some New Year resolutions," suggested the Story Girl. +"New Year's Eve is the time to make them." + +"I can't think of any resolutions I want to make," said Felicity, who +was perfectly satisfied with herself. + +"I could suggest a few to you," said Dan sarcastically. + +"There are so many I would like to make," said Cecily, "that I'm afraid +it wouldn't be any use trying to keep them all." + +"Well, let's all make a few, just for the fun of it, and see if we can +keep them," I said. "And let's get paper and ink and write them out. +That will make them seem more solemn and binding." + +"And then pin them up on our bedroom walls, where we'll see them every +day," suggested the Story Girl, "and every time we break a resolution +we must put a cross opposite it. That will show us what progress we are +making, as well as make us ashamed if we have too many crosses." + +"And let's have a Roll of Honour in Our Magazine," suggested Felix, "and +every month we'll publish the names of those who keep their resolutions +perfect." + +"I think it's all nonsense," said Felicity. But she joined our circle +around the table, though she sat for a long time with a blank sheet +before her. + +"Let's each make a resolution in turn," I said. "I'll lead off." + +And, recalling with shame certain unpleasant differences of opinion I +had lately had with Felicity, I wrote down in my best hand, + +"I shall try to keep my temper always." + +"You'd better," said Felicity tactfully. + +It was Dan's turn next. + +"I can't think of anything to start with," he said, gnawing his +penholder fiercely. + +"You might make a resolution not to eat poison berries," suggested +Felicity. + +"You'd better make one not to nag people everlastingly," retorted Dan. + +"Oh, don't quarrel the last night of the old year," implored Cecily. + +"You might resolve not to quarrel any time," suggested Sara Ray. + +"No, sir," said Dan emphatically. "There's no use making a resolution +you CAN'T keep. There are people in this family you've just GOT to +quarrel with if you want to live. But I've thought of one--I won't do +things to spite people." + +Felicity--who really was in an unbearable mood that night--laughed +disagreeably; but Cecily gave her a fierce nudge, which probably +restrained her from speaking. + +"I will not eat any apples," wrote Felix. + +"What on earth do you want to give up eating apples for?" asked Peter in +astonishment. + +"Never mind," returned Felix. + +"Apples make people fat, you know," said Felicity sweetly. + +"It seems a funny kind of resolution," I said doubtfully. "I think our +resolutions ought to be giving up wrong things or doing right ones." + +"You make your resolutions to suit yourself and I'll make mine to suit +myself," said Felix defiantly. + +"I shall never get drunk," wrote Peter painstakingly. + +"But you never do," said the Story Girl in astonishment. + +"Well, it will be all the easier to keep the resolution," argued Peter. + +"That isn't fair," complained Dan. "If we all resolved not to do the +things we never do we'd all be on the Roll of Honour." + +"You let Peter alone," said Felicity severely. "It's a very good +resolution and one everybody ought to make." + +"I shall not be jealous," wrote the Story Girl. + +"But are you?" I asked, surprised. + +The Story Girl coloured and nodded. "Of one thing," she confessed, "but +I'm not going to tell what it is." + +"I'm jealous sometimes, too," confessed Sara Ray, "and so my first +resolution will be 'I shall try not to feel jealous when I hear the +other girls in school describing all the sick spells they've had.'" + +"Goodness, do you want to be sick?" demanded Felix in astonishment. + +"It makes a person important," explained Sara Ray. + +"I am going to try to improve my mind by reading good books and +listening to older people," wrote Cecily. + +"You got that out of the Sunday School paper," cried Felicity. + +"It doesn't matter where I got it," said Cecily with dignity. "The main +thing is to keep it." + +"It's your turn, Felicity," I said. + +Felicity tossed her beautiful golden head. + +"I told you I wasn't going to make any resolutions. Go on yourself." + +"I shall always study my grammar lesson," I wrote--I, who loathed +grammar with a deadly loathing. + +"I hate grammar too," sighed Sara Ray. "It seems so unimportant." + +Sara was rather fond of a big word, but did not always get hold of the +right one. I rather suspected that in the above instance she really +meant uninteresting. + +"I won't get mad at Felicity, if I can help it," wrote Dan. + +"I'm sure I never do anything to make you mad," exclaimed Felicity. + +"I don't think it's polite to make resolutions about your sisters," said +Peter. + +"He can't keep it anyway," scoffed Felicity. "He's got such an awful +temper." + +"It's a family failing," flashed Dan, breaking his resolution ere the +ink on it was dry. + +"There you go," taunted Felicity. + +"I'll work all my arithmetic problems without any help," scribbled +Felix. + +"I wish I could resolve that, too," sighed Sara Ray, "but it wouldn't be +any use. I'd never be able to do those compound multiplication sums the +teacher gives us to do at home every night if I didn't get Judy Pineau +to help me. Judy isn't a good reader and she can't spell AT ALL, but you +can't stick her in arithmetic as far as she went herself. I feel sure," +concluded poor Sara, in a hopeless tone, "that I'll NEVER be able to +understand compound multiplication." + + + "'Multiplication is vexation, + Division is as bad, + The rule of three perplexes me, + And fractions drive me mad,'" + + +quoted Dan. + +"I haven't got as far as fractions yet," sighed Sara, "and I hope I'll +be too big to go to school before I do. I hate arithmetic, but I am +PASSIONATELY fond of geography." + +"I will not play tit-tat-x on the fly leaves of my hymn book in church," +wrote Peter. + +"Mercy, did you ever do such a thing?" exclaimed Felicity in horror. + +Peter nodded shamefacedly. + +"Yes--that Sunday Mr. Bailey preached. He was so long-winded, I got +awful tired, and, anyway, he was talking about things I couldn't +understand, so I played tit-tat-x with one of the Markdale boys. It was +the day I was sitting up in the gallery." + +"Well, I hope if you ever do the like again you won't do it in OUR pew," +said Felicity severely. + +"I ain't going to do it at all," said Peter. "I felt sort of mean all +the rest of the day." + +"I shall try not to be vexed when people interrupt me when I'm telling +stories," wrote the Story Girl. "but it will be hard," she added with a +sigh. + +"I never mind being interrupted," said Felicity. + +"I shall try to be cheerful and smiling all the time," wrote Cecily. + +"You are, anyway," said Sara Ray loyally. + +"I don't believe we ought to be cheerful ALL the time," said the Story +Girl. "The Bible says we ought to weep with those who weep." + +"But maybe it means that we're to weep cheerfully," suggested Cecily. + +"Sorter as if you were thinking, 'I'm very sorry for you but I'm mighty +glad I'm not in the scrape too,'" said Dan. + +"Dan, don't be irreverent," rebuked Felicity. + +"I know a story about old Mr. and Mrs. Davidson of Markdale," said +the Story Girl. "She was always smiling and it used to aggravate her +husband, so one day he said very crossly, 'Old lady, what ARE you +grinning at?' 'Oh, well, Abiram, everything's so bright and pleasant, +I've just got to smile.' + +"Not long after there came a time when everything went wrong--the crop +failed and their best cow died, and Mrs. Davidson had rheumatism; and +finally Mr. Davidson fell and broke his leg. But still Mrs. Davidson +smiled. 'What in the dickens are you grinning about now, old lady?' +he demanded. 'Oh, well, Abiram,' she said, 'everything is so dark and +unpleasant I've just got to smile.' 'Well,' said the old man crossly, 'I +think you might give your face a rest sometimes.'" + +"I shall not talk gossip," wrote Sara Ray with a satisfied air. + +"Oh, don't you think that's a little TOO strict?" asked Cecily +anxiously. "Of course, it's not right to talk MEAN gossip, but the +harmless kind doesn't hurt. If I say to you that Emmy MacPhail is going +to get a new fur collar this winter, THAT is harmless gossip, but if I +say I don't see how Emmy MacPhail can afford a new fur collar when her +father can't pay my father for the oats he got from him, that would be +MEAN gossip. If I were you, Sara, I'd put MEAN gossip." + +Sara consented to this amendment. + +"I will be polite to everybody," was my third resolution, which passed +without comment. + +"I'll try not to use slang since Cecily doesn't like it," wrote Dan. + +"I think some slang is real cute," said Felicity. + +"The Family Guide says it's very vulgar," grinned Dan. "Doesn't it, Sara +Stanley?" + +"Don't disturb me," said the Story Girl dreamily. "I'm just thinking a +beautiful thought." + +"I've thought of a resolution to make," cried Felicity. "Mr. Marwood +said last Sunday we should always try to think beautiful thoughts and +then our lives would be very beautiful. So I shall resolve to think a +beautiful thought every morning before breakfast." + +"Can you only manage one a day?" queried Dan. + +"And why before breakfast?" I asked. + +"Because it's easier to think on an empty stomach," said Peter, in all +good faith. But Felicity shot a furious glance at him. + +"I selected that time," she explained with dignity, "because when I'm +brushing my hair before my glass in the morning I'll see my resolution +and remember it." + +"Mr. Marwood meant that ALL our thoughts ought to be beautiful," said +the Story Girl. "If they were, people wouldn't be afraid to say what +they think." + +"They oughtn't to be afraid to, anyhow," said Felix stoutly. "I'm going +to make a resolution to say just what I think always." + +"And do you expect to get through the year alive if you do?" asked Dan. + +"It might be easy enough to say what you think if you could always be +sure just what you DO think," said the Story Girl. "So often I can't be +sure." + +"How would you like it if people always said just what they think to +you?" asked Felicity. + +"I'm not very particular what SOME people think of me," rejoined Felix. + +"I notice you don't like to be told by anybody that you're fat," +retorted Felicity. + +"Oh, dear me, I do wish you wouldn't all say such sarcastic things to +each other," said poor Cecily plaintively. "It sounds so horrid the last +night of the old year. Dear knows where we'll all be this night next +year. Peter, it's your turn." + +"I will try," wrote Peter, "to say my prayers every night regular, and +not twice one night because I don't expect to have time the next,--like +I did the night before the party," he added. + +"I s'pose you never said your prayers until we got you to go to church," +said Felicity--who had had no hand in inducing Peter to go to church, +but had stoutly opposed it, as recorded in the first volume of our +family history. + +"I did, too," said Peter. "Aunt Jane taught me to say my prayers. Ma +hadn't time, being as father had run away; ma had to wash at night same +as in day-time." + +"I shall learn to cook," wrote the Story Girl, frowning. + +"You'd better resolve not to make puddings of--" began Felicity, then +stopped as suddenly as if she had bitten off the rest of her sentence +and swallowed it. Cecily had nudged her, so she had probably remembered +the Story Girl's threat that she would never tell another story if she +was ever twitted with the pudding she had made from sawdust. But we all +knew what Felicity had started to say and the Story Girl dealt her a +most uncousinly glance. + +"I will not cry because mother won't starch my aprons," wrote Sara Ray. + +"Better resolve not to cry about anything," said Dan kindly. + +Sara Ray shook her head forlornly. + +"That would be too hard to keep. There are times when I HAVE to cry. +It's a relief." + +"Not to the folks who have to hear you," muttered Dan aside to Cecily. + +"Oh, hush," whispered Cecily back. "Don't go and hurt her feelings the +last night of the old year. Is it my turn again? Well, I'll resolve not +to worry because my hair is not curly. But, oh, I'll never be able to +help wishing it was." + +"Why don't you curl it as you used to do, then?" asked Dan. + +"You know very well that I've never put my hair up in curl papers since +the time Peter was dying of the measles," said Cecily reproachfully. "I +resolved then I wouldn't because I wasn't sure it was quite right." + +"I will keep my finger-nails neat and clean," I wrote. "There, that's +four resolutions. I'm not going to make any more. Four's enough." + +"I shall always think twice before I speak," wrote Felix. + +"That's an awful waste of time," commented Dan, "but I guess you'll need +to if you're always going to say what you think." + +"I'm going to stop with three," said Peter. + +"I will have all the good times I can," wrote the Story Girl. + +"THAT'S what I call sensible," said Dan. + +"It's a very easy resolution to keep, anyhow," commented Felix. + +"I shall try to like reading the Bible," wrote Sara Ray. + +"You ought to like reading the Bible without trying to," exclaimed +Felicity. + +"If you had to read seven chapters of it every time you were naughty I +don't believe you would like it either," retorted Sara Ray with a flash +of spirit. + +"I shall try to believe only half of what I hear," was Cecily's +concluding resolution. + +"But which half?" scoffed Dan. + +"The best half," said sweet Cecily simply. + +"I'll try to obey mother ALWAYS," wrote Sara Ray, with a tremendous +sigh, as if she fully realized the difficulty of keeping such a +resolution. "And that's all I'm going to make." + +"Felicity has only made one," said the Story Girl. + +"I think it better to make just one and keep it than make a lot and +break them," said Felicity loftily. + +She had the last word on the subject, for it was time for Sara Ray to +go, and our circle broke up. Sara and Felix departed and we watched +them down the lane in the moonlight--Sara walking demurely in one runner +track, and Felix stalking grimly along in the other. I fear the romantic +beauty of that silver shining night was entirely thrown away on my +mischievous brother. + +And it was, as I remember it, a most exquisite night--a white poem, a +frosty, starry lyric of light. It was one of those nights on which one +might fall asleep and dream happy dreams of gardens of mirth and +song, feeling all the while through one's sleep the soft splendour and +radiance of the white moon-world outside, as one hears soft, far-away +music sounding through the thoughts and words that are born of it. + +As a matter of fact, however, Cecily dreamed that night that she saw +three full moons in the sky, and wakened up crying with the horror of +it. + + + + +CHAPTER V. THE FIRST NUMBER OF "OUR MAGAZINE" + + +The first number of Our Magazine was ready on New Year's Day, and we +read it that evening in the kitchen. All our staff had worked nobly and +we were enormously proud of the result, although Dan still continued +to scoff at a paper that wasn't printed. The Story Girl and I read it +turnabout while the others, except Felix, ate apples. It opened with a +short + + +EDITORIAL + +With this number Our Magazine makes its first bow to the public. All +the editors have done their best and the various departments are full of +valuable information and amusement. The tastefully designed cover is by +a famous artist, Mr. Blair Stanley, who sent it to us all the way from +Europe at the request of his daughter. Mr. Peter Craig, our enterprising +literary editor, contributes a touching love story. (Peter, aside, in +a gratified pig's whisper: "I never was called 'Mr.' before.") Miss +Felicity King's essays on Shakespeare is none the worse for being an +old school composition, as it is new to most of our readers. Miss +Cecily King contributes a thrilling article of adventure. The various +departments are ably edited, and we feel that we have reason to be proud +of Our Magazine. But we shall not rest on our oars. "Excelsior" shall +ever be our motto. We trust that each succeeding issue will be better +than the one that went before. We are well aware of many defects, but +it is easier to see them than to remedy them. Any suggestion that would +tend to the improvement of Our Magazine will be thankfully received, +but we trust that no criticism will be made that will hurt anyone's +feelings. Let us all work together in harmony, and strive to make Our +Magazine an influence for good and a source of innocent pleasure, and +let us always remember the words of the poet. + + + "The heights by great men reached and kept + Were not attained by sudden flight, + But they, while their companions slept, + Were toiling upwards in the night." + + +(Peter, IMPRESSIVELY:--"I've read many a worse editorial in the +Enterprise.") + + +ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE + +Shakespeare's full name was William Shakespeare. He did not always spell +it the same way. He lived in the reign of Queen Elizabeth and wrote a +great many plays. His plays are written in dialogue form. Some people +think they were not written by Shakespeare but by another man of the +same name. I have read some of them because our school teacher says +everybody ought to read them, but I did not care much for them. There +are some things in them I cannot understand. I like the stories of +Valeria H. Montague in the Family Guide ever so much better. They are +more exciting and truer to life. Romeo and Juliet was one of the plays I +read. It was very sad. Juliet dies and I don't like stories where people +die. I like it better when they all get married especially to dukes and +earls. Shakespeare himself was married to Anne Hatheway. They are both +dead now. They have been dead a good while. He was a very famous man. + + FELICITY KING. + + +(PETER, MODESTLY: "I don't know much about Shakespeare myself but I've +got a book of his plays that belonged to my Aunt Jane, and I guess I'll +have to tackle him as soon as I finish with the Bible.") + + +THE STORY OF AN ELOPEMENT FROM CHURCH + +This is a true story. It happened in Markdale to an uncle of my mothers. +He wanted to marry Miss Jemima Parr. Felicity says Jemima is not a +romantic name for a heroin of a story but I cant help it in this case +because it is a true story and her name realy was Jemima. My mothers +uncle was named Thomas Taylor. He was poor at that time and so the +father of Miss Jemima Parr did not want him for a soninlaw and told him +he was not to come near the house or he would set the dog on him. Miss +Jemima Parr was very pretty and my mothers uncle Thomas was just crazy +about her and she wanted him too. She cried almost every night after +her father forbid him to come to the house except the nights she had to +sleep or she would have died. And she was so frightened he might try to +come for all and get tore up by the dog and it was a bull-dog too that +would never let go. But mothers uncle Thomas was too cute for that. He +waited till one day there was preaching in the Markdale church in the +middle of the week because it was sacrament time and Miss Jemima Parr +and her family all went because her father was an elder. My mothers +uncle Thomas went too and set in the pew just behind Miss Jemima Parrs +family. When they all bowed their heads at prayer time Miss Jemima Parr +didnt but set bolt uprite and my mothers uncle Thomas bent over and +wispered in her ear. I dont know what he said so I cant right it but +Miss Jemima Parr blushed that is turned red and nodded her head. Perhaps +some people may think that my mothers uncle Thomas shouldent of wispered +at prayer time in church but you must remember that Miss Jemima Parrs +father had thretened to set the dog on him and that was hard lines when +he was a respektable young man though not rich. Well when they were +singing the last sam my mothers uncle Thomas got up and went out very +quitely and as soon as church was out Miss Jemima Parr walked out too +real quick. Her family never suspekted anything and they hung round +talking to folks and shaking hands while Miss Jemima Parr and my mothers +uncle Thomas were eloping outside. And what do you suppose they eloped +in. Why in Miss Jemima Parrs fathers slay. And when he went out they +were gone and his slay was gone also his horse. Of course my mothers +uncle Thomas didnt steal the horse. He just borroed it and sent it home +the next day. But before Miss Jemima Parrs father could get another rig +to follow them they were so far away he couldent catch them before they +got married. And they lived happy together forever afterwards. Mothers +uncle Thomas lived to be a very old man. He died very suddent. He felt +quite well when he went to sleep and when he woke up he was dead. + + PETER CRAIG. + + +MY MOST EXCITING ADVENTURE + +The editor says we must all write up our most exciting adventure for Our +Magazine. My most exciting adventure happened a year ago last November. +I was nearly frightened to death. Dan says he wouldn't of been scared +and Felicity says she would of known what it was but it's easy to talk. + +It happened the night I went down to see Kitty Marr. I thought when I +went that Aunt Olivia was visiting there and I could come home with her. +But she wasn't there and I had to come home alone. Kitty came a piece +of the way but she wouldn't come any further than Uncle James Frewen's +gate. She said it was because it was so windy she was afraid she would +get the tooth-ache and not because she was frightened of the ghost of +the dog that haunted the bridge in Uncle James' hollow. I did wish she +hadn't said anything about the dog because I mightn't of thought about +it if she hadn't. I had to go on alone thinking of it. I'd heard the +story often but I'd never believed in it. They said the dog used to +appear at one end of the bridge and walk across it with people and +vanish when he got to the other end. He never tried to bite anyone but +one wouldn't want to meet the ghost of a dog even if one didn't believe +in him. I knew there was no such thing as ghosts and I kept saying a +paraphrase over to myself and the Golden Text of the next Sunday School +lesson but oh, how my heart beat when I got near the hollow! It was so +dark. You could just see things dim-like but you couldn't see what they +were. When I got to the bridge I walked along sideways with my back to +the railing so I couldn't think the dog was behind me. And then just in +the middle of the bridge I met something. It was right before me and +it was big and black, just about the size of a Newfoundland dog, and +I thought I could see a white nose. And it kept jumping about from one +side of the bridge to the other. Oh, I hope none of my readers will ever +be so frightened as I was then. I was too frightened to run back because +I was afraid it would chase me and I couldn't get past it, it moved so +quick, and then it just made one spring right on me and I felt its claws +and I screamed and fell down. It rolled off to one side and laid there +quite quiet but I didn't dare move and I don't know what would have +become of me if Amos Cowan hadn't come along that very minute with a +lantern. And there was me sitting in the middle of the bridge and that +awful thing beside me. And what do you think it was but a big umbrella +with a white handle? Amos said it was his umbrella and it had blown away +from him and he had to go back and get the lantern to look for it. I +felt like asking him what on earth he was going about with an umbrella +open when it wasent raining. But the Cowans do such queer things. You +remember the time Jerry Cowan sold us God's picture. Amos took me right +home and I was thankful for I don't know what would have become of me +if he hadn't come along. I couldn't sleep all night and I never want to +have any more adventures like that one. + + CECILY KING. + + +PERSONALS + +Mr. Dan King felt somewhat indisposed the day after Christmas--probably +as the result of too much mince pie. (DAN, INDIGNANTLY:--"I wasn't. I +only et one piece!") + +Mr. Peter Craig thinks he saw the Family Ghost on Christmas Eve. But +the rest of us think all he saw was the white calf with the red tail. +(PETER, MUTTERING SULKILY:--"It's a queer calf that would walk up on end +and wring its hands.") + +Miss Cecily King spent the night of Dec. 20th with Miss Kitty Marr. They +talked most of the night about new knitted lace patterns and their beaus +and were very sleepy in school next day. (CECILY, SHARPLY:--"We never +mentioned such things!") + +Patrick Grayfur, Esq., was indisposed yesterday, but seems to be +enjoying his usual health to-day. + +The King family expect their Aunt Eliza to visit them in January. She +is really our great-aunt. We have never seen her but we are told she is +very deaf and does not like children. So Aunt Janet says we must make +ourselves scarece when she comes. + +Miss Cecily King has undertaken to fill with names a square of the +missionary quilt which the Mission Band is making. You pay five cents +to have your name embroidered in a corner, ten cents to have it in +the centre, and a quarter if you want it left off altogether. (CECILY, +INDIGNANTLY:--"That isn't the way at all.") + + +ADS. + +WANTED--A remedy to make a fat boy thin. Address, "Patient Sufferer, +care of Our Magazine." + +(FELIX, SOURLY:--"Sara Ray never got that up. I'll bet it was Dan. He'd +better stick to his own department.") + + +HOUSEHOLD DEPARTMENT + +Mrs. Alexander King killed all her geese the twentieth of December. We +all helped pick them. We had one Christmas Day and will have one every +fortnight the rest of the winter. + +The bread was sour last week because mother wouldn't take my advice. I +told her it was too warm for it in the corner behind the stove. + +Miss Felicity King invented a new recete for date cookies recently, +which everybody said were excelent. I am not going to publish it though, +because I don't want other people to find it out. + +ANXIOUS INQUIRER:--If you want to remove inkstains place the stain +over steam and apply salt and lemon juice. If it was Dan who sent this +question in I'd advise him to stop wiping his pen on his shirt sleeves +and then he wouldn't have so many stains. + + FELICITY KING. + + +ETIQUETTE DEPARTMENT + + + +F-l-x:--Yes, you should offer your arm to a lady when seeing her home, +but don't keep her standing too long at the gate while you say good +night. + +(FELIX, ENRAGED:--"I never asked such a question.") + +C-c-l-y:--No, it is not polite to use "Holy Moses" or "dodgasted" in +ordinary conversation. + +(Cecily had gone down cellar to replenish the apple plate, so this +passed without protest.) + +S-r-a:--No, it isn't polite to cry all the time. As to whether you +should ask a young man in, it all depends on whether he went home with +you of his own accord or was sent by some elderly relative. + +F-l-t-y:--It does not break any rule of etiquette if you keep a button +off your best young man's coat for a keepsake. But don't take more than +one or his mother might miss them. + + DAN KING. + + +FASHION NOTES + +Knitted mufflers are much more stylish than crocheted ones this winter. +It is nice to have one the same colour as your cap. + +Red mittens with a black diamond pattern on the back are much run after. +Em Frewen's grandma knits hers for her. She can knit the double diamond +pattern and Em puts on such airs about it, but I think the single +diamond is in better taste. + +The new winter hats at Markdale are very pretty. It is so exciting to +pick a hat. Boys can't have that fun. Their hats are so much alike. + + CECILY KING. + + +FUNNY PARAGRAPHS + +This is a true joke and really happened. + +There was an old local preacher in New Brunswick one time whose name was +Samuel Clask. He used to preach and pray and visit the sick just like a +regular minister. One day he was visiting a neighbour who was dying and +he prayed the Lord to have mercy on him because he was very poor and +had worked so hard all his life that he hadn't much time to attend to +religion. + +"And if you don't believe me, O Lord," Mr. Clask finished up with, "just +take a look at his hands." + + FELIX KING. + + +GENERAL INFORMATION BUREAU + +DAN:--Do porpoises grow on trees or vines? + +Ans. Neither. They inhabit the deep sea. + + FELIX KING. + + +(DAN, AGGRIEVED:--"Well, I'd never heard of porpoises and it sounded +like something that grew. But you needn't have gone and put it in the +paper." + +FELIX:--"It isn't any worse than the things you put in about me that I +never asked at all." + +CECILY, SOOTHINGLY:--"Oh, well, boys, it's all in fun, and I think Our +Magazine is perfectly elegant." + +FELICITY, FAILING TO SEE THE STORY GIRL AND BEVERLEY EXCHANGING WINKS +BEHIND HER BACK:--"It certainly is, though SOME PEOPLE were so opposed +to starting it.") + + +What harmless, happy fooling it all was! How we laughed as we read and +listened and devoured apples! Blow high, blow low, no wind can ever +quench the ruddy glow of that faraway winter night in our memories. And +though Our Magazine never made much of a stir in the world, or was the +means of hatching any genius, it continued to be capital fun for us +throughout the year. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. GREAT-AUNT ELIZA'S VISIT + + +It was a diamond winter day in February--clear, cold, hard, brilliant. +The sharp blue sky shone, the white fields and hills glittered, the +fringe of icicles around the eaves of Uncle Alec's house sparkled. Keen +was the frost and crisp the snow over our world; and we young fry of the +King households were all agog to enjoy life--for was it not Saturday, +and were we not left all alone to keep house? + +Aunt Janet and Aunt Olivia had had their last big "kill" of market +poultry the day before; and early in the morning all our grown-ups set +forth to Charlottetown, to be gone the whole day. They left us many +charges as usual, some of which we remembered and some of which we +forgot; but with Felicity in command none of us dared stray far out of +line. The Story Girl and Peter came over, of course, and we all agreed +that we would haste and get the work done in the forenoon, that we might +have an afternoon of uninterrupted enjoyment. A taffy-pull after dinner +and then a jolly hour of coasting on the hill field before supper were +on our programme. But disappointment was our portion. We did manage to +get the taffy made but before we could sample the result satisfactorily, +and just as the girls were finishing with the washing of the dishes, +Felicity glanced out of the window and exclaimed in tones of dismay, + +"Oh, dear me, here's Great-aunt Eliza coming up the lane! Now, isn't +that too mean?" + +We all looked out to see a tall, gray-haired lady approaching the house, +looking about her with the slightly puzzled air of a stranger. We had +been expecting Great-aunt Eliza's advent for some weeks, for she was +visiting relatives in Markdale. We knew she was liable to pounce down on +us any time, being one of those delightful folk who like to "surprise" +people, but we had never thought of her coming that particular day. It +must be confessed that we did not look forward to her visit with any +pleasure. None of us had ever seen her, but we knew she was very deaf, +and had very decided opinions as to the way in which children should +behave. + +"Whew!" whistled Dan. "We're in for a jolly afternoon. She's deaf as a +post and we'll have to split our throats to make her hear at all. I've a +notion to skin out." + +"Oh, don't talk like that, Dan," said Cecily reproachfully. "She's old +and lonely and has had a great deal of trouble. She has buried three +husbands. We must be kind to her and do the best we can to make her +visit pleasant." + +"She's coming to the back door," said Felicity, with an agitated glance +around the kitchen. "I told you, Dan, that you should have shovelled the +snow away from the front door this morning. Cecily, set those pots +in the pantry quick--hide those boots, Felix--shut the cupboard door, +Peter--Sara, straighten up the lounge. She's awfully particular and ma +says her house is always as neat as wax." + +To do Felicity justice, while she issued orders to the rest of us, +she was flying busily about herself, and it was amazing how much was +accomplished in the way of putting the kitchen in perfect order during +the two minutes in which Great-aunt Eliza was crossing the yard. + +"Fortunately the sitting-room is tidy and there's plenty in the pantry," +said Felicity, who could face anything undauntedly with a well-stocked +larder behind her. + +Further conversation was cut short by a decided rap at the door. +Felicity opened it. + +"Why, how do you do, Aunt Eliza?" she said loudly. + +A slightly bewildered look appeared on Aunt Eliza's face. Felicity +perceived she had not spoken loudly enough. + +"How do you do, Aunt Eliza," she repeated at the top of her voice. +"Come in--we are glad to see you. We've been looking for you for ever so +long." + +"Are your father and mother at home?" asked Aunt Eliza, slowly. + +"No, they went to town today. But they'll be home this evening." + +"I'm sorry they're away," said Aunt Eliza, coming in, "because I can +stay only a few hours." + +"Oh, that's too bad," shouted poor Felicity, darting an angry glance at +the rest of us, as if to demand why we didn't help her out. "Why, we've +been thinking you'd stay a week with us anyway. You MUST stay over +Sunday." + +"I really can't. I have to go to Charlottetown tonight," returned Aunt +Eliza. + +"Well, you'll take off your things and stay to tea, at least," urged +Felicity, as hospitably as her strained vocal chords would admit. + +"Yes, I think I'll do that. I want to get acquainted with my--my nephews +and nieces," said Aunt Eliza, with a rather pleasant glance around our +group. If I could have associated the thought of such a thing with my +preconception of Great-aunt Eliza I could have sworn there was a twinkle +in her eye. But of course it was impossible. "Won't you introduce +yourselves, please?" + +Felicity shouted our names and Great-aunt Eliza shook hands all round. +She performed the duty grimly and I concluded I must have been mistaken +about the twinkle. She was certainly very tall and dignified and +imposing--altogether a great-aunt to be respected. + +Felicity and Cecily took her to the spare room and then left her in the +sitting-room while they returned to the kitchen, to discuss the matter +in family conclave. + +"Well, and what do you think of dear Aunt Eliza?" asked Dan. + +"S-s-s-sh," warned Cecily, with a glance at the half-open hall door. + +"Pshaw," scoffed Dan, "she can't hear us. There ought to be a law +against anyone being as deaf as that." + +"She's not so old-looking as I expected," said Felix. "If her hair +wasn't so white she wouldn't look much older than your mother." + +"You don't have to be very old to be a great-aunt," said Cecily. "Kitty +Marr has a great-aunt who is just the same age as her mother. I expect +it was burying so many husbands turned her hair white. But Aunt Eliza +doesn't look just as I expected she would either." + +"She's dressed more stylishly than I expected," said Felicity. "I +thought she'd be real old-fashioned, but her clothes aren't too bad at +all." + +"She wouldn't be bad-looking if 'tweren't for her nose," said Peter. +"It's too long, and crooked besides." + +"You needn't criticize our relations like that," said Felicity tartly. + +"Well, aren't you doing it yourselves?" expostulated Peter. + +"That's different," retorted Felicity. "Never you mind Great-aunt +Eliza's nose." + +"Well, don't expect me to talk to her," said Dan, "'cause I won't." + +"I'm going to be very polite to her," said Felicity. "She's rich. But +how are we to entertain her, that's the question." + +"What does the Family Guide say about entertaining your rich, deaf old +aunt?" queried Dan ironically. + +"The Family Guide says we should be polite to EVERYBODY," said Cecily, +with a reproachful look at Dan. + +"The worst of it is," said Felicity, looking worried, "that there isn't +a bit of old bread in the house and she can't eat new, I've heard father +say. It gives her indigestion. What will we do?" + +"Make a pan of rusks and apologize for having no old bread," suggested +the Story Girl, probably by way of teasing Felicity. The latter, +however, took it in all good faith. + +"The Family Guide says we should never apologize for things we can't +help. It says it's adding insult to injury to do it. But you run over +home for a loaf of stale bread, Sara, and it's a good idea about the +rusks. I'll make a panful." + +"Let me make them," said the Story Girl, eagerly. "I can make real good +rusks now." + +"No, it wouldn't do to trust you," said Felicity mercilessly. "You +might make some queer mistake and Aunt Eliza would tell it all over the +country. She's a fearful old gossip. I'll make the rusks myself. She +hates cats, so we mustn't let Paddy be seen. And she's a Methodist, so +mind nobody says anything against Methodists to her." + +"Who's going to say anything, anyhow?" asked Peter belligerently. + +"I wonder if I might ask her for her name for my quilt square?" +speculated Cecily. "I believe I will. She looks so much friendlier than +I expected. Of course she'll choose the five-cent section. She's an +estimable old lady, but very economical." + +"Why don't you say she's so mean she'd skin a flea for its hide and +tallow?" said Dan. "That's the plain truth." + +"Well, I'm going to see about getting tea," said Felicity, "so the rest +of you will have to entertain her. You better go in and show her the +photographs in the album. Dan, you do it." + +"Thank you, that's a girl's job," said Dan. "I'd look nice sitting up +to Aunt Eliza and yelling out that this was Uncle Jim and 'tother Cousin +Sarah's twins, wouldn't I? Cecily or the Story Girl can do it." + +"I don't know all the pictures in your album," said the Story Girl +hastily. + +"I s'pose I'll have to do it, though I don't like to," sighed Cecily. +"But we ought to go in. We've left her alone too long now. She'll think +we have no manners." + +Accordingly we all filed in rather reluctantly. Great-aunt Eliza +was toasting her toes--clad, as we noted, in very smart and shapely +shoes--at the stove and looking quite at her ease. Cecily, determined to +do her duty even in the face of such fearful odds as Great-aunt Eliza's +deafness, dragged a ponderous, plush-covered album from its corner and +proceeded to display and explain the family photographs. She did her +brave best but she could not shout like Felicity, and half the time, as +she confided to me later on, she felt that Great-aunt Eliza did not hear +one word she said, because she didn't seem to take in who the people +were, though, just like all deaf folks, she wouldn't let on. Great-aunt +Eliza certainly didn't talk much; she looked at the photographs in +silence, but she smiled now and then. That smile bothered me. It was so +twinkly and so very un-great-aunt-Elizaish. But I felt indignant with +her. I thought she might have shown a little more appreciation of +Cecily's gallant efforts to entertain. + +It was very dull for the rest of us. The Story Girl sat rather sulkily +in her corner; she was angry because Felicity would not let her make +the rusks, and also, perhaps, a little vexed because she could not charm +Great-aunt Eliza with her golden voice and story-telling gift. Felix +and I looked at each other and wished ourselves out in the hill field, +careering gloriously adown its gleaming crust. + +But presently a little amusement came our way. Dan, who was sitting +behind Great-aunt Eliza, and consequently out of her view, began making +comments on Cecily's explanation of this one and that one among the +photographs. In vain Cecily implored him to stop. It was too good fun +to give up. For the next half-hour the dialogue ran after this fashion, +while Peter and Felix and I, and even the Story Girl, suffered agonies +trying to smother our bursts of laughter--for Great-aunt Eliza could see +if she couldn't hear: + +CECILY, SHOUTING:--"That is Mr. Joseph Elliott of Markdale, a second +cousin of mother's." + +DAN:--"Don't brag of it, Sis. He's the man who was asked if somebody +else said something in sincerity and old Joe said 'No, he said it in my +cellar.'" + +CECILY:--"This isn't anybody in our family. It's little Xavy Gautier who +used to be hired with Uncle Roger." + +DAN:--"Uncle Roger sent him to fix a gate one day and scolded him +because he didn't do it right, and Xavy was mad as hops and said 'How +you 'spect me to fix dat gate? I never learned jogerfy.'" + +CECILY, WITH AN ANGUISHED GLANCE AT DAN:--"This is Great-uncle Robert +King." + +DAN:--"He's been married four times. Don't you think that's often +enough, dear great-aunty?" + +CECILY:--"(Dan!!) This is a nephew of Mr. Ambrose Marr's. He lives out +west and teaches school." + +DAN:--"Yes, and Uncle Roger says he doesn't know enough not to sleep in +a field with the gate open." + +CECILY:--"This is Miss Julia Stanley, who used to teach in Carlisle a +few years ago." + +DAN:--"When she resigned the trustees had a meeting to see if they'd ask +her to stay and raise her supplement. Old Highland Sandy was alive then +and he got up and said, 'If she for go let her for went. Perhaps she for +marry.'" + +CECILY, WITH THE AIR OF A MARTYR:--"This is Mr. Layton, who used to +travel around selling Bibles and hymn books and Talmage's sermons." + +DAN:--"He was so thin Uncle Roger used to say he always mistook him for +a crack in the atmosphere. One time he stayed here all night and went to +prayer meeting and Mr. Marwood asked him to lead in prayer. It had been +raining 'most every day for three weeks, and it was just in haymaking +time, and everybody thought the hay was going to be ruined, and old +Layton got up and prayed that God would send gentle showers on the +growing crops, and I heard Uncle Roger whisper to a fellow behind +me, 'If somebody don't choke him off we won't get the hay made this +summer.'" + +CECILY, IN EXASPERATION:--"(Dan, shame on you for telling such +irreverent stories.) This is Mrs. Alexander Scott of Markdale. She has +been very sick for a long time." + +DAN:--"Uncle Roger says all that keeps her alive is that she's scared +her husband will marry again." + +CECILY:--"This is old Mr. James MacPherson who used to live behind the +graveyard." + +DAN:--"He's the man who told mother once that he always made his own +iodine out of strong tea and baking soda." + +CECILY:--"This is Cousin Ebenezer MacPherson on the Markdale road." + +DAN:--"Great temperance man! He never tasted rum in his life. He took +the measles when he was forty-five and was crazy as a loon with them, +and the doctor ordered them to give him a dose of brandy. When he +swallowed it he looked up and says, solemn as an owl, 'Give it to me +oftener and more at a time.'" + +CECILY, IMPLORINGLY:--"(Dan, do stop. You make me so nervous I don't +know what I'm doing.) This is Mr. Lemuel Goodridge. He is a minister." + +DAN:--"You ought to see his mouth. Uncle Roger says the drawing string +has fell out of it. It just hangs loose--so fashion." + +Dan, whose own mouth was far from being beautiful, here gave an +imitation of the Rev. Lemuel's, to the utter undoing of Peter, Felix, +and myself. Our wild guffaws of laughter penetrated even Great-aunt +Eliza's deafness, and she glanced up with a startled face. What we would +have done I do not know had not Felicity at that moment appeared in the +doorway with panic-stricken eyes and exclaimed, + +"Cecily, come here for a moment." + +Cecily, glad of even a temporary respite, fled to the kitchen and we +heard her demanding what was the matter. + +"Matter!" exclaimed Felicity, tragically. "Matter enough! Some of you +left a soup plate with molasses in it on the pantry table and Pat got +into it and what do you think? He went into the spare room and walked +all over Aunt Eliza's things on the bed. You can see his tracks plain as +plain. What in the world can we do? She'll be simply furious." + +I looked apprehensively at Great-aunt Eliza; but she was gazing +intently at a picture of Aunt Janet's sister's twins, a most stolid, +uninteresting pair; but evidently Great-aunt Eliza found them amusing +for she was smiling widely over them. + +"Let us take a little clean water and a soft bit of cotton," came +Cecily's clear voice from the kitchen, "and see if we can't clean the +molasses off. The coat and hat are both cloth, and molasses isn't like +grease." + +"Well, we can try, but I wish the Story Girl would keep her cat home," +grumbled Felicity. + +The Story Girl here flew out to defend her pet, and we four boys sat on, +miserably conscious of Great-aunt Eliza, who never said a word to us, +despite her previously expressed desire to become acquainted with us. +She kept on looking at the photographs and seemed quite oblivious of our +presence. + +Presently the girls returned, having, as transpired later, been so +successful in removing the traces of Paddy's mischief that it was not +deemed necessary to worry Great-aunt Eliza with any account of it. +Felicity announced tea and, while Cecily conveyed Great-aunt Eliza out +to the dining-room, lingered behind to consult with us for a moment. + +"Ought we to ask her to say grace?" she wanted to know. + +"I know a story," said the Story Girl, "about Uncle Roger when he was +just a young man. He went to the house of a very deaf old lady and when +they sat down to the table she asked him to say grace. Uncle Roger had +never done such a thing in his life and he turned as red as a beet +and looked down and muttered, 'E-r-r, please excuse me--I--I'm not +accustomed to doing that.' Then he looked up and the old lady said +'Amen,' loudly and cheerfully. She thought Uncle Roger was saying grace +all the time." + +"I don't think it's right to tell funny stories about such things," said +Felicity coldly. "And I asked for your opinion, not for a story." + +"If we don't ask her, Felix must say it, for he's the only one who can, +and we must have it, or she'd be shocked." + +"Oh, ask her--ask her," advised Felix hastily. + +She was asked accordingly and said grace without any hesitation, after +which she proceeded to eat heartily of the excellent supper Felicity had +provided. The rusks were especially good and Great-aunt Eliza ate three +of them and praised them. Apart from that she said little and during the +first part of the meal we sat in embarrassed silence. Towards the last, +however, our tongues were loosened, and the Story Girl told us a tragic +tale of old Charlottetown and a governor's wife who had died of a broken +heart in the early days of the colony. + +"They say that story isn't true," said Felicity. "They say what she +really died of was indigestion. The Governor's wife who lives there now +is a relation of our own. She is a second cousin of father's but we've +never seen her. Her name was Agnes Clark. And mind you, when father was +a young man he was dead in love with her and so was she with him." + +"Who ever told you that?" exclaimed Dan. + +"Aunt Olivia. And I've heard ma teasing father about it, too. Of course, +it was before father got acquainted with mother." + +"Why didn't your father marry her?" I asked. + +"Well, she just simply wouldn't marry him in the end. She got over being +in love with him. I guess she was pretty fickle. Aunt Olivia said father +felt awful about it for awhile, but he got over it when he met ma. +Ma was twice as good-looking as Agnes Clark. Agnes was a sight for +freckles, so Aunt Olivia says. But she and father remained real good +friends. Just think, if she had married him we would have been the +children of the Governor's wife." + +"But she wouldn't have been the Governor's wife then," said Dan. + +"I guess it's just as good being father's wife," declared Cecily +loyally. + +"You might think so if you saw the Governor," chuckled Dan. "Uncle Roger +says it would be no harm to worship him because he doesn't look like +anything in the heavens above or on the earth beneath or the waters +under the earth." + +"Oh, Uncle Roger just says that because he's on the opposite side of +politics," said Cecily. "The Governor isn't really so very ugly. I saw +him at the Markdale picnic two years ago. He's very fat and bald and +red-faced, but I've seen far worse looking men." + +"I'm afraid your seat is too near the stove, Aunt Eliza," shouted +Felicity. + +Our guest, whose face was certainly very much flushed, shook her head. + +"Oh, no, I'm very comfortable," she said. But her voice had the effect +of making us uncomfortable. There was a queer, uncertain little sound +in it. Was Great-aunt Eliza laughing at us? We looked at her sharply +but her face was very solemn. Only her eyes had a suspicious appearance. +Somehow, we did not talk much more the rest of the meal. + +When it was over Great-aunt Eliza said she was very sorry but she must +really go. Felicity politely urged her to stay, but was much relieved +when Great-aunt Eliza adhered to her intention of going. When Felicity +took her to the spare room Cecily slipped upstairs and presently came +back with a little parcel in her hand. + +"What have you got there?" demanded Felicity suspiciously. + +"A--a little bag of rose-leaves," faltered Cecily. "I thought I'd give +them to Aunt Eliza." + +"The idea! Don't you do such a thing," said Felicity contemptuously. +"She'd think you were crazy." + +"She was awfully nice when I asked her for her name for the quilt," +protested Cecily, "and she took a ten-cent section after all. So I'd +like to give her the rose-leaves--and I'm going to, too, Miss Felicity." + +Great-aunt Eliza accepted the little gift quite graciously, bade us +all good-bye, said she had enjoyed herself very much, left messages for +father and mother, and finally betook herself away. We watched her cross +the yard, tall, stately, erect, and disappear down the lane. Then, +as often aforetime, we gathered together in the cheer of the red +hearth-flame, while outside the wind of a winter twilight sang through +fair white valleys brimmed with a reddening sunset, and a faint, serene, +silver-cold star glimmered over the willow at the gate. + +"Well," said Felicity, drawing a relieved breath, "I'm glad she's gone. +She certainly is queer, just as mother said." + +"It's a different kind of queerness from what I expected, though," said +the Story Girl meditatively. "There's something I can't quite make out +about Aunt Eliza. I don't think I altogether like her." + +"I'm precious sure I don't," said Dan. + +"Oh, well, never mind. She's gone now and that's the last of it," said +Cecily comfortingly. + +But it wasn't the last of it--not by any manner of means was it! When +our grown-ups returned almost the first words Aunt Janet said were, + +"And so you had the Governor's wife to tea?" + +We all stared at her. + +"I don't know what you mean," said Felicity. "We had nobody to tea +except Great-aunt Eliza. She came this afternoon and--" + +"Great-aunt Eliza? Nonsense," said Aunt Janet. "Aunt Eliza was in town +today. She had tea with us at Aunt Louisa's. But wasn't Mrs. Governor +Lesley here? We met her on her way back to Charlottetown and she told +us she was. She said she was visiting a friend in Carlisle and thought +she'd call to see father for old acquaintance sake. What in the world +are all you children staring like that for? Your eyes are like saucers." + +"There was a lady here to tea," said Felicity miserably, "but we thought +it was Great-aunt Eliza--she never SAID she wasn't--I thought she acted +queer--and we all yelled at her as if she was deaf--and said things to +each other about her nose--and Pat running over her clothes--" + +"She must have heard all you said while I was showing her the +photographs, Dan," cried Cecily. + +"And about the Governor at tea time," chuckled unrepentant Dan. + +"I want to know what all this means," said Aunt Janet sternly. + +She knew in due time, after she had pieced the story together from +our disjointed accounts. She was horrified, and Uncle Alec was mildly +disturbed, but Uncle Roger roared with laughter and Aunt Olivia echoed +it. + +"To think you should have so little sense!" said Aunt Janet in a +disgusted tone. + +"I think it was real mean of her to pretend she was deaf," said +Felicity, almost on the verge of tears. + +"That was Agnes Clark all over," chuckled Uncle Roger. "How she must +have enjoyed this afternoon!" + +She had enjoyed it, as we learned the next day, when a letter came from +her. + +"Dear Cecily and all the rest of you," wrote the Governor's wife, "I +want to ask you to forgive me for pretending to be Aunt Eliza. I +suspect it was a little horrid of me, but really I couldn't resist the +temptation, and if you will forgive me for it I will forgive you for the +things you said about the Governor, and we will all be good friends. You +know the Governor is a very nice man, though he has the misfortune not +to be handsome. + +"I had just a splendid time at your place, and I envy your Aunt Eliza +her nephews and nieces. You were all so nice to me, and I didn't dare +to be a bit nice to you lest I should give myself away. But I'll make +up for that when you come to see me at Government House, as you all must +the very next time you come to town. I'm so sorry I didn't see Paddy, +for I love pussy cats, even if they do track molasses over my clothes. +And, Cecily, thank you ever so much for that little bag of pot-pourri. +It smells like a hundred rose gardens, and I have put it between the +sheets for my very sparest room bed, where you shall sleep when you come +to see me, you dear thing. And the Governor wants you to put his name on +the quilt square, too, in the ten-cent section. + +"Tell Dan I enjoyed his comments on the photographs very much. They were +quite a refreshing contrast to the usual explanations of 'who's who.' +And Felicity, your rusks were perfection. Do send me your recipe for +them, there's a darling. + +"Yours most cordially, + + AGNES CLARK LESLEY. + + +"Well, it was decent of her to apologize, anyhow," commented Dan. + +"If we only hadn't said that about the Governor," moaned Felicity. + +"How did you make your rusks?" asked Aunt Janet. "There was no +baking-powder in the house, and I never could get them right with soda +and cream of tartar." + +"There was plenty of baking-powder in the pantry," said Felicity. + +"No, there wasn't a particle. I used the last making those cookies +Thursday morning." + +"But I found another can nearly full, away back on the top shelf, +ma,--the one with the yellow label. I guess you forgot it was there." + +Aunt Janet stared at her pretty daughter blankly. Then amazement gave +place to horror. + +"Felicity King!" she exclaimed. "You don't mean to tell me that you +raised those rusks with the stuff that was in that old yellow can?" + +"Yes, I did," faltered Felicity, beginning to look scared. "Why, ma, +what was the matter with it?" + +"Matter! That stuff was TOOTH-POWDER, that's what it was. Your Cousin +Myra broke the bottle her tooth-powder was in when she was here last +winter and I gave her that old can to keep it in. She forgot to take it +when she went away and I put it on that top shelf. I declare you must +all have been bewitched yesterday." + +Poor, poor Felicity! If she had not always been so horribly vain over +her cooking and so scornfully contemptuous of other people's aspirations +and mistakes along that line, I could have found it in my heart to pity +her. + +The Story Girl would have been more than human if she had not betrayed a +little triumphant amusement, but Peter stood up for his lady manfully. + +"The rusks were splendid, anyhow, so what difference does it make what +they were raised with?" + +Dan, however, began to taunt Felicity with her tooth-powder rusks, and +kept it up for the rest of his natural life. + +"Don't forget to send the Governor's wife the recipe for them," he said. + +Felicity, with eyes tearful and cheeks crimson from mortification, +rushed from the room, but never, never did the Governor's wife get the +recipe for those rusks. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. WE VISIT COUSIN MATTIE'S + + +One Saturday in March we walked over to Baywater, for a long-talked-of +visit to Cousin Mattie Dilke. By the road, Baywater was six miles away, +but there was a short cut across hills and fields and woods which was +scantly three. We did not look forward to our visit with any particular +delight, for there was nobody at Cousin Mattie's except grown-ups who +had been grown up so long that it was rather hard for them to remember +they had ever been children. But, as Felicity told us, it was necessary +to visit Cousin Mattie at least once a year, or else she would be +"huffed," so we concluded we might as well go and have it over. + +"Anyhow, we'll get a splendiferous dinner," said Dan. "Cousin Mattie's a +great cook and there's nothing stingy about her." + +"You are always thinking of your stomach," said Felicity pleasantly. + +"Well, you know I couldn't get along very well without it, darling," +responded Dan who, since New Year's, had adopted a new method of dealing +with Felicity--whether by way of keeping his resolution or because he +had discovered that it annoyed Felicity far more than angry retorts, +deponent sayeth not. He invariably met her criticisms with a +good-natured grin and a flippant remark with some tender epithet tagged +on to it. Poor Felicity used to get hopelessly furious over it. + +Uncle Alec was dubious about our going that day. He looked abroad on +the general dourness of gray earth and gray air and gray sky, and said +a storm was brewing. But Cousin Mattie had been sent word that we +were coming, and she did not like to be disappointed, so he let us go, +warning us to stay with Cousin Mattie all night if the storm came on +while we were there. + +We enjoyed our walk--even Felix enjoyed it, although he had been +appointed to write up the visit for Our Magazine and was rather weighed +down by the responsibility of it. What mattered it though the world were +gray and wintry? We walked the golden road and carried spring time in +our hearts, and we beguiled our way with laughter and jest, and the +tales the Story Girl told us--myths and legends of elder time. + +The walking was good, for there had lately been a thaw and everything +was frozen. We went over fields, crossed by spidery trails of gray +fences, where the withered grasses stuck forlornly up through the +snow; we lingered for a time in a group of hill pines, great, majestic +tree-creatures, friends of evening stars; and finally struck into the +belt of fir and maple which intervened between Carlisle and Baywater. +It was in this locality that Peg Bowen lived, and our way lay near her +house though not directly in sight of it. We hoped we would not meet +her, for since the affair of the bewitchment of Paddy we did not know +quite what to think of Peg; the boldest of us held his breath as we +passed her haunts, and drew it again with a sigh of relief when they +were safely left behind. + +The woods were full of the brooding stillness that often precedes a +storm, and the wind crept along their white, cone-sprinkled floors with +a low, wailing cry. Around us were solitudes of snow, arcades picked out +in pearl and silver, long avenues of untrodden marble whence sprang the +cathedral columns of the firs. We were all sorry when we were through +the woods and found ourselves looking down into the snug, commonplace, +farmstead-dotted settlement of Baywater. + +"There's Cousin Mattie's house--that big white one at the turn of the +road," said the Story Girl. "I hope she has that dinner ready, Dan. I'm +hungry as a wolf after our walk." + +"I wish Cousin Mattie's husband was still alive," said Dan. "He was an +awful nice old man. He always had his pockets full of nuts and apples. +I used to like going there better when he was alive. Too many old women +don't suit me." + +"Oh, Dan, Cousin Mattie and her sisters-in-law are just as nice and kind +as they can be," reproached Cecily. + +"Oh, they're kind enough, but they never seem to see that a fellow gets +over being five years old if he only lives long enough," retorted Dan. + +"I know a story about Cousin Mattie's husband," said the Story Girl. +"His name was Ebenezer, you know--" + +"Is it any wonder he was thin and stunted looking?" said Dan. + +"Ebenezer is just as nice a name as Daniel," said Felicity. + +"Do you REALLY think so, my angel?" inquired Dan, in honey-sweet tones. + +"Go on. Remember your second resolution," I whispered to the Story Girl, +who was stalking along with an outraged expression. + +The Story Girl swallowed something and went on. + +"Cousin Ebenezer had a horror of borrowing. He thought it was simply +a dreadful disgrace to borrow ANYTHING. Well, you know he and Cousin +Mattie used to live in Carlisle, where the Rays now live. This was when +Grandfather King was alive. One day Cousin Ebenezer came up the hill and +into the kitchen where all the family were. Uncle Roger said he looked +as if he had been stealing sheep. He sat for a whole hour in the kitchen +and hardly spoke a word, but just looked miserable. At last he got up +and said in a desperate sort of way, 'Uncle Abraham, can I speak with +you in private for a minute?' 'Oh, certainly,' said grandfather, and +took him into the parlour. Cousin Ebenezer shut the door, looked +all around him and then said imploringly, 'MORE PRIVATE STILL.' So +grandfather took him into the spare room and shut that door. He was +getting frightened. He thought something terrible must have happened +Cousin Ebenezer. Cousin Ebenezer came right up to grandfather, took +hold of the lapel of his coat, and said in a whisper, 'Uncle Abraham, +CAN--YOU--LEND--ME--AN--AXE?'" + +"He needn't have made such a mystery about it," said Cecily, who had +missed the point entirely, and couldn't see why the rest of us were +laughing. But Cecily was such a darling that we did not mind her lack of +a sense of humour. + +"It's kind of mean to tell stories like that about people who are dead," +said Felicity. + +"Sometimes it's safer than when they're alive though, sweetheart," +commented Dan. + +We had our expected good dinner at Cousin Mattie's--may it be counted +unto her for righteousness. She and her sisters-in-law, Miss Louisa +Jane and Miss Caroline, were very kind to us. We had quite a nice time, +although I understood why Dan objected to them when they patted us +all on the head and told us whom we resembled and gave us peppermint +lozenges. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. WE VISIT PEG BOWEN + + +We left Cousin Mattie's early, for it still looked like a storm, though +no more so than it had in the morning. We intended to go home by a +different path--one leading through cleared land overgrown with scrub +maple, which had the advantage of being farther away from Peg Bowen's +house. We hoped to be home before it began to storm, but we had hardly +reached the hill above the village when a fine, driving snow began to +fall. It would have been wiser to have turned back even then; but we +had already come a mile and we thought we would have ample time to reach +home before it became really bad. We were sadly mistaken; by the time +we had gone another half-mile we were in the thick of a bewildering, +blinding snowstorm. But it was by now just as far back to Cousin +Mattie's as it was to Uncle Alec's, so we struggled on, growing more +frightened at every step. We could hardly face the stinging snow, and we +could not see ten feet ahead of us. It had turned bitterly cold and +the tempest howled all around us in white desolation under the +fast-darkening night. The narrow path we were trying to follow soon +became entirely obliterated and we stumbled blindly on, holding to each +other, and trying to peer through the furious whirl that filled the air. +Our plight had come upon us so suddenly that we could not realize it. +Presently Peter, who was leading the van because he was supposed to know +the path best, stopped. + +"I can't see the road any longer," he shouted. "I don't know where we +are." + +We all stopped and huddled together in a miserable group. Fear filled +our hearts. It seemed ages ago that we had been snug and safe and warm +at Cousin Mattie's. Cecily began to cry with cold. Dan, in spite of her +protests, dragged off his overcoat and made her put it on. + +"We can't stay here," he said. "We'll all freeze to death if we do. Come +on--we've got to keep moving. The snow ain't so deep yet. Take hold of +my hand, Cecily. We must all hold together. Come, now." + +"It won't be nice to be frozen to death, but if we get through alive +think what a story we'll have to tell," said the Story Girl between her +chattering teeth. + +In my heart I did not believe we would ever get through alive. It was +almost pitch dark now, and the snow grew deeper every moment. We were +chilled to the heart. I thought how nice it would be to lie down and +rest; but I remembered hearing that that was fatal, and I endeavoured to +stumble on with the others. It was wonderful how the girls kept up, even +Cecily. It occurred to me to be thankful that Sara Ray was not with us. + +But we were wholly lost now. All around us was a horror of great +darkness. Suddenly Felicity fell. We dragged her up, but she declared +she could not go on--she was done out. + +"Have you any idea where we are?" shouted Dan to Peter. + +"No," Peter shouted back, "the wind is blowing every which way. I +haven't any idea where home is." + +Home! Would we ever see it again? We tried to urge Felicity on, but she +only repeated drowsily that she must lie down and rest. Cecily, too, +was reeling against me. The Story Girl still stood up staunchly and +counselled struggling on, but she was numb with cold and her words were +hardly distinguishable. Some wild idea was in my mind that we must dig a +hole in the snow and all creep into it. I had read somewhere that people +had thus saved their lives in snowstorms. Suddenly Felix gave a shout. + +"I see a light," he cried. + +"Where? Where?" We all looked but could see nothing. + +"I don't see it now but I saw it a moment ago," shouted Felix. "I'm sure +I did. Come on--over in this direction." + +Inspired with fresh hope we hurried after him. Soon we all saw the +light--and never shone a fairer beacon. A few more steps and, coming +into the shelter of the woodland on the further side, we realized where +we were. + +"That's Peg Bowen's house," exclaimed Peter, stopping short in dismay. + +"I don't care whose house it is," declared Dan. "We've got to go to it." + +"I s'pose so," acquiesced Peter ruefully. "We can't freeze to death even +if she is a witch." + +"For goodness' sake don't say anything about witches so close to her +house," gasped Felicity. "I'll be thankful to get in anywhere." + +We reached the house, climbed the flight of steps that led to that +mysterious second story door, and Dan rapped. The door opened promptly +and Peg Bowen stood before us, in what seemed exactly the same costume +she had worn on the memorable day when we had come, bearing gifts, to +propitiate her in the matter of Paddy. + +"Behind her was a dim room scantly illumined by the one small candle +that had guided us through the storm; but the old Waterloo stove was +colouring the gloom with tremulous, rose-red whorls of light, and warm +and cosy indeed seemed Peg's retreat to us snow-covered, frost-chilled, +benighted wanderers. + +"Gracious goodness, where did yez all come from?" exclaimed Peg. "Did +they turn yez out?" + +"We've been over to Baywater, and we got lost in the storm coming back," +explained Dan. "We didn't know where we were till we saw your light. +I guess we'll have to stay here till the storm is over--if you don't +mind." + +"And if it won't inconvenience you," said Cecily timidly. + +"Oh, it's no inconvenience to speak of. Come in. Well, yez HAVE got some +snow on yez. Let me get a broom. You boys stomp your feet well and shake +your coats. You girls give me your things and I'll hang them up. Guess +yez are most froze. Well, sit up to the stove and git het up." + +Peg bustled away to gather up a dubious assortment of chairs, with backs +and rungs missing, and in a few minutes we were in a circle around her +roaring stove, getting dried and thawed out. In our wildest flights +of fancy we had never pictured ourselves as guests at the witch's +hearth-stone. Yet here we were; and the witch herself was actually +brewing a jorum of ginger tea for Cecily, who continued to shiver long +after the rest of us were roasted to the marrow. Poor Sis drank that +scalding draught, being in too great awe of Peg to do aught else. + +"That'll soon fix your shivers," said our hostess kindly. "And now I'll +get yez all some tea." + +"Oh, please don't trouble," said the Story Girl hastily. + +"'Tain't any trouble," said Peg briskly; then, with one of the sudden +changes to fierceness which made her such a terrifying personage, "Do +yez think my vittels ain't clean?" + +"Oh, no, no," cried Felicity quickly, before the Story Girl could speak, +"none of us would ever think THAT. Sara only meant she didn't want you +to go to any bother on our account." + +"It ain't any bother," said Peg, mollified. "I'm spry as a cricket this +winter, though I have the realagy sometimes. Many a good bite I've had +in your ma's kitchen. I owe yez a meal." + +No more protests were made. We sat in awed silence, gazing with timid +curiosity about the room, the stained, plastered walls of which were +well-nigh covered with a motley assortment of pictures, chromos, and +advertisements, pasted on without much regard for order or character. + +We had heard much of Peg's pets and now we saw them. Six cats occupied +various cosy corners; one of them, the black goblin which had so +terrified us in the summer, blinked satirically at us from the centre of +Peg's bed. Another, a dilapidated, striped beastie, with both ears and +one eye gone, glared at us from the sofa in the corner. A dog, with only +three legs, lay behind the stove; a crow sat on a roost above our +heads, in company with a matronly old hen; and on the clock shelf were +a stuffed monkey and a grinning skull. We had heard that a sailor had +given Peg the monkey. But where had she got the skull? And whose was it? +I could not help puzzling over these gruesome questions. + +Presently tea was ready and we gathered around the festal board--a board +literally as well as figuratively, for Peg's table was the work of her +own unskilled hands. The less said about the viands of that meal, and +the dishes they were served in, the better. But we ate them--bless you, +yes!--as we would have eaten any witch's banquet set before us. Peg +might or might not be a witch--common sense said not; but we knew she +was quite capable of turning every one of us out of doors in one of +her sudden fierce fits if we offended her; and we had no mind to trust +ourselves again to that wild forest where we had fought a losing fight +with the demon forces of night and storm. + +But it was not an agreeable meal in more ways than one. Peg was not +at all careful of anybody's feelings. She hurt Felix's cruelly as she +passed him his cup of tea. + +"You've gone too much to flesh, boy. So the magic seed didn't work, +hey?" + +How in the world had Peg found out about that magic seed? Felix looked +uncommonly foolish. + +"If you'd come to me in the first place I'd soon have told you how to +get thin," said Peg, nodding wisely. + +"Won't you tell me now?" asked Felix eagerly, his desire to melt his too +solid flesh overcoming his dread and shame. + +"No, I don't like being second fiddle," answered Peg with a crafty +smile. "Sara, you're too scrawny and pale--not much like your ma. I knew +her well. She was counted a beauty, but she made no great things of a +match. Your father had some money but he was a tramp like meself. Where +is he now?" + +"In Rome," said the Story Girl rather shortly. + +"People thought your ma was crazy when she took him. But she'd a right +to please herself. Folks is too ready to call other folks crazy. There's +people who say I'M not in my right mind. Did yez ever"--Peg fixed +Felicity with a piercing glance--"hear anything so ridiculous?" + +"Never," said Felicity, white to the lips. + +"I wish everybody was as sane as I am," said Peg scornfully. Then she +looked poor Felicity over critically. "You're good-looking but proud. +And your complexion won't wear. It'll be like your ma's yet--too much +red in it." + +"Well, that's better than being the colour of mud," muttered Peter, who +wasn't going to hear his lady traduced, even by a witch. All the thanks +he got was a furious look from Felicity, but Peg had not heard him and +now she turned her attention to Cecily. + +"You look delicate. I daresay you'll never live to grow up." + +Cecily's lip trembled and Dan's face turned crimson. + +"Shut up," he said to Peg. "You've no business to say such things to +people." + +I think my jaw dropped. I know Peter's and Felix's did. Felicity broke +in wildly. + +"Oh, don't mind him, Miss Bowen. He's got SUCH a temper--that's just the +way he talks to us all at home. PLEASE excuse him." + +"Bless you, I don't mind him," said Peg, from whom the unexpected seemed +to be the thing to expect. "I like a lad of spurrit. And so your father +run away, did he, Peter? He used to be a beau of mine--he seen me home +three times from singing school when we was young. Some folks said he +did it for a dare. There's such a lot of jealousy in the world, ain't +there? Do you know where he is now?" + +"No," said Peter. + +"Well, he's coming home before long," said Peg mysteriously. + +"Who told you that?" cried Peter in amazement. + +"Better not ask," responded Peg, looking up at the skull. + +If she meant to make the flesh creep on our bones she succeeded. But +now, much to our relief, the meal was over and Peg invited us to draw +our chairs up to the stove again. + +"Make yourselves at home," she said, producing her pipe from her pocket. +"I ain't one of the kind who thinks their houses too good to live in. +Guess I won't bother washing the dishes. They'll do yez for breakfast if +yez don't forget your places. I s'pose none of yez smokes." + +"No," said Felicity, rather primly. + +"Then yez don't know what's good for yez," retorted Peg, rather +grumpily. But a few whiffs of her pipe placated her and, observing +Cecily sigh, she asked her kindly what was the matter. + +"I'm thinking how worried they'll be at home about us," explained +Cecily. + +"Bless you, dearie, don't be worrying over that. I'll send them word +that yez are all snug and safe here." + +"But how can you?" cried amazed Cecily. + +"Better not ask," said Peg again, with another glance at the skull. + +An uncomfortable silence followed, finally broken by Peg, who introduced +her pets to us and told how she had come by them. The black cat was her +favourite. + +"That cat knows more than I do, if yez'll believe it," she said proudly. +"I've got a rat too, but he's a bit shy when strangers is round. Your +cat got all right again that time, didn't he?" + +"Yes," said the Story Girl. + +"Thought he would," said Peg, nodding sagely. "I seen to that. Now, +don't yez all be staring at the hole in my dress." + +"We weren't," was our chorus of protest. + +"Looked as if yez were. I tore that yesterday but I didn't mend it. I +was brought up to believe that a hole was an accident but a patch was a +disgrace. And so your Aunt Olivia is going to be married after all?" + +This was news to us. We felt and looked dazed. + +"I never heard anything of it," said the Story Girl. + +"Oh, it's true enough. She's a great fool. I've no faith in husbands. +But one good thing is she ain't going to marry that Henry Jacobs of +Markdale. He wants her bad enough. Just like his presumption,--thinking +himself good enough for a King. His father is the worst man alive. He +chased me off his place with his dog once. But I'll get even with him +yet." + +Peg looked very savage, and visions of burned barns floated through our +minds. + +"He'll be punished in hell, you know," said Peter timidly. + +"But I won't be there to see that," rejoined Peg. "Some folks say I'll +go there because I don't go to church oftener. But I don't believe it." + +"Why don't you go?" asked Peter, with a temerity that bordered on +rashness. + +"Well, I've got so sunburned I'm afraid folks might take me for an +Injun," explained Peg, quite seriously. "Besides, your minister makes +such awful long prayers. Why does he do it?" + +"I suppose he finds it easier to talk to God than to people," suggested +Peter reflectively. + +"Well, anyway, I belong to the round church," said Peg comfortably, "and +so the devil can't catch ME at the corners. I haven't been to Carlisle +church for over three years. I thought I'd a-died laughing the last time +I was there. Old Elder Marr took up the collection that day. He'd on a +pair of new boots and they squeaked all the way up and down the aisles. +And every time the boots squeaked the elder made a face, like he had +toothache. It was awful funny. How's your missionary quilt coming on, +Cecily?" + +Was there anything Peg didn't know? + +"Very well," said Cecily. + +"You can put my name on it, if you want to." + +"Oh, thank you. Which section--the five-cent one or the ten-cent one?" +asked Cecily timidly. + +"The ten-cent one, of course. The best is none too good for me. I'll +give you the ten cents another time. I'm short of change just now--not +being as rich as Queen Victory. There's her picture up there--the one +with the blue sash and diamint crown and the lace curting on her head. +Can any of yez tell me this--is Queen Victory a married woman?" + +"Oh, yes, but her husband is dead," answered the Story Girl. + +"Well, I s'pose they couldn't have called her an old maid, seeing she +was a queen, even if she'd never got married. Sometimes I sez to myself, +'Peg, would you like to be Queen Victory?' But I never know what +to answer. In summer, when I can roam anywhere in the woods and the +sunshine--I wouldn't be Queen Victory for anything. But when it's winter +and cold and I can't git nowheres--I feel as if I wouldn't mind changing +places with her." + +Peg put her pipe back in her mouth and began to smoke fiercely. The +candle wick burned long, and was topped by a little cap of fiery red +that seemed to wink at us like an impish gnome. The most grotesque +shadow of Peg flickered over the wall behind her. The one-eyed cat +remitted his grim watch and went to sleep. Outside the wind screamed +like a ravening beast at the window. Suddenly Peg removed her pipe from +her mouth, bent forward, gripped my wrist with her sinewy fingers until +I almost cried out with pain, and gazed straight into my face. I felt +horribly frightened of her. She seemed an entirely different creature. A +wild light was in her eyes, a furtive, animal-like expression was on +her face. When she spoke it was in a different voice and in different +language. + +"Do you hear the wind?" she asked in a thrilling whisper. "What IS the +wind? What IS the wind?" + +"I--I--don't know," I stammered. + +"No more do I," said Peg, "and nobody knows. Nobody knows what the wind +is. I wish I could find out. I mightn't be so afraid of the wind if I +knew what it was. I am afraid of it. When the blasts come like that I +want to crouch down and hide me. But I can tell you one thing about the +wind--it's the only free thing in the world--THE--ONLY--FREE--THING. +Everything else is subject to some law, but the wind is FREE. It bloweth +where it listeth and no man can tame it. It's free--that's why I +love it, though I'm afraid of it. It's a grand thing to be free--free +free--free!" + +Peg's voice rose almost to a shriek. We were dreadfully frightened, for +we knew there were times when she was quite crazy and we feared one of +her "spells" was coming on her. But with a swift movement she turned +the man's coat she wore up over her shoulders and head like a hood, +completely hiding her face. Then she crouched forward, elbows on knees, +and relapsed into silence. None of us dared speak or move. We sat thus +for half an hour. Then Peg jumped up and said briskly in her usual tone, + +"Well, I guess yez are all sleepy and ready for bed. You girls can sleep +in my bed over there, and I'll take the sofy. Yez can put the cat off if +yez like, though he won't hurt yez. You boys can go downstairs. There's +a big pile of straw there that'll do yez for a bed, if yez put your +coats on. I'll light yez down, but I ain't going to leave yez a light +for fear yez'd set fire to the place." + +Saying good-night to the girls, who looked as if they thought their last +hour was come, we went to the lower room. It was quite empty, save for a +pile of fire wood and another of clean straw. Casting a stealthy glance +around, ere Peg withdrew the light, I was relieved to see that there +were no skulls in sight. We four boys snuggled down in the straw. We did +not expect to sleep, but we were very tired and before we knew it our +eyes were shut, to open no more till morning. The poor girls were not +so fortunate. They always averred they never closed an eye. Four things +prevented them from sleeping. In the first place Peg snored loudly; in +the second place the fitful gleams of firelight kept flickering over the +skull for half the night and making gruesome effects on it; in the third +place Peg's pillows and bedclothes smelled rankly of tobacco smoke; and +in the fourth place they were afraid the rat Peg had spoken of might +come out to make their acquaintance. Indeed, they were sure they heard +him skirmishing about several times. + +When we wakened in the morning the storm was over and a young morning +was looking through rosy eyelids across a white world. The little +clearing around Peg's cabin was heaped with dazzling drifts, and we +boys fell to and shovelled out a road to her well. She gave us +breakfast--stiff oatmeal porridge without milk, and a boiled egg apiece. +Cecily could NOT eat her porridge; she declared she had such a bad +cold that she had no appetite; a cold she certainly had; the rest of us +choked our messes down and after we had done so Peg asked us if we had +noticed a soapy taste. + +"The soap fell into the porridge while I was making it," she said. +"But,"--smacking her lips,--"I'm going to make yez an Irish stew for +dinner. It'll be fine." + +An Irish stew concocted by Peg! No wonder Dan said hastily, + +"You are very kind but we'll have to go right home." + +"Yez can't walk," said Peg. + +"Oh, yes, we can. The drifts are so hard they'll carry, and the snow +will be pretty well blown off the middle of the fields. It's only +three-quarters of a mile. We boys will go home and get a pung and come +back for you girls." + +But the girls wouldn't listen to this. They must go with us, even +Cecily. + +"Seems to me yez weren't in such a hurry to leave last night," observed +Peg sarcastically. + +"Oh, it's only because they'll be so anxious about us at home, and it's +Sunday and we don't want to miss Sunday School," explained Felicity. + +"Well, I hope your Sunday School will do yez good," said Peg, rather +grumpily. But she relented again at the last and gave Cecily a wishbone. + +"Whatever you wish on that will come true," she said. "But you only have +the one wish, so don't waste it." + +"We're so much obliged to you for all your trouble," said the Story Girl +politely. + +"Never mind the trouble. The expense is the thing," retorted Peg grimly. + +"Oh!" Felicity hesitated. "If you would let us pay you--give you +something--" + +"No, thank yez," responded Peg loftily. "There is people who take money +for their hospitality, I've heerd, but I'm thankful to say I don't +associate with that class. Yez are welcome to all yez have had here, if +yez ARE in a big hurry to get away." + +She shut the door behind us with something of a slam, and her black +cat followed us so far, with stealthy, furtive footsteps, that we were +frightened of it. Eventually it turned back; then, and not till then, +did we feel free to discuss our adventure. + +"Well, I'm thankful we're out of THAT," said Felicity, drawing a long +breath. "Hasn't it just been an awful experience?" + +"We might all have been found frozen stark and stiff this morning," +remarked the Story Girl with apparent relish. + +"I tell you, it was a lucky thing we got to Peg Bowen's," said Dan. + +"Miss Marwood says there is no such thing as luck," protested Cecily. +"We ought to say it was Providence instead." + +"Well, Peg and Providence don't seem to go together very well, somehow," +retorted Dan. "If Peg is a witch it must be the Other One she's in co. +with." + +"Dan, it's getting to be simply scandalous the way you talk," said +Felicity. "I just wish ma could hear you." + +"Is soap in porridge any worse than tooth-powder in rusks, lovely +creature?" asked Dan. + +"Dan, Dan," admonished Cecily, between her coughs, "remember it's +Sunday." + +"It seems hard to remember that," said Peter. "It doesn't seem a mite +like Sunday and it seems awful long since yesterday." + +"Cecily, you've got a dreadful cold," said the Story Girl anxiously. + +"In spite of Peg's ginger tea," added Felix. + +"Oh, that ginger tea was AWFUL," exclaimed poor Cecily. "I thought I'd +never get it down--it was so hot with ginger--and there was so much of +it! But I was so frightened of offending Peg I'd have tried to drink it +all if there had been a bucketful. Oh, yes, it's very easy for you all +to laugh! You didn't have to drink it." + +"We had to eat two meals, though," said Felicity with a shiver. "And I +don't know when those dishes of hers were washed. I just shut my eyes +and took gulps." + +"Did you notice the soapy taste in the porridge?" asked the Story Girl. + +"Oh, there were so many queer tastes about it I didn't notice one more +than another," answered Felicity wearily. + +"What bothers me," remarked Peter absently, "is that skull. Do you +suppose Peg really finds things out by it?" + +"Nonsense! How could she?" scoffed Felix, bold as a lion in daylight. + +"She didn't SAY she did, you know," I said cautiously. + +"Well, we'll know in time if the things she said were going to happen +do," mused Peter. + +"Do you suppose your father is really coming home?" queried Felicity. + +"I hope not," answered Peter decidedly. + +"You ought to be ashamed of yourself," said Felicity severely. + +"No, I oughtn't. Father got drunk all the time he was home, and wouldn't +work and was bad to mother," said Peter defiantly. "She had to support +him as well as herself and me. I don't want to see any father coming +home, and you'd better believe it. Of course, if he was the right sort +of a father it'd be different." + +"What I would like to know is if Aunt Olivia is going to be married," +said the Story Girl absently. "I can hardly believe it. But now that +I think of it--Uncle Roger has been teasing her ever since she was in +Halifax last summer." + +"If she does get married you'll have to come and live with us," said +Cecily delightedly. + +Felicity did not betray so much delight and the Story Girl remarked with +a weary little sigh that she hoped Aunt Olivia wouldn't. We all felt +rather weary, somehow. Peg's predictions had been unsettling, and our +nerves had all been more or less strained during our sojourn under her +roof. We were glad when we found ourselves at home. + +The folks had not been at all troubled about us, but it was because they +were sure the storm had come up before we would think of leaving Cousin +Mattie's and not because they had received any mysterious message from +Peg's skull. We were relieved at this, but on the whole, our adventure +had not done much towards clearing up the vexed question of Peg's +witchcraft. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. EXTRACTS FROM THE FEBRUARY AND MARCH NUMBERS OF "OUR +MAGAZINE" + + +RESOLUTION HONOUR ROLL + +Miss Felicity King. + + +HONOURABLE MENTION + +Mr. Felix King. Mr. Peter Craig. Miss Sara Ray. + + +EDITORIAL + +The editor wishes to make a few remarks about the Resolution Honour +Roll. As will be seen, only one name figures on it. Felicity says she +has thought a beautiful thought every morning before breakfast without +missing one morning, not even the one we were at Peg Bowen's. Some of +our number think it not fair that Felicity should be on the honour +roll (FELICITY, ASIDE: "That's Dan, of course.") when she only made one +resolution and won't tell us what any of the thoughts were. So we +have decided to give honourable mention to everybody who has kept one +resolution perfect. Felix has worked all his arithmetic problems by +himself. He complains that he never got more than a third of them +right and the teacher has marked him away down; but one cannot keep +resolutions without some inconvenience. Peter has never played tit-tat-x +in church or got drunk and says it wasn't as bad as he expected. (PETER, +INDIGNANTLY: "I never said it." CECILY, SOOTHINGLY: "Now, Peter, Bev +only meant that as a joke.") Sara Ray has never talked any mean gossip, +but does not find conversation as interesting as it used to be. (SARA +RAY, WONDERINGLY: "I don't remember of saying that.") + +Felix did not eat any apples until March, but forgot and ate seven the +day we were at Cousin Mattie's. (FELIX: "I only ate five!") He soon gave +up trying to say what he thought always. He got into too much trouble. +We think Felix ought to change to old Grandfather King's rule. It was, +"Hold your tongue when you can, and when you can't tell the truth." +Cecily feels she has not read all the good books she might, because some +she tried to read were very dull and the Pansy books were so much more +interesting. And it is no use trying not to feel bad because her hair +isn't curly and she has marked that resolution out. The Story Girl came +very near to keeping her resolution to have all the good times possible, +but she says she missed two, if not three, she might have had. Dan +refuses to say anything about his resolutions and so does the editor. + + +PERSONALS + +We regret that Miss Cecily King is suffering from a severe cold. + +Mr. Alexander Marr of Markdale died very suddenly last week. We never +heard of his death till he was dead. + +Miss Cecily King wishes to state that she did not ask the question about +"Holy Moses" and the other word in the January number. Dan put it in for +a mean joke. + +The weather has been cold and fine. We have only had one bad storm. The +coasting on Uncle Roger's hill continues good. + +Aunt Eliza did not favour us with a visit after all. She took cold and +had to go home. We were sorry that she had a cold but glad that she had +to go home. Cecily said she thought it wicked of us to be glad. But when +we asked her "cross her heart" if she wasn't glad herself she had to say +she was. + +Miss Cecily King has got three very distinguished names on her quilt +square. They are the Governor and his wife and a witch's. + +The King family had the honour of entertaining the Governor's wife to +tea on February the seventeenth. We are all invited to visit Government +House but some of us think we won't go. + +A tragic event occurred last Tuesday. Mrs. James Frewen came to tea and +there was no pie in the house. Felicity has not yet fully recovered. + +A new boy is coming to school. His name is Cyrus Brisk and his folks +moved up from Markdale. He says he is going to punch Willy Fraser's head +if Willy keeps on thinking he is Miss Cecily King's beau. + +(CECILY: "I haven't ANY beau! I don't mean to think of such a thing for +at least eight years yet!") + +Miss Alice Reade of Charlottetown Royalty has come to Carlisle to teach +music. She boards at Mr. Peter Armstrong's. The girls are all going to +take music lessons from her. Two descriptions of her will be found in +another column. Felix wrote one, but the girls thought he did not do her +justice, so Cecily wrote another one. She admits she copied most of the +description out of Valeria H. Montague's story Lord Marmaduke's First, +Last, and Only Love; or the Bride of the Castle by the Sea, but says +they fit Miss Reade better than anything she could make up. + + +HOUSEHOLD DEPARTMENT + +Always keep the kitchen tidy and then you needn't mind if company comes +unexpectedly. + +ANXIOUS INQUIRER: We don't know anything that will take the stain out +of a silk dress when a soft-boiled egg is dropped on it. Better not wear +your silk dress so often, especially when boiling eggs. + +Ginger tea is good for colds. + +OLD HOUSEKEEPER: Yes, when the baking-powder gives out you can use +tooth-powder instead. + +(FELICITY: "I never wrote that! I don't care, I don't think it's fair +for other people to be putting things in my department!") + +Our apples are not keeping well this year. They are rotting; and besides +father says we eat an awful lot of them. + +PERSEVERANCE: I will give you the recipe for dumplings you ask for. +But remember it is not everyone who can make dumplings, even from the +recipe. There's a knack in it. + +If the soap falls into the porridge do not tell your guests about it +until they have finished eating it because it might take away their +appetite. + + FELICITY KING. + + +ETIQUETTE DEPARTMENT + +P-r C-g:--Do not criticize people's noses unless you are sure they can't +hear you, and don't criticize your best girl's great-aunt's nose in any +case. + +(FELICITY, TOSSING HER HEAD: "Oh, my! I s'pose Dan thought that was +extra smart.") + +C-y K-g:--When my most intimate friend walks with another girl and +exchanges lace patterns with her, what ought I to do? Ans. Adopt a +dignified attitude. + +F-y K-g:--It is better not to wear your second best hat to church, but +if your mother says you must it is not for me to question her decision. + +(FELICITY: "Dan just copied that word for word out of the Family Guide, +except about the hat part.") + +P-r C-g:--Yes, it would be quite proper to say good evening to the +family ghost if you met it. + +F-x K-g:--No, it is not polite to sleep with your mouth open. What's +more, it isn't safe. Something might fall into it. + + DAN KING. + + +FASHION NOTES + +Crocheted watch pockets are all the rage now. If you haven't a watch +they do to carry your pencil in or a piece of gum. + +It is stylish to have hair ribbons to match your dress. But it is hard +to match gray drugget. I like scarlet for that. + +It is stylish to pin a piece of ribbon on your coat the same colour as +your chum wears in her hair. Mary Martha Cowan saw them doing it in town +and started us doing it here. I always wear Kitty's ribbon and Kitty +wears mine, but the Story Girl thinks it is silly. + + CECILY KING. + + +AN ACCOUNT OF OUR VISIT TO COUSIN MATTIE'S + +We all walked over to Cousin Mattie's last week. They were all well +there and we had a fine dinner. On our way back a snow-storm came up and +we got lost in the woods. We didn't know where we were or nothing. If we +hadn't seen a light I guess we'd all have been frozen and snowed over, +and they would never have found us till spring and that would be very +sad. But we saw a light and made for it and it was Peg Bowen's. Some +people think she is a witch and it's hard to tell, but she was real +hospitable and took us all in. Her house was very untidy but it was +warm. She has a skull. I mean a loose skull, not her own. She lets on it +tells her things, but Uncle Alec says it couldn't because it was only an +Indian skull that old Dr. Beecham had and Peg stole it when he died, +but Uncle Roger says he wouldn't trust himself with Peg's skull for +anything. She gave us supper. It was a horrid meal. The Story Girl says +I must not tell what I found in the bread and butter because it would +be too disgusting to read in Our Magazine but it don't matter because +we were all there, except Sara Ray, and know what it was. We stayed all +night and us boys slept in straw. None of us had ever slept on straw +before. We got home in the morning. That is all I can write about our +visit to Cousin Mattie's. + + FELIX KING. + + +MY WORST ADVENTURE + +It's my turn to write it so I suppose I must. I guess my worst adventure +was two years ago when a whole lot of us were coasting on Uncle Rogers +hill. Charlie Cowan and Fred Marr had started, but half-way down their +sled got stuck and I run down to shove them off again. Then I stood +there just a moment to watch them with my back to the top of the hill. +While I was standing there Rob Marr started Kitty and Em Frewen off on +his sled. His sled had a wooden tongue in it and it slanted back over +the girls' heads. I was right in the way and they yelled to me to get +out, but just as I heard them it struck me. The sled took me between the +legs and I was histed back over the tongue and dropped in a heap behind +before I knew what had happened to me. I thought a tornado had struck +me. The girls couldn't stop though they thought I was killed, but Rob +came tearing down and helped me up. He was awful scared but I wasn't +killed nor my back wasn't broken but my nose bled something awful and +kept on bleeding for three days. Not all the time but by spells. + + DAN KING. + + +THE STORY OF HOW CARLISLE GOT ITS NAME + +This is a true story to. Long ago there was a girl lived in charlotte +town. I dont know her name so I cant right it and maybe it is just as +well for Felicity might think it wasnt romantik like Miss Jemima Parrs. +She was awful pretty and a young englishman who had come out to make his +fortune fell in love with her and they were engaged to be married the +next spring. His name was Mr. Carlisle. In the winter he started off to +hunt cariboo for a spell. Cariboos lived on the island then. There aint +any here now. He got to where it is Carlisle now. It wasn't anything +then only woods and a few indians. He got awful sick and was sick for +ever so long in a indian camp and only an old micmac squaw to wait on +him. Back in town they all thought he was dead and his girl felt bad for +a little while and then got over it and took up with another beau. The +girls say that wasnt romantik but I think it was sensible but if it had +been me that died I'd have felt bad if she forgot me so soon. But he +hadnt died and when he got back to town he went right to her house +and walked in and there she was standing up to be married to the other +fellow. Poor Mr. Carlisle felt awful. He was sick and week and it went +to his head. He just turned and run and run till he got back to the old +micmac's camp and fell in front of it. But the indians had gone because +it was spring and it didnt matter because he really was dead this time +and people come looking for him from town and found him and buryed him +there and called the place after him. They say the girl was never happy +again and that was hard lines on her but maybe she deserved it. + + PETER CRAIG. + + +MISS ALICE READE + +Miss Alice Reade is a very pretty girl. She has kind of curly blackish +hair and big gray eyes and a pale face. She is tall and thin but her +figure is pretty fair and she has a nice mouth and a sweet way of +speaking. The girls are crazy about her and talk about her all the time. + + FELIX KING. + + +BEAUTIFUL ALICE + +That is what we girls call Miss Reade among ourselves. She is divinely +beautiful. Her magnificent wealth of raven hair flows back in glistening +waves from her sun-kissed brow. (DAN: "If Felix had said she was +sunburned you'd have all jumped on him." (CECILY, COLDLY: "Sun-kissed +doesn't mean sunburned." DAN: "What does it mean then?" CECILY, +EMBARRASSED: "I--I don't know. But Miss Montague says the Lady +Geraldine's brow was sun-kissed and of course an earl's daughter +wouldn't be sunburned. "THE STORY GIRL: "Oh, don't interrupt the reading +like this. It spoils it.") Her eyes are gloriously dark and deep, like +midnight lakes mirroring the stars of heaven. Her features are like +sculptured marble and her mouth is a trembling, curving Cupid's bow. +(PETER, ASIDE: "What kind of a thing is that?") Her creamy skin is as +fair and flawless as the petals of a white lily. Her voice is like the +ripple of a woodland brook and her slender form is matchless in its +symmetry. (DAN: "That's Valeria's way of putting it, but Uncle Roger +says she don't show her feed much." FELICITY: "Dan! if Uncle Roger is +vulgar you needn't be!") Her hands are like a poet's dreams. She dresses +so nicely and looks so stylish in her clothes. Her favourite colour is +blue. Some people think she is stiff and some say she is stuck-up, but +she isn't a bit. It's just that she is different from them and they +don't like it. She is just lovely and we adore her.) + + CECILY KING. + + + + +CHAPTER X. DISAPPEARANCE OF PADDY + + +As I remember, the spring came late that year in Carlisle. It was May +before the weather began to satisfy the grown-ups. But we children were +more easily pleased, and we thought April a splendid month because the +snow all went early and left gray, firm, frozen ground for our rambles +and games. As the days slipped by they grew more gracious; the hillsides +began to look as if they were thinking of mayflowers; the old orchard +was washed in a bath of tingling sunshine and the sap stirred in the +big trees; by day the sky was veiled with delicate cloud drift, fine and +filmy as woven mist; in the evenings a full, low moon looked over the +valleys, as pallid and holy as some aureoled saint; a sound of laughter +and dream was on the wind and the world grew young with the mirth of +April breezes. + +"It's so nice to be alive in the spring," said the Story Girl one +twilight as we swung on the boughs of Uncle Stephen's walk. + +"It's nice to be alive any time," said Felicity, complacently. + +"But it's nicer in the spring," insisted the Story Girl. "When I'm dead +I think I'll FEEL dead all the rest of the year, but when spring comes +I'm sure I'll feel like getting up and being alive again." + +"You do say such queer things," complained Felicity. "You won't be +really dead any time. You'll be in the next world. And I think it's +horrid to talk about people being dead anyhow." + +"We've all got to die," said Sara Ray solemnly, but with a certain +relish. It was as if she enjoyed looking forward to something in which +nothing, neither an unsympathetic mother, nor the cruel fate which had +made her a colourless little nonentity, could prevent her from being the +chief performer. + +"I sometimes think," said Cecily, rather wearily, "that it isn't so +dreadful to die young as I used to suppose." + +She prefaced her remark with a slight cough, as she had been all too apt +to do of late, for the remnants of the cold she had caught the night we +were lost in the storm still clung to her. + +"Don't talk such nonsense, Cecily," cried the Story Girl with unwonted +sharpness, a sharpness we all understood. All of us, in our hearts, +though we never spoke of it to each other, thought Cecily was not as +well as she ought to be that spring, and we hated to hear anything said +which seemed in any way to touch or acknowledge the tiny, faint shadow +which now and again showed itself dimly athwart our sunshine. + +"Well, it was you began talking of being dead," said Felicity angrily. +"I don't think it's right to talk of such things. Cecily, are you sure +your feet ain't damp? We ought to go in anyhow--it's too chilly out here +for you." + +"You girls had better go," said Dan, "but I ain't going in till old +Isaac Frewen goes. I've no use for him." + +"I hate him, too," said Felicity, agreeing with Dan for once in her +life. "He chews tobacco all the time and spits on the floor--the horrid +pig!" + +"And yet his brother is an elder in the church," said Sara Ray +wonderingly. + +"I know a story about Isaac Frewen," said the Story Girl. "When he was +young he went by the name of Oatmeal Frewen and he got it this way. He +was noted for doing outlandish things. He lived at Markdale then and he +was a great, overgrown, awkward fellow, six feet tall. He drove over to +Baywater one Saturday to visit his uncle there and came home the next +afternoon, and although it was Sunday he brought a big bag of oatmeal in +the wagon with him. When he came to Carlisle church he saw that service +was going on there, and he concluded to stop and go in. But he didn't +like to leave his oatmeal outside for fear something would happen to it, +because there were always mischievous boys around, so he hoisted the bag +on his back and walked into church with it and right to the top of the +aisle to Grandfather King's pew. Grandfather King used to say he +would never forget it to his dying day. The minister was preaching and +everything was quiet and solemn when he heard a snicker behind him. +Grandfather King turned around with a terrible frown--for you know in +those days it was thought a dreadful thing to laugh in church--to rebuke +the offender; and what did he see but that great, hulking young Isaac +stalking up the aisle, bending a little forward under the weight of a +big bag of oatmeal? Grandfather King was so amazed he couldn't laugh, +but almost everyone else in the church was laughing, and grandfather +said he never blamed them, for no funnier sight was ever seen. Young +Isaac turned into grandfather's pew and thumped the bag of oatmeal down +on the seat with a thud that cracked it. Then he plumped down beside +it, took off his hat, wiped his face, and settled back to listen to the +sermon, just as if it was all a matter of course. When the service was +over he hoisted his bag up again, marched out of church, and drove home. +He could never understand why it made so much talk; but he was known by +the name of Oatmeal Frewen for years." + +Our laughter, as we separated, rang sweetly through the old orchard and +across the far, dim meadows. Felicity and Cecily went into the house +and Sara Ray and the Story Girl went home, but Peter decoyed me into the +granary to ask advice. + +"You know Felicity has a birthday next week," he said, "and I want to +write her an ode." + +"A--a what?" I gasped. + +"An ode," repeated Peter, gravely. "It's poetry, you know. I'll put it +in Our Magazine." + +"But you can't write poetry, Peter," I protested. + +"I'm going to try," said Peter stoutly. "That is, if you think she won't +be offended at me." + +"She ought to feel flattered," I replied. + +"You never can tell how she'll take things," said Peter gloomily. "Of +course I ain't going to sign my name, and if she ain't pleased I won't +tell her I wrote it. Don't you let on." + +I promised I wouldn't and Peter went off with a light heart. He said he +meant to write two lines every day till he got it done. + +Cupid was playing his world-old tricks with others than poor Peter that +spring. Allusion has been made in these chronicles to one, Cyrus Brisk, +and to the fact that our brown-haired, soft-voiced Cecily had found +favour in the eyes of the said Cyrus. Cecily did not regard her conquest +with any pride. On the contrary, it annoyed her terribly to be teased +about Cyrus. She declared she hated both him and his name. She was as +uncivil to him as sweet Cecily could be to anyone, but the gallant Cyrus +was nothing daunted. He laid determined siege to Cecily's young heart by +all the methods known to love-lorn swains. He placed delicate tributes +of spruce gum, molasses taffy, "conversation" candies and decorated +slate pencils on her desk; he persistently "chose" her in all school +games calling for a partner; he entreated to be allowed to carry her +basket from school; he offered to work her sums for her; and rumour had +it that he had made a wild statement to the effect that he meant to +ask if he might see her home some night from prayer meeting. Cecily was +quite frightened that he would; she confided to me that she would rather +die than walk home with him, but that if he asked her she would be too +bashful to say no. So far, however, Cyrus had not molested her out of +school, nor had he as yet thumped Willy Fraser--who was reported to be +very low in his spirits over the whole affair. + +And now Cyrus had written Cecily a letter--a love letter, mark you. +Moreover, he had sent it through the post-office, with a real stamp +on it. Its arrival made a sensation among us. Dan brought it from the +office and, recognizing the handwriting of Cyrus, gave Cecily no peace +until she showed us the letter. It was a very sentimental and rather +ill-spelled epistle in which the inflammable Cyrus reproached her in +heart-rending words for her coldness, and begged her to answer his +letter, saying that if she did he would keep the secret "in violets." +Cyrus probably meant "inviolate" but Cecily thought it was intended for +a poetical touch. He signed himself "your troo lover, Cyrus Brisk" and +added in a postcript that he couldn't eat or sleep for thinking of her. + +"Are you going to answer it?" asked Dan. + +"Certainly not," said Cecily with dignity. + +"Cyrus Brisk wants to be kicked," growled Felix, who never seemed to be +any particular friend of Willy Fraser's either. "He'd better learn how +to spell before he takes to writing love letters." + +"Maybe Cyrus will starve to death if you don't," suggested Sara Ray. + +"I hope he will," said Cecily cruelly. She was truly vexed over the +letter; and yet, so contradictory a thing is the feminine heart, even at +twelve years old, I think she was a little flattered by it also. It was +her first love letter and she confided to me that it gives you a very +queer feeling to get it. At all events--the letter, though unanswered, +was not torn up. I feel sure Cecily preserved it. But she walked past +Cyrus next morning at school with a frozen countenance, evincing not the +slightest pity for his pangs of unrequited affection. Cecily winced when +Pat caught a mouse, visited a school chum the day the pigs were killed +that she might not hear their squealing, and would not have stepped on a +caterpillar for anything; yet she did not care at all how much she made +the brisk Cyrus suffer. + +Then, suddenly, all our spring gladness and Maytime hopes were blighted +as by a killing frost. Sorrow and anxiety pervaded our days and +embittered our dreams by night. Grim tragedy held sway in our lives for +the next fortnight. + +Paddy disappeared. One night he lapped his new milk as usual at Uncle +Roger's dairy door and then sat blandly on the flat stone before it, +giving the world assurance of a cat, sleek sides glistening, plumy tail +gracefully folded around his paws, brilliant eyes watching the stir and +flicker of bare willow boughs in the twilight air above him. That was +the last seen of him. In the morning he was not. + +At first we were not seriously alarmed. Paddy was no roving Thomas, +but occasionally he vanished for a day or so. But when two days passed +without his return we became anxious, the third day worried us greatly, +and the fourth found us distracted. + +"Something has happened to Pat," the Story Girl declared miserably. "He +never stayed away from home more than two days in his life." + +"What could have happened to him?" asked Felix. + +"He's been poisoned--or a dog has killed him," answered the Story Girl +in tragic tones. + +Cecily began to cry at this; but tears were of no avail. Neither was +anything else, apparently. We searched every nook and cranny of barns +and out-buildings and woods on both the King farms; we inquired far and +wide; we roved over Carlisle meadows calling Paddy's name, until Aunt +Janet grew exasperated and declared we must stop making such exhibitions +of ourselves. But we found and heard no trace of our lost pet. The Story +Girl moped and refused to be comforted; Cecily declared she could not +sleep at night for thinking of poor Paddy dying miserably in some corner +to which he had dragged his failing body, or lying somewhere mangled and +torn by a dog. We hated every dog we saw on the ground that he might be +the guilty one. + +"It's the suspense that's so hard," sobbed the Story Girl. "If I just +knew what had happened to him it wouldn't be QUITE so hard. But I don't +know whether he's dead or alive. He may be living and suffering, and +every night I dream that he has come home and when I wake up and find +it's only a dream it just breaks my heart." + +"It's ever so much worse than when he was so sick last fall," said +Cecily drearily. "Then we knew that everything was done for him that +could be done." + +We could not appeal to Peg Bowen this time. In our desperation we would +have done it, but Peg was far away. With the first breath of spring she +was up and off, answering to the lure of the long road. She had not +been seen in her accustomed haunts for many a day. Her pets were gaining +their own living in the woods and her house was locked up. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. THE WITCH'S WISHBONE + + +When a fortnight had elapsed we gave up all hope. + +"Pat is dead," said the Story Girl hopelessly, as we returned one +evening from a bootless quest to Andrew Cowan's where a strange gray +cat had been reported--a cat which turned out to be a yellowish brown +nondescript, with no tail to speak of. + +"I'm afraid so," I acknowledged at last. + +"If only Peg Bowen had been at home she could have found him for us," +asserted Peter. "Her skull would have told her where he was." + +"I wonder if the wishbone she gave me would have done any good," cried +Cecily suddenly. "I'd forgotten all about it. Oh, do you suppose it's +too late yet?" + +"There's nothing in a wishbone," said Dan impatiently. + +"You can't be sure. She TOLD me I'd get the wish I made on it. I'm going +to try whenever I get home." + +"It can't do any harm, anyhow," said Peter, "but I'm afraid you've left +it too late. If Pat is dead even a witch's wishbone can't bring him back +to life." + +"I'll never forgive myself for not thinking about it before," mourned +Cecily. + +As soon as we got home she flew to the little box upstairs where she +kept her treasures, and brought therefrom the dry and brittle wishbone. + +"Peg told me how it must be done. I'm to hold the wishbone with both +hands, like this, and walk backward, repeating the wish nine times. And +when I've finished the ninth time I'm to turn around nine times, from +right to left, and then the wish will come true right away." + +"Do you expect to see Pat when you finish turning?" said Dan +skeptically. + +None of us had any faith in the incantation except Peter, and, by +infection, Cecily. You never could tell what might happen. Cecily +took the wishbone in her trembling little hands and began her backward +pacing, repeating solemnly, "I wish that we may find Paddy alive, or +else his body, so that we can bury him decently." By the time Cecily +had repeated this nine times we were all slightly infected with the +desperate hope that something might come of it; and when she had +made her nine gyrations we looked eagerly down the sunset lane, half +expecting to see our lost pet. But we saw only the Awkward Man turning +in at the gate. This was almost as surprising as the sight of Pat +himself would have been; but there was no sign of Pat and hope flickered +out in every breast but Peter's. + +"You've got to give the spell time to work," he expostulated. "If Pat +was miles away when it was wished it wouldn't be reasonable to expect to +see him right off." + +But we of little faith had already lost that little, and it was a very +disconsolate group which the Awkward Man presently joined. + +He was smiling--his rare, beautiful smile which only children ever +saw--and he lifted his hat to the girls with no trace of the shyness and +awkwardness for which he was notorious. + +"Good evening," he said. "Have you little people lost a cat lately?" + +We stared. Peter said "I knew it!" in a triumphant pig's whisper. The +Story Girl started eagerly forward. + +"Oh, Mr. Dale, can you tell us anything of Paddy?" she cried. + +"A silver gray cat with black points and very fine marking?" + +"Yes, yes!" + +"Alive?" + +"Yes." + +"Well, doesn't that beat the Dutch!" muttered Dan. + +But we were all crowding about the Awkward Man, demanding where and when +he had found Paddy. + +"You'd better come over to my place and make sure that it really is your +cat," suggested the Awkward Man, "and I'll tell you all about finding +him on the way. I must warn you that he is pretty thin--but I think +he'll pull through." + +We obtained permission to go without much difficulty, although the +spring evening was wearing late, for Aunt Janet said she supposed none +of us would sleep a wink that night if we didn't. A joyful procession +followed the Awkward Man and the Story Girl across the gray, star-litten +meadows to his home and through his pine-guarded gate. + +"You know that old barn of mine back in the woods?" said the Awkward +Man. "I go to it only about once in a blue moon. There was an old barrel +there, upside down, one side resting on a block of wood. This morning +I went to the barn to see about having some hay hauled home, and I had +occasion to move the barrel. I noticed that it seemed to have been +moved slightly since my last visit, and it was now resting wholly on the +floor. I lifted it up--and there was a cat lying on the floor under it. +I had heard you had lost yours and I took it this was your pet. I was +afraid he was dead at first. He was lying there with his eyes closed; +but when I bent over him he opened them and gave a pitiful little mew; +or rather his mouth made the motion of a mew, for he was too weak to +utter a sound." + +"Oh, poor, poor Paddy," said tender-hearted Cecily tearfully. + +"He couldn't stand, so I carried him home and gave him just a little +milk. Fortunately he was able to lap it. I gave him a little more at +intervals all day, and when I left he was able to crawl around. I think +he'll be all right, but you'll have to be careful how you feed him for a +few days. Don't let your hearts run away with your judgment and kill him +with kindness." + +"Do you suppose any one put him under that barrel?" asked the Story +Girl. + +"No. The barn was locked. Nothing but a cat could get in. I suppose +he went under the barrel, perhaps in pursuit of a mouse, and somehow +knocked it off the block and so imprisoned himself." + +Paddy was sitting before the fire in the Awkward Man's clean, bare +kitchen. Thin! Why, he was literally skin and bone, and his fur was dull +and lustreless. It almost broke our hearts to see our beautiful Paddy +brought so low. + +"Oh, how he must have suffered!" moaned Cecily. + +"He'll be as prosperous as ever in a week or two," said the Awkward Man +kindly. + +The Story Girl gathered Paddy up in her arms. Most mellifluously did he +purr as we crowded around to stroke him; with friendly joy he licked our +hands with his little red tongue; poor Paddy was a thankful cat; he was +no longer lost, starving, imprisoned, helpless; he was with his comrades +once more and he was going home--home to his old familiar haunts of +orchard and dairy and granary, to his daily rations of new milk and +cream, to the cosy corner of his own fireside. We trooped home joyfully, +the Story Girl in our midst carrying Paddy hugged against her shoulder. +Never did April stars look down on a happier band of travellers on the +golden road. There was a little gray wind out in the meadows that +night, and it danced along beside us on viewless, fairy feet, and sang +a delicate song of the lovely, waiting years, while the night laid her +beautiful hands of blessing over the world. + +"You see what Peg's wishbone did," said Peter triumphantly. + +"Now, look here, Peter, don't talk nonsense," expostulated Dan. "The +Awkward Man found Paddy this morning and had started to bring us word +before Cecily ever thought of the wishbone. Do you mean to say you +believe he wouldn't have come walking up our lane just when he did if +she had never thought of it?" + +"I mean to say that I wouldn't mind if I had several wishbones of the +same kind," retorted Peter stubbornly. + +"Of course I don't think the wishbone had really anything to do with +our getting Paddy back, but I'm glad I tried it, for all that," remarked +Cecily in a tone of satisfaction. + +"Well, anyhow, we've got Pat and that's the main thing," said Felix. + +"And I hope it will be a lesson to him to stay home after this," +commented Felicity. + +"They say the barrens are full of mayflowers," said the Story Girl. "Let +us have a mayflower picnic tomorrow to celebrate Paddy's safe return." + + + + +CHAPTER XII. FLOWERS O' MAY + + +Accordingly we went a-maying, following the lure of dancing winds to a +certain westward sloping hill lying under the spirit-like blue of spring +skies, feathered over with lisping young pines and firs, which cupped +little hollows and corners where the sunshine got in and never got out +again, but stayed there and grew mellow, coaxing dear things to bloom +long before they would dream of waking up elsewhere. + +'Twas there we found our mayflowers, after faithful seeking. Mayflowers, +you must know, never flaunt themselves; they must be sought as +becomes them, and then they will yield up their treasures to the +seeker--clusters of star-white and dawn-pink that have in them the very +soul of all the springs that ever were, re-incarnated in something it +seems gross to call perfume, so exquisite and spiritual is it. + +We wandered gaily over the hill, calling to each other with laughter +and jest, getting parted and delightfully lost in that little pathless +wilderness, and finding each other unexpectedly in nooks and dips and +sunny silences, where the wind purred and gentled and went softly. When +the sun began to hang low, sending great fan-like streamers of radiance +up to the zenith, we foregathered in a tiny, sequestered valley, full +of young green fern, lying in the shadow of a wooded hill. In it was a +shallow pool--a glimmering green sheet of water on whose banks nymphs +might dance as blithely as ever they did on Argive hill or in Cretan +dale. There we sat and stripped the faded leaves and stems from our +spoil, making up the blossoms into bouquets to fill our baskets with +sweetness. The Story Girl twisted a spray of divinest pink in her brown +curls, and told us an old legend of a beautiful Indian maiden who died +of a broken heart when the first snows of winter were falling, because +she believed her long-absent lover was false. But he came back in the +spring time from his long captivity; and when he heard that she was dead +he sought her grave to mourn her, and lo, under the dead leaves of the +old year he found sweet sprays of a blossom never seen before, and +knew that it was a message of love and remembrance from his dark-eyed +sweet-heart. + +"Except in stories Indian girls are called squaws," remarked practical +Dan, tying his mayflowers together in one huge, solid, cabbage-like +bunch. Not for Dan the bother of filling his basket with the loose +sprays, mingled with feathery elephant's-ears and trails of creeping +spruce, as the rest of us, following the Story Girl's example, did. Nor +would he admit that ours looked any better than his. + +"I like things of one kind together. I don't like them mixed," he said. + +"You have no taste," said Felicity. + +"Except in my mouth, best beloved," responded Dan. + +"You do think you are so smart," retorted Felicity, flushing with anger. + +"Don't quarrel this lovely day," implored Cecily. + +"Nobody's quarrelling, Sis. I ain't a bit mad. It's Felicity. What on +earth is that at the bottom of your basket, Cecily?" + +"It's a History of the Reformation in France," confessed poor Cecily, +"by a man named D-a-u-b-i-g-n-y. I can't pronounce it. I heard Mr. +Marwood saying it was a book everyone ought to read, so I began it +last Sunday. I brought it along today to read when I got tired picking +flowers. I'd ever so much rather have brought Ester Reid. There's so +much in the history I can't understand, and it is so dreadful to read of +people being burned to death. But I felt I OUGHT to read it." + +"Do you really think your mind has improved any?" asked Sara Ray +seriously, wreathing the handle of her basket with creeping spruce. + +"No, I'm afraid it hasn't one bit," answered Cecily sadly. "I feel that +I haven't succeeded very well in keeping my resolutions." + +"I've kept mine," said Felicity complacently. + +"It's easy to keep just one," retorted Cecily, rather resentfully. + +"It's not so easy to think beautiful thoughts," answered Felicity. + +"It's the easiest thing in the world," said the Story Girl, tiptoeing to +the edge of the pool to peep at her own arch reflection, as some nymph +left over from the golden age might do. "Beautiful thoughts just crowd +into your mind at times." + +"Oh, yes, AT TIMES. But that's different from thinking one REGULARLY at +a given hour. And mother is always calling up the stairs for me to hurry +up and get dressed, and it's VERY hard sometimes." + +"That's so," conceded the Story Girl. "There ARE times when I can't +think anything but gray thoughts. Then, other days, I think pink and +blue and gold and purple and rainbow thoughts all the time." + +"The idea! As if thoughts were coloured," giggled Felicity. + +"Oh, they are!" cried the Story Girl. "Why, I can always SEE the colour +of any thought I think. Can't you?" + +"I never heard of such a thing," declared Felicity, "and I don't believe +it. I believe you are just making that up." + +"Indeed I'm not. Why, I always supposed everyone thought in colours. It +must be very tiresome if you don't." + +"When you think of me what colour is it?" asked Peter curiously. + +"Yellow," answered the Story Girl promptly. "And Cecily is a sweet pink, +like those mayflowers, and Sara Ray is very pale blue, and Dan is red +and Felix is yellow, like Peter, and Bev is striped." + +"What colour am I?" asked Felicity, amid the laughter at my expense. + +"You're--you're like a rainbow," answered the Story Girl rather +reluctantly. She had to be honest, but she would rather not have +complimented Felicity. "And you needn't laugh at Bev. His stripes are +beautiful. It isn't HE that is striped. It's just the THOUGHT of him. +Peg Bowen is a queer sort of yellowish green and the Awkward Man is +lilac. Aunt Olivia is pansy-purple mixed with gold, and Uncle Roger is +navy blue." + +"I never heard such nonsense," declared Felicity. The rest of us were +rather inclined to agree with her for once. We thought the Story Girl +was making fun of us. But I believe she really had a strange gift of +thinking in colours. In later years, when we were grown up, she told +me of it again. She said that everything had colour in her thought; the +months of the year ran through all the tints of the spectrum, the days +of the week were arrayed as Solomon in his glory, morning was golden, +noon orange, evening crystal blue, and night violet. Every idea came to +her mind robed in its own especial hue. Perhaps that was why her voice +and words had such a charm, conveying to the listeners' perception such +fine shadings of meaning and tint and music. + +"Well, let's go and have something to eat," suggested Dan. "What colour +is eating, Sara?" + +"Golden brown, just the colour of a molasses cooky," laughed the Story +Girl. + +We sat on the ferny bank of the pool and ate of the generous basket Aunt +Janet had provided, with appetites sharpened by the keen spring air and +our wilderness rovings. Felicity had made some very nice sandwiches of +ham which we all appreciated except Dan, who declared he didn't like +things minced up and dug out of the basket a chunk of boiled pork which +he proceeded to saw up with a jack-knife and devour with gusto. + +"I told ma to put this in for me. There's some CHEW to it," he said. + +"You are not a bit refined," commented Felicity. + +"Not a morsel, my love," grinned Dan. + +"You make me think of a story I heard Uncle Roger telling about Cousin +Annetta King," said the Story Girl. "Great-uncle Jeremiah King used to +live where Uncle Roger lives now, when Grandfather King was alive and +Uncle Roger was a boy. In those days it was thought rather coarse for a +young lady to have too hearty an appetite, and she was more admired if +she was delicate about what she ate. Cousin Annetta set out to be very +refined indeed. She pretended to have no appetite at all. One afternoon +she was invited to tea at Grandfather King's when they had some special +company--people from Charlottetown. Cousin Annetta said she could hardly +eat anything. 'You know, Uncle Abraham,' she said, in a very affected, +fine-young-lady voice, 'I really hardly eat enough to keep a bird alive. +Mother says she wonders how I continue to exist.' And she picked and +pecked until Grandfather King declared he would like to throw something +at her. After tea Cousin Annetta went home, and just about dark +Grandfather King went over to Uncle Jeremiah's on an errand. As he +passed the open, lighted pantry window he happened to glance in, and +what do you think he saw? Delicate Cousin Annetta standing at the +dresser, with a big loaf of bread beside her and a big platterful of +cold, boiled pork in front of her; and Annetta was hacking off great +chunks, like Dan there, and gobbling them down as if she was starving. +Grandfather King couldn't resist the temptation. He stepped up to the +window and said, 'I'm glad your appetite has come back to you, Annetta. +Your mother needn't worry about your continuing to exist as long as you +can tuck away fat, salt pork in that fashion.' + +"Cousin Annetta never forgave him, but she never pretended to be +delicate again." + +"The Jews don't believe in eating pork," said Peter. + +"I'm glad I'm not a Jew and I guess Cousin Annetta was too," said Dan. + +"I like bacon, but I can never look at a pig without wondering if they +were ever intended to be eaten," remarked Cecily naively. + +When we finished our lunch the barrens were already wrapping themselves +in a dim, blue dusk and falling upon rest in dell and dingle. But out +in the open there was still much light of a fine emerald-golden sort and +the robins whistled us home in it. "Horns of Elfland" never sounded more +sweetly around hoary castle and ruined fane than those vesper calls +of the robins from the twilight spruce woods and across green pastures +lying under the pale radiance of a young moon. + +When we reached home we found that Miss Reade had been up to the hill +farm on an errand and was just leaving. The Story Girl went for a walk +with her and came back with an important expression on her face. + +"You look as if you had a story to tell," said Felix. + +"One is growing. It isn't a whole story yet," answered the Story Girl +mysteriously. + +"What is it?" asked Cecily. + +"I can't tell you till it's fully grown," said the Story Girl. "But +I'll tell you a pretty little story the Awkward Man told us--told +me--tonight. He was walking in his garden as we went by, looking at his +tulip beds. His tulips are up ever so much higher than ours, and I asked +him how he managed to coax them along so early. And he said HE didn't do +it--it was all the work of the pixies who lived in the woods across +the brook. There were more pixy babies than usual this spring, and the +mothers were in a hurry for the cradles. The tulips are the pixy babies' +cradles, it seems. The mother pixies come out of the woods at twilight +and rock their tiny little brown babies to sleep in the tulip cups. That +is the reason why tulip blooms last so much longer than other blossoms. +The pixy babies must have a cradle until they are grown up. They grow +very fast, you see, and the Awkward Man says on a spring evening, when +the tulips are out, you can hear the sweetest, softest, clearest, fairy +music in his garden, and it is the pixy folk singing as they rock the +pixy babies to sleep." + +"Then the Awkward Man says what isn't true," said Felicity severely. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. A SURPRISING ANNOUNCEMENT + + +"Nothing exciting has happened for ever so long," said the Story Girl +discontentedly, one late May evening, as we lingered under the wonderful +white bloom of the cherry trees. There was a long row of them in the +orchard, with a Lombardy poplar at either end, and a hedge of lilacs +behind. When the wind blew over them all the spicy breezes of Ceylon's +isle were never sweeter. + +It was a time of wonder and marvel, of the soft touch of silver rain on +greening fields, of the incredible delicacy of young leaves, of blossom +in field and garden and wood. The whole world bloomed in a flush and +tremor of maiden loveliness, instinct with all the evasive, fleeting +charm of spring and girlhood and young morning. We felt and enjoyed it +all without understanding or analyzing it. It was enough to be glad and +young with spring on the golden road. + +"I don't like excitement very much," said Cecily. "It makes one so +tired. I'm sure it was exciting enough when Paddy was missing, but we +didn't find that very pleasant." + +"No, but it was interesting," returned the Story Girl thoughtfully. +"After all, I believe I'd rather be miserable than dull." + +"I wouldn't then," said Felicity decidedly. "And you need never be dull +when you have work to do. 'Satan finds some mischief still for idle +hands to do!'" + +"Well, mischief is interesting," laughed the Story Girl. "And I thought +you didn't think it lady-like to speak of that person, Felicity?" + +"It's all right if you call him by his polite name," said Felicity +stiffly. + +"Why does the Lombardy poplar hold its branches straight up in the +air like that, when all the other poplars hold theirs out or hang them +down?" interjected Peter, who had been gazing intently at the slender +spire showing darkly against the fine blue eastern sky. + +"Because it grows that way," said Felicity. + +"Oh I know a story about that," cried the Story Girl. "Once upon a time +an old man found the pot of gold at the rainbow's end. There IS a pot +there, it is said, but it is very hard to find because you can never get +to the rainbow's end before it vanishes from your sight. But this old +man found it, just at sunset, when Iris, the guardian of the rainbow +gold, happened to be absent. As he was a long way from home, and the pot +was very big and heavy, he decided to hide it until morning and then get +one of his sons to go with him and help him carry it. So he hid it under +the boughs of the sleeping poplar tree. + +"When Iris came back she missed the pot of gold and of course she was in +a sad way about it. She sent Mercury, the messenger of the gods, to +look for it, for she didn't dare leave the rainbow again, lest somebody +should run off with that too. Mercury asked all the trees if they had +seen the pot of gold, and the elm, oak and pine pointed to the poplar +and said, + +"'The poplar can tell you where it is.' + +"'How can I tell you where it is?' cried the poplar, and she held up all +her branches in surprise, just as we hold up our hands--and down tumbled +the pot of gold. The poplar was amazed and indignant, for she was a very +honest tree. She stretched her boughs high above her head and declared +that she would always hold them like that, so that nobody could hide +stolen gold under them again. And she taught all the little poplars she +knew to stand the same way, and that is why Lombardy poplars always do. +But the aspen poplar leaves are always shaking, even on the very calmest +day. And do you know why?" + +And then she told us the old legend that the cross on which the Saviour +of the world suffered was made of aspen poplar wood and so never again +could its poor, shaken, shivering leaves know rest or peace. There was +an aspen in the orchard, the very embodiment of youth and spring in its +litheness and symmetry. Its little leaves were hanging tremulously, not +yet so fully blown as to hide its development of bough and twig, making +poetry against the spiritual tints of a spring sunset. + +"It does look sad," said Peter, "but it is a pretty tree, and it wasn't +its fault." + +"There's a heavy dew and it's time we stopped talking nonsense and went +in," decreed Felicity. "If we don't we'll all have a cold, and then +we'll be miserable enough, but it won't be very exciting." + +"All the same, I wish something exciting would happen," finished the +Story Girl, as we walked up through the orchard, peopled with its +nun-like shadows. + +"There's a new moon tonight, so may be you'll get your wish," said +Peter. "My Aunt Jane didn't believe there was anything in the moon +business, but you never can tell." + +The Story Girl did get her wish. Something happened the very next day. +She joined us in the afternoon with a quite indescribable expression +on her face, compounded of triumph, anticipation, and regret. Her +eyes betrayed that she had been crying, but in them shone a chastened +exultation. Whatever the Story Girl mourned over it was evident she was +not without hope. + +"I have some news to tell you," she said importantly. "Can you guess +what it is?" + +We couldn't and wouldn't try. + +"Tell us right off," implored Felix. "You look as if it was something +tremendous." + +"So it is. Listen--Aunt Olivia is going to be married." + +We stared in blank amazement. Peg Bowen's hint had faded from our minds +and we had never put much faith in it. + +"Aunt Olivia! I don't believe it," cried Felicity flatly. "Who told +you?" + +"Aunt Olivia herself. So it is perfectly true. I'm awfully sorry in one +way--but oh, won't it be splendid to have a real wedding in the family? +She's going to have a big wedding--and I am to be bridesmaid." + +"I shouldn't think you were old enough to be a bridesmaid," said +Felicity sharply. + +"I'm nearly fifteen. Anyway, Aunt Olivia says I have to be." + +"Who's she going to marry?" asked Cecily, gathering herself together +after the shock, and finding that the world was going on just the same. + +"His name is Dr. Seton and he is a Halifax man. She met him when she +was at Uncle Edward's last summer. They've been engaged ever since. The +wedding is to be the third week in June." + +"And our school concert comes off the next week," complained Felicity. +"Why do things always come together like that? And what are you going to +do if Aunt Olivia is going away?" + +"I'm coming to live at your house," answered the Story Girl rather +timidly. She did not know how Felicity might like that. But Felicity +took it rather well. + +"You've been here most of the time anyhow, so it'll just be that you'll +sleep and eat here, too. But what's to become of Uncle Roger?" + +"Aunt Olivia says he'll have to get married, too. But Uncle Roger says +he'd rather hire a housekeeper than marry one, because in the first case +he could turn her off if he didn't like her, but in the second case he +couldn't." + +"There'll be a lot of cooking to do for the wedding," reflected Felicity +in a tone of satisfaction. + +"I s'pose Aunt Olivia will want some rusks made. I hope she has plenty +of tooth-powder laid in," said Dan. + +"It's a pity you don't use some of that tooth-powder you're so fond of +talking about yourself," retorted Felicity. "When anyone has a mouth the +size of yours the teeth show so plain." + +"I brush my teeth every Sunday," asseverated Dan. + +"Every Sunday! You ought to brush them every DAY." + +"Did anyone ever hear such nonsense?" demanded Dan sincerely. + +"Well, you know, it really does say so in the Family Guide," said Cecily +quietly. + +"Then the Family Guide people must have lots more spare time than I +have," retorted Dan contemptuously. + +"Just think, the Story Girl will have her name in the papers if she's +bridesmaid," marvelled Sara Ray. + +"In the Halifax papers, too," added Felix, "since Dr. Seton is a Halifax +man. What is his first name?" + +"Robert." + +"And will we have to call him Uncle Robert?" + +"Not until he's married to her. Then we will, of course." + +"I hope your Aunt Olivia won't disappear before the ceremony," remarked +Sara Ray, who was surreptitiously reading "The Vanquished Bride," by +Valeria H. Montague in the Family Guide. + +"I hope Dr. Seton won't fail to show up, like your cousin Rachel Ward's +beau," said Peter. + +"That makes me think of another story I read the other day about +Great-uncle Andrew King and Aunt Georgina," laughed the Story Girl. "It +happened eighty years ago. It was a very stormy winter and the roads +were bad. Uncle Andrew lived in Carlisle, and Aunt Georgina--she was +Miss Georgina Matheson then--lived away up west, so he couldn't get to +see her very often. They agreed to be married that winter, but Georgina +couldn't set the day exactly because her brother, who lived in Ontario, +was coming home for a visit, and she wanted to be married while he was +home. So it was arranged that she was to write Uncle Andrew and tell him +what day to come. She did, and she told him to come on a Tuesday. But +her writing wasn't very good and poor Uncle Andrew thought she wrote +Thursday. So on Thursday he drove all the way to Georgina's home to be +married. It was forty miles and a bitter cold day. But it wasn't any +colder than the reception he got from Georgina. She was out in the +porch, with her head tied up in a towel, picking geese. She had been +all ready Tuesday, and her friends and the minister were there, and the +wedding supper prepared. But there was no bridegroom and Georgina was +furious. Nothing Uncle Andrew could say would appease her. She wouldn't +listen to a word of explanation, but told him to go, and never show his +nose there again. So poor Uncle Andrew had to go ruefully home, hoping +that she would relent later on, because he was really very much in love +with her." + +"And did she?" queried Felicity. + +"She did. Thirteen years exactly from that day they were married. It +took her just that long to forgive him." + +"It took her just that long to find out she couldn't get anybody else," +said Dan, cynically. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. A PRODIGAL RETURNS + + +Aunt Olivia and the Story Girl lived in a whirlwind of dressmaking after +that, and enjoyed it hugely. Cecily and Felicity also had to have +new dresses for the great event, and they talked of little else for a +fortnight. Cecily declared that she hated to go to sleep because she +was sure to dream that she was at Aunt Olivia's wedding in her old faded +gingham dress and a ragged apron. + +"And no shoes or stockings," she added, "and I can't move, and everyone +walks past and looks at my feet." + +"That's only in a dream," mourned Sara Ray, "but I may have to wear my +last summer's white dress to the wedding. It's too short, but ma says +it's plenty good for this summer. I'll be so mortified if I have to wear +it." + +"I'd rather not go at all than wear a dress that wasn't nice," said +Felicity pleasantly. + +"I'd go to the wedding if I had to go in my school dress," cried Sara +Ray. "I've never been to anything. I wouldn't miss it for the world." + +"My Aunt Jane always said that if you were neat and tidy it didn't +matter whether you were dressed fine or not," said Peter. + +"I'm sick and tired of hearing about your Aunt Jane," said Felicity +crossly. + +Peter looked grieved but held his peace. Felicity was very hard on him +that spring, but his loyalty never wavered. Everything she said or did +was right in Peter's eyes. + +"It's all very well to be neat and tidy," said Sara Ray, "but I like a +little style too." + +"I think you'll find your mother will get you a new dress after all," +comforted Cecily. "Anyway, nobody will notice you because everyone will +be looking at the bride. Aunt Olivia will make a lovely bride. Just +think how sweet she'll look in a white silk dress and a floating veil." + +"She says she is going to have the ceremony performed out here in +the orchard under her own tree," said the Story Girl. "Won't that be +romantic? It almost makes me feel like getting married myself." + +"What a way to talk," rebuked Felicity, "and you only fifteen." + +"Lots of people have been married at fifteen," laughed the Story Girl. +"Lady Jane Gray was." + +"But you are always saying that Valeria H. Montague's stories are silly +and not true to life, so that is no argument," retorted Felicity, who +knew more about cooking than about history, and evidently imagined that +the Lady Jane Gray was one of Valeria's titled heroines. + +The wedding was a perennial source of conversation among us in those +days; but presently its interest palled for a time in the light of +another quite tremendous happening. One Saturday night Peter's mother +called to take him home with her for Sunday. She had been working at Mr. +James Frewen's, and Mr. Frewen was driving her home. We had never seen +Peter's mother before, and we looked at her with discreet curiosity. She +was a plump, black-eyed little woman, neat as a pin, but with a rather +tired and care-worn face that looked as if it should have been rosy and +jolly. Life had been a hard battle for her, and I rather think that her +curly-headed little lad was all that had kept heart and spirit in her. +Peter went home with her and returned Sunday evening. We were in the +orchard sitting around the Pulpit Stone, where we had, according to the +custom of the households of King, been learning our golden texts and +memory verses for the next Sunday School lesson. Paddy, grown sleek and +handsome again, was sitting on the stone itself, washing his jowls. + +Peter joined us with a very queer expression on his face. He seemed +bursting with some news which he wanted to tell and yet hardly liked to. + +"Why are you looking so mysterious, Peter?" demanded the Story Girl. + +"What do you think has happened?" asked Peter solemnly. + +"What has?" + +"My father has come home," answered Peter. + +The announcement produced all the sensation he could have wished. We +crowded around him in excitement. + +"Peter! When did he come back?" + +"Saturday night. He was there when ma and I got home. It give her an +awful turn. I didn't know him at first, of course." + +"Peter Craig, I believe you are glad your father has come back," cried +the Story Girl. + +"'Course I'm glad," retorted Peter. + +"And after you saying you didn't want ever to see him again," said +Felicity. + +"You just wait. You haven't heard my story yet. I wouldn't have been +glad to see father if he'd come back the same as he went away. But he is +a changed man. He happened to go into a revival meeting one night this +spring and he got converted. And he's come home to stay, and he says +he's never going to drink another drop, but he's going to look after his +family. Ma isn't to do any more washing for nobody but him and me, and +I'm not to be a hired boy any longer. He says I can stay with your Uncle +Roger till the fall 'cause I promised I would, but after that I'm to +stay home and go to school right along and learn to be whatever I'd like +to be. I tell you it made me feel queer. Everything seemed to be upset. +But he gave ma forty dollars--every cent he had--so I guess he really is +converted." + +"I hope it will last, I'm sure," said Felicity. She did not say it +nastily, however. We were all glad for Peter's sake, though a little +dizzy over the unexpectedness of it all. + +"This is what I'D like to know," said Peter. "How did Peg Bowen know my +father was coming home? Don't you tell me she isn't a witch after that." + +"And she knew about your Aunt Olivia's wedding, too," added Sara Ray. + +"Oh, well, she likely heard that from some one. Grown up folks talk +things over long before they tell them to children," said Cecily. + +"Well, she couldn't have heard father was coming home from any one," +answered Peter. "He was converted up in Maine, where nobody knew him, +and he never told a soul he was coming till he got here. No, you can +believe what you like, but I'm satisfied at last that Peg is a witch and +that skull of hers does tell her things. She told me father was coming +home and he come!" + +"How happy you must be," sighed Sara Ray romantically. "It's just like +that story in the Family Guide, where the missing earl comes home to his +family just as the Countess and Lady Violetta are going to be turned out +by the cruel heir." + +Felicity sniffed. + +"There's some difference, I guess. The earl had been imprisoned for +years in a loathsome dungeon." + +Perhaps Peter's father had too, if we but realized it--imprisoned in the +dungeon of his own evil appetites and habits, than which none could +be more loathsome. But a Power, mightier than the forces of evil, had +struck off his fetters and led him back to his long-forfeited liberty +and light. And no countess or lady of high degree could have welcomed a +long-lost earl home more joyfully than the tired little washerwoman had +welcomed the erring husband of her youth. + +But in Peter's ointment of joy there was a fly or two. So very, very few +things are flawless in this world, even on the golden road. + +"Of course I'm awful glad that father has come back and that ma won't +have to wash any more," he said with a sigh, "but there are two things +that kind of worry me. My Aunt Jane always said that it didn't do any +good to worry, and I s'pose it don't, but it's kind of a relief." + +"What's worrying you?" asked Felix. + +"Well, for one thing I'll feel awful bad to go away from you all. I'll +miss you just dreadful, and I won't even be able to go to the same +school. I'll have to go to Markdale school." + +"But you must come and see us often," said Felicity graciously. +"Markdale isn't so far away, and you could spend every other Saturday +afternoon with us anyway." + +Peter's black eyes filled with adoring gratitude. + +"That's so kind of you, Felicity. I'll come as often as I can, of +course; but it won't be the same as being around with you all the time. +The other thing is even worse. You see, it was a Methodist revival +father got converted in, and so of course he joined the Methodist +church. He wasn't anything before. He used to say he was a Nothingarian +and lived up to it--kind of bragging like. But he's a strong Methodist +now, and is going to go to Markdale Methodist church and pay to the +salary. Now what'll he say when I tell him I'm a Presbyterian?" + +"You haven't told him, yet?" asked the Story Girl. + +"No, I didn't dare. I was scared he'd say I'd have to be a Methodist." + +"Well, Methodists are pretty near as good as Presbyterians," said +Felicity, with the air of one making a great concession. + +"I guess they're every bit as good," retorted Peter. "But that ain't the +point. I've got to be a Presbyterian, 'cause I stick to a thing when I +once decide it. But I expect father will be mad when he finds out." + +"If he's converted he oughtn't to get mad," said Dan. + +"Well, lots o' people do. But if he isn't mad he'll be sorry, and +that'll be even worse, for a Presbyterian I'm bound to be. But I expect +it will make things unpleasant." + +"You needn't tell him anything about it," advised Felicity. "Just keep +quiet and go to the Methodist church until you get big, and then you can +go where you please." + +"No, that wouldn't be honest," said Peter sturdily. "My Aunt Jane +always said it was best to be open and above board in everything, and +especially in religion. So I'll tell father right out, but I'll wait a +few weeks so as not to spoil things for ma too soon if he acts up." + +Peter was not the only one who had secret cares. Sara Ray was beginning +to feel worried over her looks. I heard her and Cecily talking over +their troubles one evening while I was weeding the onion bed and they +were behind the hedge knitting lace. I did not mean to eavesdrop. +I supposed they knew I was there until Cecily overwhelmed me with +indignation later on. + +"I'm so afraid, Cecily, that I'm going to be homely all my life," said +poor Sara with a tremble in her voice. "You can stand being ugly when +you are young if you have any hope of being better looking when you grow +up. But I'm getting worse. Aunt Mary says I'm going to be the very +image of Aunt Matilda. And Aunt Matilda is as homely as she can be. It +isn't"--and poor Sara sighed--"a very cheerful prospect. If I am ugly +nobody will ever want to marry me, and," concluded Sara candidly, "I +don't want to be an old maid." + +"But plenty of girls get married who aren't a bit pretty," comforted +Cecily. "Besides, you are real nice looking at times, Sara. I think you +are going to have a nice figure." + +"But just look at my hands," moaned Sara. "They're simply covered with +warts." + +"Oh, the warts will all disappear before you grow up," said Cecily. + +"But they won't disappear before the school concert. How am I to get +up there and recite? You know there is one line in my recitation, 'She +waved her lily-white hand,' and I have to wave mine when I say it. Fancy +waving a lily-white hand all covered with warts. I've tried every remedy +I ever heard of, but nothing does any good. Judy Pineau said if I rubbed +them with toad-spit it would take them away for sure. But how am I to +get any toad-spit?" + +"It doesn't sound like a very nice remedy, anyhow," shuddered Cecily. +"I'd rather have the warts. But do you know, I believe if you didn't cry +so much over every little thing, you'd be ever so much better looking. +Crying spoils your eyes and makes the end of your nose red." + +"I can't help crying," protested Sara. "My feelings are so very +sensitive. I've given up trying to keep THAT resolution." + +"Well, men don't like cry-babies," said Cecily sagely. Cecily had a good +deal of Mother Eve's wisdom tucked away in that smooth, brown head of +hers. + +"Cecily, do you ever intend to be married?" asked Sara in a confidential +tone. + +"Goodness!" cried Cecily, quite shocked. "It will be time enough when I +grow up to think of that, Sara." + +"I should think you'd have to think of it now, with Cyrus Brisk as crazy +after you as he is." + +"I wish Cyrus Brisk was at the bottom of the Red Sea," exclaimed Cecily, +goaded into a spurt of temper by mention of the detested name. + +"What has Cyrus been doing now?" asked Felicity, coming around the +corner of the hedge. + +"Doing NOW! It's ALL the time. He just worries me to death," returned +Cecily angrily. "He keeps writing me letters and putting them in my desk +or in my reader. I never answer one of them, but he keeps on. And in the +last one, mind you, he said he'd do something desperate right off if I +wouldn't promise to marry him when we grew up." + +"Just think, Cecily, you've had a proposal already," said Sara Ray in an +awe-struck tone. + +"But he hasn't done anything desperate yet, and that was last week," +commented Felicity, with a toss of her head. + +"He sent me a lock of his hair and wanted one of mine in exchange," +continued Cecily indignantly. "I tell you I sent his back to him pretty +quick." + +"Did you never answer any of his letters?" asked Sara Ray. + +"No, indeed! I guess not!" + +"Do you know," said Felicity, "I believe if you wrote him just once and +told him your exact opinion of him in good plain English it would cure +him of his nonsense." + +"I couldn't do that. I haven't enough spunk," confessed Cecily with a +blush. "But I'll tell you what I did do once. He wrote me a long letter +last week. It was just awfully SOFT, and every other word was spelled +wrong. He even spelled baking soda, 'bacon soda!'" + +"What on earth had he to say about baking soda in a love-letter?" asked +Felicity. + +"Oh, he said his mother sent him to the store for some and he forgot it +because he was thinking about me. Well, I just took his letter and wrote +in all the words, spelled right, above the wrong ones, in red ink, just +as Mr. Perkins makes us do with our dictation exercises, and sent it +back to him. I thought maybe he'd feel insulted and stop writing to me." + +"And did he?" + +"No, he didn't. It is my opinion you can't insult Cyrus Brisk. He is too +thick-skinned. He wrote another letter, and thanked me for correcting +his mistakes, and said it made him feel glad because it showed I was +beginning to take an interest in him when I wanted him to spell better. +Did you ever? Miss Marwood says it is wrong to hate anyone, but I don't +care, I hate Cyrus Brisk." + +"Mrs. Cyrus Brisk WOULD be an awful name," giggled Felicity. + +"Flossie Brisk says Cyrus is ruining all the trees on his father's place +cutting your name on them," said Sara Ray. "His father told him he would +whip him if he didn't stop, but Cyrus keeps right on. He told Flossie it +relieved his feelings. Flossie says he cut yours and his together on the +birch tree in front of the parlour window, and a row of hearts around +them." + +"Just where every visitor can see them, I suppose," lamented Cecily. "He +just worries my life out. And what I mind most of all is, he sits and +looks at me in school with such melancholy, reproachful eyes when he +ought to be working sums. I won't look at him, but I FEEL him staring at +me, and it makes me so nervous." + +"They say his mother was out of her mind at one time," said Felicity. + +I do not think Felicity was quite well pleased that Cyrus should have +passed over her rose-red prettiness to set his affections on that demure +elf of a Cecily. She did not want the allegiance of Cyrus in the least, +but it was something of a slight that he had not wanted her to want it. + +"And he sends me pieces of poetry he cuts out of the papers," Cecily +went on, "with lots of the lines marked with a lead pencil. Yesterday he +put one in his letter, and this is what he marked: + + + "'If you will not relent to me + Then must I learn to know + Darkness alone till life be flown. + +Here--I have the piece in my sewing-bag--I'll read it all to you." + +Those three graceless girls read the sentimental rhyme and giggled over +it. Poor Cyrus! His young affections were sadly misplaced. But after +all, though Cecily never relented towards him, he did not condemn +himself to darkness alone till life was flown. Quite early in life he +wedded a stout, rosy, buxom lass, the very antithesis of his first love; +he prospered in his undertakings, raised a large and respectable family, +and was eventually appointed a Justice of the Peace. Which was all very +sensible of Cyrus. + + + + +CHAPTER XV. THE RAPE OF THE LOCK + + +June was crowded full of interest that year. We gathered in with +its sheaf of fragrant days the choicest harvest of childhood. Things +happened right along. Cecily declared she hated to go to sleep for fear +she might miss something. There were so many dear delights along the +golden road to give us pleasure--the earth dappled with new blossom, +the dance of shadows in the fields, the rustling, rain-wet ways of the +woods, the faint fragrance in meadow lanes, liltings of birds and croon +of bees in the old orchard, windy pipings on the hills, sunset behind +the pines, limpid dews filling primrose cups, crescent moons through +darklings boughs, soft nights alight with blinking stars. We enjoyed +all these boons, unthinkingly and light-heartedly, as children do. And +besides these, there was the absorbing little drama of human life +which was being enacted all around us, and in which each of us played +a satisfying part--the gay preparations for Aunt Olivia's mid-June +wedding, the excitement of practising for the concert with which our +school-teacher, Mr. Perkins, had elected to close the school year, and +Cecily's troubles with Cyrus Brisk, which furnished unholy mirth for the +rest of us, though Cecily could not see the funny side of it at all. + +Matters went from bad to worse in the case of the irrepressible Cyrus. +He continued to shower Cecily with notes, the spelling of which showed +no improvement; he worried the life out of her by constantly threatening +to fight Willy Fraser--although, as Felicity sarcastically pointed out, +he never did it. + +"But I'm always afraid he will," said Cecily, "and it would be such a +DISGRACE to have two boys fighting over me in school." + +"You must have encouraged Cyrus a little in the beginning or he'd never +have been so persevering," said Felicity unjustly. + +"I never did!" cried outraged Cecily. "You know very well, Felicity +King, that I hated Cyrus Brisk ever since the very first time I saw his +big, fat, red face. So there!" + +"Felicity is just jealous because Cyrus didn't take a notion to her +instead of you, Sis," said Dan. + +"Talk sense!" snapped Felicity. + +"If I did you wouldn't understand me, sweet little sister," rejoined +aggravating Dan. + +Finally Cyrus crowned his iniquities by stealing the denied lock of +Cecily's hair. One sunny afternoon in school, Cecily and Kitty Marr +asked and received permission to sit out on the side bench before +the open window, where the cool breeze swept in from the green fields +beyond. To sit on this bench was always considered a treat, and was only +allowed as a reward of merit; but Cecily and Kitty had another reason +for wishing to sit there. Kitty had read in a magazine that sun-baths +were good for the hair; so both she and Cecily tossed their long braids +over the window-sill and let them hang there in the broiling sun-shine. +And while Cecily sat thus, diligently working a fraction sum on her +slate, that base Cyrus asked permission to go out, having previously +borrowed a pair of scissors from one of the big girls who did fancy work +at the noon recess. Outside, Cyrus sneaked up close to the window and +cut off a piece of Cecily's hair. + +This rape of the lock did not produce quite such terrible consequences +as the more famous one in Pope's poem, but Cecily's soul was no less +agitated than Belinda's. She cried all the way home from school about +it, and only checked her tears when Dan declared he'd fight Cyrus and +make him give it up. + +"Oh, no, You mustn't." said Cecily, struggling with her sobs. "I won't +have you fighting on my account for anything. And besides, he'd likely +lick you--he's so big and rough. And the folks at home might find out +all about it, and Uncle Roger would never give me any peace, and mother +would be cross, for she'd never believe it wasn't my fault. It wouldn't +be so bad if he'd only taken a little, but he cut a great big chunk +right off the end of one of the braids. Just look at it. I'll have to +cut the other to make them fair--and they'll look so awful stubby." + +But Cyrus' acquirement of the chunk of hair was his last triumph. +His downfall was near; and, although it involved Cecily in a most +humiliating experience, over which she cried half the following night, +in the end she confessed it was worth undergoing just to get rid of +Cyrus. + +Mr. Perkins was an exceedingly strict disciplinarian. No communication +of any sort was permitted between his pupils during school hours. Anyone +caught violating this rule was promptly punished by the infliction of +one of the weird penances for which Mr. Perkins was famous, and which +were generally far worse than ordinary whipping. + +One day in school Cyrus sent a letter across to Cecily. Usually he left +his effusions in her desk, or between the leaves of her books; but this +time it was passed over to her under cover of the desk through the hands +of two or three scholars. Just as Em Frewen held it over the aisle Mr. +Perkins wheeled around from his station before the blackboard and caught +her in the act. + +"Bring that here, Emmeline," he commanded. + +Cyrus turned quite pale. Em carried the note to Mr. Perkins. He took it, +held it up, and scrutinized the address. + +"Did you write this to Cecily, Emmeline?" he asked. + +"No, sir." + +"Who wrote it then?" + +Em said quite shamelessly that she didn't know--it had just been passed +over from the next row. + +"And I suppose you have no idea where it came from?" said Mr. Perkins, +with his frightful, sardonic grin. "Well, perhaps Cecily can tell us. +You may take your seat, Emmeline, and you will remain at the foot of +your spelling class for a week as punishment for passing the note. +Cecily, come here." + +Indignant Em sat down and poor, innocent Cecily was haled forth to +public ignominy. She went with a crimson face. + +"Cecily," said her tormentor, "do you know who wrote this letter to +you?" + +Cecily, like a certain renowned personage, could not tell a lie. + +"I--I think so, sir," she murmured faintly. + +"Who was it?" + +"I can't tell you that," stammered Cecily, on the verge of tears. + +"Ah!" said Mr. Perkins politely. "Well, I suppose I could easily find +out by opening it. But it is very impolite to open other people's +letters. I think I have a better plan. Since you refuse to tell me who +wrote it, open it yourself, take this chalk, and copy the contents on +the blackboard that we may all enjoy them. And sign the writer's name at +the bottom." + +"Oh," gasped Cecily, choosing the lesser of two evils, "I'll tell you +who wrote it--it was-- + +"Hush!" Mr. Perkins checked her with a gentle motion of his hand. He +was always most gentle when most inexorable. "You did not obey me when +I first ordered you to tell me the writer. You cannot have the privilege +of doing so now. Open the note, take the chalk, and do as I command +you." + +Worms will turn, and even meek, mild, obedient little souls like Cecily +may be goaded to the point of wild, sheer rebellion. + +"I--I won't!" she cried passionately. + +Mr. Perkins, martinet though he was, would hardly, I think, have +inflicted such a punishment on Cecily, who was a favourite of his, had +he known the real nature of that luckless missive. But, as he afterwards +admitted, he thought it was merely a note from some other girl, of such +trifling sort as school-girls are wont to write; and moreover, he had +already committed himself to the decree, which, like those of Mede and +Persian, must not alter. To let Cecily off, after her mad defiance, +would be to establish a revolutionary precedent. + +"So you really think you won't?" he queried smilingly. "Well, on second +thoughts, you may take your choice. Either you will do as I have bidden +you, or you will sit for three days with"--Mr. Perkins' eye skimmed over +the school-room to find a boy who was sitting alone--"with Cyrus Brisk." + +This choice of Mr. Perkins, who knew nothing of the little drama of +emotions that went on under the routine of lessons and exercises in his +domain, was purely accidental, but we took it at the time as a stroke of +diabolical genius. It left Cecily no choice. She would have done almost +anything before she would have sat with Cyrus Brisk. With flashing +eyes she tore open the letter, snatched up the chalk, and dashed at the +blackboard. + +In a few minutes the contents of that letter graced the expanse usually +sacred to more prosaic compositions. I cannot reproduce it verbatim, for +I had no after opportunity of refreshing my memory. But I remember that +it was exceedingly sentimental and exceedingly ill-spelled--for Cecily +mercilessly copied down poor Cyrus' mistakes. He wrote her that he wore +her hare over his hart--"and he stole it," Cecily threw passionately +over her shoulder at Mr. Perkins--that her eyes were so sweet and lovely +that he couldn't find words nice enuf to describ them, that he could +never forget how butiful she had looked in prar meeting the evening +before, and that some meels he couldn't eat for thinking of her, with +more to the same effect and he signed it "yours till deth us do part, +Cyrus Brisk." + +As the writing proceeded we scholars exploded into smothered laughter, +despite our awe of Mr. Perkins. Mr. Perkins himself could not keep a +straight face. He turned abruptly away and looked out of the window, +but we could see his shoulders shaking. When Cecily had finished and +had thrown down the chalk with bitter vehemence, he turned around with a +very red face. + +"That will do. You may sit down. Cyrus, since it seems you are the +guilty person, take the eraser and wipe that off the board. Then go +stand in the corner, facing the room, and hold your arms straight above +your head until I tell you to take them down." + +Cyrus obeyed and Cecily fled to her seat and wept, nor did Mr. Perkins +meddle with her more that day. She bore her burden of humiliation +bitterly for several days, until she was suddenly comforted by a +realization that Cyrus had ceased to persecute her. He wrote no more +letters, he gazed no longer in rapt adoration, he brought no more votive +offerings of gum and pencils to her shrine. At first we thought he had +been cured by the unmerciful chaffing he had to undergo from his mates, +but eventually his sister told Cecily the true reason. Cyrus had at last +been driven to believe that Cecily's aversion to him was real, and not +merely the defence of maiden coyness. If she hated him so intensely that +she would rather write that note on the blackboard than sit with him, +what use was it to sigh like a furnace longer for her? Mr. Perkins had +blighted love's young dream for Cyrus with a killing frost. Thenceforth +sweet Cecily kept the noiseless tenor of her way unvexed by the +attentions of enamoured swains. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. AUNT UNA'S STORY + + +Felicity, and Cecily, Dan, Felix, Sara Ray and I were sitting one +evening on the mossy stones in Uncle Roger's hill pasture, where we had +sat the morning the Story Girl told us the tale of the Wedding Veil of +the Proud Princess. But it was evening now and the valley beneath us was +brimmed up with the glow of the afterlight. Behind us, two tall, shapely +spruce trees rose up against the sunset, and through the dark oriel of +their sundered branches an evening star looked down. We sat on a little +strip of emerald grassland and before us was a sloping meadow all white +with daisies. + +We were waiting for Peter and the Story Girl. Peter had gone to Markdale +after dinner to spend the afternoon with his reunited parents because +it was his birthday. He had left us grimly determined to confess to his +father the dark secret of his Presbyterianism, and we were anxious to +know what the result had been. The Story Girl had gone that morning +with Miss Reade to visit the latter's home near Charlottetown, and we +expected soon to see her coming gaily along over the fields from the +Armstrong place. + +Presently Peter came jauntily stepping along the field path up the hill. + +"Hasn't Peter got tall?" said Cecily. + +"Peter is growing to be a very fine looking boy," decreed Felicity. + +"I notice he's got ever so much handsomer since his father came home," +said Dan, with a killing sarcasm that was wholly lost on Felicity, who +gravely responded that she supposed it was because Peter felt so much +freer from care and responsibility. + +"What luck, Peter?" yelled Dan, as soon as Peter was within earshot. + +"Everything's all right," he shouted jubilantly. "I told father right +off, licketty-split, as soon as I got home," he added when he reached +us. "I was anxious to have it over with. I says, solemn-like, 'Dad, +there's something I've got to tell you, and I don't know how you'll take +it, but it can't be helped,' I says. Dad looked pretty sober, and he +says, says he, 'What have you been up to, Peter? Don't be afraid to tell +me. I've been forgiven to seventy times seven, so surely I can forgive a +little, too?' 'Well,' I says, desperate-like, 'the truth is, father, I'm +a Presbyterian. I made up my mind last summer, the time of the Judgment +Day, that I'd be a Presbyterian, and I've got to stick to it. I'm sorry +I can't be a Methodist, like you and mother and Aunt Jane, but I can't +and that's all there is to it,' I says. Then I waited, scared-like. But +father, he just looked relieved and he says, says he, 'Goodness, boy, +you can be a Presbyterian or anything else you like, so long as it's +Protestant. I'm not caring,' he says. 'The main thing is that you must +be good and do what's right.' I tell you," concluded Peter emphatically, +"father is a Christian all right." + +"Well, I suppose your mind will be at rest now," said Felicity. "What's +that you have in your buttonhole?" + +"That's a four-leaved clover," answered Peter exultantly. "That means +good luck for the summer. I found it in Markdale. There ain't much +clover in Carlisle this year of any kind of leaf. The crop is going to +be a failure. Your Uncle Roger says it's because there ain't enough +old maids in Carlisle. There's lots of them in Markdale, and that's the +reason, he says, why they always have such good clover crops there." + +"What on earth have old maids to do with it?" cried Cecily. + +"I don't believe they've a single thing to do with it, but Mr. Roger +says they have, and he says a man called Darwin proved it. This is the +rigmarole he got off to me the other day. The clover crop depends on +there being plenty of bumble-bees, because they are the only insects +with tongues long enough to--to--fer--fertilize--I think he called it +the blossoms. But mice eat bumble-bees and cats eat mice and old maids +keep cats. So your Uncle Roger says the more old maids the more cats, +and the more cats the fewer field-mice, and the fewer field-mice the +more bumble-bees, and the more bumble-bees the better clover crops." + +"So don't worry if you do get to be old maids, girls," said Dan. +"Remember, you'll be helping the clover crops." + +"I never heard such stuff as you boys talk," said Felicity, "and Uncle +Roger is no better." + +"There comes the Story Girl," cried Cecily eagerly. "Now we'll hear all +about Beautiful Alice's home." + +The Story Girl was bombarded with eager questions as soon as she +arrived. Miss Reade's home was a dream of a place, it appeared. The +house was just covered with ivy and there was a most delightful old +garden--"and," added the Story Girl, with the joy of a connoisseur who +has found a rare gem, "the sweetest little story connected with it. And +I saw the hero of the story too." + +"Where was the heroine?" queried Cecily. + +"She is dead." + +"Oh, of course she'd have to die," exclaimed Dan in disgust. "I'd like a +story where somebody lived once in awhile." + +"I've told you heaps of stories where people lived," retorted the Story +Girl. "If this heroine hadn't died there wouldn't have been any story. +She was Miss Reade's aunt and her name was Una, and I believe she must +have been just like Miss Reade herself. Miss Reade told me all about +her. When we went into the garden I saw in one corner of it an old stone +bench arched over by a couple of pear trees and all grown about with +grass and violets. And an old man was sitting on it--a bent old man with +long, snow-white hair and beautiful sad blue eyes. He seemed very lonely +and sorrowful and I wondered that Miss Reade didn't speak to him. But +she never let on she saw him and took me away to another part of the +garden. After awhile he got up and went away and then Miss Reade said, +'Come over to Aunt Una's seat and I will tell you about her and her +lover--that man who has just gone out.' + +"'Oh, isn't he too old for a lover?' I said. + +"Beautiful Alice laughed and said it was forty years since he had been +her Aunt Una's lover. He had been a tall, handsome young man then, and +her Aunt Una was a beautiful girl of nineteen. + +"We went over and sat down and Miss Reade told me all about her. She +said that when she was a child she had heard much of her Aunt Una--that +she seemed to have been one of those people who are not soon forgotten, +whose personality seems to linger about the scenes of their lives long +after they have passed away." + +"What is a personality? Is it another word for ghost?" asked Peter. + +"No," said the Story Girl shortly. "I can't stop in a story to explain +words." + +"I don't believe you know what it is yourself," said Felicity. + +The Story Girl picked up her hat, which she had thrown down on the +grass, and placed it defiantly on her brown curls. + +"I'm going in," she announced. "I have to help Aunt Olivia ice a cake +tonight, and you all seem more interested in dictionaries than stories." + +"That's not fair," I exclaimed. "Dan and Felix and Sara Ray and Cecily +and I have never said a word. It's mean to punish us for what Peter and +Felicity did. We want to hear the rest of the story. Never mind what a +personality is but go on--and, Peter, you young ass, keep still." + +"I only wanted to know," muttered Peter sulkily. + +"I DO know what personality is, but it's hard to explain," said the +Story Girl, relenting. "It's what makes you different from Dan, Peter, +and me different from Felicity or Cecily. Miss Reade's Aunt Una had a +personality that was very uncommon. And she was beautiful, too, with +white skin and night-black eyes and hair--a 'moonlight beauty,' Miss +Reade called it. She used to keep a kind of a diary, and Miss Reade's +mother used to read parts of it to her. She wrote verses in it and they +were lovely; and she wrote descriptions of the old garden which she +loved very much. Miss Reade said that everything in the garden, plot +or shrub or tree, recalled to her mind some phrase or verse of her +Aunt Una's, so that the whole place seemed full of her, and her memory +haunted the walks like a faint, sweet perfume. + +"Una had, as I've told you, a lover; and they were to have been married +on her twentieth birthday. Her wedding dress was to have been a gown of +white brocade with purple violets in it. But a little while before it +she took ill with fever and died; and she was buried on her birthday +instead of being married. It was just in the time of opening roses. Her +lover has been faithful to her ever since; he has never married, and +every June, on her birthday, he makes a pilgrimage to the old garden and +sits for a long time in silence on the bench where he used to woo her +on crimson eves and moonlight nights of long ago. Miss Reade says she +always loves to see him sitting there because it gives her such a deep +and lasting sense of the beauty and strength of love which can thus +outlive time and death. And sometimes, she says, it gives her a little +eerie feeling, too, as if her Aunt Una were really sitting there beside +him, keeping tryst, although she has been in her grave for forty years." + +"It would be real romantic to die young and have your lover make a +pilgrimage to your garden every year," reflected Sara Ray. + +"It would be more comfortable to go on living and get married to him," +said Felicity. "Mother says all those sentimental ideas are bosh and I +expect they are. It's a wonder Beautiful Alice hasn't a beau herself. +She is so pretty and lady-like." + +"The Carlisle fellows all say she is too stuck up," said Dan. + +"There's nobody in Carlisle half good enough for her," cried the Story +Girl, "except--ex-cept--" + +"Except who?" asked Felix. + +"Never mind," said the Story Girl mysteriously. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. AUNT OLIVIA'S WEDDING + + +What a delightful, old-fashioned, wholesome excitement there was about +Aunt Olivia's wedding! The Monday and Tuesday preceding it we did not go +to school at all, but were all kept home to do chores and run errands. +The cooking and decorating and arranging that went on those two days +was amazing, and Felicity was so happy over it all that she did not even +quarrel with Dan--though she narrowly escaped it when he told her that +the Governor's wife was coming to the wedding. + +"Mind you have some of her favourite rusks for her," he said. + +"I guess," said Felicity with dignity, "that Aunt Olivia's wedding +supper will be good enough for even a Governor's wife." + +"I s'pose none of us except the Story Girl will get to the first table," +said Felix, rather gloomily. + +"Never mind," comforted Felicity. "There's a whole turkey to be kept for +us, and a freezerful of ice cream. Cecily and I are going to wait on the +tables, and we'll put away a little of everything that's extra nice for +our suppers." + +"I do so want to have my supper with you," sighed Sara Ray, "but I +s'pose ma will drag me with her wherever she goes. She won't trust me +out of her sight a minute the whole evening--I know she won't." + +"I'll get Aunt Olivia to ask her to let you have your supper with us," +said Cecily. "She can't refuse the bride's request." + +"You don't know all ma can do," returned Sara darkly. "No, I feel that +I'll have to eat my supper with her. But I suppose I ought to be very +thankful I'm to get to the wedding at all, and that ma did get me a +new white dress for it. Even yet I'm so scared something will happen to +prevent me from getting to it." + +Monday evening shrouded itself in clouds, and all night long the voice +of the wind answered to the voice of the rain. Tuesday the downpour +continued. We were quite frantic about it. Suppose it kept on raining +over Wednesday! Aunt Olivia couldn't be married in the orchard then. +That would be too bad, especially when the late apple tree had most +obligingly kept its store of blossom until after all the other trees had +faded and then burst lavishly into bloom for Aunt Olivia's wedding. That +apple tree was always very late in blooming, and this year it was a week +later than usual. It was a sight to see--a great tree-pyramid with high, +far-spreading boughs, over which a wealth of rosy snow seemed to have +been flung. Never had bride a more magnificent canopy. + +To our rapture, however, it cleared up beautifully Tuesday evening, +and the sun, before setting in purple pomp, poured a flood of wonderful +radiance over the whole great, green, diamond-dripping world, promising +a fair morrow. Uncle Alec drove off to the station through it to bring +home the bridegroom and his best man. Dan was full of a wild idea that +we should all meet them at the gate, armed with cowbells and tin-pans, +and "charivari" them up the lane. Peter sided with him, but the rest of +us voted down the suggestion. + +"Do you want Dr. Seton to think we are a pack of wild Indians?" asked +Felicity severely. "A nice opinion he'd have of our manners!" + +"Well, it's the only chance we'll have to chivaree them," grumbled Dan. +"Aunt Olivia wouldn't mind. SHE can take a joke." + +"Ma would kill you if you did such a thing," warned Felicity. "Dr. Seton +lives in Halifax and they NEVER chivaree people there. He would think it +very vulgar." + +"Then he should have stayed in Halifax and got married there," retorted +Dan, sulkily. + +We were very curious to see our uncle-elect. When he came and Uncle +Alec took him into the parlour, we were all crowded into the dark corner +behind the stairs to peep at him. Then we fled to the moonlight world +outside and discussed him at the dairy. + +"He's bald," said Cecily disappointedly. + +"And RATHER short and stout," said Felicity. + +"He's forty, if he's a day," said Dan. + +"Never you mind," cried the Story Girl loyally, "Aunt Olivia loves him +with all her heart." + +"And more than that, he's got lots of money," added Felicity. + +"Well, he may be all right," said Peter, "but it's my opinion that your +Aunt Olivia could have done just as well on the Island." + +"YOUR opinion doesn't matter very much to our family," said Felicity +crushingly. + +But when we made the acquaintance of Dr. Seton next morning we liked him +enormously, and voted him a jolly good fellow. Even Peter remarked aside +to me that he guessed Miss Olivia hadn't made much of a mistake after +all, though it was plain he thought she was running a risk in not +sticking to the Island. The girls had not much time to discuss him with +us. They were all exceedingly busy and whisked about at such a rate +that they seemed to possess the power of being in half a dozen places +at once. The importance of Felicity was quite terrible. But after dinner +came a lull. + +"Thank goodness, everything is ready at last," breathed Felicity +devoutly, as we foregathered for a brief space in the fir wood. "We've +nothing more to do now but get dressed. It's really a serious thing to +have a wedding in the family." + +"I have a note from Sara Ray," said Cecily. "Judy Pineau brought it up +when she brought Mrs. Ray's spoons. Just let me read it to you:-- + + + DEAREST CECILY:--A DREADFUL MISFORTUNE has happened to me. Last + night I went with Judy to water the cows and in the spruce bush we + found a WASPS' NEST and Judy thought it was AN OLD ONE and she + POKED IT WITH A STICK. And it was a NEW ONE, full of wasps, and + they all flew out and STUNG US TERRIBLY, on the face and hands. + My face is all swelled up and I can HARDLY SEE out of one eye. + The SUFFERING was awful but I didn't mind that as much as being + scared ma wouldn't take me to the wedding. But she says I can go + and I'm going. I know that I am a HARD-LOOKING SIGHT, but it + isn't anything catching. I am writing this so that you won't get + a shock when you see me. Isn't it SO STRANGE to think your dear + Aunt Olivia is going away? How you will miss her! But your loss + will be her gain. + + "'Au revoir, + "'Your loving chum, + SARA RAY.'" + + +"That poor child," said the Story Girl. + +"Well, all I hope is that strangers won't take her for one of the +family," remarked Felicity in a disgusted tone. + +Aunt Olivia was married at five o'clock in the orchard under the late +apple tree. It was a pretty scene. The air was full of the perfume of +apple bloom, and the bees blundered foolishly and delightfully from one +blossom to another, half drunken with perfume. The old orchard was full +of smiling guests in wedding garments. Aunt Olivia was most beautiful +amid the frost of her bridal veil, and the Story Girl, in an unusually +long white dress, with her brown curls clubbed up behind, looked so tall +and grown-up that we hardly recognized her. After the ceremony--during +which Sara Ray cried all the time--there was a royal wedding supper, and +Sara Ray was permitted to eat her share of the feast with us. + +"I'm glad I was stung by the wasps after all," she said delightedly. +"If I hadn't been ma would never have let me eat with you. She just got +tired explaining to people what was the matter with my face, and so +she was glad to get rid of me. I know I look awful, but, oh, wasn't the +bride a dream?" + +We missed the Story Girl, who, of course, had to have her supper at +the bridal table; but we were a hilarious little crew and the girls had +nobly kept their promise to save tid-bits for us. By the time the last +table was cleared away Aunt Olivia and our new uncle were ready to go. +There was an orgy of tears and leavetakings, and then they drove away +into the odorous moonlight night. Dan and Peter pursued them down the +lane with a fiendish din of bells and pans, much to Felicity's wrath. +But Aunt Olivia and Uncle Robert took it in good part and waved their +hands back to us with peals of laughter. + +"They're just that pleased with themselves that they wouldn't mind if +there was an earthquake," said Felix, grinning. + +"It's been splendid and exciting, and everything went off well," sighed +Cecily, "but, oh dear, it's going to be so queer and lonesome without +Aunt Olivia. I just believe I'll cry all night." + +"You're tired to death, that's what's the matter with you," said Dan, +returning. "You girls have worked like slaves today." + +"Tomorrow will be even harder," said Felicity comfortingly. "Everything +will have to be cleaned up and put away." + +Peg Bowen paid us a call the next day and was regaled with a feast of +fat things left over from the supper. + +"Well, I've had all I can eat," she said, when she had finished and +brought out her pipe. "And that doesn't happen to me every day. There +ain't been as much marrying as there used to be, and half the time they +just sneak off to the minister, as if they were ashamed of it, and get +married without any wedding or supper. That ain't the King way, though. +And so Olivia's gone off at last. She weren't in any hurry but they tell +me she's done well. Time'll show." + +"Why don't you get married yourself, Peg?" queried Uncle Roger +teasingly. We held our breath over his temerity. + +"Because I'm not so easy to please as your wife will be," retorted Peg. + +She departed in high good humour over her repartee. Meeting Sara Ray +on the doorstep she stopped and asked her what was the matter with her +face. + +"Wasps," stammered Sara Ray, laconic from terror. + +"Humph! And your hands?" + +"Warts." + +"I'll tell you what'll take them away. You get a pertater and go out +under the full moon, cut the pertater in two, rub your warts with one +half and say, 'One, two, three, warts, go away from me.' Then rub +them with the other half and say, 'One, two, three, four, warts, never +trouble me more.' Then bury the pertater and never tell a living soul +where you buried it. You won't have no more warts. Mind you bury the +pertater, though. If you don't, and anyone picks it up, she'll get your +warts." + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. SARA RAY HELPS OUT + + +We all missed Aunt Olivia greatly; she had been so merry and +companionable, and had possessed such a knack of understanding small +fry. But youth quickly adapts itself to changed conditions; in a few +weeks it seemed as if the Story Girl had always been living at Uncle +Alec's, and as if Uncle Roger had always had a fat, jolly housekeeper +with a double chin and little, twinkling blue eyes. I don't think Aunt +Janet ever quite got over missing Aunt Olivia, or looked upon Mrs. +Hawkins as anything but a necessary evil; but life resumed its even +tenor on the King farm, broken only by the ripples of excitement over +the school concert and letters from Aunt Olivia describing her trip +through the land of Evangeline. We incorporated the letters in Our +Magazine under the heading "From Our Special Correspondent" and were +very proud of them. + +At the end of June our school concert came off and was a great event +in our young lives. It was the first appearance of most of us on any +platform, and some of us were very nervous. We all had recitations, +except Dan, who had refused flatly to take any part and was consequently +care-free. + +"I'm sure I shall die when I find myself up on that platform, facing +people," sighed Sara Ray, as we talked the affair over in Uncle +Stephen's Walk the night before the concert. + +"I'm afraid I'll faint," was Cecily's more moderate foreboding. + +"I'm not one single bit nervous," said Felicity complacently. + +"I'm not nervous this time," said the Story Girl, "but the first time I +recited I was." + +"My Aunt Jane," remarked Peter, "used to say that an old teacher of hers +told her that when she was going to recite or speak in public she must +just get it firmly into her mind that it was only a lot of cabbage heads +she had before her, and she wouldn't be nervous." + +"One mightn't be nervous, but I don't think there would be much +inspiration in reciting to cabbage heads," said the Story Girl +decidedly. "I want to recite to PEOPLE, and see them looking interested +and thrilled." + +"If I can only get through my piece without breaking down I don't care +whether I thrill people or not," said Sara Ray. + +"I'm afraid I'll forget mine and get stuck," foreboded Felix. "Some of +you fellows be sure and prompt me if I do--and do it quick, so's I won't +get worse rattled." + +"I know one thing," said Cecily resolutely, "and that is, I'm going +to curl my hair for to-morrow night. I've never curled it since Peter +almost died, but I simply must tomorrow night, for all the other girls +are going to have theirs in curls." + +"The dew and heat will take all the curl out of yours and then you'll +look like a scarecrow," warned Felicity. + +"No, I won't. I'm going to put my hair up in paper tonight and wet it +with a curling-fluid that Judy Pineau uses. Sara brought me up a bottle +of it. Judy says it is great stuff--your hair will keep in curl for +days, no matter how damp the weather is. I'll leave my hair in the +papers till tomorrow evening, and then I'll have beautiful curls." + +"You'd better leave your hair alone," said Dan gruffly. "Smooth hair is +better than a lot of fly-away curls." + +But Cecily was not to be persuaded. Curls she craved and curls she meant +to have. + +"I'm thankful my warts have all gone, any-way," said Sara Ray. + +"So they have," exclaimed Felicity. "Did you try Peg's recipe?" + +"Yes. I didn't believe in it but I tried it. For the first few days +afterwards I kept watching my warts, but they didn't go away, and then +I gave up and forgot them. But one day last week I just happened to look +at my hands and there wasn't a wart to be seen. It was the most amazing +thing." + +"And yet you'll say Peg Bowen isn't a witch," said Peter. + +"Pshaw, it was just the potato juice," scoffed Dan. + +"It was a dry old potato I had, and there wasn't much juice in it," +said Sara Ray. "One hardly knows what to believe. But one thing is +certain--my warts are gone." + +Cecily put her hair up in curl-papers that night, thoroughly soaked in +Judy Pineau's curling-fluid. It was a nasty job, for the fluid was very +sticky, but Cecily persevered and got it done. Then she went to bed with +a towel tied over her head to protect the pillow. She did not sleep +well and had uncanny dreams, but she came down to breakfast with an +expression of triumph. The Story Girl examined her head critically and +said, + +"Cecily, if I were you I'd take those papers out this morning." + +"Oh, no; if I do my hair will be straight again by night. I mean to +leave them in till the last minute." + +"I wouldn't do that--I really wouldn't," persisted the Story Girl. "If +you do your hair will be too curly and all bushy and fuzzy." + +Cecily finally yielded and went upstairs with the Story Girl. Presently +we heard a little shriek--then two little shrieks--then three. Then +Felicity came flying down and called her mother. Aunt Janet went up and +presently came down again with a grim mouth. She filled a large pan with +warm water and carried it upstairs. We dared ask her no questions, but +when Felicity came down to wash the dishes we bombarded her. + +"What on earth is the matter with Cecily?" demanded Dan. "Is she sick?" + +"No, she isn't. I warned her not to put her hair in curls but she +wouldn't listen to me. I guess she wishes she had now. When people +haven't natural curly hair they shouldn't try to make it curly. They get +punished if they do." + +"Look here, Felicity, never mind all that. Just tell us what has +happened Sis." + +"Well, this is what has happened her. That ninny of a Sara Ray brought +up a bottle of mucilage instead of Judy's curling-fluid, and Cecily put +her hair up with THAT. It's in an awful state." + +"Good gracious!" exclaimed Dan. "Look here, will she ever get it out?" + +"Goodness knows. She's got her head in soak now. Her hair is just matted +together hard as a board. That's what comes of vanity," said Felicity, +than whom no vainer girl existed. + +Poor Cecily paid dearly enough for HER vanity. She spent a bad forenoon, +made no easier by her mother's severe rebukes. For an hour she "soaked" +her head; that is, she stood over a panful of warm water and kept +dipping her head in with tightly shut eyes. Finally her hair softened +sufficiently to be disentangled from the curl papers; and then Aunt +Janet subjected it to a merciless shampoo. Eventually they got all the +mucilage washed out of it and Cecily spent the remainder of the forenoon +sitting before the open oven door in the hot kitchen drying her ill-used +tresses. She felt very down-hearted; her hair was of that order which, +glossy and smooth normally, is dry and harsh and lustreless for several +days after being shampooed. + +"I'll look like a fright tonight," said the poor child to me with +trembling voice. "The ends will be sticking out all over my head." + +"Sara Ray is a perfect idiot," I said wrathfully + +"Oh, don't be hard on poor Sara. She didn't mean to bring me mucilage. +It's really all my own fault, I know. I made a solemn vow when Peter was +dying that I would never curl my hair again, and I should have kept it. +It isn't right to break solemn vows. But my hair will look like dried +hay tonight." + +Poor Sara Ray was quite overwhelmed when she came up and found what +she had done. Felicity was very hard on her, and Aunt Janet was coldly +disapproving, but sweet Cecily forgave her unreservedly, and they walked +to the school that night with their arms about each other's waists as +usual. + +The school-room was crowded with friends and neighbours. Mr. Perkins was +flying about, getting things into readiness, and Miss Reade, who was +the organist of the evening, was sitting on the platform, looking her +sweetest and prettiest. She wore a delightful white lace hat with a +fetching little wreath of tiny forget-me-nots around the brim, a white +muslin dress with sprays of blue violets scattered over it, and a black +lace scarf. + +"Doesn't she look angelic?" said Cecily rapturously. + +"Mind you," said Sara Ray, "the Awkward Man is here--in the corner +behind the door. I never remember seeing him at a concert before." + +"I suppose he came to hear the Story Girl recite," said Felicity. "He is +such a friend of hers." + +The concert went off very well. Dialogues, choruses and recitations +followed each other in rapid succession. Felix got through his without +"getting stuck," and Peter did excellently, though he stuffed his hands +in his trousers pockets--a habit of which Mr. Perkins had vainly tried +to break him. Peter's recitation was one greatly in vogue at that time, +beginning, + + + "My name is Norval; on the Grampian hills + My father feeds his flocks." + + +At our first practice Peter had started gaily in, rushing through the +first line with no thought whatever of punctuation--"My name is Norval +on the Grampian Hills." + +"Stop, stop, Peter," quoth Mr. Perkins, sarcastically, "your name might +be Norval if you were never on the Grampian Hills. There's a semi-colon +in that line, I wish you to remember." + +Peter did remember it. Cecily neither fainted nor failed when it came +her turn. She recited her little piece very well, though somewhat +mechanically. I think she really did much better than if she had had her +desired curls. The miserable conviction that her hair, alone among +that glossy-tressed bevy, was looking badly, quite blotted out all +nervousness and self-consciousness from her mind. Her hair apart, she +looked very pretty. The prevailing excitement had made bright her eye +and flushed her cheeks rosily--too rosily, perhaps. I heard a Carlisle +woman behind me whisper that Cecily King looked consumptive, just like +her Aunt Felicity; and I hated her fiercely for it. + +Sara Ray also managed to get through respectably, although she was +pitiably nervous. Her bow was naught but a short nod--"as if her head +worked on wires," whispered Felicity uncharitably--and the wave of her +lily-white hand more nearly resembled an agonized jerk than a wave. We +all felt relieved when she finished. She was, in a sense, one of "our +crowd," and we had been afraid she would disgrace us by breaking down. + +Felicity followed her and recited her selection without haste, without +rest, and absolutely without any expression whatever. But what mattered +it how she recited? To look at her was sufficient. What with her +splendid fleece of golden curls, her great, brilliant blue eyes, her +exquisitely tinted face, her dimpled hands and arms, every member of the +audience must have felt it was worth the ten cents he had paid merely to +see her. + +The Story Girl followed. An expectant silence fell over the room, and +Mr. Perkins' face lost the look of tense anxiety it had worn all the +evening. Here was a performer who could be depended on. No need to +fear stage fright or forgetfulness on her part. The Story Girl was not +looking her best that night. White never became her, and her face +was pale, though her eyes were splendid. But nobody thought about her +appearance when the power and magic of her voice caught and held her +listeners spellbound. + +Her recitation was an old one, figuring in one of the School Readers, +and we scholars all knew it off by heart. Sara Ray alone had not heard +the Story Girl recite it. The latter had not been drilled at practices +as had the other pupils, Mr. Perkins choosing not to waste time teaching +her what she already knew far better than he did. The only time she had +recited it had been at the "dress rehearsal" two nights before, at which +Sara Ray had not been present. + +In the poem a Florentine lady of old time, wedded to a cold and cruel +husband, had died, or was supposed to have died, and had been carried to +"the rich, the beautiful, the dreadful tomb" of her proud family. In +the night she wakened from her trance and made her escape. Chilled and +terrified, she had made her way to her husband's door, only to be driven +away brutally as a restless ghost by the horror-stricken inmates. A +similar reception awaited her at her father's. Then she had wandered +blindly through the streets of Florence until she had fallen exhausted +at the door of the lover of her girlhood. He, unafraid, had taken her +in and cared for her. On the morrow, the husband and father, having +discovered the empty tomb, came to claim her. She refused to return to +them and the case was carried to the court of law. The verdict given was +that a woman who had been "to burial borne" and left for dead, who had +been driven from her husband's door and from her childhood home, "must +be adjudged as dead in law and fact," was no more daughter or wife, but +was set free to form what new ties she would. The climax of the whole +selection came in the line, + +"The court pronounces the defendant--DEAD!" and the Story Girl was wont +to render it with such dramatic intensity and power that the veriest +dullard among her listeners could not have missed its force and +significance. + +She swept along through the poem royally, playing on the emotions of her +audience as she had so often played on ours in the old orchard. Pity, +terror, indignation, suspense, possessed her hearers in turn. In +the court scene she surpassed herself. She was, in very truth, the +Florentine judge, stern, stately, impassive. Her voice dropped into the +solemnity of the all-important line, + +"'The court pronounces the defendant--'" + +She paused for a breathless moment, the better to bring out the tragic +import of the last word. + +"DEAD," piped up Sara Ray in her shrill, plaintive little voice. + +The effect, to use a hackneyed but convenient phrase, can better be +imagined than described. Instead of the sigh of relieved tension that +should have swept over the audience at the conclusion of the line, +a burst of laughter greeted it. The Story Girl's performance was +completely spoiled. She dealt the luckless Sara a glance that would have +slain her on the spot could glances kill, stumbled lamely and impotently +through the few remaining lines of her recitation, and fled with crimson +cheeks to hide her mortification in the little corner that had been +curtained off for a dressing-room. Mr. Perkins looked things not lawful +to be uttered, and the audience tittered at intervals for the rest of +the performance. + +Sara Ray alone remained serenely satisfied until the close of the +concert, when we surrounded her with a whirlwind of reproaches. + +"Why," she stammered aghast, "what did I do? I--I thought she was stuck +and that I ought to prompt her quick." + +"You little fool, she just paused for effect," cried Felicity angrily. +Felicity might be rather jealous of the Story Girl's gift, but she +was furious at beholding "one of our family" made ridiculous in such a +fashion. "You have less sense than anyone I ever heard of, Sara Ray." + +Poor Sara dissolved in tears. + +"I didn't know. I thought she was stuck," she wailed again. + +She cried all the way home, but we did not try to comfort her. We felt +quite out of patience with her. Even Cecily was seriously annoyed. This +second blunder of Sara's was too much even for her loyalty. We saw her +turn in at her own gate and go sobbing up her lane with no relenting. + +The Story Girl was home before us, having fled from the schoolhouse as +soon as the programme was over. We tried to sympathize with her but she +would not be sympathized with. + +"Please don't ever mention it to me again," she said, with compressed +lips. "I never want to be reminded of it. Oh, that little IDIOT!" + +"She spoiled Peter's sermon last summer and now she's spoiled your +recitation," said Felicity. "I think it's time we gave up associating +with Sara Ray." + +"Oh, don't be quite so hard on her," pleaded Cecily. "Think of the life +the poor child has to live at home. I know she'll cry all night." + +"Oh, let's go to bed," growled Dan. "I'm good and ready for it. I've had +enough of school concerts." + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. BY WAY OF THE STARS + + +But for two of us the adventures of the night were not yet over. Silence +settled down over the old house--the eerie, whisperful, creeping silence +of night. Felix and Dan were already sound asleep; I was drifting near +the coast o' dreams when I was aroused by a light tap on the door. + +"Bev, are you asleep?" came in the Story Girl's whisper. + +"No, what is it?" + +"S-s-h. Get up and dress and come out. I want you." + +With a good deal of curiosity and some misgiving I obeyed. What was in +the wind now? Outside in the hall I found the Story Girl, with a candle +in her hand, and her hat and jacket. + +"Where are you going?" I whispered in amazement. + +"Hush. I've got to go to the school and you must come with me. I left my +coral necklace there. The clasp came loose and I was so afraid I'd lose +it that I took it off and put it in the bookcase. I was feeling so upset +when the concert was over that I forgot all about it." + +The coral necklace was a very handsome one which had belonged to the +Story Girl's mother. She had never been permitted to wear it before, and +it had only been by dint of much coaxing that she had induced Aunt Janet +to let her wear it to the concert. + +"But there's no sense in going for it in the dead of night," I objected. +"It will be quite safe. You can go for it in the morning." + +"Lizzie Paxton and her daughter are going to clean the school tomorrow, +and I heard Lizzie say tonight she meant to be at it by five o'clock to +get through before the heat of the day. You know perfectly well what +Liz Paxton's reputation is. If she finds that necklace I'll never see it +again. Besides, if I wait till the morning, Aunt Janet may find out that +I left it there and she'd never let me wear it again. No, I'm going for +it now. If you're afraid," added the Story Girl with delicate scorn, "of +course you needn't come." + +Afraid! I'd show her! + +"Come on," I said. + +We slipped out of the house noiselessly and found ourselves in the +unutterable solemnity and strangeness of a dark night. It was a new +experience, and our hearts thrilled and our nerves tingled to the charm +of it. Never had we been abroad before at such an hour. The world around +us was not the world of daylight. 'Twas an alien place, full of weird, +evasive enchantment and magicry. + +Only in the country can one become truly acquainted with the night. +There it has the solemn calm of the infinite. The dim wide fields lie in +silence, wrapped in the holy mystery of darkness. A wind, loosened from +wild places far away, steals out to blow over dewy, star-lit, immemorial +hills. The air in the pastures is sweet with the hush of dreams, and one +may rest here like a child on its mother's breast. + +"Isn't it wonderful?" breathed the Story Girl as we went down the long +hill. "Do you know, I can forgive Sara Ray now. I thought tonight I +never could--but now it doesn't matter any more. I can even see how +funny it was. Oh, wasn't it funny? 'DEAD' in that squeaky little voice +of Sara's! I'll just behave to her tomorrow as if nothing had happened. +It seems so long ago now, here in the night." + +Neither of us ever forgot the subtle delight of that stolen walk. A +spell of glamour was over us. The breezes whispered strange secrets of +elf-haunted glens, and the hollows where the ferns grew were brimmed +with mystery and romance. Ghostlike scents crept out of the meadows +to meet us, and the fir wood before we came to the church was a living +sweetness of Junebells growing in abundance. + +Junebells have another and more scientific name, of course. But who +could desire a better name than Junebells? They are so perfect in their +way that they seem to epitomize the very scent and charm of the forest, +as if the old wood's daintiest thoughts had materialized in blossom; +and not all the roses by Bendameer's stream are as fragrant as a shallow +sheet of Junebells under the boughs of fir. + +There were fireflies abroad that night, too, increasing the gramarye of +it. There is certainly something a little supernatural about fireflies. +Nobody pretends to understand them. They are akin to the tribes of +fairy, survivals of the elder time when the woods and hills swarmed with +the little green folk. It is still very easy to believe in fairies when +you see those goblin lanterns glimmering among the fir tassels. + +"Isn't it beautiful?" said the Story Girl in rapture. "I wouldn't have +missed it for anything. I'm glad I left my necklace. And I am glad you +are with me, Bev. The others wouldn't understand so well. I like you +because I don't have to talk to you all the time. It's so nice to walk +with someone you don't have to talk to. Here is the graveyard. Are you +frightened to pass it, Bev?" + +"No, I don't think I'm frightened," I answered slowly, "but I have a +queer feeling." + +"So have I. But it isn't fear. I don't know what it is. I feel as if +something was reaching out of the graveyard to hold me--something that +wanted life--I don't like it--let's hurry. But isn't it strange to think +of all the dead people in there who were once alive like you and me. I +don't feel as if I could EVER die. Do you?" + +"No, but everybody must. Of course we go on living afterwards, just the +same. Don't let's talk of such things here," I said hurriedly. + +When we reached the school I contrived to open a window. We scrambled +in, lighted a lamp and found the missing necklace. The Story Girl stood +on the platform and gave an imitation of the catastrophe of the evening +that made me shout with laughter. We prowled around for sheer delight +over being there at an unearthly hour when everybody supposed we were +sound asleep in our beds. It was with regret that we left, and we walked +home as slowly as we could to prolong the adventure. + +"Let's never tell anyone," said the Story Girl, as we reached home. +"Let's just have it as a secret between us for ever and ever--something +that nobody else knows a thing about but you and me." + +"We'd better keep it a secret from Aunt Janet anyhow," I whispered, +laughing. "She'd think we were both crazy." + +"It's real jolly to be crazy once in a while," said the Story Girl. + + + + +CHAPTER XX. EXTRACTS FROM "OUR MAGAZINE" + + +EDITORIAL + +As will be seen there is no Honour Roll in this number. Even Felicity +has thought all the beautiful thoughts that can be thought and +cannot think any more. Peter has never got drunk but, under existing +circumstances, that is not greatly to his credit. As for our written +resolutions they have silently disappeared from our chamber walls and +the place that once knew them knows them no more for ever. (PETER, +PERPLEXEDLY: "Seems to me I've heard something like that before.") It is +very sad but we will all make some new resolutions next year and maybe +it will be easier to keep those. + + +THE STORY OF THE LOCKET THAT WAS BAKED + +This was a story my Aunt Jane told me about her granma when she was a +little girl. Its funny to think of baking a locket, but it wasn't to +eat. She was my great granma but Ill call her granma for short. It +happened when she was ten years old. Of course she wasent anybodys +granma then. Her father and mother and her were living in a new +settlement called Brinsley. Their nearest naybor was a mile away. One +day her Aunt Hannah from Charlottetown came and wanted her ma to go +visiting with her. At first granma's ma thought she couldent go because +it was baking day and granma's pa was away. But granma wasent afraid to +stay alone and she knew how to bake the bread so she made her ma go +and her Aunt Hannah took off the handsome gold locket and chain she was +waring round her neck and hung it on granmas and told her she could ware +it all day. Granma was awful pleased for she had never had any jewelry. +She did all the chores and then was needing the loaves when she looked +up and saw a tramp coming in and he was an awful villenus looking tramp. +He dident even pass the time of day but just set down on a chair. Poor +granma was awful fritened and she turned her back on him and went on +needing the loaf cold and trembling--that is, granma was trembling not +the loaf. She was worried about the locket. She didn't know how she +could hide it for to get anywhere she would have to turn round and pass +him. + +All of a suddent she thought she would hide it in the bread. She put her +hand up and pulled it hard and quick and broke the fastening and needed +it right into the loaf. Then she put the loaf in the pan and set it in +the oven. + +The tramp hadent seen her do it and then he asked for something to eat. +Granma got him up a meal and when hed et it he began prowling about the +kitchen looking into everything and opening the cubbord doors. Then he +went into granma's mas room and turned the buro drawers and trunk inside +out and threw the things in them all about. All he found was a purse +with a dollar in it and he swore about it and took it and went away. +When granma was sure he was really gone she broke down and cried. She +forgot all about the bread and it burned as black as coal. When she +smelled it burning granma run and pulled it out. She was awful scared +the locket was spoiled but she sawed open the loaf and it was there safe +and sound. When her Aunt Hannah came back she said granma deserved the +locket because she had saved it so clever and she gave it to her and +grandma always wore it and was very proud of it. And granma used to say +that was the only loaf of bread she ever spoiled in her life. + + PETER CRAIG. + + +(FELICITY: "Those stories are all very well but they are only true +stories. It's easy enough to write true stories. I thought Peter was +appointed fiction editor, but he has never written any fiction since the +paper started. That's not MY idea of a fiction editor. He ought to make +up stories out of his own head." PETER, SPUNKILY: "I can do it, too, +and I will next time. And it ain't easier to write true stories. It's +harder, 'cause you have to stick to facts." FELICITY: "I don't believe +you could make up a story." PETER: "I'll show you!") + + +MY MOST EXCITING ADVENTURE + +It's my turn to write it but I'm SO NERVOUS. My worst adventure happened +TWO YEARS AGO. It was an awful one. I had a striped ribbon, striped +brown and yellow and I LOST IT. I was very sorry for it was a handsome +ribbon and all the girls in school were jealous of it. (FELICITY: "I +wasn't. I didn't think it one bit pretty." CECILY: "Hush!") I hunted +everywhere but I couldn't find it. Next day was Sunday and I was running +into the house by the front door and I saw SOMETHING LYING ON THE STEP +and I thought it was my ribbon and I made a grab at it as I passed. But, +oh, it was A SNAKE! Oh, I can never describe how I felt when I felt that +awful thing WRIGGLING IN MY HAND. I let it go and SCREAMED AND SCREAMED, +and ma was cross at me for yelling on Sunday and made me read seven +chapters in the Bible but I didn't mind that much after what I had come +through. I would rather DIE than have SUCH AN EXPERIENCE again. + + SARA RAY. + + + TO FELICITY ON HER BERTHDAY + + Oh maiden fair with golden hair + And brow of purest white, + Id fight for you I'd die for you + Let me be your faithful knite. + + This is your berthday blessed day + You are thirteen years old today + May you be happy and fair as you are now + Until your hair is gray. + + I gaze into your shining eyes, + They are so blue and bright. + Id fight for you Id die for you + Let me be your faithful knite. + + A FRIEND. + + +(DAN: "Great snakes, who got that up? I'll bet it was Peter." FELICITY, +WITH DIGNITY: "Well, it's more than YOU could do. YOU couldn't write +poetry to save your life." PETER, ASIDE TO BEVERLEY: "She seems quite +pleased. I'm glad I wrote it, but it was awful hard work.") + + +PERSONALS + +Patrick Grayfur, Esq., caused his friends great anxiety recently by a +prolonged absence from home. When found he was very thin but is now as +fat and conceited as ever. + +On Wednesday, June 20th, Miss Olivia King was united in the bonds of +holy matrimony to Dr. Robert Seton of Halifax. Miss Sara Stanley was +bridesmaid, and Mr. Andrew Seton attended the groom. The young couple +received many handsome presents. Rev. Mr. Marwood tied the nuptial knot. +After the ceremony a substantial repast was served in Mrs. Alex King's +well-known style and the happy couple left for their new home in +Nova Scotia. Their many friends join in wishing them a very happy and +prosperous journey through life. + + + A precious one from us is gone, + A voice we loved is stilled. + A place is vacant in our home + That never can be filled. + + +(THE STORY GIRL: "Goodness, that sounds as if somebody had died. I've +seen that verse on a tombstone. WHO wrote that notice?" FELICITY, +WHO WROTE IT: "I think it is just as appropriate to a wedding as to a +funeral!") + +Our school concert came off on the evening of June 29th and was a great +success. We made ten dollars for the library. + +We regret to chronicle that Miss Sara Ray met with a misfortune while +taking some violent exercise with a wasps' nest recently. The moral is +that it is better not to monkey with a wasps' nest, new or old. + +Mrs. C. B. Hawkins of Baywater is keeping house for Uncle Roger. She +is a very large woman. Uncle Roger says he has to spend too much time +walking round her, but otherwise she is an excellent housekeeper. + +It is reported that the school is haunted. A mysterious light was seen +there at two o'clock one night recently. + +(THE STORY GIRL AND I EXCHANGE KNOWING SMILES BEHIND THE OTHERS' BACKS.) + +Dan and Felicity had a fight last Tuesday--not with fists but with +tongues. Dan came off best--as usual. (FELICITY LAUGHS SARCASTICALLY.) + +Mr. Newton Craig of Markdale returned home recently after a somewhat +prolonged visit in foreign parts. We are glad to welcome Mr. Craig back +to our midst. + +Billy Robinson was hurt last week. A cow kicked him. I suppose it is +wicked of us to feel glad but we all do feel glad because of the way he +cheated us with the magic seed last summer. + +On April 1st Uncle Roger sent Mr. Peter Craig to the manse to borrow the +biography of Adam's grandfather. Mr. Marwood told Peter he didn't think +Adam had any grandfather and advised him to go home and look at the +almanac. (PETER, SOURLY: "Your Uncle Roger thought he was pretty smart." +FELICITY, SEVERELY: "Uncle Roger IS smart. It was so easy to fool you.") + +A pair of blue birds have built a nest in a hole in the sides of the +well, just under the ferns. We can see the eggs when we look down. They +are so cunning. + +Felix sat down on a tack one day in May. Felix thinks house-cleaning is +great foolishness. + + +ADS. + +LOST--STOLEN--OR STRAYED--A HEART. Finder will be rewarded by returning +same to Cyrus E. Brisk, Desk 7, Carlisle School. + +LOST OR STOLEN. A piece of brown hair about three inches long and one +inch thick. Finder will kindly return to Miss Cecily King, Desk 15, +Carlisle School. + +(CECILY: "Cyrus keeps my hair in his Bible for a bookmark, so Flossie +tells me. He says he means to keep it always for a remembrance though +he has given up hope." DAN: "I'll steal it out of his Bible in Sunday +School." CECILY, BLUSHING: "Oh, let him keep it if it is any comfort to +him. Besides, it isn't right to steal." DAN: "He stole it." CECILY: "But +Mr. Marwood says two wrongs never make a right.") + + +HOUSEHOLD DEPARTMENT + +Aunt Olivia's wedding cake was said to be the best one of its kind ever +tasted in Carlisle. Me and mother made it. + +ANXIOUS INQUIRER:--It is not advisable to curl your hair with mucilage +if you can get anything else. Quince juice is better. (CECILY, BITTERLY: +"I suppose I'll never hear the last of that mucilage." DAN: "Ask her who +used tooth-powder to raise biscuits?") + +We had rhubarb pies for the first time this spring last week. They were +fine but hard on the cream. + + FELICITY KING. + + +ETIQUETTE DEPARTMENT + +PATIENT SUFFERER:--What will I do when a young man steals a lock of my +hair? Ans.:--Grow some more. + +No, F-l-x, a little caterpillar is not called a kittenpillar. (FELIX, +ENRAGED: "I never asked that! Dan just makes that etiquette column +up from beginning to end!" FELICITY: "I don't see what that kind of a +question has to do with etiquette anyhow.") + +Yes, P-t-r, it is quite proper to treat a lady friend to ice cream twice +if you can afford it. + +No, F-l-c-t-y, it is not ladylike to chew tobacco. Better stick to +spruce gum. + + DAN KING. + + +FASHION NOTES + +Frilled muslin aprons will be much worn this summer. It is no longer +fashionable to trim them with knitted lace. One pocket is considered +smart. + +Clam-shells are fashionable keepsakes. You write your name and the date +inside one and your friend writes hers in the other and you exchange. + + CECILY KING. + + +FUNNY PARAGRAPHS + +MR. PERKINS:--"Peter, name the large islands of the world." + +PETER:--"The Island, the British Isles and Australia." (PETER, +DEFIANTLY: "Well, Mr. Perkins said he guessed I was right, so you +needn't laugh.") + +This is a true joke and really happened. It's about Mr. Samuel Clask +again. He was once leading a prayer meeting and he looked through the +window and saw the constable driving up and guessed he was after him +because he was always in debt. So in a great hurry he called on Brother +Casey to lead in prayer and while Brother Casey was praying with his +eyes shut and everybody else had their heads bowed Mr. Clask got out of +the window and got away before the constable got in because he didn't +like to come in till the prayer was finished. + +Uncle Roger says it was a smart trick on Mr. Clask's part, but I don't +think there was much religion about it. + + FELIX KING. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. PEG BOWEN COMES TO CHURCH + + +When those of us who are still left of that band of children who played +long years ago in the old orchard and walked the golden road together +in joyous companionship, foregather now and again in our busy lives and +talk over the events of those many merry moons--there are some of our +adventures that gleam out more vividly in memory than the others, and +are oftener discussed. The time we bought God's picture from Jerry +Cowan--the time Dan ate the poison berries--the time we heard the +ghostly bell ring--the bewitchment of Paddy--the visit of the Governor's +wife--and the night we were lost in the storm--all awaken reminiscent +jest and laughter; but none more than the recollection of the Sunday +Peg Bowen came to church and sat in our pew. Though goodness knows, as +Felicity would say, we did not think it any matter for laughter at the +time--far from it. + +It was one Sunday evening in July. Uncle Alec and Aunt Janet, having +been out to the morning service, did not attend in the evening, and we +small fry walked together down the long hill road, wearing Sunday attire +and trying, more or less successfully, to wear Sunday faces also. Those +walks to church, through the golden completeness of the summer evenings, +were always very pleasant to us, and we never hurried, though, on the +other hand, we were very careful not to be late. + +This particular evening was particularly beautiful. It was cool after a +hot day, and wheat fields all about us were ripening to their harvestry. +The wind gossiped with the grasses along our way, and over them the +buttercups danced, goldenly-glad. Waves of sinuous shadow went over the +ripe hayfields, and plundering bees sang a freebooting lilt in wayside +gardens. + +"The world is so lovely tonight," said the Story Girl. "I just hate the +thought of going into the church and shutting all the sunlight and music +outside. I wish we could have the service outside in summer." + +"I don't think that would be very religious," said Felicity. + +"I'd feel ever so much more religious outside than in," retorted the +Story Girl. + +"If the service was outside we'd have to sit in the graveyard and that +wouldn't be very cheerful," said Felix. + +"Besides, the music isn't shut out," added Felicity. "The choir is +inside." + +"'Music has charms to soothe a savage breast,'" quoted Peter, who was +getting into the habit of adorning his conversation with similar gems. +"That's in one of Shakespeare's plays. I'm reading them now, since I got +through with the Bible. They're great." + +"I don't see when you get time to read them," said Felicity. + +"Oh, I read them Sunday afternoons when I'm home." + +"I don't believe they're fit to read on Sundays," exclaimed Felicity. +"Mother says Valeria Montague's stories ain't." + +"But Shakespeare's different from Valeria," protested Peter. + +"I don't see in what way. He wrote a lot of things that weren't true, +just like Valeria, and he wrote swear words too. Valeria never does +that. Her characters all talk in a very refined fashion." + +"Well, I always skip the swear words," said Peter. "And Mr. Marwood said +once that the Bible and Shakespeare would furnish any library well. So +you see he put them together, but I'm sure that he would never say that +the Bible and Valeria would make a library." + +"Well, all I know is, I shall never read Shakespeare on Sunday," said +Felicity loftily. + +"I wonder what kind of a preacher young Mr. Davidson is," speculated +Cecily. + +"Well, we'll know when we hear him tonight," said the Story Girl. "He +ought to be good, for his uncle before him was a fine preacher, though a +very absent-minded man. But Uncle Roger says the supply in Mr. Marwood's +vacation never amounts to much. I know an awfully funny story about old +Mr. Davidson. He used to be the minister in Baywater, you know, and he +had a large family and his children were very mischievous. One day his +wife was ironing and she ironed a great big nightcap with a frill round +it. One of the children took it when she wasn't looking and hid it +in his father's best beaver hat--the one he wore on Sundays. When Mr. +Davidson went to church next Sunday he put the hat on without ever +looking into the crown. He walked to church in a brown study and at the +door he took off his hat. The nightcap just slipped down on his head, as +if it had been put on, and the frill stood out around his face and the +string hung down his back. But he never noticed it, because his thoughts +were far away, and he walked up the church aisle and into the pulpit, +like that. One of his elders had to tiptoe up and tell him what he +had on his head. He plucked it off in a dazed fashion, held it up, and +looked at it. 'Bless me, it is Sally's nightcap!' he exclaimed mildly. +'I do not know how I could have got it on.' Then he just stuffed it into +his pocket calmly and went on with the service, and the long strings of +the nightcap hung down out of his pocket all the time." + +"It seems to me," said Peter, amid the laughter with which we greeted +the tale, "that a funny story is funnier when it is about a minister +than it is about any other man. I wonder why." + +"Sometimes I don't think it is right to tell funny stories about +ministers," said Felicity. "It certainly isn't respectful." + +"A good story is a good story--no matter who it's about," said the Story +Girl with ungrammatical relish. + +There was as yet no one in the church when we reached it, so we took our +accustomed ramble through the graveyard surrounding it. The Story Girl +had brought flowers for her mother's grave as usual, and while she +arranged them on it the rest of us read for the hundredth time the +epitaph on Great-Grandfather King's tombstone, which had been composed +by Great-Grandmother King. That epitaph was quite famous among the +little family traditions that entwine every household with mingled mirth +and sorrow, smiles and tears. It had a perennial fascination for us +and we read it over every Sunday. Cut deeply in the upright slab of red +Island sandstone, the epitaph ran as follows:-- + + +SWEET DEPARTED SPIRIT + + Do receive the vows a grateful widow pays, + Each future day and night shall hear her speak her Isaac's praise. + Though thy beloved form must in the grave decay + Yet from her heart thy memory no time, no change shall steal away. + Do thou from mansions of eternal bliss + Remember thy distressed relict. + Look on her with an angel's love-- + Soothe her sad life and cheer her end + Through this world's dangers and its griefs. + Then meet her with thy well-known smiles and welcome + At the last great day. + + +"Well, I can't make out what the old lady was driving at," said Dan. + +"That's a nice way to speak of your great-grandmother," said Felicity +severely. + +"How does The Family Guide say you ought to speak of your great-grandma, +sweet one?" asked Dan. + +"There is one thing about it that puzzles me," remarked Cecily. "She +calls herself a GRATEFUL widow. Now, what was she grateful for?" + +"Because she was rid of him at last," said graceless Dan. + +"Oh, it couldn't have been that," protested Cecily seriously. "I've +always heard that Great-Grandfather and Great-Grandmother were very much +attached to each other." + +"Maybe, then, it means she was grateful that she'd had him as long as +she did," suggested Peter. + +"She was grateful to him because he had been so kind to her in life, I +think," said Felicity. + +"What is a 'distressed relict'?" asked Felix. + +"'Relict' is a word I hate," said the Story Girl. "It sounds so much +like relic. Relict means just the same as widow, only a man can be a +relict, too." + +"Great-Grandmother seemed to run short of rhymes at the last of the +epitaph," commented Dan. + +"Finding rhymes isn't as easy as you might think," avowed Peter, out of +his own experience. + +"I think Grandmother King intended the last of the epitaph to be in +blank verse," said Felicity with dignity. + +There was still only a sprinkling of people in the church when we went +in and took our places in the old-fashioned, square King pew. We had +just got comfortably settled when Felicity said in an agitated whisper, +"Here is Peg Bowen!" + +We all stared at Peg, who was pacing composedly up the aisle. We might +be excused for so doing, for seldom were the decorous aisles of Carlisle +church invaded by such a figure. Peg was dressed in her usual short +drugget skirt, rather worn and frayed around the bottom, and a waist +of brilliant turkey red calico. She wore no hat, and her grizzled black +hair streamed in elf locks over her shoulders. Face, arms and feet +were bare--and face, arms and feet were liberally powdered with +FLOUR. Certainly no one who saw Peg that night could ever forget the +apparition. + +Peg's black eyes, in which shone a more than usually wild and fitful +light, roved scrutinizingly over the church, then settled on our pew. + +"She's coming here," whispered Felicity in horror. "Can't we spread out +and make her think the pew is full?" + +But the manoeuvre was too late. The only result was that Felicity and +the Story Girl in moving over left a vacant space between them and Peg +promptly plumped down in it. + +"Well, I'm here," she remarked aloud. "I did say once I'd never darken +the door of Carlisle church again, but what that boy there"--nodding +at Peter--"said last winter set me thinking, and I concluded maybe I'd +better come once in a while, to be on the safe side." + +Those poor girls were in an agony. Everybody in the church was looking +at our pew and smiling. We all felt that we were terribly disgraced; but +we could do nothing. Peg was enjoying herself hugely, beyond all doubt. +From where she sat she could see the whole church, including pulpit and +gallery, and her black eyes darted over it with restless glances. + +"Bless me, there's Sam Kinnaird," she exclaimed, still aloud. "He's +the man that dunned Jacob Marr for four cents on the church steps one +Sunday. I heard him. 'I think, Jacob, you owe me four cents on that cow +you bought last fall. Rec'llect you couldn't make the change?' Well, you +know, 'twould a-made a cat laugh. The Kinnairds were all mighty close, I +can tell you. That's how they got rich." + +What Sam Kinnaird felt or thought during this speech, which everyone in +the church must have heard, I know not. Gossip had it that he changed +colour. We wretched occupants of the King pew were concerned only with +our own outraged feelings. + +"And there's Melita Ross," went on Peg. "She's got the same bonnet on +she had last time I was in Carlisle church six years ago. Some folks has +the knack of making things last. But look at the style Mrs. Elmer Brewer +wears, will yez? Yez wouldn't think her mother died in the poor-house, +would yez, now?" + +Poor Mrs. Brewer! From the tip of her smart kid shoes to the dainty +cluster of ostrich tips in her bonnet--she was most immaculately and +handsomely arrayed; but I venture to think she could have taken +small pleasure in her fashionable attire that evening. Some of the +unregenerate, including Dan, were shaking with suppressed laughter, but +most of the people looked as if they were afraid to smile, lest their +turn should come next. + +"There's old Stephen Grant coming in," exclaimed Peg viciously, shaking +her floury fist at him, "and looking as if butter wouldn't melt in his +mouth. He may be an elder, but he's a scoundrel just the same. He set +fire to his house to get the insurance and then blamed ME for doing it. +But I got even with him for it. Oh, yes! He knows that, and so do I! He, +he!" + +Peg chuckled quite fiendishly and Stephen Grant tried to look as if +nothing had been said. + +"Oh, will the minister never come?" moaned Felicity in my ear. "Surely +she'll have to stop then." + +But the minister did not come and Peg had no intention of stopping. + +"There's Maria Dean." she resumed. "I haven't seen Maria for years. +I never call there for she never seems to have anything to eat in the +house. She was a Clayton and the Claytons never could cook. Maria +sorter looks as if she'd shrunk in the wash, now, don't she? And there's +Douglas Nicholson. His brother put rat poison in the family pancakes. +Nice little trick that, wasn't it? They say it was by mistake. I hope it +WAS a mistake. His wife is all rigged out in silk. Yez wouldn't think +to look at her she was married in cotton--and mighty thankful to get +married in anything, it's my opinion. There's Timothy Patterson. He's +the meanest man alive--meaner'n Sam Kinnaird even. Timothy pays his +children five cents apiece to go without their suppers, and then steals +the cents out of their pockets after they've gone to bed. It's a fact. +And when his old father died he wouldn't let his wife put his best shirt +on him. He said his second best was plenty good to be buried in. That's +another fact." + +"I can't stand much more of this," wailed Felicity. + +"See here, Miss Bowen, you really oughtn't to talk like that about +people," expostulated Peter in a low tone, goaded thereto, despite his +awe of Peg, by Felicity's anguish. + +"Bless you, boy," said Peg good-humouredly, "the only difference between +me and other folks is that I say these things out loud and they just +think them. If I told yez all the things I know about the people in this +congregation you'd be amazed. Have a peppermint?" + +To our horror Peg produced a handful of peppermint lozenges from the +pocket of her skirt and offered us one each. We did not dare refuse but +we each held our lozenge very gingerly in our hands. + +"Eat them," commanded Peg rather fiercely. + +"Mother doesn't allow us to eat candy in church," faltered Felicity. + +"Well, I've seen just as fine ladies as your ma give their children +lozenges in church," said Peg loftily. She put a peppermint in her own +mouth and sucked it with gusto. We were relieved, for she did not talk +during the process; but our relief was of short duration. A bevy of +three very smartly dressed young ladies, sweeping past our pew, started +Peg off again. + +"Yez needn't be so stuck up," she said, loudly and derisively. "Yez was +all of yez rocked in a flour barrel. And there's old Henry Frewen, still +above ground. I called my parrot after him because their noses were +exactly alike. Look at Caroline Marr, will yez? That's a woman who'd +like pretty well to get married, And there's Alexander Marr. He's a real +Christian, anyhow, and so's his dog. I can always size up what a man's +religion amounts to by the kind of dog he keeps. Alexander Marr is a +good man." + +It was a relief to hear Peg speak well of somebody; but that was the +only exception she made. + +"Look at Dave Fraser strutting in," she went on. "That man has thanked +God so often that he isn't like other people that it's come to be true. +He isn't! And there's Susan Frewen. She's jealous of everybody. She's +even jealous of Old Man Rogers because he's buried in the best spot in +the graveyard. Seth Erskine has the same look he was born with. They say +the Lord made everybody but I believe the devil made all the Erskines." + +"She's getting worse all the time. What WILL she say next?" whispered +poor Felicity. + +But her martyrdom was over at last. The minister appeared in the pulpit +and Peg subsided into silence. She folded her bare, floury arms over her +breast and fastened her black eyes on the young preacher. Her behaviour +for the next half-hour was decorum itself, save that when the minister +prayed that we might all be charitable in judgment Peg ejaculated "Amen" +several times, loudly and forcibly, somewhat to the discomfiture of the +Young man, to whom Peg was a stranger. He opened his eyes, glanced at +our pew in a startled way, then collected himself and went on. + +Peg listened to the sermon, silently and motionlessly, until Mr. +Davidson was half through. Then she suddenly got on her feet. + +"This is too dull for me," she exclaimed. "I want something more +exciting." + +Mr. Davidson stopped short and Peg marched down the aisle in the midst +of complete silence. Half way down the aisle she turned around and faced +the minister. + +"There are so many hypocrites in this church that it isn't fit for +decent people to come to," she said. "Rather than be such hypocrites as +most of you are it would be better for you to go miles into the woods +and commit suicide." + +Wheeling about, she strode to the door. Then she turned for a Parthian +shot. + +"I've felt kind of worried for God sometimes, seeing He has so much to +attend to," she said, "but I see I needn't be, so long's there's plenty +of ministers to tell Him what to do." + +With that Peg shook the dust of Carlisle church from her feet. Poor Mr. +Davidson resumed his discourse. Old Elder Bayley, whose attention +an earthquake could not have distracted from the sermon, afterwards +declared that it was an excellent and edifying exhortation, but I doubt +if anyone else in Carlisle church tasted it much or gained much good +therefrom. Certainly we of the King household did not. We could not even +remember the text when we reached home. Felicity was comfortless. + +"Mr. Davidson would be sure to think she belonged to our family when she +was in our pew," she said bitterly. "Oh, I feel as if I could never +get over such a mortification! Peter, I do wish you wouldn't go telling +people they ought to go to church. It's all your fault that this +happened." + +"Never mind, it will be a good story to tell sometime," remarked the +Story Girl with relish. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. THE YANKEE STORM + + +In an August orchard six children and a grown-up were sitting around the +pulpit stone. The grown-up was Miss Reade, who had been up to give the +girls their music lesson and had consented to stay to tea, much to the +rapture of the said girls, who continued to worship her with unabated +and romantic ardour. To us, over the golden grasses, came the Story +Girl, carrying in her hand a single large poppy, like a blood-red +chalice filled with the wine of August wizardry. She proffered it to +Miss Reade and, as the latter took it into her singularly slender, +beautiful hand, I saw a ring on her third finger. I noticed it, because +I had heard the girls say that Miss Reade never wore rings, not liking +them. It was not a new ring; it was handsome, but of an old-fashioned +design and setting, with a glint of diamonds about a central sapphire. +Later on, when Miss Reade had gone, I asked the Story Girl if she had +noticed the ring. She nodded, but seemed disinclined to say more about +it. + +"Look here, Sara," I said, "there's something about that ring--something +you know." + +"I told you once there was a story growing but you would have to wait +until it was fully grown," she answered. + +"Is Miss Reade going to marry anybody--anybody we know?" I persisted. + +"Curiosity killed a cat," observed the Story Girl coolly. "Miss Reade +hasn't told me that she was going to marry anybody. You will find out +all that is good for you to know in due time." + +When the Story Girl put on grown-up airs I did not like her so well, and +I dropped the subject with a dignity that seemed to amuse her mightily. + +She had been away for a week, visiting cousins in Markdale, and she had +come home with a new treasure-trove of stories, most of which she had +heard from the old sailors of Markdale Harbour. She had promised that +morning to tell us of "the most tragic event that had ever been known on +the north shore," and we now reminded her of her promise. + +"Some call it the 'Yankee Storm,' and others the 'American Gale,'" she +began, sitting down by Miss Reade and beaming, because the latter +put her arm around her waist. "It happened nearly forty years ago, in +October of 1851. Old Mr. Coles at the Harbour told me all about it. He +was a young man then and he says he can never forget that dreadful time. +You know in those days hundreds of American fishing schooners used to +come down to the Gulf every summer to fish mackerel. On one beautiful +Saturday night in this October of 1851, more than one hundred of these +vessels could be counted from Markdale Capes. By Monday night more than +seventy of them had been destroyed. Those which had escaped were mostly +those which went into harbour Saturday night, to keep Sunday. Mr. Coles +says the rest stayed outside and fished all day Sunday, same as through +the week, and HE says the storm was a judgment on them for doing it. But +he admits that even some of them got into harbour later on and escaped, +so it's hard to know what to think. But it is certain that on Sunday +night there came up a sudden and terrible storm--the worst, Mr. Coles +says, that has ever been known on the north shore. It lasted for two +days and scores of vessels were driven ashore and completely wrecked. +The crews of most of the vessels that went ashore on the sand beaches +were saved, but those that struck on the rocks went to pieces and all +hands were lost. For weeks after the storm the north shore was strewn +with the bodies of drowned men. Think of it! Many of them were unknown +and unrecognizable, and they were buried in Markdale graveyard. Mr. +Coles says the schoolmaster who was in Markdale then wrote a poem on the +storm and Mr. Coles recited the first two verses to me. + + + "'Here are the fishers' hillside graves, + The church beside, the woods around, + Below, the hollow moaning waves + Where the poor fishermen were drowned. + + "'A sudden tempest the blue welkin tore, + The seamen tossed and torn apart + Rolled with the seaweed to the shore + While landsmen gazed with aching heart.' + + +"Mr. Coles couldn't remember any more of it. But the saddest of all the +stories of the Yankee Storm was the one about the Franklin Dexter. +The Franklin Dexter went ashore on the Markdale Capes and all on board +perished, the Captain and three of his brothers among them. These four +young men were the sons of an old man who lived in Portland, Maine, and +when he heard what had happened he came right down to the Island to see +if he could find their bodies. They had all come ashore and had been +buried in Markdale graveyard; but he was determined to take them up and +carry them home for burial. He said he had promised their mother to take +her boys home to her and he must do it. So they were taken up and put +on board a sailing vessel at Markdale Harbour to be taken back to Maine, +while the father himself went home on a passenger steamer. The name of +the sailing vessel was the Seth Hall, and the captain's name was Seth +Hall, too. Captain Hall was a dreadfully profane man and used to swear +blood-curdling oaths. On the night he sailed out of Markdale Harbour the +old sailors warned him that a storm was brewing and that it would catch +him if he did not wait until it was over. The captain had become very +impatient because of several delays he had already met with, and he was +in a furious temper. He swore a wicked oath that he would sail out of +Markdale Harbour that night and 'God Almighty Himself shouldn't catch +him.' He did sail out of the harbour; and the storm did catch him, and +the Seth Hall went down with all hands, the dead and the living finding +a watery grave together. So the poor old mother up in Maine never had +her boys brought back to her after all. Mr. Coles says it seems as if it +were foreordained that they should not rest in a grave, but should lie +beneath the waves until the day when the sea gives up its dead." + + + "'They sleep as well beneath that purple tide + As others under turf,'" + + +quoted Miss Reade softly. "I am very thankful," she added, "that I am +not one of those whose dear ones 'go down to the sea in ships.' It seems +to me that they have treble their share of this world's heartache." + +"Uncle Stephen was a sailor and he was drowned," said Felicity, "and +they say it broke Grandmother King's heart. I don't see why people can't +be contented on dry land." + +Cecily's tears had been dropping on the autograph quilt square she was +faithfully embroidering. She had been diligently collecting names for it +ever since the preceding autumn and had a goodly number; but Kitty Marr +had one more and this was certainly a fly in Cecily's ointment. + +"Besides, one I've got isn't paid for--Peg Bowen's," she lamented, "and +I don't suppose it ever will be, for I'll never dare to ask her for it." + +"I wouldn't put it on at all," said Felicity. + +"Oh, I don't dare not to. She'd be sure to find out I didn't and then +she'd be very angry. I wish I could get just one more name and then I'd +be contented. But I don't know of a single person who hasn't been asked +already." + +"Except Mr. Campbell," said Dan. + +"Oh, of course nobody would ask Mr. Campbell. We all know it would be +of no use. He doesn't believe in missions at all--in fact, he says he +detests the very mention of missions--and he never gives one cent to +them." + +"All the same, I think he ought to be asked, so that he wouldn't have +the excuse that nobody DID ask him," declared Dan. + +"Do you really think so, Dan?" asked Cecily earnestly. + +"Sure," said Dan, solemnly. Dan liked to tease even Cecily a wee bit now +and then. + +Cecily relapsed into anxious thought, and care sat visibly on her brow +for the rest of the day. Next morning she came to me and said: + +"Bev, would you like to go for a walk with me this afternoon?" + +"Of course," I replied. "Any particular where?" + +"I'm going to see Mr. Campbell and ask him for his name for my square," +said Cecily resolutely. "I don't suppose it will do any good. He +wouldn't give anything to the library last summer, you remember, till +the Story Girl told him that story about his grandmother. She won't +go with me this time--I don't know why. I can't tell a story and I'm +frightened to death just to think of going to him. But I believe it is +my duty; and besides I would love to get as many names on my square +as Kitty Marr has. So if you'll go with me we'll go this afternoon. I +simply COULDN'T go alone." + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. A MISSIONARY HEROINE + + +Accordingly, that afternoon we bearded the lion in his den. The road we +took was a beautiful one, for we went "cross lots," and we enjoyed +it, in spite of the fact that we did not expect the interview with Mr. +Campbell to be a very pleasant one. To be sure, he had been quite civil +on the occasion of our last call upon him, but the Story Girl had been +with us then and had beguiled him into good-humour and generosity by +the magic of her voice and personality. We had no such ally now, and Mr. +Campbell was known to be virulently opposed to missions in any shape or +form. + +"I don't know whether it would have been any better if I could have +put on my good clothes," said Cecily, with a rueful glance at her print +dress, which, though neat and clean, was undeniably faded and RATHER +short and tight. "The Story Girl said it would, and I wanted to, but +mother wouldn't let me. She said it was all nonsense, and Mr. Campbell +would never notice what I had on." + +"It's my opinion that Mr. Campbell notices a good deal more than you'd +think for," I said sagely. + +"Well, I wish our call was over," sighed Cecily. "I can't tell you how I +dread it." + +"Now, see here, Sis," I said cheerfully, "let's not think about it +till we get there. It'll only spoil our walk and do no good. Let's just +forget it and enjoy ourselves." + +"I'll try," agreed Cecily, "but it's ever so much easier to preach than +to practise." + +Our way lay first over a hill top, gallantly plumed with golden rod, +where cloud shadows drifted over us like a gypsying crew. Carlisle, in +all its ripely tinted length and breadth, lay below us, basking in the +August sunshine, that spilled over the brim of the valley to the far-off +Markdale Harbour, cupped in its harvest-golden hills. + +Then came a little valley overgrown with the pale purple bloom of +thistles and elusively haunted with their perfume. You say that thistles +have no perfume? Go you to a brook hollow where they grow some late +summer twilight at dewfall; and on the still air that rises suddenly to +meet you will come a waft of faint, aromatic fragrance, wondrously sweet +and evasive, the distillation of that despised thistle bloom. + +Beyond this the path wound through a forest of fir, where a wood wind +wove its murmurous spell and a wood brook dimpled pellucidly among the +shadows--the dear, companionable, elfin shadows--that lurked under the +low growing boughs. Along the edges of that winding path grew banks +of velvet green moss, starred with clusters of pigeon berries. Pigeon +berries are not to be eaten. They are woolly, tasteless things. But they +are to be looked at in their glowing scarlet. They are the jewels with +which the forest of cone-bearers loves to deck its brown breast. Cecily +gathered some and pinned them on hers, but they did not become her. +I thought how witching the Story Girl's brown curls would have looked +twined with those brilliant clusters. Perhaps Cecily was thinking of it, +too, for she presently said, + +"Bev, don't you think the Story Girl is changing somehow?" + +"There are times--just times--when she seems to belong more among the +grown-ups than among us," I said, reluctantly, "especially when she puts +on her bridesmaid dress." + +"Well, she's the oldest of us, and when you come to think of it, she's +fifteen,--that's almost grown-up," sighed Cecily. Then she added, with +sudden vehemence, "I hate the thought of any of us growing up. Felicity +says she just longs to be grown-up, but I don't, not a bit. I wish I +could just stay a little girl for ever--and have you and Felix and +all the others for playmates right along. I don't know how it is--but +whenever I think of being grown-up I seem to feel tired." + +Something about Cecily's speech--or the wistful look that had crept into +her sweet brown eyes--made me feel vaguely uncomfortable; I was glad +that we were at the end of our journey, with Mr. Campbell's big house +before us, and his dog sitting gravely at the veranda steps. + +"Oh, dear," said Cecily, with a shiver, "I'd been hoping that dog +wouldn't be around." + +"He never bites," I assured her. + +"Perhaps he doesn't, but he always looks as if he was going to," +rejoined Cecily. + +The dog continued to look, and, as we edged gingerly past him and up +the veranda steps, he turned his head and kept on looking. What with +Mr. Campbell before us and the dog behind, Cecily was trembling with +nervousness; but perhaps it was as well that the dour brute was there, +else I verily believe she would have turned and fled shamelessly when we +heard steps in the hall. + +It was Mr. Campbell's housekeeper who came to the door, however; she +ushered us pleasantly into the sitting-room where Mr. Campbell was +reading. He laid down his book with a slight frown and said nothing at +all in response to our timid "good afternoon." But after we had sat for +a few minutes in wretched silence, wishing ourselves a thousand miles +away, he said, with a chuckle, + +"Well, is it the school library again?" + +Cecily had remarked as we were coming that what she dreaded most of all +was introducing the subject; but Mr. Campbell had given her a splendid +opening, and she plunged wildly in at once, rattling her explanation off +nervously with trembling voice and flushed cheeks. + +"No, it's our Mission Band autograph quilt, Mr. Campbell. There are to +be as many squares in it as there are members in the Band. Each one has +a square and is collecting names for it. If you want to have your name +on the quilt you pay five cents, and if you want to have it right in the +round spot in the middle of the square you must pay ten cents. Then when +we have got all the names we can we will embroider them on the squares. +The money is to go to the little girl our Band is supporting in Korea. I +heard that nobody had asked you, so I thought perhaps you would give me +your name for my square." + +Mr. Campbell drew his black brows together in a scowl. + +"Stuff and nonsense!" he exclaimed angrily. "I don't believe in Foreign +Missions--don't believe in them at all. I never give a cent to them." + +"Five cents isn't a very large sum," said Cecily earnestly. + +Mr. Campbell's scowl disappeared and he laughed. + +"It wouldn't break me," he admitted, "but it's the principle of the +thing. And as for that Mission Band of yours, if it wasn't for the fun +you get out of it, catch one of you belonging. You don't really care a +rap more for the heathen than I do." + +"Oh, we do," protested Cecily. "We do think of all the poor little +children in Korea, and we like to think we are helping them, if it's +ever so little. We ARE in earnest, Mr. Campbell--indeed we are." + +"Don't believe it--don't believe a word of it," said Mr. Campbell +impolitely. "You'll do things that are nice and interesting. You'll get +up concerts, and chase people about for autographs and give money your +parents give you and that doesn't cost you either time or labour. But +you wouldn't do anything you disliked for the heathen children--you +wouldn't make any real sacrifice for them--catch you!" + +"Indeed we would," cried Cecily, forgetting her timidity in her zeal. "I +just wish I had a chance to prove it to you." + +"You do, eh? Come, now, I'll take you at your word. I'll test you. +Tomorrow is Communion Sunday and the church will be full of folks and +they'll all have their best clothes on. If you go to church tomorrow in +the very costume you have on at present, without telling anyone why you +do so, until it is all over, I'll give you--why, I vow I'll give you +five dollars for that quilt of yours." + +Poor Cecily! To go to church in a faded print dress, with a shabby +little old sun-hat and worn shoes! It was very cruel of Mr. Campbell. + +"I--I don't think mother would let me," she faltered. + +Her tormentor smiled grimly. + +"It's not hard to find some excuse," he said sarcastically. + +Cecily crimsoned and sat up facing Mr. Campbell spunkily. + +"It's NOT an excuse," she said. "If mother will let me go to church like +this I'll go. But I'll have to tell HER why, Mr. Campbell, because I'm +certain she'd never let me if I didn't." + +"Oh, you can tell all your own family," said Mr. Campbell, "but +remember, none of them must tell it outside until Sunday is over. If +they do, I'll be sure to find it out and then our bargain is off. If +I see you in church tomorrow, dressed as you are now, I'll give you my +name and five dollars. But I won't see you. You'll shrink when you've +had time to think it over." + +"I sha'n't," said Cecily resolutely. + +"Well, we'll see. And now come out to the barn with me. I've got the +prettiest little drove of calves out there you ever saw. I want you to +see them." + +Mr. Campbell took us all over his barns and was very affable. He had +beautiful horses, cows and sheep, and I enjoyed seeing them. I don't +think Cecily did, however. She was very quiet and even Mr. Campbell's +handsome new span of dappled grays failed to arouse any enthusiasm in +her. She was already in bitter anticipation living over the martyrdom +of the morrow. On the way home she asked me seriously if I thought Mr. +Campbell would go to heaven when he died. + +"Of course he will," I said. "Isn't he a member of the church?" + +"Oh, yes, but I can't imagine him fitting into heaven. You know he isn't +really fond of anything but live stock." + +"He's fond of teasing people, I guess," I responded. "Are you really +going to church to-morrow in that dress, Sis?" + +"If mother'll let me I'll have to," said poor Cecily. "I won't let Mr. +Campbell triumph over me. And I DO want to have as many names as Kitty +has. And I DO want to help the poor little Korean children. But it will +be simply dreadful. I don't know whether I hope mother will or not." + +I did not believe she would, but Aunt Janet sometimes could be depended +on for the unexpected. She laughed and told Cecily she could please +herself. Felicity was in a rage over it, and declared SHE wouldn't go to +church if Cecily went in such a rig. Dan sarcastically inquired if all +she went to church for was to show off her fine clothes and look at +other people's; then they quarrelled and didn't speak to each other for +two days, much to Cecily's distress. + +I suspect poor Sis wished devoutly that it might rain the next day; but +it was gloriously fine. We were all waiting in the orchard for the Story +Girl who had not begun to dress for church until Cecily and Felicity +were ready. Felicity was her prettiest in flower-trimmed hat, crisp +muslin, floating ribbons and trim black slippers. Poor Cecily stood +beside her mute and pale, in her faded school garb and heavy copper-toed +boots. But her face, if pale, was very determined. Cecily, having put +her hand to the plough, was not of those who turn back. + +"You do look just awful," said Felicity. "I don't care--I'm going to +sit in Uncle James' pew. I WON'T sit with you. There will be so many +strangers there, and all the Markdale people, and what will they think +of you? Some of them will never know the reason, either." + +"I wish the Story Girl would hurry," was all poor Cecily said. "We're +going to be late. It wouldn't have been quite so hard if I could have +got there before anyone and slipped quietly into our pew." + +"Here she comes at last," said Dan. "Why--what's she got on?" + +The Story Girl joined us with a quizzical smile on her face. Dan +whistled. Cecily's pale cheeks flushed with understanding and gratitude. +The Story Girl wore her school print dress and hat also, and was +gloveless and heavy shod. + +"You're not going to have to go through this all alone, Cecily," she +said. + +"Oh, it won't be half so hard now," said Cecily, with a long breath of +relief. + +I fancy it was hard enough even then. The Story Girl did not care a +whit, but Cecily rather squirmed under the curious glances that were +cast at her. She afterwards told me that she really did not think she +could have endured it if she had been alone. + +Mr. Campbell met us under the elms in the churchyard, with a twinkle in +his eye. + +"Well, you did it, Miss," he said to Cecily, "but you should have been +alone. That was what I meant. I suppose you think you've cheated me +nicely." + +"No, she doesn't," spoke up the Story Girl undauntedly. "She was all +dressed and ready to come before she knew I was going to dress the same +way. So she kept her bargain faithfully, Mr. Campbell, and I think you +were cruel to make her do it." + +"You do, eh? Well, well, I hope you'll forgive me. I didn't think she'd +do it--I was sure feminine vanity would win the day over missionary +zeal. It seems it didn't--though how much was pure missionary zeal and +how much just plain King spunk I'm doubtful. I'll keep my promise, Miss. +You shall have your five dollars, and mind you put my name in the round +space. No five-cent corners for me." + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. A TANTALIZING REVELATION + + +"I shall have something to tell you in the orchard this evening," said +the Story Girl at breakfast one morning. Her eyes were very bright and +excited. She looked as if she had not slept a great deal. She had spent +the previous evening with Miss Reade and had not returned until the rest +of us were in bed. Miss Reade had finished giving music lessons and was +going home in a few days. Cecily and Felicity were in despair over this +and mourned as those without comfort. But the Story Girl, who had been +even more devoted to Miss Reade than either of them, had not, as I +noticed, expressed any regret and seemed to be very cheerful over the +whole matter. + +"Why can't you tell it now?" asked Felicity. + +"Because the evening is the nicest time to tell things in. I only +mentioned it now so that you would have something interesting to look +forward to all day." + +"Is it about Miss Reade?" asked Cecily. + +"Never mind." + +"I'll bet she's going to be married," I exclaimed, remembering the ring. + +"Is she?" cried Felicity and Cecily together. + +The Story Girl threw an annoyed glance at me. She did not like to have +her dramatic announcements forestalled. + +"I don't say that it is about Miss Reade or that it isn't. You must just +wait till the evening." + +"I wonder what it is," speculated Cecily, as the Story Girl left the +room. + +"I don't believe it's much of anything," said Felicity, beginning to +clear away the breakfast dishes. "The Story Girl always likes to make so +much out of so little. Anyhow, I don't believe Miss Reade is going to be +married. She hasn't any beaus around here and Mrs. Armstrong says +she's sure she doesn't correspond with anybody. Besides, if she was she +wouldn't be likely to tell the Story Girl." + +"Oh, she might. They're such friends, you know," said Cecily. + +"Miss Reade is no better friends with her than she is with me and you," +retorted Felicity. + +"No, but sometimes it seems to me that she's a different kind of friend +with the Story Girl than she is with me and you," reflected Cecily. "I +can't just explain what I mean." + +"No wonder. Such nonsense," sniffed Felicity. "It's only some girl's +secret, anyway," said Dan, loftily. "I don't feel much interest in it." + +But he was on hand with the rest of us that evening, interest or no +interest, in Uncle Stephen's Walk, where the ripening apples were +beginning to glow like jewels among the boughs. + +"Now, are you going to tell us your news?" asked Felicity impatiently. + +"Miss Reade IS going to be married," said the Story Girl. "She told me +so last night. She is going to be married in a fortnight's time." + +"Who to?" exclaimed the girls. + +"To"--the Story Girl threw a defiant glance at me as if to say, "You +can't spoil the surprise of THIS, anyway,"--"to--the Awkward Man." + +For a few moments amazement literally held us dumb. + +"You're not in earnest, Sara Stanley?" gasped Felicity at last. + +"Indeed I am. I thought you'd be astonished. But I wasn't. I've +suspected it all summer, from little things I've noticed. Don't you +remember that evening last spring when I went a piece with Miss Reade +and told you when I came back that a story was growing? I guessed it +from the way the Awkward Man looked at her when I stopped to speak to +him over his garden fence." + +"But--the Awkward Man!" said Felicity helplessly. "It doesn't seem +possible. Did Miss Reade tell you HERSELF?" + +"Yes." + +"I suppose it must be true then. But how did it ever come about? He's +SO shy and awkward. How did he ever manage to get up enough spunk to ask +her to marry him?" + +"Maybe she asked him," suggested Dan. + +The Story Girl looked as if she might tell if she would. + +"I believe that WAS the way of it," I said, to draw her on. + +"Not exactly," she said reluctantly. "I know all about it but I can't +tell you. I guessed part from things I've seen--and Miss Reade told me a +good deal--and the Awkward Man himself told me his side of it as we came +home last night. I met him just as I left Mr. Armstrong's and we were +together as far as his house. It was dark and he just talked on as if he +were talking to himself--I think he forgot I was there at all, once +he got started. He has never been shy or awkward with me, but he never +talked as he did last night." + +"You might tell us what he said," urged Cecily. "We'd never tell." + +The Story Girl shook her head. + +"No, I can't. You wouldn't understand. Besides, I couldn't tell it just +right. It's one of the things that are hardest to tell. I'd spoil it if +I told it--now. Perhaps some day I'll be able to tell it properly. It's +very beautiful--but it might sound very ridiculous if it wasn't told +just exactly the right way." + +"I don't know what you mean, and I don't believe you know yourself," +said Felicity pettishly. "All that I can make out is that Miss Reade is +going to marry Jasper Dale, and I don't like the idea one bit. She is +so beautiful and sweet. I thought she'd marry some dashing young man. +Jasper Dale must be nearly twenty years older than her--and he's so +queer and shy--and such a hermit." + +"Miss Reade is perfectly happy," said the Story Girl. "She thinks the +Awkward Man is lovely--and so he is. You don't know him, but I do." + +"Well, you needn't put on such airs about it," sniffed Felicity. + +"I am not putting on any airs. But it's true. Miss Reade and I are the +only people in Carlisle who really know the Awkward Man. Nobody else +ever got behind his shyness to find out just what sort of a man he is." + +"When are they to be married?" asked Felicity. + +"In a fortnight's time. And then they are coming right back to live at +Golden Milestone. Won't it be lovely to have Miss Reade always so near +us?" + +"I wonder what she'll think about the mystery of Golden Milestone," +remarked Felicity. + +Golden Milestone was the beautiful name the Awkward Man had given his +home; and there was a mystery about it, as readers of the first volume +of these chronicles will recall. + +"She knows all about the mystery and thinks it perfectly lovely--and so +do I," said the Story Girl. + +"Do YOU know the secret of the locked room?" cried Cecily. + +"Yes, the Awkward Man told me all about it last night. I told you I'd +find out the mystery some time." + +"And what is it?" + +"I can't tell you that either." + +"I think you're hateful and mean," exclaimed Felicity. "It hasn't +anything to do with Miss Reade, so I think you might tell us." + +"It has something to do with Miss Reade. It's all about her." + +"Well, I don't see how that can be when the Awkward Man never saw or +heard of Miss Reade until she came to Carlisle in the spring," said +Felicity incredulously, "and he's had that locked room for years." + +"I can't explain it to you--but it's just as I've said," responded the +Story Girl. + +"Well, it's a very queer thing," retorted Felicity. + +"The name in the books in the room was Alice--and Miss Reade's name is +Alice," marvelled Cecily. "Did he know her before she came here?" + +"Mrs. Griggs says that room has been locked for ten years. Ten years ago +Miss Reade was just a little girl of ten. SHE couldn't be the Alice of +the books," argued Felicity. + +"I wonder if she'll wear the blue silk dress," said Sara Ray. + +"And what will she do about the picture, if it isn't hers?" added +Cecily. + +"The picture couldn't be hers, or Mrs. Griggs would have known her for +the same when she came to Carlisle," said Felix. + +"I'm going to stop wondering about it," exclaimed Felicity crossly, +aggravated by the amused smile with which the Story Girl was listening +to the various speculations. "I think Sara is just as mean as mean when +she won't tell us." + +"I can't," repeated the Story Girl patiently. + +"You said one time you had an idea who 'Alice' was," I said. "Was your +idea anything like the truth?" + +"Yes, I guessed pretty nearly right." + +"Do you suppose they'll keep the room locked after they are married?" +asked Cecily. + +"Oh, no. I can tell you that much. It is to be Miss Reade's own +particular sitting room." + +"Why, then, perhaps we'll see it some time ourselves, when we go to see +Miss Reade," cried Cecily. + +"I'd be frightened to go into it," confessed Sara Ray. "I hate things +with mysteries. They always make me nervous." + +"I love them. They're so exciting," said the Story Girl. + +"Just think, this will be the second wedding of people we know," +reflected Cecily. "Isn't that interesting?" + +"I only hope the next thing won't be a funeral," remarked Sara Ray +gloomily. "There were three lighted lamps on our kitchen table last +night, and Judy Pineau says that's a sure sign of a funeral." + +"Well, there are funerals going on all the time," said Dan. + +"But it means the funeral of somebody you know. I don't believe in +it--MUCH--but Judy says she's seen it come true time and again. I hope +if it does it won't be anybody we know very well. But I hope it'll be +somebody I know a LITTLE, because then I might get to the funeral. I'd +just love to go to a funeral." + +"That's a dreadful thing to say," commented Felicity in a shocked tone. + +Sara Ray looked bewildered. + +"I don't see what is dreadful in it," she protested. + +"People don't go to funerals for the fun of it," said Felicity severely. +"And you just as good as said you hoped somebody you knew would die so +you'd get to the funeral." + +"No, no, I didn't. I didn't mean that AT ALL, Felicity. I don't want +anybody to die; but what I meant was, if anybody I knew HAD to die there +might be a chance to go to the funeral. I've never been to a single +funeral yet, and it must be so interesting." + +"Well, don't mix up talk about funerals with talk about weddings," said +Felicity. "It isn't lucky. I think Miss Reade is simply throwing herself +away, but I hope she'll be happy. And I hope the Awkward Man will manage +to get married without making some awful blunder, but it's more than I +expect." + +"The ceremony is to be very private," said the Story Girl. + +"I'd like to see them the day they appear out in church," chuckled Dan. +"How'll he ever manage to bring her in and show her into the pew? I'll +bet he'll go in first--or tramp on her dress--or fall over his feet." + +"Maybe he won't go to church at all the first Sunday and she'll have to +go alone," said Peter. "That happened in Markdale. A man was too bashful +to go to church the first time after getting married, and his wife went +alone till he got used to the idea." + +"They may do things like that in Markdale but that is not the way people +behave in Carlisle," said Felicity loftily. + +Seeing the Story Girl slipping away with a disapproving face I joined +her. + +"What is the matter, Sara?" I asked. + +"I hate to hear them talking like that about Miss Reade and Mr. Dale," +she answered vehemently. "It's really all so beautiful--but they make it +seem silly and absurd, somehow." + +"You might tell me all about it, Sara," I insinuated. "I wouldn't +tell--and I'd understand." + +"Yes, I think you would," she said thoughtfully. "But I can't tell it +even to you because I can't tell it well enough yet. I've a feeling that +there's only one way to tell it--and I don't know the way yet. Some day +I'll know it--and then I'll tell you, Bev." + +Long, long after she kept her word. Forty years later I wrote to her, +across the leagues of land and sea that divided us, and told her that +Jasper Dale was dead; and I reminded her of her old promise and asked +its fulfilment. In reply she sent me the written love story of Jasper +Dale and Alice Reade. Now, when Alice sleeps under the whispering elms +of the old Carlisle churchyard, beside the husband of her youth, that +story may be given, in all its old-time sweetness, to the world. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV. THE LOVE STORY OF THE AWKWARD MAN + +(Written by the Story Girl) + + +Jasper Dale lived alone in the old homestead which he had named Golden +Milestone. In Carlisle this giving one's farm a name was looked upon as +a piece of affectation; but if a place must be named why not give it +a sensible name with some meaning to it? Why Golden Milestone, when +Pinewood or Hillslope or, if you wanted to be very fanciful, Ivy Lodge, +might be had for the taking? + +He had lived alone at Golden Milestone since his mother's death; he had +been twenty then and he was close upon forty now, though he did not look +it. But neither could it be said that he looked young; he had never at +any time looked young with common youth; there had always been something +in his appearance that stamped him as different from the ordinary run +of men, and, apart from his shyness, built up an intangible, invisible +barrier between him and his kind. He had lived all his life in Carlisle; +and all the Carlisle people knew of or about him--although they thought +they knew everything--was that he was painfully, abnormally shy. He +never went anywhere except to church; he never took part in Carlisle's +simple social life; even with most men he was distant and reserved; as +for women, he never spoke to or looked at them; if one spoke to him, +even if she were a matronly old mother in Israel, he was at once in an +agony of painful blushes. He had no friends in the sense of companions; +to all outward appearance his life was solitary and devoid of any human +interest. + +He had no housekeeper; but his old house, furnished as it had been in +his mother's lifetime, was cleanly and daintily kept. The quaint rooms +were as free from dust and disorder as a woman could have had them. This +was known, because Jasper Dale occasionally had his hired man's wife, +Mrs. Griggs, in to scrub for him. On the morning she was expected he +betook himself to woods and fields, returning only at night-fall. During +his absence Mrs. Griggs was frankly wont to explore the house from +cellar to attic, and her report of its condition was always the +same--"neat as wax." To be sure, there was one room that was always +locked against her, the west gable, looking out on the garden and the +hill of pines beyond. But Mrs. Griggs knew that in the lifetime of +Jasper Dale's mother it had been unfurnished. She supposed it still +remained so, and felt no especial curiosity concerning it, though she +always tried the door. + +Jasper Dale had a good farm, well cultivated; he had a large garden +where he worked most of his spare time in summer; it was supposed that +he read a great deal, since the postmistress declared that he was always +getting books and magazines by mail. He seemed well contented with his +existence and people let him alone, since that was the greatest kindness +they could do him. It was unsupposable that he would ever marry; nobody +ever had supposed it. + +"Jasper Dale never so much as THOUGHT about a woman," Carlisle oracles +declared. Oracles, however, are not always to be trusted. + +One day Mrs. Griggs went away from the Dale place with a very curious +story, which she diligently spread far and wide. It made a good deal +of talk, but people, although they listened eagerly, and wondered and +questioned, were rather incredulous about it. They thought Mrs. Griggs +must be drawing considerably upon her imagination; there were not +lacking those who declared that she had invented the whole account, +since her reputation for strict veracity was not wholly unquestioned. + +Mrs. Griggs's story was as follows:-- + +One day she found the door of the west gable unlocked. She went in, +expecting to see bare walls and a collection of odds and ends. Instead +she found herself in a finely furnished room. Delicate lace curtains +hung before the small, square, broad-silled windows. The walls were +adorned with pictures in much finer taste than Mrs. Griggs could +appreciate. There was a bookcase between the windows filled with +choicely bound books. Beside it stood a little table with a very dainty +work-basket on it. By the basket Mrs. Griggs saw a pair of tiny scissors +and a silver thimble. A wicker rocker, comfortable with silk cushions, +was near it. Above the bookcase a woman's picture hung--a water-colour, +if Mrs. Griggs had but known it--representing a pale, very sweet face, +with large, dark eyes and a wistful expression under loose masses of +black, lustrous hair. Just beneath the picture, on the top shelf of the +bookcase, was a vaseful of flowers. Another vaseful stood on the table +beside the basket. + +All this was astonishing enough. But what puzzled Mrs. Griggs completely +was the fact that a woman's dress was hanging over a chair before the +mirror--a pale blue, silken affair. And on the floor beside it were two +little blue satin slippers! + +Good Mrs. Griggs did not leave the room until she had thoroughly +explored it, even to shaking out the blue dress and discovering it to be +a tea-gown--wrapper, she called it. But she found nothing to throw any +light on the mystery. The fact that the simple name "Alice" was written +on the fly-leaves of all the books only deepened it, for it was a name +unknown in the Dale family. In this puzzled state she was obliged to +depart, nor did she ever find the door unlocked again; and, discovering +that people thought she was romancing when she talked about the +mysterious west gable at Golden Milestone, she indignantly held her +peace concerning the whole affair. + +But Mrs. Griggs had told no more than the simple truth. Jasper Dale, +under all his shyness and aloofness, possessed a nature full of delicate +romance and poesy, which, denied expression in the common ways of life, +bloomed out in the realm of fancy and imagination. Left alone, just when +the boy's nature was deepening into the man's, he turned to this ideal +kingdom for all he believed the real world could never give him. Love--a +strange, almost mystical love--played its part here for him. He shadowed +forth to himself the vision of a woman, loving and beloved; he cherished +it until it became almost as real to him as his own personality and he +gave this dream woman the name he liked best--Alice. In fancy he walked +and talked with her, spoke words of love to her, and heard words of love +in return. When he came from work at the close of day she met him at his +threshold in the twilight--a strange, fair, starry shape, as elusive and +spiritual as a blossom reflected in a pool by moonlight--with welcome on +her lips and in her eyes. + +One day, when he was in Charlottetown on business, he had been struck by +a picture in the window of a store. It was strangely like the woman of +his dream love. He went in, awkward and embarrassed, and bought it. When +he took it home he did not know where to put it. It was out of place +among the dim old engravings of bewigged portraits and conventional +landscapes on the walls of Golden Milestone. As he pondered the matter +in his garden that evening he had an inspiration. The sunset, flaming on +the windows of the west gable, kindled them into burning rose. Amid the +splendour he fancied Alice's fair face peeping archly down at him from +the room. The inspiration came then. It should be her room; he would fit +it up for her; and her picture should hang there. + +He was all summer carrying out his plan. Nobody must know or suspect, +so he must go slowly and secretly. One by one the furnishings were +purchased and brought home under cover of darkness. He arranged them +with his own hands. He bought the books he thought she would like best +and wrote her name in them; he got the little feminine knick-knacks of +basket and thimble. Finally he saw in a store a pale blue tea-gown and +the satin slippers. He had always fancied her as dressed in blue. He +bought them and took them home to her room. Thereafter it was sacred to +her; he always knocked on its door before he entered; he kept it sweet +with fresh flowers; he sat there in the purple summer evenings and +talked aloud to her or read his favourite books to her. In his fancy she +sat opposite to him in her rocker, clad in the trailing blue gown, with +her head leaning on one slender hand, as white as a twilight star. + +But Carlisle people knew nothing of this--would have thought him tinged +with mild lunacy if they had known. To them, he was just the shy, simple +farmer he appeared. They never knew or guessed at the real Jasper Dale. + +One spring Alice Reade came to teach music in Carlisle. Her pupils +worshipped her, but the grown people thought she was rather too distant +and reserved. They had been used to merry, jolly girls who joined +eagerly in the social life of the place. Alice Reade held herself aloof +from it--not disdainfully, but as one to whom these things were of small +importance. She was very fond of books and solitary rambles; she was +not at all shy but she was as sensitive as a flower; and after a time +Carlisle people were content to let her live her own life and no longer +resented her unlikeness to themselves. + +She boarded with the Armstrongs, who lived beyond Golden Milestone +around the hill of pines. Until the snow disappeared she went out to the +main road by the long Armstrong lane; but when spring came she was wont +to take a shorter way, down the pine hill, across the brook, past Jasper +Dale's garden, and out through his lane. And one day, as she went by, +Jasper Dale was working in his garden. + +He was on his knees in a corner, setting out a bunch of roots--an +unsightly little tangle of rainbow possibilities. It was a still spring +morning; the world was green with young leaves; a little wind blew down +from the pines and lost itself willingly among the budding delights of +the garden. The grass opened eyes of blue violets. The sky was high +and cloudless, turquoise-blue, shading off into milkiness on the far +horizons. Birds were singing along the brook valley. Rollicking robins +were whistling joyously in the pines. Jasper Dale's heart was filled to +over-flowing with a realization of all the virgin loveliness around him; +the feeling in his soul had the sacredness of a prayer. At this moment +he looked up and saw Alice Reade. + +She was standing outside the garden fence, in the shadow of a great pine +tree, looking not at him, for she was unaware of his presence, but +at the virginal bloom of the plum trees in a far corner, with all her +delight in it outblossoming freely in her face. For a moment Jasper Dale +believed that his dream love had taken visible form before him. She was +like--so like; not in feature, perhaps, but in grace and colouring--the +grace of a slender, lissome form and the colouring of cloudy hair and +wistful, dark gray eyes, and curving red mouth; and more than all, she +was like her in expression--in the subtle revelation of personality +exhaling from her like perfume from a flower. It was as if his own had +come to him at last and his whole soul suddenly leaped out to meet and +welcome her. + +Then her eyes fell upon him and the spell was broken. Jasper remained +kneeling mutely there, shy man once more, crimson with blushes, a +strange, almost pitiful creature in his abject confusion. A little smile +flickered about the delicate corners of her mouth, but she turned and +walked swiftly away down the lane. + +Jasper looked after her with a new, painful sense of loss and +loveliness. It had been agony to feel her conscious eyes upon him, but +he realized now that there had been a strange sweetness in it, too. It +was still greater pain to watch her going from him. + +He thought she must be the new music teacher but he did not even know +her name. She had been dressed in blue, too--a pale, dainty blue; but +that was of course; he had known she must wear it; and he was sure her +name must be Alice. When, later on, he discovered that it was, he felt +no surprise. + +He carried some mayflowers up to the west gable and put them under the +picture. But the charm had gone out of the tribute; and looking at the +picture, he thought how scant was the justice it did her. Her face +was so much sweeter, her eyes so much softer, her hair so much more +lustrous. The soul of his love had gone from the room and from the +picture and from his dreams. When he tried to think of the Alice he +loved he saw, not the shadowy spirit occupant of the west gable, but the +young girl who had stood under the pine, beautiful with the beauty of +moonlight, of starshine on still water, of white, wind-swayed flowers +growing in silent, shadowy places. He did not then realize what this +meant: had he realized it he would have suffered bitterly; as it was +he felt only a vague discomfort--a curious sense of loss and gain +commingled. + +He saw her again that afternoon on her way home. She did not pause by +the garden but walked swiftly past. Thereafter, every day for a week he +watched unseen to see her pass his home. Once a little child was with +her, clinging to her hand. No child had ever before had any part in the +shy man's dream life. But that night in the twilight the vision of +the rocking-chair was a girl in a blue print dress, with a little, +golden-haired shape at her knee--a shape that lisped and prattled and +called her "mother;" and both of them were his. + +It was the next day that he failed for the first time to put flowers +in the west gable. Instead, he cut a loose handful of daffodils and, +looking furtively about him as if committing a crime, he laid them +across the footpath under the pine. She must pass that way; her feet +would crush them if she failed to see them. Then he slipped back into +his garden, half exultant, half repentant. From a safe retreat he saw +her pass by and stoop to lift his flowers. Thereafter he put some in the +same place every day. + +When Alice Reade saw the flowers she knew at once who had put them +there, and divined that they were for her. She lifted them tenderly in +much surprise and pleasure. She had heard all about Jasper Dale and his +shyness; but before she had heard about him she had seen him in church +and liked him. She thought his face and his dark blue eyes beautiful; +she even liked the long brown hair that Carlisle people laughed at. That +he was quite different from other people she had understood at once, but +she thought the difference in his favour. Perhaps her sensitive nature +divined and responded to the beauty in his. At least, in her eyes Jasper +Dale was never a ridiculous figure. + +When she heard the story of the west gable, which most people +disbelieved, she believed it, although she did not understand it. It +invested the shy man with interest and romance. She felt that she would +have liked, out of no impertinent curiosity, to solve the mystery; she +believed that it contained the key to his character. + +Thereafter, every day she found flowers under the pine tree; she wished +to see Jasper to thank him, unaware that he watched her daily from the +screen of shrubbery in his garden; but it was some time before she found +the opportunity. One evening she passed when he, not expecting her, was +leaning against his garden fence with a book in his hand. She stopped +under the pine. + +"Mr. Dale," she said softly, "I want to thank you for your flowers." + +Jasper, startled, wished that he might sink into the ground. His anguish +of embarrassment made her smile a little. He could not speak, so she +went on gently. + +"It has been so good of you. They have given me so much pleasure--I wish +you could know how much." + +"It was nothing--nothing," stammered Jasper. His book had fallen on the +ground at her feet, and she picked it up and held it out to him. + +"So you like Ruskin," she said. "I do, too. But I haven't read this." + +"If you--would care--to read it--you may have it," Jasper contrived to +say. + +She carried the book away with her. He did not again hide when she +passed, and when she brought the book back they talked a little about +it over the fence. He lent her others, and got some from her in return; +they fell into the habit of discussing them. Jasper did not find it hard +to talk to her now; it seemed as if he were talking to his dream Alice, +and it came strangely natural to him. He did not talk volubly, but +Alice thought what he did say was worth while. His words lingered in her +memory and made music. She always found his flowers under the pine, and +she always wore some of them, but she did not know if he noticed this or +not. + +One evening Jasper walked shyly with her from his gate up the pine hill. +After that he always walked that far with her. She would have missed him +much if he had failed to do so; yet it did not occur to her that she was +learning to love him. She would have laughed with girlish scorn at the +idea. She liked him very much; she thought his nature beautiful in +its simplicity and purity; in spite of his shyness she felt more +delightfully at home in his society than in that of any other person she +had ever met. He was one of those rare souls whose friendship is at once +a pleasure and a benediction, showering light from their own crystal +clearness into all the dark corners in the souls of others, until, for +the time being at least, they reflected his own nobility. But she never +thought of love. Like other girls she had her dreams of a possible +Prince Charming, young and handsome and debonair. It never occurred +to her that he might be found in the shy, dreamy recluse of Golden +Milestone. + +In August came a day of gold and blue. Alice Reade, coming through the +trees, with the wind blowing her little dark love-locks tricksily about +under her wide blue hat, found a fragrant heap of mignonette under +the pine. She lifted it and buried her face in it, drinking in the +wholesome, modest perfume. + +She had hoped Jasper would be in his garden, since she wished to ask him +for a book she greatly desired to read. But she saw him sitting on the +rustic seat at the further side. His back was towards her, and he was +partially screened by a copse of lilacs. + +Alice, blushing slightly, unlatched the garden gate, and went down the +path. She had never been in the garden before, and she found her heart +beating in a strange fashion. + +He did not hear her footsteps, and she was close behind him when she +heard his voice, and realized that he was talking to himself, in a low, +dreamy tone. As the meaning of his words dawned on her consciousness she +started and grew crimson. She could not move or speak; as one in a +dream she stood and listened to the shy man's reverie, guiltless of any +thought of eavesdropping. + +"How much I love you, Alice," Jasper Dale was saying, unafraid, with no +shyness in voice or manner. "I wonder what you would say if you knew. +You would laugh at me--sweet as you are, you would laugh in mockery. I +can never tell you. I can only dream of telling you. In my dream you are +standing here by me, dear. I can see you very plainly, my sweet lady, so +tall and gracious, with your dark hair and your maiden eyes. I can dream +that I tell you my love; that--maddest, sweetest dream of all--that you +love me in return. Everything is possible in dreams, you know, dear. My +dreams are all I have, so I go far in them, even to dreaming that you +are my wife. I dream how I shall fix up my dull old house for you. One +room will need nothing more--it is your room, dear, and has been ready +for you a long time--long before that day I saw you under the pine. Your +books and your chair and your picture are there, dear--only the picture +is not half lovely enough. But the other rooms of the house must be made +to bloom out freshly for you. What a delight it is thus to dream of +what I would do for you! Then I would bring you home, dear, and lead +you through my garden and into my house as its mistress. I would see you +standing beside me in the old mirror at the end of the hall--a bride, +in your pale blue dress, with a blush on your face. I would lead you +through all the rooms made ready for your coming, and then to your own. +I would see you sitting in your own chair and all my dreams would +find rich fulfilment in that royal moment. Oh, Alice, we would have a +beautiful life together! It's sweet to make believe about it. You will +sing to me in the twilight, and we will gather early flowers together +in the spring days. When I come home from work, tired, you will put +your arms about me and lay your head on my shoulder. I will stroke +it--so--that bonny, glossy head of yours. Alice, my Alice--all mine in +my dream--never to be mine in real life--how I love you!" + +The Alice behind him could bear no more. She gave a little choking cry +that betrayed her presence. Jasper Dale sprang up and gazed upon her. He +saw her standing there, amid the languorous shadows of August, pale with +feeling, wide-eyed, trembling. + +For a moment shyness wrung him. Then every trace of it was banished by a +sudden, strange, fierce anger that swept over him. He felt outraged and +hurt to the death; he felt as if he had been cheated out of something +incalculably precious--as if sacrilege had been done to his most holy +sanctuary of emotion. White, tense with his anger, he looked at her and +spoke, his lips as pale as if his fiery words scathed them. + +"How dare you? You have spied on me--you have crept in and listened! How +dare you? Do you know what you have done, girl? You have destroyed all +that made life worth while to me. My dream is dead. It could not live +when it was betrayed. And it was all I had. Oh, laugh at me--mock me! I +know that I am ridiculous! What of it? It never could have hurt you! Why +must you creep in like this to hear me and put me to shame? Oh, I love +you--I will say it, laugh as you will. Is it such a strange thing that I +should have a heart like other men? This will make sport for you! I, who +love you better than my life, better than any other man in the world +can love you, will be a jest to you all your life. I love you--and yet +I think I could hate you--you have destroyed my dream--you have done me +deadly wrong." + +"Jasper! Jasper!" cried Alice, finding her voice. His anger hurt her +with a pain she could not endure. It was unbearable that Jasper should +be angry with her. In that moment she realized that she loved him--that +the words he had spoken when unconscious of her presence were the +sweetest she had ever heard, or ever could hear. Nothing mattered at +all, save that he loved her and was angry with her. + +"Don't say such dreadful things to me," she stammered, "I did not +mean to listen. I could not help it. I shall never laugh at you. Oh, +Jasper"--she looked bravely at him and the fine soul of her shone +through the flesh like an illuminating lamp--"I am glad that you love +me! and I am glad I chanced to overhear you, since you would never have +had the courage to tell me otherwise. Glad--glad! Do you understand, +Jasper?" + +Jasper looked at her with the eyes of one who, looking through pain, +sees rapture beyond. + +"Is it possible?" he said, wonderingly. "Alice--I am so much older +than you--and they call me the Awkward Man--they say I am unlike other +people"-- + +"You ARE unlike other people," she said softly, "and that is why I love +you. I know now that I must have loved you ever since I saw you." + +"I loved you long before I saw you," said Jasper. + +He came close to her and drew her into his arms, tenderly and +reverently, all his shyness and awkwardness swallowed up in the grace +of his great happiness. In the old garden he kissed her lips and Alice +entered into her own. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. UNCLE BLAIR COMES HOME + + +It happened that the Story Girl and I both got up very early on the +morning of the Awkward Man's wedding day. Uncle Alec was going to +Charlottetown that day, and I, awakened at daybreak by the sounds in the +kitchen beneath us, remembered that I had forgotten to ask him to bring +me a certain school-book I wanted. So I hurriedly dressed and hastened +down to tell him before he went. I was joined on the stairs by the Story +Girl, who said she had wakened and, not feeling like going to sleep +again, thought she might as well get up. + +"I had such a funny dream last night," she said. "I dreamed that I heard +a voice calling me from away down in Uncle Stephen's Walk--'Sara, Sara, +Sara,' it kept calling. I didn't know whose it was, and yet it seemed +like a voice I knew. I wakened up while it was calling, and it seemed so +real I could hardly believe it was a dream. It was bright moonlight, +and I felt just like getting up and going out to the orchard. But I knew +that would be silly and of course I didn't go. But I kept on wanting to +and I couldn't sleep any more. Wasn't it queer?" + +When Uncle Alec had gone I proposed a saunter to the farther end of the +orchard, where I had left a book the preceding evening. A young mom was +walking rosily on the hills as we passed down Uncle Stephen's Walk, +with Paddy trotting before us. High overhead was the spirit-like blue of +paling skies; the east was a great arc of crystal, smitten through with +auroral crimsonings; just above it was one milk-white star of morning, +like a pearl on a silver sea. A light wind of dawn was weaving an orient +spell. + +"It's lovely to be up as early as this, isn't it?" said the Story Girl. +"The world seems so different just at sunrise, doesn't it? It makes me +feel just like getting up to see the sun rise every morning of my +life after this. But I know I won't. I'll likely sleep later than ever +tomorrow morning. But I wish I could." + +"The Awkward Man and Miss Reade are going to have a lovely day for their +wedding," I said. + +"Yes, and I'm so glad. Beautiful Alice deserves everything good. Why, +Bev--why, Bev! Who is that in the hammock?" + +I looked. The hammock was swung under the two end trees of the Walk. In +it a man was lying, asleep, his head pillowed on his overcoat. He was +sleeping easily, lightly, and wholesomely. He had a pointed brown beard +and thick wavy brown hair. His cheeks were a dusky red and the lashes of +his closed eyes were as long and dark and silken as a girl's. He wore a +light gray suit, and on the slender white hand that hung down over the +hammock's edge was a spark of diamond fire. + +It seemed to me that I knew his face, although assuredly I had never +seen him before. While I groped among vague speculations the Story Girl +gave a queer, choked little cry. The next moment she had sprung over the +intervening space, dropped on her knees by the hammock, and flung her +arms about the man's neck. + +"Father! Father!" she cried, while I stood, rooted to the ground in my +amazement. + +The sleeper stirred and opened two large, exceedingly brilliant hazel +eyes. For a moment he gazed rather blankly at the brown-curled young +lady who was embracing him. Then a most delightful smile broke over his +face; he sprang up and caught her to his heart. + +"Sara--Sara--my little Sara! To think didn't know you at first glance! +But you are almost a woman. And when I saw you last you were just a +little girl of eight. My own little Sara!" + +"Father--father--sometimes I've wondered if you were ever coming back to +me," I heard the Story Girl say, as I turned and scuttled up the Walk, +realizing that I was not wanted there just then and would be little +missed. Various emotions and speculations possessed my mind in my +retreat; but chiefly did I feel a sense of triumph in being the bearer +of exciting news. + +"Aunt Janet, Uncle Blair is here," I announced breathlessly at the +kitchen door. + +Aunt Janet, who was kneading her bread, turned round and lifted floury +hands. Felicity and Cecily, who were just entering the kitchen, rosy +from slumber, stopped still and stared at me. + +"Uncle who?" exclaimed Aunt Janet. + +"Uncle Blair--the Story Girl's father, you know. He's here." + +"WHERE?" + +"Down in the orchard. He was asleep in the hammock. We found him there." + +"Dear me!" said Aunt Janet, sitting down helplessly. "If that isn't +like Blair! Of course he couldn't come like anybody else. I wonder," she +added in a tone unheard by anyone else save myself, "I wonder if he has +come to take the child away." + +My elation went out like a snuffed candle. I had never thought of this. +If Uncle Blair took the Story Girl away would not life become rather +savourless on the hill farm? I turned and followed Felicity and Cecily +out in a very subdued mood. + +Uncle Blair and the Story Girl were just coming out of the orchard. His +arm was about her and hers was on his shoulder. Laughter and tears were +contending in her eyes. Only once before--when Peter had come back from +the Valley of the Shadow--had I seen the Story Girl cry. Emotion had to +go very deep with her ere it touched the source of tears. I had always +known that she loved her father passionately, though she rarely talked +of him, understanding that her uncles and aunts were not whole-heartedly +his friends. + +But Aunt Janet's welcome was cordial enough, though a trifle flustered. +Whatever thrifty, hard-working farmer folk might think of gay, Bohemian +Blair Stanley in his absence, in his presence even they liked him, by +the grace of some winsome, lovable quality in the soul of him. He had +"a way with him"--revealed even in the manner with which he caught staid +Aunt Janet in his arms, swung her matronly form around as though she had +been a slim schoolgirl, and kissed her rosy cheek. + +"Sister o' mine, are you never going to grow old?" he said. "Here you +are at forty-five with the roses of sixteen--and not a gray hair, I'll +wager." + +"Blair, Blair, it is you who are always young," laughed Aunt Janet, not +ill pleased. "Where in the world did you come from? And what is this I +hear of your sleeping all night in the hammock?" + +"I've been painting in the Lake District all summer, as you know," +answered Uncle Blair, "and one day I just got homesick to see my little +girl. So I sailed for Montreal without further delay. I got here at +eleven last night--the station-master's son drove me down. Nice boy. The +old house was in darkness and I thought it would be a shame to rouse you +all out of bed after a hard day's work. So I decided that I would spend +the night in the orchard. It was moonlight, you know, and moonlight in +an old orchard is one of the few things left over from the Golden Age." + +"It was very foolish of you," said practical Aunt Janet. "These +September nights are real chilly. You might have caught your death of +cold--or a bad dose of rheumatism." + +"So I might. No doubt it was foolish of me," agreed Uncle Blair gaily. +"It must have been the fault, of the moonlight. Moonlight, you know, +Sister Janet, has an intoxicating quality. It is a fine, airy, silver +wine, such as fairies may drink at their revels, unharmed of it; but +when a mere mortal sips of it, it mounts straightway to his brain, to +the undoing of his daylight common sense. However, I have got neither +cold nor rheumatism, as a sensible person would have done had he ever +been lured into doing such a non-sensible thing; there is a special +Providence for us foolish folk. I enjoyed my night in the orchard; for +a time I was companioned by sweet old memories; and then I fell asleep +listening to the murmurs of the wind in those old trees yonder. And I +had a beautiful dream, Janet. I dreamed that the old orchard blossomed +again, as it did that spring eighteen years ago. I dreamed that its +sunshine was the sunshine of spring, not autumn. There was newness of +life in my dream, Janet, and the sweetness of forgotten words." + +"Wasn't it strange about MY dream?" whispered the Story Girl to me. + +"Well, you'd better come in and have some breakfast," said Aunt Janet. +"These are my little girls--Felicity and Cecily." + +"I remember them as two most adorable tots," said Uncle Blair, shaking +hands. "They haven't changed quite so much as my own baby-child. Why, +she's a woman, Janet--she's a woman." + +"She's child enough still," said Aunt Janet hastily. + +The Story Girl shook her long brown curls. + +"I'm fifteen," she said. "And you ought to see me in my long dress, +father." + +"We must not be separated any longer, dear heart," I heard Uncle Blair +say tenderly. I hoped that he meant he would stay in Canada--not that he +would take the Story Girl away. + +Apart from this we had a gay day with Uncle Blair. He evidently liked +our society better than that of the grown-ups, for he was a child +himself at heart, gay, irresponsible, always acting on the impulse of +the moment. We all found him a delightful companion. There was no +school that day, as Mr. Perkins was absent, attending a meeting of +the Teachers' Convention, so we spent most of its golden hours in the +orchard with Uncle Blair, listening to his fascinating accounts of +foreign wanderings. He also drew all our pictures for us, and this was +especially delightful, for the day of the camera was only just dawning +and none of us had ever had even our photographs taken. Sara Ray's +pleasure was, as usual, quite spoiled by wondering what her mother +would say of it, for Mrs. Ray had, so it appeared, some very peculiar +prejudices against the taking or making of any kind of picture +whatsoever, owing to an exceedingly strict interpretation of the second +commandment. Dan suggested that she need not tell her mother anything +about it; but Sara shook her head. + +"I'll have to tell her. I've made it a rule to tell ma everything I do +ever since the Judgment Day." + +"Besides," added Cecily seriously, "the Family Guide says one ought to +tell one's mother everything." + +"It's pretty hard sometimes, though," sighed Sara. "Ma scolds so much +when I do tell her things, that it sort of discourages me. But when I +think of how dreadful I felt the time of the Judgment Day over deceiving +her in some things it nerves me up. I'd do almost anything rather than +feel like that the next time the Judgment Day comes." + +"Fe, fi, fo, fum, I smell a story," said Uncle Blair. "What do you mean +by speaking of the Judgment Day in the past tense?" + +The Story Girl told him the tale of that dreadful Sunday in the +preceding summer and we all laughed with him at ourselves. + +"All the same," muttered Peter, "I don't want to have another experience +like that. I hope I'll be dead the next time the Judgment Day comes." + +"But you'll be raised up for it," said Felix. + +"Oh, that'll be all right. I won't mind that. I won't know anything +about it till it really happens. It's the expecting it that's the +worst." + +"I don't think you ought to talk of such things," said Felicity. + +When evening came we all went to Golden Milestone. We knew the Awkward +Man and his bride were expected home at sunset, and we meant to scatter +flowers on the path by which she must enter her new home. It was the +Story Girl's idea, but I don't think Aunt Janet would have let us go if +Uncle Blair had not pleaded for us. He asked to be taken along, too, and +we agreed, if he would stand out of sight when the newly married pair +came home. + +"You see, father, the Awkward Man won't mind us, because we're only +children and he knows us well," explained the Story Girl, "but if +he sees you, a stranger, it might confuse him and we might spoil the +homecoming, and that would be such a pity." + +So we went to Golden Milestone, laden with all the flowery spoil we +could plunder from both gardens. It was a clear amber-tinted September +evening and far away, over Markdale Harbour, a great round red moon +was rising as we waited. Uncle Blair was hidden behind the wind-blown +tassels of the pines at the gate, but he and the Story Girl kept waving +their hands at each other and calling out gay, mirthful jests. + +"Do you really feel acquainted with your father?" whispered Sara Ray +wonderingly. "It's long since you saw him." + +"If I hadn't seen him for a hundred years it wouldn't make any +difference that way," laughed the Story Girl. + +"S-s-h-s-s-h--they're coming," whispered Felicity excitedly. + +And then they came--Beautiful Alice blushing and lovely, in the +prettiest of pretty blue dresses, and the Awkward Man, so fervently +happy that he quite forgot to be awkward. He lifted her out of the buggy +gallantly and led her forward to us, smiling. We retreated before them, +scattering our flowers lavishly on the path, and Alice Dale walked to +the very doorstep of her new home over a carpet of blossoms. On the +step they both paused and turned towards us, and we shyly did the proper +thing in the way of congratulations and good wishes. + +"It was so sweet of you to do this," said the smiling bride. + +"It was lovely to be able to do it for you, dearest," whispered the +Story Girl, "and oh, Miss Reade--Mrs. Dale, I mean--we all hope you'll +be so, so happy for ever." + +"I am sure I shall," said Alice Dale, turning to her husband. He looked +down into her eyes--and we were quite forgotten by both of them. We saw +it, and slipped away, while Jasper Dale drew his wife into their home +and shut the world out. + +We scampered joyously away through the moonlit dusk. Uncle Blair joined +us at the gate and the Story Girl asked him what he thought of the +bride. + +"When she dies white violets will grow out of her dust," he answered. + +"Uncle Blair says even queerer things than the Story Girl," Felicity +whispered to me. + +And so that beautiful day went away from us, slipping through our +fingers as we tried to hold it. It hooded itself in shadows and fared +forth on the road that is lighted by the white stars of evening. It had +been a gift of Paradise. Its hours had all been fair and beloved. From +dawn flush to fall of night there had been naught to mar it. It took +with it its smiles and laughter. But it left the boon of memory. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. THE OLD ORDER CHANGETH + + +"I am going away with father when he goes. He is going to spend the +winter in Paris, and I am to go to school there." + +The Story Girl told us this one day in the orchard. There was a little +elation in her tone, but more regret. The news was not a great surprise +to us. We had felt it in the air ever since Uncle Blair's arrival. Aunt +Janet had been very unwilling to let the Story Girl go. But Uncle Blair +was inexorable. It was time, he said, that she should go to a better +school than the little country one in Carlisle; and besides, he did not +want her to grow into womanhood a stranger to him. So it was finally +decided that she was to go. + +"Just think, you are going to Europe," said Sara Ray in an awe-struck +tone. "Won't that be splendid!" + +"I suppose I'll like it after a while," said the Story Girl slowly, +"but I know I'll be dreadfully homesick at first. Of course, it will be +lovely to be with father, but oh, I'll miss the rest of you so much!" + +"Just think how WE'LL miss YOU," sighed Cecily. "It will be so lonesome +here this winter, with you and Peter both gone. Oh, dear, I do wish +things didn't have to change." + +Felicity said nothing. She kept looking down at the grass on which she +sat, absently pulling at the slender blades. Presently we saw two big +tears roll down over her cheeks. The Story Girl looked surprised. + +"Are you crying because I'm going away, Felicity?" she asked. + +"Of course I am," answered Felicity, with a big sob. "Do you think I've +no f-f-eeling?" + +"I didn't think you'd care much," said the Story Girl frankly. "You've +never seemed to like me very much." + +"I d-don't wear my h-heart on my sleeve," said poor Felicity, with an +attempt at dignity. "I think you m-might stay. Your father would let you +s-stay if you c-coaxed him." + +"Well, you see I'd have to go some time," sighed the Story Girl, +"and the longer it was put off the harder it would be. But I do feel +dreadfully about it. I can't even take poor Paddy. I'll have to leave +him behind, and oh, I want you all to promise to be kind to him for my +sake." + +We all solemnly assured her that we would. + +"I'll g-give him cream every m-morning and n-night," sobbed Felicity, +"but I'll never be able to look at him without crying. He'll make me +think of you." + +"Well, I'm not going right away," said the Story Girl, more cheerfully. +"Not till the last of October. So we have over a month yet to have a +good time in. Let's all just determine to make it a splendid month for +the last. We won't think about my going at all till we have to, and we +won't have any quarrels among us, and we'll just enjoy ourselves all we +possibly can. So don't cry any more, Felicity. I'm awfully glad you +do like me and am sorry I'm going away, but let's all forget it for a +month." + +Felicity sighed, and tucked away her damp handkerchief. + +"It isn't so easy for me to forget things, but I'll try," she said +disconsolately, "and if you want any more cooking lessons before you go +I'll be real glad to teach you anything I know." + +This was a high plane of self-sacrifice for Felicity to attain. But the +Story Girl shook her head. + +"No, I'm not going to bother my head about cooking lessons this last +month. It's too vexing." + +"Do you remember the time you made the pudding--" began Peter, and +suddenly stopped. + +"Out of sawdust?" finished the Story Girl cheerfully. "You needn't be +afraid to mention it to me after this. I don't mind any more. I begin to +see the fun of it now. I should think I do remember it--and the time I +baked the bread before it was raised enough." + +"People have made worse mistakes than that," said Felicity kindly. + +"Such as using tooth-powd--" but here Dan stopped abruptly, remembering +the Story Girl's plea for a beautiful month. Felicity coloured, but said +nothing--did not even LOOK anything. + +"We HAVE had lots of fun together one way or another," said Cecily, +retrospectively. + +"Just think how much we've laughed this last year or so," said the Story +Girl. "We've had good times together; but I think we'll have lots more +splendid years ahead." + +"Eden is always behind us--Paradise always before," said Uncle +Blair, coming up in time to hear her. He said it with a sigh that was +immediately lost in one of his delightful smiles. + +"I like Uncle Blair so much better than I expected to," Felicity +confided to me. "Mother says he's a rolling stone, but there really is +something very nice about him, although he says a great many things I +don't understand. I suppose the Story Girl will have a very gay time in +Paris." + +"She's going to school and she'll have to study hard," I said. + +"She says she's going to study for the stage," said Felicity. "Uncle +Roger thinks it is all right, and says she'll be very famous some day. +But mother thinks it's dreadful, and so do I." + +"Aunt Julia is a concert singer," I said. + +"Oh, that's very different. But I hope poor Sara will get on all right," +sighed Felicity. "You never know what may happen to a person in those +foreign countries. And everybody says Paris is such a wicked place. But +we must hope for the best," she concluded in a resigned tone. + +That evening the Story Girl and I drove the cows to pasture after +milking, and when we came home we sought out Uncle Blair in the orchard. +He was sauntering up and down Uncle Stephen's Walk, his hands clasped +behind him and his beautiful, youthful face uplifted to the western sky +where waves of night were breaking on a dim primrose shore of sunset. + +"See that star over there in the south-west?" he said, as we joined him. +"The one just above that pine? An evening star shining over a dark +pine tree is the whitest thing in the universe--because it is LIVING +whiteness--whiteness possessing a soul. How full this old orchard is of +twilight! Do you know, I have been trysting here with ghosts." + +"The Family Ghost?" I asked, very stupidly. + +"No, not the Family Ghost. I never saw beautiful, broken-hearted Emily +yet. Your mother saw her once, Sara--that was a strange thing," he added +absently, as if to himself. + +"Did mother really see her?" whispered the Story Girl. + +"Well, she always believed she did. Who knows?" + +"Do you think there are such things as ghosts, Uncle Blair?" I asked +curiously. + +"I never saw any, Beverley." + +"But you said you were trysting with ghosts here this evening," said the +Story Girl. + +"Oh, yes--the ghosts of the old years. I love this orchard because of +its many ghosts. We are good comrades, those ghosts and I; we walk and +talk--we even laugh together--sorrowful laughter that has sorrow's own +sweetness. And always there comes to me one dear phantom and wanders +hand in hand with me--a lost lady of the old years." + +"My mother?" said the Story Girl very softly. + +"Yes, your mother. Here, in her old haunts, it is impossible for me to +believe that she can be dead--that her LAUGHTER can be dead. She was the +gayest, sweetest thing--and so young--only three years older than you, +Sara. Yonder old house had been glad because of her for eighteen years +when I met her first." + +"I wish I could remember her," said the Story Girl, with a little sigh. +"I haven't even a picture of her. Why didn't you paint one, father?" + +"She would never let me. She had some queer, funny, half-playful, +half-earnest superstition about it. But I always meant to when she would +become willing to let me. And then--she died. Her twin brother Felix +died the same day. There was something strange about that, too. I was +holding her in my arms and she was looking up at me; suddenly she looked +past me and gave a little start. 'Felix!' she said. For a moment +she trembled and then she smiled and looked up at me again a little +beseechingly. 'Felix has come for me, dear,' she said. 'We were always +together before you came--you must not mind--you must be glad I do not +have to go alone.' Well, who knows? But she left me, Sara--she left me." + +There was that in Uncle Blair's voice that kept us silent for a time. +Then the Story Girl said, still very softly: + +"What did mother look like, father? I don't look the least little bit +like her, do I?" + +"No, I wish you did, you brown thing. Your mother's face was as white as +a wood-lily, with only a faint dream of rose in her cheeks. She had the +eyes of one who always had a song in her heart--blue as a mist, those +eyes were. She had dark lashes, and a little red mouth that quivered +when she was very sad or very happy like a crimson rose too rudely +shaken by the wind. She was as slim and lithe as a young, white-stemmed +birch tree. How I loved her! How happy we were! But he who accepts human +love must bind it to his soul with pain, and she is not lost to me. +Nothing is ever really lost to us as long as we remember it." + +Uncle Blair looked up at the evening star. We saw that he had forgotten +us, and we slipped away, hand in hand, leaving him alone in the +memory-haunted shadows of the old orchard. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII. THE PATH TO ARCADY + + +October that year gathered up all the spilled sunshine of the summer and +clad herself in it as in a garment. The Story Girl had asked us to +try to make the last month together beautiful, and Nature seconded our +efforts, giving us that most beautiful of beautiful things--a gracious +and perfect moon of falling leaves. There was not in all that vanished +October one day that did not come in with auroral splendour and go out +attended by a fair galaxy of evening stars--not a day when there were +not golden lights in the wide pastures and purple hazes in the ripened +distances. Never was anything so gorgeous as the maple trees that year. +Maples are trees that have primeval fire in their souls. It glows out a +little in their early youth, before the leaves open, in the redness and +rosy-yellowness of their blossoms, but in summer it is carefully hidden +under a demure, silver-lined greenness. Then when autumn comes, the +maples give up trying to be sober and flame out in all the barbaric +splendour and gorgeousness of their real nature, making of the hills +things out of an Arabian Nights dream in the golden prime of good Haroun +Alraschid. + +You may never know what scarlet and crimson really are until you see +them in their perfection on an October hillside, under the unfathomable +blue of an autumn sky. All the glow and radiance and joy at earth's +heart seem to have broken loose in a splendid determination to express +itself for once before the frost of winter chills her beating pulses. It +is the year's carnival ere the dull Lenten days of leafless valleys and +penitential mists come. + +The time of apple-picking had come around once more and we worked +joyously. Uncle Blair picked apples with us, and between him and the +Story Girl it was an October never to be forgotten. + +"Will you go far afield for a walk with me to-day?" he said to her and +me, one idle afternoon of opal skies, pied meadows and misty hills. + +It was Saturday and Peter had gone home; Felix and Dan were helping +Uncle Alec top turnips; Cecily and Felicity were making cookies for +Sunday, so the Story Girl and I were alone in Uncle Stephen's Walk. + +We liked to be alone together that last month, to think the long, long +thoughts of youth and talk about our futures. There had grown up between +us that summer a bond of sympathy that did not exist between us and the +others. We were older than they--the Story Girl was fifteen and I was +nearly that; and all at once it seemed as if we were immeasurably older +than the rest, and possessed of dreams and visions and forward-reaching +hopes which they could not possibly share or understand. At times we +were still children, still interested in childish things. But there came +hours when we seemed to our two selves very grown up and old, and +in those hours we talked our dreams and visions and hopes, vague and +splendid, as all such are, over together, and so began to build up, out +of the rainbow fragments of our childhood's companionship, that rare +and beautiful friendship which was to last all our lives, enriching and +enstarring them. For there is no bond more lasting than that formed by +the mutual confidences of that magic time when youth is slipping from +the sheath of childhood and beginning to wonder what lies for it beyond +those misty hills that bound the golden road. + +"Where are you going?" asked the Story Girl. + +"To 'the woods that belt the gray hillside'--ay, and overflow beyond it +into many a valley purple-folded in immemorial peace," answered Uncle +Blair. "I have a fancy for one more ramble in Prince Edward Island woods +before I leave Canada again. But I would not go alone. So come, you two +gay youthful things to whom all life is yet fair and good, and we will +seek the path to Arcady. There will be many little things along our +way to make us glad. Joyful sounds will 'come ringing down the wind;' a +wealth of gypsy gold will be ours for the gathering; we will learn the +potent, unutterable charm of a dim spruce wood and the grace of flexile +mountain ashes fringing a lonely glen; we will tryst with the folk of +fur and feather; we'll hearken to the music of gray old firs. Come, and +you'll have a ramble and an afternoon that you will both remember all +your lives." + +We did have it; never has its remembrance faded; that idyllic afternoon +of roving in the old Carlisle woods with the Story Girl and Uncle Blair +gleams in my book of years, a page of living beauty. Yet it was but +a few hours of simplest pleasure; we wandered pathlessly through the +sylvan calm of those dear places which seemed that day to be full of +a great friendliness; Uncle Blair sauntered along behind us, whistling +softly; sometimes he talked to himself; we delighted in those brief +reveries of his; Uncle Blair was the only man I have ever known who +could, when he so willed, "talk like a book," and do it without seeming +ridiculous; perhaps it was because he had the knack of choosing "fit +audience, though few," and the proper time to appeal to that audience. + +We went across the fields, intending to skirt the woods at the back of +Uncle Alec's farm and find a lane that cut through Uncle Roger's woods; +but before we came to it we stumbled on a sly, winding little path quite +by accident--if, indeed, there can be such a thing as accident in the +woods, where I am tempted to think we are led by the Good People along +such of their fairy ways as they have a mind for us to walk in. + +"Go to, let us explore this," said Uncle Blair. "It always drags +terribly at my heart to go past a wood lane if I can make any excuse at +all for traversing it: for it is the by-ways that lead to the heart of +the woods and we must follow them if we would know the forest and be +known of it. When we can really feel its wild heart beating against ours +its subtle life will steal into our veins and make us its own for ever, +so that no matter where we go or how wide we wander in the noisy ways of +cities or over the lone ways of the sea, we shall yet be drawn back to +the forest to find our most enduring kinship." + +"I always feel so SATISFIED in the woods," said the Story Girl dreamily, +as we turned in under the low-swinging fir boughs. "Trees seem such +friendly things." + +"They are the most friendly things in God's good creation," said Uncle +Blair emphatically. "And it is so easy to live with them. To hold +converse with pines, to whisper secrets with the poplars, to listen to +the tales of old romance that beeches have to tell, to walk in eloquent +silence with self-contained firs, is to learn what real companionship +is. Besides, trees are the same all over the world. A beech tree on the +slopes of the Pyrenees is just what a beech tree here in these Carlisle +woods is; and there used to be an old pine hereabouts whose twin brother +I was well acquainted with in a dell among the Apennines. Listen to +those squirrels, will you, chattering over yonder. Did you ever hear +such a fuss over nothing? Squirrels are the gossips and busybodies of +the woods; they haven't learned the fine reserve of its other denizens. +But after all, there is a certain shrill friendliness in their +greeting." + +"They seem to be scolding us," I said, laughing. + +"Oh, they are not half such scolds as they sound," answered Uncle Blair +gaily. "If they would but 'tak a thought and mend' their shrew-like ways +they would be dear, lovable creatures enough." + +"If I had to be an animal I think I'd like to be a squirrel," said the +Story Girl. "It must be next best thing to flying." + +"Just see what a spring that fellow gave," laughed Uncle Blair. "And now +listen to his song of triumph! I suppose that chasm he cleared seemed as +wide and deep to him as Niagara Gorge would to us if we leaped over +it. Well, the wood people are a happy folk and very well satisfied with +themselves." + +Those who have followed a dim, winding, balsamic path to the unexpected +hollow where a wood-spring lies have found the rarest secret the forest +can reveal. Such was our good fortune that day. At the end of our path +we found it, under the pines, a crystal-clear thing with lips unkissed +by so much as a stray sunbeam. + +"It is easy to dream that this is one of the haunted springs of old +romance," said Uncle Blair. "'Tis an enchanted spot this, I am very +sure, and we should go softly, speaking low, lest we disturb the rest +of a white, wet naiad, or break some spell that has cost long years of +mystic weaving." + +"It's so easy to believe things in the woods," said the Story Girl, +shaping a cup from a bit of golden-brown birch bark and filling it at +the spring. + +"Drink a toast in that water, Sara," said Uncle Blair. "There's not a +doubt that it has some potent quality of magic in it and the wish you +wish over it will come true." + +The Story Girl lifted her golden-hued flagon to her red lips. Her hazel +eyes laughed at us over the brim. + +"Here's to our futures," she cried, "I wish that every day of our lives +may be better than the one that went before." + +"An extravagant wish--a very wish of youth," commented Uncle Blair, "and +yet in spite of its extravagance, a wish that will come true if you are +true to yourselves. In that case, every day WILL be better than all that +went before--but there will be many days, dear lad and lass, when you +will not believe it." + +We did not understand him, but we knew Uncle Blair never explained his +meaning. When asked it he was wont to answer with a smile, "Some day +you'll grow to it. Wait for that." So we addressed ourselves to follow +the brook that stole away from the spring in its windings and doublings +and tricky surprises. + +"A brook," quoth Uncle Blair, "is the most changeful, bewitching, +lovable thing in the world. It is never in the same mind or mood two +minutes. Here it is sighing and murmuring as if its heart were broken. +But listen--yonder by the birches it is laughing as if it were enjoying +some capital joke all by itself." + +It was indeed a changeful brook; here it would make a pool, dark and +brooding and still, where we bent to look at our mirrored faces; then it +grew communicative and gossiped shallowly over a broken pebble bed where +there was a diamond dance of sunbeams and no troutling or minnow could +glide through without being seen. Sometimes its banks were high and +steep, hung with slender ashes and birches; again they were mere, low +margins, green with delicate mosses, shelving out of the wood. Once +it came to a little precipice and flung itself over undauntedly in an +indignation of foam, gathering itself up rather dizzily among the mossy +stones below. It was some time before it got over its vexation; it went +boiling and muttering along, fighting with the rotten logs that lie +across it, and making far more fuss than was necessary over every root +that interfered with it. We were getting tired of its ill-humour and +talked of leaving it, when it suddenly grew sweet-tempered again, +swooped around a curve--and presto, we were in fairyland. + +It was a little dell far in the heart of the woods. A row of birches +fringed the brook, and each birch seemed more exquisitely graceful +and golden than her sisters. The woods receded from it on every hand, +leaving it lying in a pool of amber sunshine. The yellow trees were +mirrored in the placid stream, with now and then a leaf falling on the +water, mayhap to drift away and be used, as Uncle Blair suggested, by +some adventurous wood sprite who had it in mind to fare forth to some +far-off, legendary region where all the brooks ran into the sea. + +"Oh, what a lovely place!" I exclaimed, looking around me with delight. + +"A spell of eternity is woven over it, surely," murmured Uncle Blair. +"Winter may not touch it, or spring ever revisit it. It should be like +this for ever." + +"Let us never come here again," said the Story Girl softly, "never, +no matter how often we may be in Carlisle. Then we will never see it +changed or different. We can always remember it just as we see it now, +and it will be like this for ever for us." + +"I'm going to sketch it," said Uncle Blair. + +While he sketched it the Story Girl and I sat on the banks of the brook +and she told me the story of the Sighing Reed. It was a very simple +little story, that of the slender brown reed which grew by the forest +pool and always was sad and sighing because it could not utter music +like the brook and the birds and the winds. All the bright, beautiful +things around it mocked it and laughed at it for its folly. Who would +ever look for music in it, a plain, brown, unbeautiful thing? But one +day a youth came through the wood; he was as beautiful as the spring; he +cut the brown reed and fashioned it according to his liking; and then he +put it to his lips and breathed on it; and, oh, the music that floated +through the forest! It was so entrancing that everything--brooks and +birds and winds--grew silent to listen to it. Never had anything so +lovely been heard; it was the music that had for so long been shut up in +the soul of the sighing reed and was set free at last through its pain +and suffering. + +I had heard the Story Girl tell many a more dramatic tale; but that one +stands out for me in memory above them all, partly, perhaps, because of +the spot in which she told it, partly because it was the last one I was +to hear her tell for many years--the last one she was ever to tell me on +the golden road. + +When Uncle Blair had finished his sketch the shafts of sunshine were +turning crimson and growing more and more remote; the early autumn +twilight was falling over the woods. We left our dell, saying good-bye +to it for ever, as the Story Girl had suggested, and we went slowly +homeward through the fir woods, where a haunting, indescribable odour +stole out to meet us. + +"There is magic in the scent of dying fir," Uncle Blair was saying aloud +to himself, as if forgetting he was not quite alone. "It gets into +our blood like some rare, subtly-compounded wine, and thrills us with +unutterable sweetnesses, as of recollections from some other fairer +life, lived in some happier star. Compared to it, all other scents seem +heavy and earth-born, luring to the valleys instead of the heights. But +the tang of the fir summons onward and upward to some 'far-off, divine +event'--some spiritual peak of attainment whence we shall see with +unfaltering, unclouded vision the spires of some aerial City Beautiful, +or the fulfilment of some fair, fadeless land of promise." + +He was silent for a moment, then added in a lower tone, + +"Felicity, you loved the scent of dying fir. If you were here tonight +with me--Felicity--Felicity!" + +Something in his voice made me suddenly sad. I was comforted when I felt +the Story Girl slip her hand into mine. So we walked out of the woods +into the autumn dusk. + +We were in a little valley. Half-way up the opposite slope a brush fire +was burning clearly and steadily in a maple grove. There was something +indescribably alluring in that fire, glowing so redly against the dark +background of forest and twilit hill. + +"Let us go to it," cried Uncle Blair, gaily, casting aside his sorrowful +mood and catching our hands. "A wood fire at night has a fascination not +to be resisted by those of mortal race. Hasten--we must not lose time." + +"Oh, it will burn a long time yet," I gasped, for Uncle Blair was +whisking us up the hill at a merciless rate. + +"You can't be sure. It may have been lighted by some good, honest +farmer-man, bent on tidying up his sugar orchard, but it may also, for +anything we know, have been kindled by no earthly woodman as a beacon or +summons to the tribes of fairyland, and may vanish away if we tarry." + +It did not vanish and presently we found ourselves in the grove. It was +very beautiful; the fire burned with a clear, steady glow and a soft +crackle; the long arcades beneath the trees were illuminated with a +rosy radiance, beyond which lurked companies of gray and purple shadows. +Everything was very still and dreamy and remote. + +"It is impossible that out there, just over the hill, lies a village of +men, where tame household lamps are shining," said Uncle Blair. + +"I feel as if we must be thousands of miles away from everything we've +ever known," murmured the Story Girl. + +"So you are!" said Uncle Blair emphatically. "You're back in the youth +of the race--back in the beguilement of the young world. Everything +is in this hour--the beauty of classic myths, the primal charm of the +silent and the open, the lure of mystery. Why, it's a time and place +when and where everything might come true--when the men in green might +creep out to join hands and dance around the fire, or dryads steal from +their trees to warm their white limbs, grown chilly in October frosts, +by the blaze. I wouldn't be much surprised if we should see something +of the kind. Isn't that the flash of an ivory shoulder through yonder +gloom? And didn't you see a queer little elfin face peering at us around +that twisted gray trunk? But one can't be sure. Mortal eyesight is too +slow and clumsy a thing to match against the flicker of a pixy-litten +fire." + +Hand in hand we wandered through that enchanted place, seeking the folk +of elf-land, "and heard their mystic voices calling, from fairy knoll +and haunted hill." Not till the fire died down into ashes did we leave +the grove. Then we found that the full moon was gleaming lustrously from +a cloudless sky across the valley. Between us and her stretched up a +tall pine, wondrously straight and slender and branchless to its very +top, where it overflowed in a crest of dark boughs against the silvery +splendour behind it. Beyond, the hill farms were lying in a suave, white +radiance. + +"Doesn't it seem a long, long time to you since we left home this +afternoon?" asked the Story Girl. "And yet it is only a few hours." + +Only a few hours--true; yet such hours were worth a cycle of common +years untouched by the glory and the dream. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX. WE LOSE A FRIEND + + +Our beautiful October was marred by one day of black tragedy--the day +Paddy died. For Paddy, after seven years of as happy a life as ever +a cat lived, died suddenly--of poison, as was supposed. Where he had +wandered in the darkness to meet his doom we did not know, but in the +frosty dawnlight he dragged himself home to die. We found him lying +on the doorstep when we got up, and it did not need Aunt Janet's curt +announcement, or Uncle Blair's reluctant shake of the head, to tell us +that there was no chance of our pet recovering this time. We felt that +nothing could be done. Lard and sulphur on his paws would be of no use, +nor would any visit to Peg Bowen avail. We stood around in mournful +silence; the Story Girl sat down on the step and took poor Paddy upon +her lap. + +"I s'pose there's no use even in praying now," said Cecily desperately. + +"It wouldn't do any harm to try," sobbed Felicity. + +"You needn't waste your prayers," said Dan mournfully, "Pat is beyond +human aid. You can tell that by his eyes. Besides, I don't believe it +was the praying cured him last time." + +"No, it was Peg Bowen," declared Peter, "but she couldn't have bewitched +him this time for she's been away for months, nobody knows where." + +"If he could only TELL us where he feels the worst!" said Cecily +piteously. "It's so dreadful to see him suffering and not be able to do +a single thing to help him!" + +"I don't think he's suffering much now," I said comfortingly. + +The Story Girl said nothing. She passed and repassed her long brown hand +gently over her pet's glossy fur. Pat lifted his head and essayed to +creep a little nearer to his beloved mistress. The Story Girl drew his +limp body close in her arms. There was a plaintive little mew--a long +quiver--and Paddy's friendly soul had fared forth to wherever it is that +good cats go. + +"Well, he's gone," said Dan, turning his back abruptly to us. + +"It doesn't seem as if it can be true," sobbed Cecily. "This time +yesterday morning he was full of life." + +"He drank two full saucers of cream," moaned Felicity, "and I saw him +catch a mouse in the evening. Maybe it was the last one he ever caught." + +"He did for many a mouse in his day," said Peter, anxious to pay his +tribute to the departed. + +"'He was a cat--take him for all in all. We shall not look upon his like +again,'" quoted Uncle Blair. + +Felicity and Cecily and Sara Ray cried so much that Aunt Janet lost +patience completely and told them sharply that they would have something +to cry for some day--which did not seem to comfort them much. The Story +Girl shed no tears, though the look in her eyes hurt more than weeping. + +"After all, perhaps it's for the best," she said drearily. "I've been +feeling so badly over having to go away and leave Paddy. No matter how +kind you'd all be to him I know he'd miss me terribly. He wasn't like +most cats who don't care who comes and goes as long as they get plenty +to eat. Paddy wouldn't have been contented without me." + +"Oh, no-o-o, oh, no-o-o," wailed Sara Ray lugubriously. + +Felix shot a disgusted glance at her. + +"I don't see what YOU are making such a fuss about," he said +unfeelingly. "He wasn't your cat." + +"But I l-l-oved him," sobbed Sara, "and I always feel bad when my +friends d-do." + +"I wish we could believe that cats went to heaven, like people," sighed +Cecily. "Do you really think it isn't possible?" + +Uncle Blair shook his head. + +"I'm afraid not. I'd like to think cats have a chance for heaven, but I +can't. There's nothing heavenly about cats, delightful creatures though +they are." + +"Blair, I'm really surprised to hear the things you say to the +children," said Aunt Janet severely. + +"Surely you wouldn't prefer me to tell them that cats DO go to heaven," +protested Uncle Blair. + +"I think it's wicked to carry on about an animal as those children do," +answered Aunt Janet decidedly, "and you shouldn't encourage them. Here +now, children, stop making a fuss. Bury that cat and get off to your +apple picking." + +We had to go to our work, but Paddy was not to be buried in any such +off-hand fashion as that. It was agreed that we should bury him in +the orchard at sunset that evening, and Sara Ray, who had to go home, +declared she would be back for it, and implored us to wait for her if +she didn't come exactly on time. + +"I mayn't be able to get away till after milking," she sniffed, "but I +don't want to miss it. Even a cat's funeral is better than none at all." + +"Horrid thing!" said Felicity, barely waiting until Sara was out of +earshot. + +We worked with heavy hearts that day; the girls cried bitterly most of +the time and we boys whistled defiantly. But as evening drew on we began +to feel a sneaking interest in the details of the funeral. As Dan said, +the thing should be done properly, since Paddy was no common cat. The +Story Girl selected the spot for the grave, in a little corner behind +the cherry copse, where early violets enskied the grass in spring, and +we boys dug the grave, making it "soft and narrow," as the heroine of +the old ballad wanted hers made. Sara Ray, who managed to come in time +after all, and Felicity stood and watched us, but Cecily and the Story +Girl kept far aloof. + +"This time last night you never thought you'd be digging Pat's grave +to-night," sighed Felicity. + +"We little k-know what a day will bring forth," sobbed Sara. "I've heard +the minister say that and it is true." + +"Of course it's true. It's in the Bible; but I don't think you should +repeat it in connection with a cat," said Felicity dubiously. + +When all was in readiness the Story Girl brought her pet through the +orchard where he had so often frisked and prowled. No useless coffin +enclosed his breast but he reposed in a neat cardboard box. + +"I wonder if it would be right to say 'ashes to ashes and dust to +dust,'" said Peter. + +"No, it wouldn't," averred Felicity. "It would be real wicked." + +"I think we ought to sing a hymn, anyway," asseverated Sara Ray. + +"Well, we might do that, if it isn't a very religious one," conceded +Felicity. + +"How would 'Pull for the shore, sailor, pull for the shore,' do?" asked +Cecily. "That never seemed to me a very religious hymn." + +"But it doesn't seem very appropriate to a funeral occasion either," +said Felicity. + +"I think 'Lead, kindly light,' would be ever so much more suitable," +suggested Sara Ray, "and it is kind of soothing and melancholy too." + +"We are not going to sing anything," said the Story Girl coldly. "Do +you want to make the affair ridiculous? We will just fill up the grave +quietly and put a flat stone over the top." + +"It isn't much like my idea of a funeral," muttered Sara Ray +discontentedly. + +"Never mind, we're going to have a real obituary about him in Our +Magazine," whispered Cecily consolingly. + +"And Peter is going to cut his name on top of the stone," added +Felicity. "Only we mustn't let on to the grown-ups until it is done, +because they might say it wasn't right." + +We left the orchard, a sober little band, with the wind of the gray +twilight blowing round us. Uncle Roger passed us at the gate. + +"So the last sad obsequies are over?" he remarked with a grin. + +And we hated Uncle Roger. But we loved Uncle Blair because he said +quietly, + +"And so you've buried your little comrade?" + +So much may depend on the way a thing is said. But not even Uncle +Blair's sympathy could take the sting out of the fact that there was +no Paddy to get the froth that night at milking time. Felicity cried +bitterly all the time she was straining the milk. Many human beings have +gone to their graves unattended by as much real regret as followed that +one gray pussy cat to his. + + + + +CHAPTER XXX. PROPHECIES + + +"Here's a letter for you from father," said Felix, tossing it to me as +he came through the orchard gate. We had been picking apples all day, +but were taking a mid-afternoon rest around the well, with a cup of its +sparkling cold water to refresh us. + +I opened the letter rather indifferently, for father, with all his +excellent and lovable traits, was but a poor correspondent; his letters +were usually very brief and very unimportant. + +This letter was brief enough, but it was freighted with a message of +weighty import. I sat gazing stupidly at the sheet after I had read it +until Felix exclaimed, + +"Bev, what's the matter with you? What's in that letter?" + +"Father is coming home," I said dazedly. "He is to leave South America +in a fortnight and will be here in November to take us back to Toronto." + +Everybody gasped. Sara Ray, of course, began to cry, which aggravated me +unreasonably. + +"Well," said Felix, when he got his second wind, "I'll be awful glad +to see father again, but I tell you I don't like the thought of leaving +here." + +I felt exactly the same but, in view of Sara Ray's tears, admit it I +would not; so I sat in grum silence while the other tongues wagged. + +"If I were not going away myself I'd feel just terrible," said the Story +Girl. "Even as it is I'm real sorry. I'd like to be able to think of +you as all here together when I'm gone, having good times and writing me +about them." + +"It'll be awfully dull when you fellows go," muttered Dan. + +"I'm sure I don't know what we're ever going to do here this winter," +said Felicity, with the calmness of despair. + +"Thank goodness there are no more fathers to come back," breathed Cecily +with a vicious earnestness that made us all laugh, even in the midst of +our dismay. + +We worked very half-heartedly the rest of the day, and it was not until +we assembled in the orchard in the evening that our spirits recovered +something like their wonted level. It was clear and slightly frosty; the +sun had declined behind a birch on a distant hill and it seemed a tree +with a blazing heart of fire. The great golden willow at the lane gate +was laughter-shaken in the wind of evening. Even amid all the changes of +our shifting world we could not be hopelessly low-spirited--except Sara +Ray, who was often so, and Peter, who was rarely so. But Peter had been +sorely vexed in spirit for several days. The time was approaching for +the October issue of Our Magazine and he had no genuine fiction ready +for it. He had taken so much to heart Felicity's taunt that his stories +were all true that he had determined to have a really-truly false one +in the next number. But the difficulty was to get anyone to write it. He +had asked the Story Girl to do it, but she refused; then he appealed to +me and I shirked. Finally Peter determined to write a story himself. + +"It oughtn't to be any harder than writing a poem and I managed that," +he said dolefully. + +He worked at it in the evenings in the granary loft, and the rest of us +forebore to question him concerning it, because he evidently disliked +talking about his literary efforts. But this evening I had to ask him if +he would soon have it ready, as I wanted to make up the paper. + +"It's done," said Peter, with an air of gloomy triumph. "It don't amount +to much, but anyhow I made it all out of my own head. Not one word of it +was ever printed or told before, and nobody can say there was." + +"Then I guess we have all the stuff in and I'll have Our Magazine ready +to read by tomorrow night," I said. + +"I s'pose it will be the last one we'll have," sighed Cecily. "We can't +carry it on after you all go, and it has been such fun." + +"Bev will be a real newspaper editor some day," declared the Story Girl, +on whom the spirit of prophecy suddenly descended that night. + +She was swinging on the bough of an apple tree, with a crimson shawl +wrapped about her head, and her eyes were bright with roguish fire. + +"How do you know he will?" asked Felicity. + +"Oh, I can tell futures," answered the Story Girl mysteriously. "I know +what's going to happen to all of you. Shall I tell you?" + +"Do, just for the fun of it," I said. "Then some day we'll know just how +near you came to guessing right. Go on. What else about me?" + +"You'll write books, too, and travel all over the world," continued the +Story Girl. "Felix will be fat to the end of his life, and he will be a +grandfather before he is fifty, and he will wear a long black beard." + +"I won't," cried Felix disgustedly. "I hate whiskers. Maybe I can't help +the grandfather part, but I CAN help having a beard." + +"You can't. It's written in the stars." + +"'Tain't. The stars can't prevent me from shaving." + +"Won't Grandpa Felix sound awful funny?" reflected Felicity. + +"Peter will be a minister," went on the Story Girl. + +"Well, I might be something worse," remarked Peter, in a not ungratified +tone. + +"Dan will be a farmer and will marry a girl whose name begins with K and +he will have eleven children. And he'll vote Grit." + +"I won't," cried scandalized Dan. "You don't know a thing about +it. Catch ME ever voting Grit! As for the rest of it--I don't care. +Farming's well enough, though I'd rather be a sailor." + +"Don't talk such nonsense," protested Felicity sharply. "What on earth +do you want to be a sailor for and be drowned?" + +"All sailors aren't drowned," said Dan. + +"Most of them are. Look at Uncle Stephen." + +"You ain't sure he was drowned." + +"Well, he disappeared, and that is worse." + +"How do you know? Disappearing might be real easy." + +"It's not very easy for your family." + +"Hush, let's hear the rest of the predictions," said Cecily. + +"Felicity," resumed the Story Girl gravely, "will marry a minister." + +Sara Ray giggled and Felicity blushed. Peter tried hard not to look too +self-consciously delighted. + +"She will be a perfect housekeeper and will teach a Sunday School class +and be very happy all her life." + +"Will her husband be happy?" queried Dan solemnly. + +"I guess he'll be as happy as your wife," retorted Felicity reddening. + +"He'll be the happiest man in the world," declared Peter warmly. + +"What about me?" asked Sara Ray. + +The Story Girl looked rather puzzled. It was so hard to imagine Sara Ray +as having any kind of future. Yet Sara was plainly anxious to have her +fortune told and must be gratified. + +"You'll be married," said the Story Girl recklessly, "and you'll live to +be nearly a hundred years old, and go to dozens of funerals and have a +great many sick spells. You will learn not to cry after you are seventy; +but your husband will never go to church." + +"I'm glad you warned me," said Sara Ray solemnly, "because now I know +I'll make him promise before I marry him that he will go." + +"He won't keep the promise," said the Story Girl, shaking her head. "But +it is getting cold and Cecily is coughing. Let us go in." + +"You haven't told my fortune," protested Cecily disappointedly. + +The Story Girl looked very tenderly at Cecily--at the smooth little +brown head, at the soft, shining eyes, at the cheeks that were often +over-rosy after slight exertion, at the little sunburned hands that were +always busy doing faithful work or quiet kindnesses. A very strange look +came over the Story Girl's face; her eyes grew sad and far-reaching, as +if of a verity they pierced beyond the mists of hidden years. + +"I couldn't tell any fortune half good enough for you, dearest," she +said, slipping her arm round Cecily. "You deserve everything good and +lovely. But you know I've only been in fun--of course I don't know +anything about what's going to happen to us." + +"Perhaps you know more than you think for," said Sara Ray, who seemed +much pleased with her fortune and anxious to believe it, despite the +husband who wouldn't go to church. + +"But I'd like to be told my fortune, even in fun," persisted Cecily. + +"Everybody you meet will love you as long as you live." said the Story +Girl. "There that's the very nicest fortune I can tell you, and it will +come true whether the others do or not, and now we must go in." + +We went, Cecily still a little disappointed. In later years I often +wondered why the Story Girl refused to tell her fortune that night. +Did some strange gleam of foreknowledge fall for a moment across her +mirth-making? Did she realize in a flash of prescience that there was +no earthly future for our sweet Cecily? Not for her were to be the +lengthening shadows or the fading garland. The end was to come while +the rainbow still sparkled on her wine of life, ere a single petal had +fallen from her rose of joy. Long life was before all the others who +trysted that night in the old homestead orchard; but Cecily's maiden +feet were never to leave the golden road. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI. THE LAST NUMBER OF OUR MAGAZINE + + +EDITORIAL + +It is with heartfelt regret that we take up our pen to announce that +this will be the last number of Our Magazine. We have edited ten numbers +of it and it has been successful beyond our expectations. It has to be +discontinued by reason of circumstances over which we have no control +and not because we have lost interest in it. Everybody has done his or +her best for Our Magazine. Prince Edward Island expected everyone to do +his and her duty and everyone did it. + +Mr. Dan King conducted the etiquette department in a way worthy of the +Family Guide itself. He is especially entitled to commendation because +he laboured under the disadvantage of having to furnish most of the +questions as well as the answers. Miss Felicity King has edited our +helpful household department very ably, and Miss Cecily King's fashion +notes were always up to date. The personal column was well looked after +by Miss Sara Stanley and the story page has been a marked success under +the able management of Mr. Peter Craig, to whose original story in +this issue, "The Battle of the Partridge Eggs," we would call especial +attention. The Exciting Adventure series has also been very popular. + +And now, in closing, we bid farewell to our staff and thank them one and +all for their help and co-operation in the past year. We have enjoyed +our work and we trust that they have too. We wish them all happiness +and success in years to come, and we hope that the recollection of +Our Magazine will not be held least dear among the memories of their +childhood. + +(SOBS FROM THE GIRLS): "INDEED IT WON'T!" + + +OBITUARY + +On October eighteenth, Patrick Grayfur departed for that bourne whence +no traveller returns. He was only a cat, but he had been our faithful +friend for a long time and we aren't ashamed to be sorry for him. There +are lots of people who are not as friendly and gentlemanly as Paddy was, +and he was a great mouser. We buried all that was mortal of poor Pat in +the orchard and we are never going to forget him. We have resolved +that whenever the date of his death comes round we'll bow our heads and +pronounce his name at the hour of his funeral. If we are anywhere where +we can't say the name out loud we'll whisper it. + + +"Farewell, dearest Paddy, in all the years that are to be We'll cherish +your memory faithfully."[1] + + +MY MOST EXCITING ADVENTURE + +My most exciting adventure was the day I fell off Uncle Roger's loft two +years ago. I wasn't excited until it was all over because I hadn't time +to be. The Story Girl and I were looking for eggs in the loft. It was +filled with wheat straw nearly to the roof and it was an awful distance +from us to the floor. And wheat straw is so slippery. I made a little +spring and the straw slipped from under my feet and there I was going +head first down from the loft. It seemed to me I was an awful long time +falling, but the Story Girl says I couldn't have been more than three +seconds. But I know that I thought five thoughts and there seemed to be +quite a long time between them. The first thing I thought was, what has +happened, because I really didn't know at first, it was so sudden. Then +after a spell I thought the answer, I am falling off the loft. And then +I thought, what will happen to me when I strike the floor, and after +another little spell I thought, I'll be killed. And then I thought, +well, I don't care. I really wasn't a bit frightened. I just was quite +willing to be killed. If there hadn't been a big pile of chaff on the +barn floor these words would never have been written. But there was and +I fell on it and wasn't a bit hurt, only my hair and mouth and eyes +and ears got all full of chaff. The strange part is that I wasn't a bit +frightened when I thought I was going to be killed, but after all the +danger was over I was awfully frightened and trembled so the Story Girl +had to help me into the house. + + FELICITY KING. + + +THE BATTLE OF THE PARTRIDGE EGGS + +Once upon a time there lived about half a mile from a forrest a farmer +and his wife and his sons and daughters and a granddaughter. The farmer +and his wife loved this little girl very much but she caused them great +trouble by running away into the woods and they often spent haf days +looking for her. One day she wondered further into the forrest than +usual and she begun to be hungry. Then night closed in. She asked a fox +where she could get something to eat. The fox told her he knew where +there was a partridges nest and a bluejays nest full of eggs. So he led +her to the nests and she took five eggs out of each. When the birds came +home they missed the eggs and flew into a rage. The bluejay put on his +topcoat and was going to the partridge for law when he met the partridge +coming to him. They lit up a fire and commenced sining their deeds when +they heard a tremendous howl close behind them. They jumped up and put +out the fire and were immejutly attacked by five great wolves. The next +day the little girl was rambelling through the woods when they saw her +and took her prisoner. After she had confessed that she had stole the +eggs they told her to raise an army. They would have to fight over the +nests of eggs and whoever one would have the eggs. So the partridge +raised a great army of all kinds of birds except robins and the little +girl got all the robins and foxes and bees and wasps. And best of all +the little girl had a gun and plenty of ammunishun. The leader of her +army was a wolf. The result of the battle was that all the birds were +killed except the partridge and the bluejay and they were taken prisoner +and starved to death. + +The little girl was then taken prisoner by a witch and cast into a +dunjun full of snakes where she died from their bites and people who +went through the forrest after that were taken prisoner by her ghost and +cast into the same dunjun where they died. About a year after the wood +turned into a gold castle and one morning everything had vanished except +a piece of a tree. + + PETER CRAIG. + + + +(DAN, WITH A WHISTLE:--"Well, I guess nobody can say Peter can't write +fiction after THAT." + +SARA RAY, WIPING AWAY HER TEARS:--"It's a very interesting story, but it +ends SO sadly." + +FELIX:--"What made you call it The Battle of the Partridge Eggs when the +bluejay had just as much to do with it?" + +PETER, SHORTLY:--"Because it sounded better that way." + +FELICITY:--"Did she eat the eggs raw?" + +SARA RAY:--"Poor little thing, I suppose if you're starving you can't be +very particular." + +CECILY, SIGHING:--"I wish you'd let her go home safe, Peter, and not put +her to such a cruel death." + +BEVERLEY:--"I don't quite understand where the little girl got her gun +and ammunition." + +PETER, SUSPECTING THAT HE IS BEING MADE FUN OF:--"If you could write a +better story, why didn't you? I give you the chance." + +THE STORY GIRL, WITH A PRETERNATURALLY SOLEMN FACE:--"You shouldn't +criticize Peter's story like that. It's a fairy tale, you know, and +anything can happen in a fairy tale." + +FELICITY:--"There isn't a word about fairies in it!" + +CECILY:--"Besides, fairy tales always end nicely and this doesn't." + +PETER, SULKILY:--"I wanted to punish her for running away from home." + +DAN:--"Well, I guess you did it all right." + +CECILY:--"Oh, well, it was very interesting, and that is all that is +really necessary in a story." ) + + +PERSONALS + +Mr. Blair Stanley is visiting friends and relatives in Carlisle. He +intends returning to Europe shortly. His daughter, Miss Sara, will +accompany him. + +Mr. Alan King is expected home from South America next month. His sons +will return with him to Toronto. Beverley and Felix have made hosts of +friends during their stay in Carlisle and will be much missed in social +circles. + +The Mission Band of Carlisle Presbyterian Church completed their +missionary quilt last week. Miss Cecily King collected the largest sum +on her square. Congratulations, Cecily. + +Mr. Peter Craig will be residing in Markdale after October and will +attend school there this winter. Peter is a good fellow and we all wish +him success and prosperity. + +Apple picking is almost ended. There was an unusually heavy crop this +year. Potatoes, not so good. + + +HOUSEHOLD DEPARTMENT + +Apple pies are the order of the day. + +Eggs are a very good price now. Uncle Roger says it isn't fair to have +to pay as much for a dozen little eggs as a dozen big ones, but they go +just as far. + + FELICITY KING. + + +ETIQUETTE DEPARTMENT + +F-l-t-y. Is it considered good form to eat peppermints in church? Ans.; +No, not if a witch gives them to you. + +No, F-l-x, we would not call Treasure Island or the Pilgrim's Progress +dime novels. + +Yes, P-t-r, when you call on a young lady and her mother offers you a +slice of bread and jam it is quite polite for you to accept it. + + DAN KING. + + +FASHION NOTES + +Necklaces of roseberries are very much worn now. + +It is considered smart to wear your school hat tilted over your left +eye. + +Bangs are coming in. Em Frewen has them. She went to Summerside for a +visit and came back with them. All the girls in school are going to bang +their hair as soon as their mothers will let them. But I do not intend +to bang mine. + + CECILY KING. + + +(SARA RAY, DESPAIRINGLY:--"I know ma will never let ME have bangs.") + + +FUNNY PARAGRAPHS + +D-n. What are details? C-l-y. I am not sure, but I think they are things +that are left over. + +(CECILY, WONDERINGLY:--"I don't see why that was put among the +funny paragraphs. Shouldn't it have gone in the General Information +department?") + +Old Mr. McIntyre's son on the Markdale Road had been very sick for +several years and somebody was sympathizing with him because his son was +going to die. "Oh," Mr. McIntyre said, quite easy, "he might as weel be +awa'. He's only retarding buzziness." + + FELIX KING. + + +GENERAL INFORMATION BUREAU + +P-t-r. What kind of people live in uninhabited places? + +Ans.: Cannibals, likely. + + FELIX KING. + + + +[Footnote 1: The obituary was written by Mr. Felix King, but the two +lines of poetry were composed by Miss Sara Ray.] + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII. OUR LAST EVENING TOGETHER + + +IT was the evening before the day on which the Story Girl and Uncle +Blair were to leave us, and we were keeping our last tryst together +in the orchard where we had spent so many happy hours. We had made a +pilgrimage to all the old haunts--the hill field, the spruce wood, the +dairy, Grandfather King's willow, the Pulpit Stone, Pat's grave, and +Uncle Stephen's Walk; and now we foregathered in the sere grasses about +the old well and feasted on the little jam turnovers Felicity had made +that day specially for the occasion. + +"I wonder if we'll ever all be together again," sighed Cecily. + +"I wonder when I'll get jam turnovers like this again," said the Story +Girl, trying to be gay but not making much of a success of it. + +"If Paris wasn't so far away I could send you a box of nice things +now and then," said Felicity forlornly, "but I suppose there's no use +thinking of that. Dear knows what they'll give you to eat over there." + +"Oh, the French have the reputation of being the best cooks in the +world," rejoined the Story Girl, "but I know they can't beat your jam +turnovers and plum puffs, Felicity. Many a time I'll be hankering after +them." + +"If we ever do meet again you'll be grown up," said Felicity gloomily. + +"Well, you won't have stood still yourselves, you know." + +"No, but that's just the worst of it. We'll all be different and +everything will be changed." + +"Just think," said Cecily, "last New Year's Eve we were wondering what +would happen this year; and what a lot of things have happened that we +never expected. Oh, dear!" + +"If things never happened life would be pretty dull," said the Story +Girl briskly. "Oh, don't look so dismal, all of you." + +"It's hard to be cheerful when everybody's going away," sighed Cecily. + +"Well, let's pretend to be, anyway," insisted the Story Girl. "Don't +let's think of parting. Let's think instead of how much we've laughed +this last year or so. I'm sure I shall never forget this dear old place. +We've had so many good times here." + +"And some bad times, too," reminded Felix. + +"Remember when Dan et the bad berries last summer?" + +"And the time we were so scared over that bell ringing in the house," +grinned Peter. + +"And the Judgment Day," added Dan. + +"And the time Paddy was bewitched," suggested Sara Ray. + +"And when Peter was dying of the measles," said Felicity. + +"And the time Jimmy Patterson was lost," said Dan. "Gee-whiz, but that +scared me out of a year's growth." + +"Do you remember the time we took the magic seed," grinned Peter. + +"Weren't we silly?" said Felicity. "I really can never look Billy +Robinson in the face when I meet him. I'm always sure he's laughing at +me in his sleeve." + +"It's Billy Robinson who ought to be ashamed when he meets you or any of +us," commented Cecily severely. "I'd rather be cheated than cheat other +people." + +"Do you mind the time we bought God's picture?" asked Peter. + +"I wonder if it's where we buried it yet," speculated Felix. + +"I put a stone over it, just as we did over Pat," said Cecily. + +"I wish I could forget what God looks like," sighed Sara Ray. "I can't +forget it--and I can't forget what the bad place is like either, ever +since Peter preached that sermon on it." + +"When you get to be a real minister you'll have to preach that sermon +over again, Peter," grinned Dan. + +"My Aunt Jane used to say that people needed a sermon on that place once +in a while," retorted Peter seriously. + +"Do you mind the night I et the cucumbers and milk to make me dream?" +said Cecily. + +And therewith we hunted out our old dream books to read them again, and, +forgetful of coming partings, laughed over them till the old orchard +echoed to our mirth. When we had finished we stood in a circle around +the well and pledged "eternal friendship" in a cup of its unrivalled +water. + +Then we joined hands and sang "Auld Lang Syne." Sara Ray cried bitterly +in lieu of singing. + +"Look here," said the Story Girl, as we turned to leave the old orchard, +"I want to ask a favour of you all. Don't say good-bye to me tomorrow +morning." + +"Why not?" demanded Felicity in astonishment. + +"Because it's such a hopeless sort of word. Don't let's SAY it at all. +Just see me off with a wave of your hands. It won't seem half so bad +then. And don't any of you cry if you can help it. I want to remember +you all smiling." + +We went out of the old orchard where the autumn night wind was beginning +to make its weird music in the russet boughs, and shut the little gate +behind us. Our revels there were ended. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII. THE STORY GIRL GOES + + +The morning dawned, rosy and clear and frosty. Everybody was up early, +for the travellers must leave in time to catch the nine o'clock train. +The horse was harnessed and Uncle Alec was waiting by the door. Aunt +Janet was crying, but everybody else was making a valiant effort not to. +The Awkward Man and Mrs. Dale came to see the last of their favourite. +Mrs. Dale had brought her a glorious sheaf of chrysanthemums, and the +Awkward Man gave her, quite gracefully, another little, old, limp book +from his library. + +"Read it when you are sad or happy or lonely or discouraged or hopeful," +he said gravely. + +"He has really improved very much since he got married," whispered +Felicity to me. + +Sara Stanley wore a smart new travelling suit and a blue felt hat with a +white feather. She looked so horribly grown up in it that we felt as if +she were lost to us already. + +Sara Ray had vowed tearfully the night before that she would be up in +the morning to say farewell. But at this juncture Judy Pineau appeared +to say that Sara, with her usual luck, had a sore throat, and that her +mother consequently would not permit her to come. So Sara had written +her parting words in a three-cornered pink note. + + + "My OWN DARLING FRIEND:--WORDS CANNOT EXPRESS my feelings over not + being able to go up this morning to say good-bye to one I so + FONDLY ADORE. When I think that I cannot SEE YOU AGAIN my heart + is almost TOO FULL FOR UTTERANCE. But mother says I cannot and I + MUST OBEY. But I will be present IN SPIRIT. It just BREAKS MY + HEART that you are going SO FAR AWAY. You have always been SO + KIND to me and never hurt my feelings AS SOME DO and I shall miss + you SO MUCH. But I earnestly HOPE AND PRAY that you will be HAPPY + AND PROSPEROUS wherever YOUR LOT IS CAST and not be seasick on THE + GREAT OCEAN. I hope you will find time AMONG YOUR MANY DUTIES to + write me a letter ONCE IN A WHILE. I shall ALWAYS REMEMBER YOU + and please remember me. I hope we WILL MEET AGAIN sometime, but + if not may we meet in A FAR BETTER WORLD where there are no SAD + PARTINGS. + + "Your true and loving friend, + + "SARA RAY" + + +"Poor little Sara," said the Story Girl, with a queer catch in her +voice, as she slipped the tear-blotted note into her pocket. "She isn't +a bad little soul, and I'm sorry I couldn't see her once more, though +maybe it's just as well for she'd have to cry and set us all off. I +WON'T cry. Felicity, don't you dare. Oh, you dear, darling people, I +love you all so much and I'll go on loving you always." + +"Mind you write us every week at the very least," said Felicity, winking +furiously. + +"Blair, Blair, watch over the child well," said Aunt Janet. "Remember, +she has no mother." + +The Story Girl ran over to the buggy and climbed in. Uncle Blair +followed her. Her arms were full of Mrs. Dale's chrysanthemums, held +close up to her face, and her beautiful eyes shone softly at us over +them. No good-byes were said, as she wished. We all smiled bravely and +waved our hands as they drove out of the lane and down the moist red +road into the shadows of the fir wood in the valley. But we still stood +there, for we knew we should see the Story Girl once more. Beyond the +fir wood was an open curve in the road and she had promised to wave a +last farewell as they passed around it. + +We watched the curve in silence, standing in a sorrowful little group +in the sunshine of the autumn morning. The delight of the world had been +ours on the golden road. It had enticed us with daisies and rewarded +us with roses. Blossom and lyric had waited on our wishes. Thoughts, +careless and sweet, had visited us. Laughter had been our comrade and +fearless Hope our guide. But now the shadow of change was over it. + +"There she is," cried Felicity. + +The Story Girl stood up and waved her chrysanthemums at us. We waved +wildly back until the buggy had driven around the curve. Then we went +slowly and silently back to the house. The Story Girl was gone. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Golden Road, by Lucy Maud Montgomery + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GOLDEN ROAD *** + +***** This file should be named 316.txt or 316.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/1/316/ + +Produced by John Hamm + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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MONTGOMERY + + +"Life was a rose-lipped comrade + With purple flowers dripping from her fingers." + --The Author. + + +TO +THE MEMORY OF +Aunt Mary Lawson +WHO TOLD ME MANY OF THE TALES +REPEATED BY THE +STORY GIRL + + + +FOREWORD + + +Once upon a time we all walked on the golden road. It was a fair +highway, through the Land of Lost Delight; shadow and sunshine +were blessedly mingled, and every turn and dip revealed a fresh +charm and a new loveliness to eager hearts and unspoiled eyes. + +On that road we heard the song of morning stars; we drank in +fragrances aerial and sweet as a May mist; we were rich in +gossamer fancies and iris hopes; our hearts sought and found the +boon of dreams; the years waited beyond and they were very fair; +life was a rose-lipped comrade with purple flowers dripping from +her fingers. + +We may long have left the golden road behind, but its memories are +the dearest of our eternal possessions; and those who cherish them +as such may haply find a pleasure in the pages of this book, whose +people are pilgrims on the golden road of youth. + + + +THE GOLDEN ROAD + + +CHAPTER I + +A NEW DEPARTURE + + +"I've thought of something amusing for the winter," I said as we +drew into a half-circle around the glorious wood-fire in Uncle +Alec's kitchen. + +It had been a day of wild November wind, closing down into a wet, +eerie twilight. Outside, the wind was shrilling at the windows +and around the eaves, and the rain was playing on the roof. The +old willow at the gate was writhing in the storm and the orchard +was a place of weird music, born of all the tears and fears that +haunt the halls of night. But little we cared for the gloom and +the loneliness of the outside world; we kept them at bay with the +light of the fire and the laughter of our young lips. + +We had been having a splendid game of Blind-Man's Buff. That is, +it had been splendid at first; but later the fun went out of it +because we found that Peter was, of malice prepense, allowing +himself to be caught too easily, in order that he might have the +pleasure of catching Felicity--which he never failed to do, no +matter how tightly his eyes were bound. What remarkable goose +said that love is blind? Love can see through five folds of +closely-woven muffler with ease! + +"I'm getting tired," said Cecily, whose breath was coming rather +quickly and whose pale cheeks had bloomed into scarlet. "Let's +sit down and get the Story Girl to tell us a story." + +But as we dropped into our places the Story Girl shot a +significant glance at me which intimated that this was the +psychological moment for introducing the scheme she and I had been +secretly developing for some days. It was really the Story Girl's +idea and none of mine. But she had insisted that I should make +the suggestion as coming wholly from myself. + +"If you don't, Felicity won't agree to it. You know yourself, +Bev, how contrary she's been lately over anything I mention. And +if she goes against it Peter will too--the ninny!--and it wouldn't +be any fun if we weren't all in it." + +"What is it?" asked Felicity, drawing her chair slightly away from +Peter's. + +"It is this. Let us get up a newspaper of our own--write it all +ourselves, and have all we do in it. Don't you think we can get a +lot of fun out of it?" + +Everyone looked rather blank and amazed, except the Story Girl. +She knew what she had to do, and she did it. + +"What a silly idea!" she exclaimed, with a contemptuous toss of +her long brown curls. "Just as if WE could get up a newspaper!" + +Felicity fired up, exactly as we had hoped. + +"I think it's a splendid idea," she said enthusiastically. "I'd +like to know why we couldn't get up as good a newspaper as they +have in town! Uncle Roger says the Daily Enterprise has gone to +the dogs--all the news it prints is that some old woman has put a +shawl on her head and gone across the road to have tea with +another old woman. I guess we could do better than that. You +needn't think, Sara Stanley, that nobody but you can do anything." + +"I think it would be great fun," said Peter decidedly. "My Aunt +Jane helped edit a paper when she was at Queen's Academy, and she +said it was very amusing and helped her a great deal." + +The Story Girl could hide her delight only by dropping her eyes +and frowning. + +"Bev wants to be editor," she said, "and I don't see how he can, +with no experience. Anyhow, it would be a lot of trouble." + +"Some people are so afraid of a little bother," retorted Felicity. + +"I think it would be nice," said Cecily timidly, "and none of us +have any experience of being editors, any more than Bev, so that +wouldn't matter." + +"Will it be printed?" asked Dan. + +"Oh, no," I said. "We can't have it printed. We'll just have to +write it out--we can buy foolscap from the teacher." + +"I don't think it will be much of a newspaper if it isn't +printed," said Dan scornfully. + +"It doesn't matter very much what YOU think," said Felicity. + +"Thank you," retorted Dan. + +"Of course," said the Story Girl hastily, not wishing to have Dan +turned against our project, "if all the rest of you want it I'll +go in for it too. I daresay it would be real good fun, now that I +come to think of it. And we'll keep the copies, and when we +become famous they'll be quite valuable." + +"I wonder if any of us ever will be famous," said Felix. + +"The Story Girl will be," I said. + +"I don't see how she can be," said Felicity skeptically. "Why, +she's just one of us." + +"Well, it's decided, then, that we're to have a newspaper," I +resumed briskly. "The next thing is to choose a name for it. +That's a very important thing." + +"How often are you going to publish it?" asked Felix. + +"Once a month." + +"I thought newspapers came out every day, or every week at least," +said Dan. + +"We couldn't have one every week," I explained. "It would be too +much work." + +"Well, that's an argument," admitted Dan. "The less work you can +get along with the better, in my opinion. No, Felicity, you +needn't say it. I know exactly what you want to say, so save your +breath to cool your porridge. I agree with you that I never work +if I can find anything else to do." + + + "'Remember it is harder still + To have no work to do,"' + + +quoted Cecily reprovingly. + +"I don't believe THAT," rejoined Dan. "I'm like the Irishman who +said he wished the man who begun work had stayed and finished it." + +"Well, is it decided that Bev is to be editor?" asked Felix. + +"Of course it is," Felicity answered for everybody. + +"Then," said Felix, "I move that the name be The King Monthly +Magazine." + +"That sounds fine," said Peter, hitching his chair a little nearer +Felicity's. + +"But," said Cecily timidly, "that will leave out Peter and the +Story Girl and Sara Ray, just as if they didn't have a share in +it. I don't think that would be fair." + +"You name it then, Cecily," I suggested. + +"Oh!" Cecily threw a deprecating glance at the Story Girl and +Felicity. Then, meeting the contempt in the latter's gaze, she +raised her head with unusual spirit. + +"I think it would be nice just to call it Our Magazine," she said. +"Then we'd all feel as if we had a share in it." + +"Our Magazine it will be, then," I said. "And as for having a +share in it, you bet we'll all have a share in it. If I'm to be +editor you'll all have to be sub-editors, and have charge of a +department." + +"Oh, I couldn't," protested Cecily. + +"You must," I said inexorably. "'England expects everyone to do +his duty.' That's our motto--only we'll put Prince Edward Island +in place of England. There must be no shirking. Now, what +departments will we have? We must make it as much like a real +newspaper as we can." + +"Well, we ought to have an etiquette department, then," said +Felicity. "The Family Guide has one." + +"Of course we'll have one," I said, "and Dan will edit it." + +"Dan!" exclaimed Felicity, who had fondly expected to be asked to +edit it herself. + +"I can run an etiquette column as well as that idiot in the Family +Guide, anyhow," said Dan defiantly. "But you can't have an +etiquette department unless questions are asked. What am I to do +if nobody asks any?" + +"You must make some up," said the Story Girl. "Uncle Roger says +that is what the Family Guide man does. He says it is impossible +that there can be as many hopeless fools in the world as that +column would stand for otherwise." + +"We want you to edit the household department, Felicity," I said, +seeing a cloud lowering on that fair lady's brow. "Nobody can do +that as well as you. Felix will edit the jokes and the +Information Bureau, and Cecily must be fashion editor. Yes, you +must, Sis. It's easy as wink. And the Story Girl will attend to +the personals. They're very important. Anyone can contribute a +personal, but the Story Girl is to see there are some in every +issue, even if she has to make them up, like Dan with the +etiquette." + +"Bev will run the scrap book department, besides the editorials," +said the Story Girl, seeing that I was too modest to say it +myself. + +"Aren't you going to have a story page?" asked Peter. + +"We will, if you'll be fiction and poetry editor," I said. + +Peter, in his secret soul, was dismayed, but he would not blanch +before Felicity. + +"All right," he said, recklessly. + +"We can put anything we like in the scrap book department," I +explained, "but all the other contributions must be original, and +all must have the name of the writer signed to them, except the +personals. We must all do our best. Our Magazine is to be 'a +feast of reason and flow of soul."' + +I felt that I had worked in two quotations with striking effect. +The others, with the exception of the Story Girl, looked suitably +impressed. + +"But," said Cecily, reproachfully, "haven't you anything for Sara +Ray to do? She'll feel awful bad if she is left out." + +I had forgotten Sara Ray. Nobody, except Cecily, ever did +remember Sara Ray unless she was on the spot. But we decided to +put her in as advertising manager. That sounded well and really +meant very little. + +"Well, we'll go ahead then," I said, with a sigh of relief that +the project had been so easily launched. "We'll get the first +issue out about the first of January. And whatever else we do we +mustn't let Uncle Roger get hold of it. He'd make such fearful +fun of it." + +"I hope we can make a success of it," said Peter moodily. He had +been moody ever since he was entrapped into being fiction editor. + +"It will be a success if we are determined to succeed," I said. +"'Where there is a will there is always a way.'" + +"That's just what Ursula Townley said when her father locked her +in her room the night she was going to run away with Kenneth +MacNair," said the Story Girl. + +We pricked up our ears, scenting a story. + +"Who were Ursula Townley and Kenneth MacNair?" I asked. + +"Kenneth MacNair was a first cousin of the Awkward Man's +grandfather, and Ursula Townley was the belle of the Island in her +day. Who do you suppose told me the story--no, read it to me, out +of his brown book?" + +"Never the Awkward Man himself!" I exclaimed incredulously. + +"Yes, he did," said the Story Girl triumphantly. "I met him one +day last week back in the maple woods when I was looking for +ferns. He was sitting by the spring, writing in his brown book. +He hid it when he saw me and looked real silly; but after I had +talked to him awhile I just asked him about it, and told him that +the gossips said he wrote poetry in it, and if he did would he +tell me, because I was dying to know. He said he wrote a little +of everything in it; and then I begged him to read me something +out of it, and he read me the story of Ursula and Kenneth." + +"I don't see how you ever had the face," said Felicity; and even +Cecily looked as if she thought the Story Girl had gone rather +far. + +"Never mind that," cried Felix, "but tell us the story. That's +the main thing." + +"I'll tell it just as the Awkward Man read it, as far as I can," +said the Story Girl, "but I can't put all his nice poetical +touches in, because I can't remember them all, though he read it +over twice for me." + + + +CHAPTER II + +A WILL, A WAY AND A WOMAN + + +"One day, over a hundred years ago, Ursula Townley was waiting for +Kenneth MacNair in a great beechwood, where brown nuts were +falling and an October wind was making the leaves dance on the +ground like pixy-people." + +"What are pixy-people?" demanded Peter, forgetting the Story +Girl's dislike of interruptions. + +"Hush," whispered Cecily. "That is only one of the Awkward Man's +poetical touches, I guess." + +"There were cultivated fields between the grove and the dark blue +gulf; but far behind and on each side were woods, for Prince +Edward Island a hundred years ago was not what it is today. The +settlements were few and scattered, and the population so scanty +that old Hugh Townley boasted that he knew every man, woman and +child in it. + +"Old Hugh was quite a noted man in his day. He was noted for +several things--he was rich, he was hospitable, he was proud, he +was masterful--and he had for daughter the handsomest young woman +in Prince Edward Island. + +"Of course, the young men were not blind to her good looks, and +she had so many lovers that all the other girls hated her--" + +"You bet!" said Dan, aside-- + +"But the only one who found favour in her eyes was the very last +man she should have pitched her fancy on, at least if old Hugh +were the judge. Kenneth MacNair was a dark-eyed young sea-captain +of the next settlement, and it was to meet him that Ursula stole +to the beechwood on that autumn day of crisp wind and ripe +sunshine. Old Hugh had forbidden his house to the young man, +making such a scene of fury about it that even Ursula's high +spirit quailed. Old Hugh had really nothing against Kenneth +himself; but years before either Kenneth or Ursula was born, +Kenneth's father had beaten Hugh Townley in a hotly contested +election. Political feeling ran high in those days, and old Hugh +had never forgiven the MacNair his victory. The feud between the +families dated from that tempest in the provincial teapot, and the +surplus of votes on the wrong side was the reason why, thirty +years after, Ursula had to meet her lover by stealth if she met +him at all." + +"Was the MacNair a Conservative or a Grit?" asked Felicity. + +"It doesn't make any difference what he was," said the Story Girl +impatiently. "Even a Tory would be romantic a hundred years ago. +Well, Ursula couldn't see Kenneth very often, for Kenneth lived +fifteen miles away and was often absent from home in his vessel. +On this particular day it was nearly three months since they had +met. + +"The Sunday before, young Sandy MacNair had been in Carlyle +church. He had risen at dawn that morning, walked bare-footed for +eight miles along the shore, carrying his shoes, hired a harbour +fisherman to row him over the channel, and then walked eight miles +more to the church at Carlyle, less, it is to be feared, from a +zeal for holy things than that he might do an errand for his +adored brother, Kenneth. He carried a letter which he contrived +to pass into Ursula's hand in the crowd as the people came out. +This letter asked Ursula to meet Kenneth in the beechwood the next +afternoon, and so she stole away there when suspicious father and +watchful stepmother thought she was spinning in the granary loft." + +"It was very wrong of her to deceive her parents," said Felicity +primly. + +The Story Girl couldn't deny this, so she evaded the ethical side +of the question skilfully. + +"I am not telling you what Ursula Townley ought to have done," she +said loftily. "I am only telling you what she DID do. If you +don't want to hear it you needn't listen, of course. There +wouldn't be many stories to tell if nobody ever did anything she +shouldn't do. + +"Well, when Kenneth came, the meeting was just what might have +been expected between two lovers who had taken their last kiss +three months before. So it was a good half-hour before Ursula +said, + +"'Oh, Kenneth, I cannot stay long--I shall be missed. You said in +your letter that you had something important to talk of. What is +it?' + +"'My news is this, Ursula. Next Saturday morning my vessel, The +Fair Lady, with her captain on board, sails at dawn from +Charlottetown harbour, bound for Buenos Ayres. At this season +this means a safe and sure return--next May.' + +"'Kenneth!' cried Ursula. She turned pale and burst into tears. +'How can you think of leaving me? Oh, you are cruel!' + +"'Why, no, sweetheart,' laughed Kenneth. 'The captain of The Fair +Lady will take his bride with him. We'll spend our honeymoon on +the high seas, Ursula, and the cold Canadian winter under southern +palms.' + +"'You want me to run away with you, Kenneth?' exclaimed Ursula. + +"'Indeed, dear girl, there's nothing else to do!' + +"'Oh, I cannot!' she protested. 'My father would--' + +"'We'll not consult him--until afterward. Come, Ursula, you know +there's no other way. We've always known it must come to this. +YOUR father will never forgive me for MY father. You won't fail +me now. Think of the long parting if you send me away alone on +such a voyage. Pluck up your courage, and we'll let Townleys and +MacNairs whistle their mouldy feuds down the wind while we sail +southward in The Fair Lady. I have a plan.' + +"'Let me hear it,' said Ursula, beginning to get back her breath. + +"'There is to be a dance at The Springs Friday night. Are you +invited, Ursula?' + +"'Yes.' + +"'Good. I am not--but I shall be there--in the fir grove behind +the house, with two horses. When the dancing is at its height +you'll steal out to meet me. Then 'tis but a fifteen mile ride to +Charlottetown, where a good minister, who is a friend of mine, +will be ready to marry us. By the time the dancers have tired +their heels you and I will be on our vessel, able to snap our +fingers at fate.' + +"'And what if I do not meet you in the fir grove?' said Ursula, a +little impertinently. + +"'If you do not, I'll sail for South America the next morning, and +many a long year will pass ere Kenneth MacNair comes home again.' + +"Perhaps Kenneth didn't mean that, but Ursula thought he did, and +it decided her. She agreed to run away with him. Yes, of course +that was wrong, too, Felicity. She ought to have said, 'No, I +shall be married respectably from home, and have a wedding and a +silk dress and bridesmaids and lots of presents.' But she didn't. +She wasn't as prudent as Felicity King would have been." + +"She was a shameless hussy," said Felicity, venting on the long- +dead Ursula that anger she dare not visit on the Story Girl. + +"Oh, no, Felicity dear, she was just a lass of spirit. I'd have +done the same. And when Friday night came she began to dress for +the dance with a brave heart. She was to go to The Springs with +her uncle and aunt, who were coming on horseback that afternoon, +and would then go on to The Springs in old Hugh's carriage, which +was the only one in Carlyle then. They were to leave in time to +reach The Springs before nightfall, for the October nights were +dark and the wooded roads rough for travelling. + +"When Ursula was ready she looked at herself in the glass with a +good deal of satisfaction. Yes, Felicity, she was a vain baggage, +that same Ursula, but that kind didn't all die out a hundred years +ago. And she had good reason for being vain. She wore the sea- +green silk which had been brought out from England a year before +and worn but once--at the Christmas ball at Government House. A +fine, stiff, rustling silk it was, and over it shone Ursula's +crimson cheeks and gleaming eyes, and masses of nut brown hair. + +"As she turned from the glass she heard her father's voice below, +loud and angry. Growing very pale, she ran out into the hall. +Her father was already half way upstairs, his face red with fury. +In the hall below Ursula saw her step-mother, looking troubled and +vexed. At the door stood Malcolm Ramsay, a homely neighbour youth +who had been courting Ursula in his clumsy way ever since she grew +up. Ursula had always hated him. + +"'Ursula!' shouted old Hugh, 'come here and tell this scoundrel he +lies. He says that you met Kenneth MacNair in the beechgrove last +Tuesday. Tell him he lies! Tell him he lies!' + +"Ursula was no coward. She looked scornfully at poor Ramsay. + +"'The creature is a spy and a tale-bearer,' she said, 'but in this +he does not lie. I DID meet Kenneth MacNair last Tuesday.' + +"'And you dare to tell me this to my face!' roared old Hugh. +'Back to your room, girl! Back to your room and stay there! Take +off that finery. You go to no more dances. You shall stay in +that room until I choose to let you out. No, not a word! I'll put +you there if you don't go. In with you--ay, and take your +knitting with you. Occupy yourself with that this evening instead +of kicking your heels at The Springs!' + +"He snatched a roll of gray stocking from the hall table and flung +it into Ursula's room. Ursula knew she would have to follow it, +or be picked up and carried in like a naughty child. So she gave +the miserable Ramsay a look that made him cringe, and swept into +her room with her head in the air. The next moment she heard the +door locked behind her. Her first proceeding was to have a cry of +anger and shame and disappointment. That did no good, and then +she took to marching up and down her room. It did not calm her to +hear the rumble of the carriage out of the gate as her uncle and +aunt departed. + +"'Oh, what's to be done?' she sobbed. 'Kenneth will be furious. +He will think I have failed him and he will go away hot with anger +against me. If I could only send a word of explanation I know he +would not leave me. But there seems to be no way at all--though I +have heard that there's always a way when there's a will. Oh, I +shall go mad! If the window were not so high I would jump out of +it. But to break my legs or my neck would not mend the matter.' + +"The afternoon passed on. At sunset Ursula heard hoof-beats and +ran to the window. Andrew Kinnear of The Springs was tying his +horse at the door. He was a dashing young fellow, and a political +crony of old Hugh. No doubt he would be at the dance that night. +Oh, if she could get speech for but a moment with him! + +"When he had gone into the house, Ursula, turning impatiently from +the window, tripped and almost fell over the big ball of homespun +yarn her father had flung on the floor. For a moment she gazed at +it resentfully--then, with a gay little laugh, she pounced on it. +The next moment she was at her table, writing a brief note to +Kenneth MacNair. When it was written, Ursula unwound the gray +ball to a considerable depth, pinned the note on it, and rewound +the yarn over it. A gray ball, the color of the twilight, might +escape observation, where a white missive fluttering down from an +upper window would surely be seen by someone. Then she softly +opened her window and waited. + +"It was dusk when Andrew went away. Fortunately old Hugh did not +come to the door with him. As Andrew untied his horse Ursula +threw the ball with such good aim that it struck him, as she had +meant it to do, squarely on the head. Andrew looked up at her +window. She leaned out, put her finger warningly on her lips, +pointed to the ball, and nodded. Andrew, looking somewhat +puzzled, picked up the ball, sprang to his saddle, and galloped +off. + +"So far, well, thought Ursula. But would Andrew understand? Would +he have wit enough to think of exploring the big, knobby ball for +its delicate secret? And would he be at the dance after all? + +"The evening dragged by. Time had never seemed so long to Ursula. +She could not rest or sleep. It was midnight before she heard the +patter of a handful of gravel on her window-panes. In a trice she +was leaning out. Below in the darkness stood Kenneth MacNair. + +"'Oh, Kenneth, did you get my letter? And is it safe for you to be +here?' + +"'Safe enough. Your father is in bed. I've waited two hours down +the road for his light to go out, and an extra half-hour to put +him to sleep. The horses are there. Slip down and out, Ursula. +We'll make Charlottetown by dawn yet.' + +"'That's easier said than done, lad. I'm locked in. But do you +go out behind the new barn and bring the ladder you will find +there.' + +"Five minutes later, Miss Ursula, hooded and cloaked, scrambled +soundlessly down the ladder, and in five more minutes she and +Kenneth were riding along the road. + +"'There's a stiff gallop before us, Ursula,' said Kenneth. + +"'I would ride to the world's end with you, Kenneth MacNair,' said +Ursula. Oh, of course she shouldn't have said anything of the +sort, Felicity. But you see people had no etiquette departments +in those days. And when the red sunlight of a fair October dawn +was shining over the gray sea The Fair Lady sailed out of +Charlottetown harbour. On her deck stood Kenneth and Ursula +MacNair, and in her hand, as a most precious treasure, the bride +carried a ball of gray homespun yarn." + +"Well," said Dan, yawning, "I like that kind of a story. Nobody +goes and dies in it, that's one good thing." + +"Did old Hugh forgive Ursula?" I asked. + +"The story stopped there in the brown book," said the Story Girl, +"but the Awkward Man says he did, after awhile." + +"It must be rather romantic to be run away with," remarked Cecily, +wistfully. + +"Don't you get such silly notions in your head, Cecily King," said +Felicity, severely. + + + +CHAPTER III + +THE CHRISTMAS HARP + + +Great was the excitement in the houses of King as Christmas drew +nigh. The air was simply charged with secrets. Everybody was +very penurious for weeks beforehand and hoards were counted +scrutinizingly every day. Mysterious pieces of handiwork were +smuggled in and out of sight, and whispered consultations were +held, about which nobody thought of being jealous, as might have +happened at any other time. Felicity was in her element, for she +and her mother were deep in preparations for the day. Cecily and +the Story Girl were excluded from these doings with indifference +on Aunt Janet's part and what seemed ostentatious complacency on +Felicity's. Cecily took this to heart and complained to me about +it. + +"I'm one of this family just as much as Felicity is," she said, +with as much indignation as Cecily could feel, "and I don't think +she need shut me out of everything. When I wanted to stone the +raisins for the mince-meat she said, no, she would do it herself, +because Christmas mince-meat was very particular--as if I couldn't +stone raisins right! The airs Felicity puts on about her cooking +just make me sick," concluded Cecily wrathfully. + +"It's a pity she doesn't make a mistake in cooking once in a while +herself," I said. "Then maybe she wouldn't think she knew so much +more than other people." + +All parcels that came in the mail from distant friends were taken +charge of by Aunts Janet and Olivia, not to be opened until the +great day of the feast itself. How slowly the last week passed! +But even watched pots will boil in the fulness of time, and +finally Christmas day came, gray and dour and frost-bitten +without, but full of revelry and rose-red mirth within. Uncle +Roger and Aunt Olivia and the Story Girl came over early for the +day; and Peter came too, with his shining, morning face, to be +hailed with joy, for we had been afraid that Peter would not be +able to spend Christmas with us. His mother had wanted him home +with her. + +"Of course I ought to go," Peter had told me mournfully, "but we +won't have turkey for dinner, because ma can't afford it. And ma +always cries on holidays because she says they make her think of +father. Of course she can't help it, but it ain't cheerful. Aunt +Jane wouldn't have cried. Aunt Jane used to say she never saw the +man who was worth spoiling her eyes for. But I guess I'll have to +spend Christmas at home." + +At the last moment, however, a cousin of Mrs. Craig's in +Charlottetown invited her for Christmas, and Peter, being given +his choice of going or staying, joyfully elected to stay. So we +were all together, except Sara Ray, who had been invited but whose +mother wouldn't let her come. + +"Sara Ray's mother is a nuisance," snapped the Story Girl. "She +just lives to make that poor child miserable, and she won't let +her go to the party tonight, either." + +"It is just breaking Sara's heart that she can't," said Cecily +compassionately. "I'm almost afraid I won't enjoy myself for +thinking of her, home there alone, most likely reading the Bible, +while we're at the party." + +"She might be worse occupied than reading the Bible," said +Felicity rebukingly. + +"But Mrs. Ray makes her read it as a punishment," protested +Cecily. "Whenever Sara cries to go anywhere--and of course she'll +cry tonight--Mrs. Ray makes her read seven chapters in the Bible. +I wouldn't think that would make her very fond of it. And I'll +not be able to talk the party over with Sara afterwards--and +that's half the fun gone." + +"You can tell her all about it," comforted Felix. + +"Telling isn't a bit like talking it over," retorted Cecily. +"It's too one-sided." + +We had an exciting time opening our presents. Some of us had more +than others, but we all received enough to make us feel +comfortably that we were not unduly neglected in the matter. The +contents of the box which the Story Girl's father had sent her +from Paris made our eyes stick out. It was full of beautiful +things, among them another red silk dress--not the bright, flame- +hued tint of her old one, but a rich, dark crimson, with the most +distracting flounces and bows and ruffles; and with it were little +red satin slippers with gold buckles, and heels that made Aunt +Janet hold up her hands in horror. Felicity remarked scornfully +that she would have thought the Story Girl would get tired wearing +red so much, and even Cecily commented apart to me that she +thought when you got so many things all at once you didn't +appreciate them as much as when you only got a few. + +"I'd never get tired of red," said the Story Girl. "I just love +it--it's so rich and glowing. When I'm dressed in red I always +feel ever so much cleverer than in any other colour. Thoughts +just crowd into my brain one after the other. Oh, you darling +dress--you dear, sheeny, red-rosy, glistening, silky thing!" + +She flung it over her shoulder and danced around the kitchen. + +"Don't be silly, Sara," said Aunt Janet, a little stimy. She was +a good soul, that Aunt Janet, and had a kind, loving heart in her +ample bosom. But I fancy there were times when she thought it +rather hard that the daughter of a roving adventurer--as she +considered him--like Blair Stanley should disport herself in silk +dresses, while her own daughters must go clad in gingham and +muslin--for those were the days when a feminine creature got one +silk dress in her lifetime, and seldom more than one. + +The Story Girl also got a present from the Awkward Man--a little, +shabby, worn volume with a great many marks on the leaves. + +"Why, it isn't new--it's an old book!" exclaimed Felicity. "I +didn't think the Awkward Man was mean, whatever else he was." + +"Oh, you don't understand, Felicity," said the Story Girl +patiently. "And I don't suppose I can make you understand. But +I'll try. I'd ten times rather have this than a new book. It's +one of his own, don't you see--one that he has read a hundred +times and loved and made a friend of. A new book, just out of a +shop, wouldn't be the same thing at all. It wouldn't MEAN +anything. I consider it a great compliment that he has given me +this book. I'm prouder of it than of anything else I've got." + +"Well, you're welcome to it," said Felicity. "I don't understand +and I don't want to. I wouldn't give anybody a Christmas present +that wasn't new, and I wouldn't thank anybody who gave me one." + +Peter was in the seventh heaven because Felicity had given him a +present--and, moreover, one that she had made herself. It was a +bookmark of perforated cardboard, with a gorgeous red and yellow +worsted goblet worked on it, and below, in green letters, the +solemn warning, "Touch Not The Cup." As Peter was not addicted to +habits of intemperance, not even to looking on dandelion wine when +it was pale yellow, we did not exactly see why Felicity should +have selected such a device. But Peter was perfectly satisfied, +so nobody cast any blight on his happiness by carping criticism. +Later on Felicity told me she had worked the bookmark for him +because his father used to drink before he ran away. + +"I thought Peter ought to be warned in time," she said. + +Even Pat had a ribbon of blue, which he clawed off and lost half +an hour after it was tied on him. Pat did not care for vain +adornments of the body. + +We had a glorious Christmas dinner, fit for the halls of Lucullus, +and ate far more than was good for us, none daring to make us +afraid on that one day of the year. And in the evening--oh, +rapture and delight!--we went to Kitty Marr's party. + +It was a fine December evening; the sharp air of morning had +mellowed until it was as mild as autumn. There had been no snow, +and the long fields, sloping down from the homestead, were brown +and mellow. A weird, dreamy stillness had fallen on the purple +earth, the dark fir woods, the valley rims, the sere meadows. +Nature seemed to have folded satisfied hands to rest, knowing that +her long wintry slumber was coming upon her. + +At first, when the invitations to the party had come, Aunt Janet +had said we could not go; but Uncle Alec interceded in our favour, +perhaps influenced thereto by Cecily's wistful eyes. If Uncle +Alec had a favourite among his children it was Cecily, and he had +grown even more indulgent towards her of late. Now and then I saw +him looking at her intently, and, following his eyes and thought, +I had, somehow, seen that Cecily was paler and thinner than she +had been in the summer, and that her soft eyes seemed larger, and +that over her little face in moments of repose there was a certain +languor and weariness that made it very sweet and pathetic. And I +heard him tell Aunt Janet that he did not like to see the child +getting so much the look of her Aunt Felicity. + +"Cecily is perfectly well," said Aunt Janet sharply. "She's only +growing very fast. Don't be foolish, Alec." + +But after that Cecily had cups of cream where the rest of us got +only milk; and Aunt Janet was very particular to see that she had +her rubbers on whenever she went out. + +On this merry Christmas evening, however, no fears or dim +foreshadowings of any coming event clouded our hearts or faces. +Cecily looked brighter and prettier than I had ever seen her, with +her softly shining eyes and the nut brown gloss of her hair. +Felicity was too beautiful for words; and even the Story Girl, +between excitement and the crimson silk array, blossomed out with +a charm and allurement more potent than any regular loveliness-- +and this in spite of the fact that Aunt Olivia had tabooed the red +satin slippers and mercilessly decreed that stout shoes should be +worn. + +"I know just how you feel about it, you daughter of Eve," she +said, with gay sympathy, "but December roads are damp, and if you +are going to walk to Marrs' you are not going to do it in those +frivolous Parisian concoctions, even with overboots on; so be +brave, dear heart, and show that you have a soul above little red +satin shoes." + +"Anyhow," said Uncle Roger, "that red silk dress will break the +hearts of all the feminine small fry at the party. You'd break +their spirits, too, if you wore the slippers. Don't do it, Sara. +Leave them one wee loophole of enjoyment." + +"What does Uncle Roger mean?" whispered Felicity. + +"He means you girls are all dying of jealousy because of the Story +Girl's dress," said Dan. + +"I am not of a jealous disposition," said Felicity loftily, "and +she's entirely welcome to the dress--with a complexion like that." + +But we enjoyed that party hugely, every one of us. And we enjoyed +the walk home afterwards, through dim, enshadowed fields where +silvery star-beams lay, while Orion trod his stately march above +us, and a red moon climbed up the black horizon's rim. A brook +went with us part of the way, singing to us through the dark--a +gay, irresponsible vagabond of valley and wilderness. + +Felicity and Peter walked not with us. Peter's cup must surely +have brimmed over that Christmas night. When we left the Marr +house, he had boldly said to Felicity, "May I see you home?" And +Felicity, much to our amazement, had taken his arm and marched off +with him. The primness of her was indescribable, and was not at +all ruffled by Dan's hoot of derision. As for me, I was consumed +by a secret and burning desire to ask the Story Girl if I might +see HER home; but I could not screw my courage to the sticking +point. How I envied Peter his easy, insouciant manner! I could +not emulate him, so Dan and Felix and Cecily and the Story Girl +and I all walked hand in hand, huddling a little closer together +as we went through James Frewen's woods--for there are strange +harps in a fir grove, and who shall say what fingers sweep them? +Mighty and sonorous was the music above our heads as the winds of +the night stirred the great boughs tossing athwart the starlit +sky. Perhaps it was that aeolian harmony which recalled to the +Story Girl a legend of elder days. + +"I read such a pretty story in one of Aunt Olivia's books last +night," she said. "It was called 'The Christmas Harp.' Would you +like to hear it? It seems to me it would just suit this part of +the road." + +"There isn't anything about--about ghosts in it, is there?" said +Cecily timidly. + +"Oh, no, I wouldn't tell a ghost story here for anything. I'd +frighten myself too much. This story is about one of the +shepherds who saw the angels on the first Christmas night. He was +just a youth, and he loved music with all his heart, and he longed +to be able to express the melody that was in his soul. But he +could not; he had a harp and he often tried to play on it; but his +clumsy fingers only made such discord that his companions laughed +at him and mocked him, and called him a madman because he would +not give it up, but would rather sit apart by himself, with his +arms about his harp, looking up into the sky, while they gathered +around their fire and told tales to wile away their long night +vigils as they watched their sheep on the hills. But to him the +thoughts that came out of the great silence were far sweeter than +their mirth; and he never gave up the hope, which sometimes left +his lips as a prayer, that some day he might be able to express +those thoughts in music to the tired, weary, forgetful world. On +the first Christmas night he was out with his fellow shepherds on +the hills. It was chill and dark, and all, except him, were glad +to gather around the fire. He sat, as usual, by himself, with his +harp on his knee and a great longing in his heart. And there came +a marvellous light in the sky and over the hills, as if the +darkness of the night had suddenly blossomed into a wonderful +meadow of flowery flame; and all the shepherds saw the angels and +heard them sing. And as they sang, the harp that the young +shepherd held began to play softly by itself, and as he listened +to it he realized that it was playing the same music that the +angels sang and that all his secret longings and aspirations and +strivings were expressed in it. From that night, whenever he took +the harp in his hands, it played the same music; and he wandered +all over the world carrying it; wherever the sound of its music +was heard hate and discord fled away and peace and good-will +reigned. No one who heard it could think an evil thought; no one +could feel hopeless or despairing or bitter or angry. When a man +had once heard that music it entered into his soul and heart and +life and became a part of him for ever. Years went by; the +shepherd grew old and bent and feeble; but still he roamed over +land and sea, that his harp might carry the message of the +Christmas night and the angel song to all mankind. At last his +strength failed him and he fell by the wayside in the darkness; +but his harp played as his spirit passed; and it seemed to him +that a Shining One stood by him, with wonderful starry eyes, and +said to him, 'Lo, the music thy harp has played for so many years +has been but the echo of the love and sympathy and purity and +beauty in thine own soul; and if at any time in the wanderings +thou hadst opened the door of that soul to evil or envy or +selfishness thy harp would have ceased to play. Now thy life is +ended; but what thou hast given to mankind has no end; and as long +as the world lasts, so long will the heavenly music of the +Christmas harp ring in the ears of men.' When the sun rose the old +shepherd lay dead by the roadside, with a smile on his face; and +in his hands was a harp with all its strings broken." + +We left the fir woods as the tale was ended, and on the opposite +hill was home. A dim light in the kitchen window betokened that +Aunt Janet had no idea of going to bed until all her young fry +were safely housed for the night. + +"Ma's waiting up for us," said Dan. "I'd laugh if she happened to +go to the door just as Felicity and Peter were strutting up. I +guess she'll be cross. It's nearly twelve." + +"Christmas will soon be over," said Cecily, with a sigh. "Hasn't +it been a nice one? It's the first we've all spent together. Do +you suppose we'll ever spend another together?" + +"Lots of 'em," said Dan cheerily. "Why not?" + +"Oh, I don't know," answered Cecily, her footsteps lagging +somewhat. "Only things seem just a little too pleasant to last." + +"If Willy Fraser had had as much spunk as Peter, Miss Cecily King +mightn't be so low spirited," quoth Dan, significantly. + +Cecily tossed her head and disdained reply. There are really some +remarks a self-respecting young lady must ignore. + + + +CHAPTER IV + +NEW YEAR RESOLUTIONS + + +If we did not have a white Christmas we had a white New Year. +Midway between the two came a heavy snowfall. It was winter in +our orchard of old delights then,--so truly winter that it was +hard to believe summer had ever dwelt in it, or that spring would +ever return to it. There were no birds to sing the music of the +moon; and the path where the apple blossoms had fallen were heaped +with less fragrant drifts. But it was a place of wonder on a +moonlight night, when the snowy arcades shone like avenues of +ivory and crystal, and the bare trees cast fairy-like traceries +upon them. Over Uncle Stephen's Walk, where the snow had fallen +smoothly, a spell of white magic had been woven. Taintless and +wonderful it seemed, like a street of pearl in the new Jerusalem. + +On New Year's Eve we were all together in Uncle Alec's kitchen, +which was tacitly given over to our revels during the winter +evenings. The Story Girl and Peter were there, of course, and +Sara Ray's mother had allowed her to come up on condition that she +should be home by eight sharp. Cecily was glad to see her, but +the boys never hailed her arrival with over-much delight, because, +since the dark began to come down early, Aunt Janet always made +one of us walk down home with her. We hated this, because Sara +Ray was always so maddeningly self-conscious of having an escort. +We knew perfectly well that next day in school she would tell her +chums as a "dead" secret that "So-and-So King saw her home" from +the hill farm the night before. Now, seeing a young lady home +from choice, and being sent home with her by your aunt or mother +are two entirely different things, and we thought Sara Ray ought +to have sense enough to know it. + +Outside there was a vivid rose of sunset behind the cold hills of +fir, and the long reaches of snowy fields glowed fairily pink in +the western light. The drifts along the edges of the meadows and +down the lane looked as if a series of breaking waves had, by the +lifting of a magician's wand, been suddenly transformed into +marble, even to their toppling curls of foam. + +Slowly the splendour died, giving place to the mystic beauty of a +winter twilight when the moon is rising. The hollow sky was a cup +of blue. The stars came out over the white glens and the earth +was covered with a kingly carpet for the feet of the young year to +press. + +"I'm so glad the snow came," said the Story Girl. "If it hadn't +the New Year would have seemed just as dingy and worn out as the +old. There's something very solemn about the idea of a New Year, +isn't there? Just think of three hundred and sixty-five whole +days, with not a thing happened in them yet." + +"I don't suppose anything very wonderful will happen in them," +said Felix pessimistically. To Felix, just then, life was flat, +stale and unprofitable because it was his turn to go home with +Sara Ray. + +"It makes me a little frightened to think of all that may happen +in them," said Cecily. "Miss Marwood says it is what we put into +a year, not what we get out of it, that counts at last." + +"I'm always glad to see a New Year," said the Story Girl. "I wish +we could do as they do in Norway. The whole family sits up until +midnight, and then, just as the clock is striking twelve, the +father opens the door and welcomes the New Year in. Isn't it a +pretty custom?" + +"If ma would let us stay up till twelve we might do that too," +said Dan, "but she never will. I call it mean." + +"If I ever have children I'll let them stay up to watch the New +Year in," said the Story Girl decidedly. + +"So will I," said Peter, "but other nights they'll have to go to +bed at seven." + +"You ought to be ashamed, speaking of such things," said Felicity, +with a scandalized face. + +Peter shrank into the background abashed, no doubt believing that +he had broken some Family Guide precept all to pieces. + +"I didn't know it wasn't proper to mention children," he muttered +apologetically. + +"We ought to make some New Year resolutions," suggested the Story +Girl. "New Year's Eve is the time to make them." + +"I can't think of any resolutions I want to make," said Felicity, +who was perfectly satisfied with herself. + +"I could suggest a few to you," said Dan sarcastically. + +"There are so many I would like to make," said Cecily, "that I'm +afraid it wouldn't be any use trying to keep them all." + +"Well, let's all make a few, just for the fun of it, and see if we +can keep them," I said. "And let's get paper and ink and write +them out. That will make them seem more solemn and binding." + +"And then pin them up on our bedroom walls, where we'll see them +every day," suggested the Story Girl, "and every time we break a +resolution we must put a cross opposite it. That will show us +what progress we are making, as well as make us ashamed if we have +too many crosses." + +"And let's have a Roll of Honour in Our Magazine," suggested +Felix, "and every month we'll publish the names of those who keep +their resolutions perfect." + +"I think it's all nonsense," said Felicity. But she joined our +circle around the table, though she sat for a long time with a +blank sheet before her. + +"Let's each make a resolution in turn," I said. "I'll lead off." + +And, recalling with shame certain unpleasant differences of +opinion I had lately had with Felicity, I wrote down in my best +hand, + +"I shall try to keep my temper always." + +"You'd better," said Felicity tactfully. + +It was Dan's turn next. + +"I can't think of anything to start with," he said, gnawing his +penholder fiercely. + +"You might make a resolution not to eat poison berries," suggested +Felicity. + +"You'd better make one not to nag people everlastingly," retorted +Dan. + +"Oh, don't quarrel the last night of the old year," implored +Cecily. + +"You might resolve not to quarrel any time," suggested Sara Ray. + +"No, sir," said Dan emphatically. "There's no use making a +resolution you CAN'T keep. There are people in this family you've +just GOT to quarrel with if you want to live. But I've thought of +one--I won't do things to spite people." + +Felicity--who really was in an unbearable mood that night--laughed +disagreeably; but Cecily gave her a fierce nudge, which probably +restrained her from speaking. + +"I will not eat any apples," wrote Felix. + +"What on earth do you want to give up eating apples for?" asked +Peter in astonishment. + +"Never mind," returned Felix. + +"Apples make people fat, you know," said Felicity sweetly. + +"It seems a funny kind of resolution," I said doubtfully. "I +think our resolutions ought to be giving up wrong things or doing +right ones." + +"You make your resolutions to suit yourself and I'll make mine to +suit myself," said Felix defiantly. + +"I shall never get drunk," wrote Peter painstakingly. + +"But you never do," said the Story Girl in astonishment. + +"Well, it will be all the easier to keep the resolution," argued +Peter. + +"That isn't fair," complained Dan. "If we all resolved not to do +the things we never do we'd all be on the Roll of Honour." + +"You let Peter alone," said Felicity severely. "It's a very good +resolution and one everybody ought to make." + +"I shall not be jealous," wrote the Story Girl. + +"But are you?" I asked, surprised. + +The Story Girl coloured and nodded. "Of one thing," she +confessed, "but I'm not going to tell what it is." + +"I'm jealous sometimes, too," confessed Sara Ray, "and so my first +resolution will be 'I shall try not to feel jealous when I hear +the other girls in school describing all the sick spells they've +had.'" + +"Goodness, do you want to be sick?" demanded Felix in +astonishment. + +"It makes a person important," explained Sara Ray. + +"I am going to try to improve my mind by reading good books and +listening to older people," wrote Cecily. + +"You got that out of the Sunday School paper," cried Felicity. + +"It doesn't matter where I got it," said Cecily with dignity. +"The main thing is to keep it." + +"It's your turn, Felicity," I said. + +Felicity tossed her beautiful golden head. + +"I told you I wasn't going to make any resolutions. Go on +yourself." + +"I shall always study my grammar lesson," I wrote--I, who loathed +grammar with a deadly loathing. + +"I hate grammar too," sighed Sara Ray. "It seems so unimportant." + +Sara was rather fond of a big word, but did not always get hold of +the right one. I rather suspected that in the above instance she +really meant uninteresting. + +"I won't get mad at Felicity, if I can help it," wrote Dan. + +"I'm sure I never do anything to make you mad," exclaimed +Felicity. + +"I don't think it's polite to make resolutions about your +sisters," said Peter. + +"He can't keep it anyway," scoffed Felicity. "He's got such an +awful temper." + +"It's a family failing," flashed Dan, breaking his resolution ere +the ink on it was dry. + +"There you go," taunted Felicity. + +"I'll work all my arithmetic problems without any help," scribbled +Felix. + +"I wish I could resolve that, too," sighed Sara Ray, "but it +wouldn't be any use. I'd never be able to do those compound +multiplication sums the teacher gives us to do at home every night +if I didn't get Judy Pineau to help me. Judy isn't a good reader +and she can't spell AT ALL, but you can't stick her in arithmetic +as far as she went herself. I feel sure," concluded poor Sara, in +a hopeless tone, "that I'll NEVER be able to understand compound +multiplication." + + + "'Multiplication is vexation, + Division is as bad, + The rule of three perplexes me, + And fractions drive me mad,'" + + +quoted Dan. + +"I haven't got as far as fractions yet," sighed Sara, "and I hope +I'll be too big to go to school before I do. I hate arithmetic, +but I am PASSIONATELY fond of geography." + +"I will not play tit-tat-x on the fly leaves of my hymn book in +church," wrote Peter. + +"Mercy, did you ever do such a thing?" exclaimed Felicity in +horror. + +Peter nodded shamefacedly. + +"Yes--that Sunday Mr. Bailey preached. He was so long-winded, I +got awful tired, and, anyway, he was talking about things I +couldn't understand, so I played tit-tat-x with one of the +Markdale boys. It was the day I was sitting up in the gallery." + +"Well, I hope if you ever do the like again you won't do it in OUR +pew," said Felicity severely. + +"I ain't going to do it at all," said Peter. "I felt sort of mean +all the rest of the day." + +"I shall try not to be vexed when people interrupt me when I'm +telling stories," wrote the Story Girl. "but it will be hard," +she added with a sigh. + +"I never mind being interrupted," said Felicity. + +"I shall try to be cheerful and smiling all the time," wrote +Cecily. + +"You are, anyway," said Sara Ray loyally. + +"I don't believe we ought to be cheerful ALL the time," said the +Story Girl. "The Bible says we ought to weep with those who +weep." + +"But maybe it means that we're to weep cheerfully," suggested +Cecily. + +"Sorter as if you were thinking, 'I'm very sorry for you but I'm +mighty glad I'm not in the scrape too,'" said Dan. + +"Dan, don't be irreverent," rebuked Felicity. + +"I know a story about old Mr. and Mrs. Davidson of Markdale," said +the Story Girl. "She was always smiling and it used to aggravate +her husband, so one day he said very crossly, 'Old lady, what ARE +you grinning at?' 'Oh, well, Abiram, everything's so bright and +pleasant, I've just got to smile.' + +"Not long after there came a time when everything went wrong--the +crop failed and their best cow died, and Mrs. Davidson had +rheumatism; and finally Mr. Davidson fell and broke his leg. But +still Mrs. Davidson smiled. 'What in the dickens are you grinning +about now, old lady?' he demanded. 'Oh, well, Abiram,' she said, +'everything is so dark and unpleasant I've just got to smile.' +'Well,' said the old man crossly, 'I think you might give your +face a rest sometimes.'" + +"I shall not talk gossip," wrote Sara Ray with a satisfied air. + +"Oh, don't you think that's a little TOO strict?" asked Cecily +anxiously. "Of course, it's not right to talk MEAN gossip, but +the harmless kind doesn't hurt. If I say to you that Emmy +MacPhail is going to get a new fur collar this winter, THAT is +harmless gossip, but if I say I don't see how Emmy MacPhail can +afford a new fur collar when her father can't pay my father for +the oats he got from him, that would be MEAN gossip. If I were +you, Sara, I'd put MEAN gossip." + +Sara consented to this amendment. + +"I will be polite to everybody," was my third resolution, which +passed without comment. + +"I'll try not to use slang since Cecily doesn't like it," wrote +Dan. + +"I think some slang is real cute," said Felicity. + +"The Family Guide says it's very vulgar," grinned Dan. "Doesn't +it, Sara Stanley?" + +"Don't disturb me," said the Story Girl dreamily. "I'm just +thinking a beautiful thought." + +"I've thought of a resolution to make," cried Felicity. "Mr. +Marwood said last Sunday we should always try to think beautiful +thoughts and then our lives would be very beautiful. So I shall +resolve to think a beautiful thought every morning before +breakfast." + +"Can you only manage one a day?" queried Dan. + +"And why before breakfast?" I asked. + +"Because it's easier to think on an empty stomach," said Peter, in +all good faith. But Felicity shot a furious glance at him. + +"I selected that time," she explained with dignity, "because when +I'm brushing my hair before my glass in the morning I'll see my +resolution and remember it." + +"Mr. Marwood meant that ALL our thoughts ought to be beautiful," +said the Story Girl. "If they were, people wouldn't be afraid to +say what they think." + +"They oughtn't to be afraid to, anyhow," said Felix stoutly. "I'm +going to make a resolution to say just what I think always." + +"And do you expect to get through the year alive if you do?" asked +Dan. + +"It might be easy enough to say what you think if you could always +be sure just what you DO think," said the Story Girl. "So often I +can't be sure." + +"How would you like it if people always said just what they think +to you?" asked Felicity. + +"I'm not very particular what SOME people think of me," rejoined +Felix. + +"I notice you don't like to be told by anybody that you're fat," +retorted Felicity. + +"Oh, dear me, I do wish you wouldn't all say such sarcastic things +to each other," said poor Cecily plaintively. "It sounds so +horrid the last night of the old year. Dear knows where we'll all +be this night next year. Peter, it's your turn." + +"I will try," wrote Peter, "to say my prayers every night regular, +and not twice one night because I don't expect to have time the +next,--like I did the night before the party," he added. + +"I s'pose you never said your prayers until we got you to go to +church," said Felicity--who had had no hand in inducing Peter to +go to church, but had stoutly opposed it, as recorded in the first +volume of our family history. + +"I did, too," said Peter. "Aunt Jane taught me to say my prayers. +Ma hadn't time, being as father had run away; ma had to wash at +night same as in day-time." + +"I shall learn to cook," wrote the Story Girl, frowning. + +"You'd better resolve not to make puddings of--" began Felicity, +then stopped as suddenly as if she had bitten off the rest of her +sentence and swallowed it. Cecily had nudged her, so she had +probably remembered the Story Girl's threat that she would never +tell another story if she was ever twitted with the pudding she +had made from sawdust. But we all knew what Felicity had started +to say and the Story Girl dealt her a most uncousinly glance. + +"I will not cry because mother won't starch my aprons," wrote Sara +Ray. + +"Better resolve not to cry about anything," said Dan kindly. + +Sara Ray shook her head forlornly. + +"That would be too hard to keep. There are times when I HAVE to +cry. It's a relief." + +"Not to the folks who have to hear you," muttered Dan aside to +Cecily. + +"Oh, hush," whispered Cecily back. "Don't go and hurt her +feelings the last night of the old year. Is it my turn again? +Well, I'll resolve not to worry because my hair is not curly. +But, oh, I'll never be able to help wishing it was." + +"Why don't you curl it as you used to do, then?" asked Dan. + +"You know very well that I've never put my hair up in curl papers +since the time Peter was dying of the measles," said Cecily +reproachfully. "I resolved then I wouldn't because I wasn't sure +it was quite right." + +"I will keep my finger-nails neat and clean," I wrote. "There, +that's four resolutions. I'm not going to make any more. Four's +enough." + +"I shall always think twice before I speak," wrote Felix. + +"That's an awful waste of time," commented Dan, "but I guess +you'll need to if you're always going to say what you think." + +"I'm going to stop with three," said Peter. + +"I will have all the good times I can," wrote the Story Girl. + +"THAT'S what I call sensible," said Dan. + +"It's a very easy resolution to keep, anyhow," commented Felix. + +"I shall try to like reading the Bible," wrote Sara Ray. + +"You ought to like reading the Bible without trying to," exclaimed +Felicity. + +"If you had to read seven chapters of it every time you were +naughty I don't believe you would like it either," retorted Sara +Ray with a flash of spirit. + +"I shall try to believe only half of what I hear," was Cecily's +concluding resolution. + +"But which half?" scoffed Dan. + +"The best half," said sweet Cecily simply. + +"I'll try to obey mother ALWAYS," wrote Sara Ray, with a +tremendous sigh, as if she fully realized the difficulty of +keeping such a resolution. "And that's all I'm going to make." + +"Felicity has only made one," said the Story Girl. + +"I think it better to make just one and keep it than make a lot +and break them," said Felicity loftily. + +She had the last word on the subject, for it was time for Sara Ray +to go, and our circle broke up. Sara and Felix departed and we +watched them down the lane in the moonlight--Sara walking demurely +in one runner track, and Felix stalking grimly along in the other. +I fear the romantic beauty of that silver shining night was +entirely thrown away on my mischievous brother. + +And it was, as I remember it, a most exquisite night--a white +poem, a frosty, starry lyric of light. It was one of those nights +on which one might fall asleep and dream happy dreams of gardens +of mirth and song, feeling all the while through one's sleep the +soft splendour and radiance of the white moon-world outside, as +one hears soft, far-away music sounding through the thoughts and +words that are born of it. + +As a matter of fact, however, Cecily dreamed that night that she +saw three full moons in the sky, and wakened up crying with the +horror of it. + + + +CHAPTER V + +THE FIRST NUMBER OF Our Magazine + + +The first number of Our Magazine was ready on New Year's Day, and +we read it that evening in the kitchen. All our staff had worked +nobly and we were enormously proud of the result, although Dan +still continued to scoff at a paper that wasn't printed. The +Story Girl and I read it turnabout while the others, except Felix, +ate apples. It opened with a short + + +EDITORIAL + +With this number Our Magazine makes its first bow to the public. +All the editors have done their best and the various departments +are full of valuable information and amusement. The tastefully +designed cover is by a famous artist, Mr. Blair Stanley, who sent +it to us all the way from Europe at the request of his daughter. +Mr. Peter Craig, our enterprising literary editor, contributes a +touching love story. (Peter, aside, in a gratified pig's whisper: +"I never was called 'Mr.' before.") Miss Felicity King's essays on +Shakespeare is none the worse for being an old school composition, +as it is new to most of our readers. Miss Cecily King contributes +a thrilling article of adventure. The various departments are +ably edited, and we feel that we have reason to be proud of Our +Magazine. But we shall not rest on our oars. "Excelsior" shall +ever be our motto. We trust that each succeeding issue will be +better than the one that went before. We are well aware of many +defects, but it is easier to see them than to remedy them. Any +suggestion that would tend to the improvement of Our Magazine will +be thankfully received, but we trust that no criticism will be +made that will hurt anyone's feelings. Let us all work together +in harmony, and strive to make Our Magazine an influence for good +and a source of innocent pleasure, and let us always remember the +words of the poet. + + + "The heights by great men reached and kept + Were not attained by sudden flight, + But they, while their companions slept, + Were toiling upwards in the night." + + +(Peter, IMPRESSIVELY:--"I've read many a worse editorial in the +Enterprise.") + + +ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE + +Shakespeare's full name was William Shakespeare. He did not +always spell it the same way. He lived in the reign of Queen +Elizabeth and wrote a great many plays. His plays are written in +dialogue form. Some people think they were not written by +Shakespeare but by another man of the same name. I have read some +of them because our school teacher says everybody ought to read +them, but I did not care much for them. There are some things in +them I cannot understand. I like the stories of Valeria H. +Montague in the Family Guide ever so much better. They are more +exciting and truer to life. Romeo and Juliet was one of the plays +I read. It was very sad. Juliet dies and I don't like stories +where people die. I like it better when they all get married +especially to dukes and earls. Shakespeare himself was married to +Anne Hatheway. They are both dead now. They have been dead a +good while. He was a very famous man. + + FELICITY KING. + + +(PETER, MODESTLY: "I don't know much about Shakespeare myself but +I've got a book of his plays that belonged to my Aunt Jane, and I +guess I'll have to tackle him as soon as I finish with the +Bible.") + + +THE STORY OF AN ELOPEMENT FROM CHURCH + +This is a true story. It happened in Markdale to an uncle of my +mothers. He wanted to marry Miss Jemima Parr. Felicity says +Jemima is not a romantic name for a heroin of a story but I cant +help it in this case because it is a true story and her name realy +was Jemima. My mothers uncle was named Thomas Taylor. He was +poor at that time and so the father of Miss Jemima Parr did not +want him for a soninlaw and told him he was not to come near the +house or he would set the dog on him. Miss Jemima Parr was very +pretty and my mothers uncle Thomas was just crazy about her and +she wanted him too. She cried almost every night after her father +forbid him to come to the house except the nights she had to sleep +or she would have died. And she was so frightened he might try to +come for all and get tore up by the dog and it was a bull-dog too +that would never let go. But mothers uncle Thomas was too cute +for that. He waited till one day there was preaching in the +Markdale church in the middle of the week because it was sacrament +time and Miss Jemima Parr and her family all went because her +father was an elder. My mothers uncle Thomas went too and set in +the pew just behind Miss Jemima Parrs family. When they all bowed +their heads at prayer time Miss Jemima Parr didnt but set bolt +uprite and my mothers uncle Thomas bent over and wispered in her +ear. I dont know what he said so I cant right it but Miss Jemima +Parr blushed that is turned red and nodded her head. Perhaps some +people may think that my mothers uncle Thomas shouldent of +wispered at prayer time in church but you must remember that Miss +Jemima Parrs father had thretened to set the dog on him and that +was hard lines when he was a respektable young man though not +rich. Well when they were singing the last sam my mothers uncle +Thomas got up and went out very quitely and as soon as church was +out Miss Jemima Parr walked out too real quick. Her family never +suspekted anything and they hung round talking to folks and +shaking hands while Miss Jemima Parr and my mothers uncle Thomas +were eloping outside. And what do you suppose they eloped in. +Why in Miss Jemima Parrs fathers slay. And when he went out they +were gone and his slay was gone also his horse. Of course my +mothers uncle Thomas didnt steal the horse. He just borroed it +and sent it home the next day. But before Miss Jemima Parrs +father could get another rig to follow them they were so far away +he couldent catch them before they got married. And they lived +happy together forever afterwards. Mothers uncle Thomas lived to +be a very old man. He died very suddent. He felt quite well when +he went to sleep and when he woke up he was dead. + + PETER CRAIG. + + +MY MOST EXCITING ADVENTURE + +The editor says we must all write up our most exciting adventure +for Our Magazine. My most exciting adventure happened a year ago +last November. I was nearly frightened to death. Dan says he +wouldn't of been scared and Felicity says she would of known what +it was but it's easy to talk. + +It happened the night I went down to see Kitty Marr. I thought +when I went that Aunt Olivia was visiting there and I could come +home with her. But she wasn't there and I had to come home alone. +Kitty came a piece of the way but she wouldn't come any further +than Uncle James Frewen's gate. She said it was because it was so +windy she was afraid she would get the tooth-ache and not because +she was frightened of the ghost of the dog that haunted the bridge +in Uncle James' hollow. I did wish she hadn't said anything about +the dog because I mightn't of thought about it if she hadn't. I +had to go on alone thinking of it. I'd heard the story often but +I'd never believed in it. They said the dog used to appear at one +end of the bridge and walk across it with people and vanish when +he got to the other end. He never tried to bite anyone but one +wouldn't want to meet the ghost of a dog even if one didn't +believe in him. I knew there was no such thing as ghosts and I +kept saying a paraphrase over to myself and the Golden Text of the +next Sunday School lesson but oh, how my heart beat when I got +near the hollow! It was so dark. You could just see things dim- +like but you couldn't see what they were. When I got to the +bridge I walked along sideways with my back to the railing so I +couldn't think the dog was behind me. And then just in the middle +of the bridge I met something. It was right before me and it was +big and black, just about the size of a Newfoundland dog, and I +thought I could see a white nose. And it kept jumping about from +one side of the bridge to the other. Oh, I hope none of my +readers will ever be so frightened as I was then. I was too +frightened to run back because I was afraid it would chase me and +I couldn't get past it, it moved so quick, and then it just made +one spring right on me and I felt its claws and I screamed and +fell down. It rolled off to one side and laid there quite quiet +but I didn't dare move and I don't know what would have become of +me if Amos Cowan hadn't come along that very minute with a +lantern. And there was me sitting in the middle of the bridge and +that awful thing beside me. And what do you think it was but a +big umbrella with a white handle? Amos said it was his umbrella +and it had blown away from him and he had to go back and get the +lantern to look for it. I felt like asking him what on earth he +was going about with an umbrella open when it wasent raining. But +the Cowans do such queer things. You remember the time Jerry +Cowan sold us God's picture. Amos took me right home and I was +thankful for I don't know what would have become of me if he +hadn't come along. I couldn't sleep all night and I never want to +have any more adventures like that one. + + CECILY KING. + + +PERSONALS + +Mr. Dan King felt somewhat indisposed the day after Christmas-- +probably as the result of too much mince pie. (DAN, INDIGNANTLY:-- +"I wasn't. I only et one piece!") + +Mr. Peter Craig thinks he saw the Family Ghost on Christmas Eve. +But the rest of us think all he saw was the white calf with the +red tail. (PETER, MUTTERING SULKILY:--"It's a queer calf that +would walk up on end and wring its hands.") + +Miss Cecily King spent the night of Dec. 20th with Miss Kitty +Marr. They talked most of the night about new knitted lace +patterns and their beaus and were very sleepy in school next day. +(CECILY, SHARPLY:--"We never mentioned such things!") + +Patrick Grayfur, Esq., was indisposed yesterday, but seems to be +enjoying his usual health to-day. + +The King family expect their Aunt Eliza to visit them in January. +She is really our great-aunt. We have never seen her but we are +told she is very deaf and does not like children. So Aunt Janet +says we must make ourselves scarece when she comes. + +Miss Cecily King has undertaken to fill with names a square of the +missionary quilt which the Mission Band is making. You pay five +cents to have your name embroidered in a corner, ten cents to have +it in the centre, and a quarter if you want it left off +altogether. (CECILY, INDIGNANTLY:--"That isn't the way at all.") + + +ADS. + +WANTED--A remedy to make a fat boy thin. Address, "Patient +Sufferer, care of Our Magazine." + +(FELIX, SOURLY:--"Sara Ray never got that up. I'll bet it was +Dan. He'd better stick to his own department.") + + +HOUSEHOLD DEPARTMENT + +Mrs. Alexander King killed all her geese the twentieth of +December. We all helped pick them. We had one Christmas Day and +will have one every fortnight the rest of the winter. + +The bread was sour last week because mother wouldn't take my +advice. I told her it was too warm for it in the corner behind +the stove. + +Miss Felicity King invented a new recete for date cookies +recently, which everybody said were excelent. I am not going to +publish it though, because I don't want other people to find it +out. + +ANXIOUS INQUIRER:--If you want to remove inkstains place the stain +over steam and apply salt and lemon juice. If it was Dan who sent +this question in I'd advise him to stop wiping his pen on his +shirt sleeves and then he wouldn't have so many stains. + + FELICITY KING. + + +ETIQUETTE DEPARTMENT + + + +F-l-x:--Yes, you should offer your arm to a lady when seeing her +home, but don't keep her standing too long at the gate while you +say good night. + +(FELIX, ENRAGED:--"I never asked such a question.") + +C-c-l-y:--No, it is not polite to use "Holy Moses" or "dodgasted" +in ordinary conversation. + +(Cecily had gone down cellar to replenish the apple plate, so this +passed without protest.) + +S-r-a:--No, it isn't polite to cry all the time. As to whether +you should ask a young man in, it all depends on whether he went +home with you of his own accord or was sent by some elderly +relative. + +F-l-t-y:--It does not break any rule of etiquette if you keep a +button off your best young man's coat for a keepsake. But don't +take more than one or his mother might miss them. + + DAN KING. + + +FASHION NOTES + +Knitted mufflers are much more stylish than crocheted ones this +winter. It is nice to have one the same colour as your cap. + +Red mittens with a black diamond pattern on the back are much run +after. Em Frewen's grandma knits hers for her. She can knit the +double diamond pattern and Em puts on such airs about it, but I +think the single diamond is in better taste. + +The new winter hats at Markdale are very pretty. It is so +exciting to pick a hat. Boys can't have that fun. Their hats are +so much alike. + + CECILY KING. + + +FUNNY PARAGRAPHS + +This is a true joke and really happened. + +There was an old local preacher in New Brunswick one time whose +name was Samuel Clask. He used to preach and pray and visit the +sick just like a regular minister. One day he was visiting a +neighbour who was dying and he prayed the Lord to have mercy on +him because he was very poor and had worked so hard all his life +that he hadn't much time to attend to religion. + +"And if you don't believe me, O Lord," Mr. Clask finished up with, +"just take a look at his hands." + + FELIX KING. + + +GENERAL INFORMATION BUREAU + +DAN:--Do porpoises grow on trees or vines? + +Ans. Neither. They inhabit the deep sea. + + FELIX KING. + + +(DAN, AGGRIEVED:--"Well, I'd never heard of porpoises and it +sounded like something that grew. But you needn't have gone and +put it in the paper." + +FELIX:--"It isn't any worse than the things you put in about me +that I never asked at all." + +CECILY, SOOTHINGLY:--"Oh, well, boys, it's all in fun, and I think +Our Magazine is perfectly elegant." + +FELICITY, FAILING TO SEE THE STORY GIRL AND BEVERLEY EXCHANGING +WINKS BEHIND HER BACK:--"It certainly is, though SOME PEOPLE were +so opposed to starting it.") + + +What harmless, happy fooling it all was! How we laughed as we read +and listened and devoured apples! Blow high, blow low, no wind can +ever quench the ruddy glow of that faraway winter night in our +memories. And though Our Magazine never made much of a stir in +the world, or was the means of hatching any genius, it continued +to be capital fun for us throughout the year. + + + +CHAPTER VI + +GREAT-AUNT ELIZA'S VISIT + + +It was a diamond winter day in February--clear, cold, hard, +brilliant. The sharp blue sky shone, the white fields and hills +glittered, the fringe of icicles around the eaves of Uncle Alec's +house sparkled. Keen was the frost and crisp the snow over our +world; and we young fry of the King households were all agog to +enjoy life--for was it not Saturday, and were we not left all +alone to keep house? + +Aunt Janet and Aunt Olivia had had their last big "kill" of market +poultry the day before; and early in the morning all our grown-ups +set forth to Charlottetown, to be gone the whole day. They left +us many charges as usual, some of which we remembered and some of +which we forgot; but with Felicity in command none of us dared +stray far out of line. The Story Girl and Peter came over, of +course, and we all agreed that we would haste and get the work +done in the forenoon, that we might have an afternoon of +uninterrupted enjoyment. A taffy-pull after dinner and then a +jolly hour of coasting on the hill field before supper were on our +programme. But disappointment was our portion. We did manage to +get the taffy made but before we could sample the result +satisfactorily, and just as the girls were finishing with the +washing of the dishes, Felicity glanced out of the window and +exclaimed in tones of dismay, + +"Oh, dear me, here's Great-aunt Eliza coming up the lane! Now, +isn't that too mean?" + +We all looked out to see a tall, gray-haired lady approaching the +house, looking about her with the slightly puzzled air of a +stranger. We had been expecting Great-aunt Eliza's advent for +some weeks, for she was visiting relatives in Markdale. We knew +she was liable to pounce down on us any time, being one of those +delightful folk who like to "surprise" people, but we had never +thought of her coming that particular day. It must be confessed +that we did not look forward to her visit with any pleasure. None +of us had ever seen her, but we knew she was very deaf, and had +very decided opinions as to the way in which children should +behave. + +"Whew!" whistled Dan. "We're in for a jolly afternoon. She's +deaf as a post and we'll have to split our throats to make her +hear at all. I've a notion to skin out." + +"Oh, don't talk like that, Dan," said Cecily reproachfully. +"She's old and lonely and has had a great deal of trouble. She +has buried three husbands. We must be kind to her and do the best +we can to make her visit pleasant." + +"She's coming to the back door," said Felicity, with an agitated +glance around the kitchen. "I told you, Dan, that you should have +shovelled the snow away from the front door this morning. Cecily, +set those pots in the pantry quick--hide those boots, Felix--shut +the cupboard door, Peter--Sara, straighten up the lounge. She's +awfully particular and ma says her house is always as neat as +wax." + +To do Felicity justice, while she issued orders to the rest of us, +she was flying busily about herself, and it was amazing how much +was accomplished in the way of putting the kitchen in perfect +order during the two minutes in which Great-aunt Eliza was +crossing the yard. + +"Fortunately the sitting-room is tidy and there's plenty in the +pantry," said Felicity, who could face anything undauntedly with a +well-stocked larder behind her. + +Further conversation was cut short by a decided rap at the door. +Felicity opened it. + +"Why, how do you do, Aunt Eliza?" she said loudly. + +A slightly bewildered look appeared on Aunt Eliza's face. +Felicity perceived she had not spoken loudly enough. + +"How do you do, Aunt Eliza," she repeated at the top of her voice. +"Come in--we are glad to see you. We've been looking for you for +ever so long." + +"Are your father and mother at home?" asked Aunt Eliza, slowly. + +"No, they went to town today. But they'll be home this evening." + +"I'm sorry they're away," said Aunt Eliza, coming in, "because I +can stay only a few hours." + +"Oh, that's too bad," shouted poor Felicity, darting an angry +glance at the rest of us, as if to demand why we didn't help her +out. "Why, we've been thinking you'd stay a week with us anyway. +You MUST stay over Sunday." + +"I really can't. I have to go to Charlottetown tonight," returned +Aunt Eliza. + +"Well, you'll take off your things and stay to tea, at least," +urged Felicity, as hospitably as her strained vocal chords would +admit. + +"Yes, I think I'll do that. I want to get acquainted with my--my +nephews and nieces," said Aunt Eliza, with a rather pleasant +glance around our group. If I could have associated the thought +of such a thing with my preconception of Great-aunt Eliza I could +have sworn there was a twinkle in her eye. But of course it was +impossible. "Won't you introduce yourselves, please?" + +Felicity shouted our names and Great-aunt Eliza shook hands all +round. She performed the duty grimly and I concluded I must have +been mistaken about the twinkle. She was certainly very tall and +dignified and imposing--altogether a great-aunt to be respected. + +Felicity and Cecily took her to the spare room and then left her +in the sitting-room while they returned to the kitchen, to discuss +the matter in family conclave. + +"Well, and what do you think of dear Aunt Eliza?" asked Dan. + +"S-s-s-sh," warned Cecily, with a glance at the half-open hall door. + +"Pshaw," scoffed Dan, "she can't hear us. There ought to be a law +against anyone being as deaf as that." + +"She's not so old-looking as I expected," said Felix. "If her +hair wasn't so white she wouldn't look much older than your mother." + +"You don't have to be very old to be a great-aunt," said Cecily. +"Kitty Marr has a great-aunt who is just the same age as her +mother. I expect it was burying so many husbands turned her hair +white. But Aunt Eliza doesn't look just as I expected she would +either." + +"She's dressed more stylishly than I expected," said Felicity. "I +thought she'd be real old-fashioned, but her clothes aren't too +bad at all." + +"She wouldn't be bad-looking if 'tweren't for her nose," said +Peter. "It's too long, and crooked besides." + +"You needn't criticize our relations like that," said Felicity +tartly. + +"Well, aren't you doing it yourselves?" expostulated Peter. + +"That's different," retorted Felicity. "Never you mind Great-aunt +Eliza's nose." + +"Well, don't expect me to talk to her," said Dan, "'cause I won't." + +"I'm going to be very polite to her," said Felicity. "She's rich. +But how are we to entertain her, that's the question." + +"What does the Family Guide say about entertaining your rich, deaf +old aunt?" queried Dan ironically. + +"The Family Guide says we should be polite to EVERYBODY," said +Cecily, with a reproachful look at Dan. + +"The worst of it is," said Felicity, looking worried, "that there +isn't a bit of old bread in the house and she can't eat new, I've +heard father say. It gives her indigestion. What will we do?" + +"Make a pan of rusks and apologize for having no old bread," +suggested the Story Girl, probably by way of teasing Felicity. +The latter, however, took it in all good faith. + +"The Family Guide says we should never apologize for things we +can't help. It says it's adding insult to injury to do it. But +you run over home for a loaf of stale bread, Sara, and it's a good +idea about the rusks. I'll make a panful." + +"Let me make them," said the Story Girl, eagerly. "I can make +real good rusks now." + +"No, it wouldn't do to trust you," said Felicity mercilessly. +"You might make some queer mistake and Aunt Eliza would tell it +all over the country. She's a fearful old gossip. I'll make the +rusks myself. She hates cats, so we mustn't let Paddy be seen. +And she's a Methodist, so mind nobody says anything against +Methodists to her." + +"Who's going to say anything, anyhow?" asked Peter belligerently. + +"I wonder if I might ask her for her name for my quilt square?" +speculated Cecily. "I believe I will. She looks so much +friendlier than I expected. Of course she'll choose the five-cent +section. She's an estimable old lady, but very economical." + +"Why don't you say she's so mean she'd skin a flea for its hide +and tallow?" said Dan. "That's the plain truth." + +"Well, I'm going to see about getting tea," said Felicity, "so the +rest of you will have to entertain her. You better go in and show +her the photographs in the album. Dan, you do it." + +"Thank you, that's a girl's job," said Dan. "I'd look nice +sitting up to Aunt Eliza and yelling out that this was Uncle Jim +and 'tother Cousin Sarah's twins, wouldn't I? Cecily or the Story +Girl can do it." + +"I don't know all the pictures in your album," said the Story Girl +hastily. + +"I s'pose I'll have to do it, though I don't like to," sighed +Cecily. "But we ought to go in. We've left her alone too long +now. She'll think we have no manners." + +Accordingly we all filed in rather reluctantly. Great-aunt Eliza +was toasting her toes--clad, as we noted, in very smart and +shapely shoes--at the stove and looking quite at her ease. +Cecily, determined to do her duty even in the face of such fearful +odds as Great-aunt Eliza's deafness, dragged a ponderous, plush- +covered album from its corner and proceeded to display and explain +the family photographs. She did her brave best but she could not +shout like Felicity, and half the time, as she confided to me +later on, she felt that Great-aunt Eliza did not hear one word she +said, because she didn't seem to take in who the people were, +though, just like all deaf folks, she wouldn't let on. Great-aunt +Eliza certainly didn't talk much; she looked at the photographs in +silence, but she smiled now and then. That smile bothered me. It +was so twinkly and so very un-great-aunt-Elizaish. But I felt +indignant with her. I thought she might have shown a little more +appreciation of Cecily's gallant efforts to entertain. + +It was very dull for the rest of us. The Story Girl sat rather +sulkily in her corner; she was angry because Felicity would not +let her make the rusks, and also, perhaps, a little vexed because +she could not charm Great-aunt Eliza with her golden voice and +story-telling gift. Felix and I looked at each other and wished +ourselves out in the hill field, careering gloriously adown its +gleaming crust. + +But presently a little amusement came our way. Dan, who was +sitting behind Great-aunt Eliza, and consequently out of her view, +began making comments on Cecily's explanation of this one and that +one among the photographs. In vain Cecily implored him to stop. +It was too good fun to give up. For the next half-hour the +dialogue ran after this fashion, while Peter and Felix and I, and +even the Story Girl, suffered agonies trying to smother our bursts +of laughter--for Great-aunt Eliza could see if she couldn't hear: + +CECILY, SHOUTING:--"That is Mr. Joseph Elliott of Markdale, a +second cousin of mother's." + +DAN:--"Don't brag of it, Sis. He's the man who was asked if +somebody else said something in sincerity and old Joe said 'No, he +said it in my cellar.'" + +CECILY:--"This isn't anybody in our family. It's little Xavy +Gautier who used to be hired with Uncle Roger." + +DAN:--"Uncle Roger sent him to fix a gate one day and scolded him +because he didn't do it right, and Xavy was mad as hops and said +'How you 'spect me to fix dat gate? I never learned jogerfy.'" + +CECILY, WITH AN ANGUISHED GLANCE AT DAN:--"This is Great-uncle +Robert King." + +DAN:--"He's been married four times. Don't you think that's often +enough, dear great-aunty?" + +CECILY:--"(Dan!!) This is a nephew of Mr. Ambrose Marr's. He +lives out west and teaches school." + +DAN:--"Yes, and Uncle Roger says he doesn't know enough not to +sleep in a field with the gate open." + +CECILY:--"This is Miss Julia Stanley, who used to teach in +Carlisle a few years ago." + +DAN:--"When she resigned the trustees had a meeting to see if +they'd ask her to stay and raise her supplement. Old Highland +Sandy was alive then and he got up and said, 'If she for go let +her for went. Perhaps she for marry.'" + +CECILY, WITH THE AIR OF A MARTYR:--"This is Mr. Layton, who used +to travel around selling Bibles and hymn books and Talmage's +sermons." + +DAN:--"He was so thin Uncle Roger used to say he always mistook +him for a crack in the atmosphere. One time he stayed here all +night and went to prayer meeting and Mr. Marwood asked him to lead +in prayer. It had been raining 'most every day for three weeks, +and it was just in haymaking time, and everybody thought the hay +was going to be ruined, and old Layton got up and prayed that God +would send gentle showers on the growing crops, and I heard Uncle +Roger whisper to a fellow behind me, 'If somebody don't choke him +off we won't get the hay made this summer.'" + +CECILY, IN EXASPERATION:--"(Dan, shame on you for telling such +irreverent stories.) This is Mrs. Alexander Scott of Markdale. +She has been very sick for a long time." + +DAN:--"Uncle Roger says all that keeps her alive is that she's +scared her husband will marry again." + +CECILY:--"This is old Mr. James MacPherson who used to live behind +the graveyard." + +DAN:--"He's the man who told mother once that he always made his +own iodine out of strong tea and baking soda." + +CECILY:--"This is Cousin Ebenezer MacPherson on the Markdale +road." + +DAN:--"Great temperance man! He never tasted rum in his life. He +took the measles when he was forty-five and was crazy as a loon +with them, and the doctor ordered them to give him a dose of +brandy. When he swallowed it he looked up and says, solemn as an +owl, 'Give it to me oftener and more at a time.'" + +CECILY, IMPLORINGLY:--"(Dan, do stop. You make me so nervous I +don't know what I'm doing.) This is Mr. Lemuel Goodridge. He is a +minister." + +DAN:--"You ought to see his mouth. Uncle Roger says the drawing +string has fell out of it. It just hangs loose--so fashion." + +Dan, whose own mouth was far from being beautiful, here gave an +imitation of the Rev. Lemuel's, to the utter undoing of Peter, +Felix, and myself. Our wild guffaws of laughter penetrated even +Great-aunt Eliza's deafness, and she glanced up with a startled +face. What we would have done I do not know had not Felicity at +that moment appeared in the doorway with panic-stricken eyes and +exclaimed, + +"Cecily, come here for a moment." + +Cecily, glad of even a temporary respite, fled to the kitchen and +we heard her demanding what was the matter. + +"Matter!" exclaimed Felicity, tragically. "Matter enough! Some of +you left a soup plate with molasses in it on the pantry table and +Pat got into it and what do you think? He went into the spare room +and walked all over Aunt Eliza's things on the bed. You can see +his tracks plain as plain. What in the world can we do? She'll be +simply furious." + +I looked apprehensively at Great-aunt Eliza; but she was gazing +intently at a picture of Aunt Janet's sister's twins, a most +stolid, uninteresting pair; but evidently Great-aunt Eliza found +them amusing for she was smiling widely over them. + +"Let us take a little clean water and a soft bit of cotton," came +Cecily's clear voice from the kitchen, "and see if we can't clean +the molasses off. The coat and hat are both cloth, and molasses +isn't like grease." + +"Well, we can try, but I wish the Story Girl would keep her cat +home," grumbled Felicity. + +The Story Girl here flew out to defend her pet, and we four boys +sat on, miserably conscious of Great-aunt Eliza, who never said a +word to us, despite her previously expressed desire to become +acquainted with us. She kept on looking at the photographs and +seemed quite oblivious of our presence. + +Presently the girls returned, having, as transpired later, been so +successful in removing the traces of Paddy's mischief that it was +not deemed necessary to worry Great-aunt Eliza with any account of +it. Felicity announced tea and, while Cecily conveyed Great-aunt +Eliza out to the dining-room, lingered behind to consult with us +for a moment. + +"Ought we to ask her to say grace?" she wanted to know. + +"I know a story," said the Story Girl, "about Uncle Roger when he +was just a young man. He went to the house of a very deaf old +lady and when they sat down to the table she asked him to say +grace. Uncle Roger had never done such a thing in his life and he +turned as red as a beet and looked down and muttered, 'E-r-r, +please excuse me--I--I'm not accustomed to doing that.' Then he +looked up and the old lady said 'Amen,' loudly and cheerfully. +She thought Uncle Roger was saying grace all the time." + +"I don't think it's right to tell funny stories about such +things," said Felicity coldly. "And I asked for your opinion, not +for a story." + +"If we don't ask her, Felix must say it, for he's the only one who +can, and we must have it, or she'd be shocked." + +"Oh, ask her--ask her," advised Felix hastily. + +She was asked accordingly and said grace without any hesitation, +after which she proceeded to eat heartily of the excellent supper +Felicity had provided. The rusks were especially good and Great- +aunt Eliza ate three of them and praised them. Apart from that +she said little and during the first part of the meal we sat in +embarrassed silence. Towards the last, however, our tongues were +loosened, and the Story Girl told us a tragic tale of old +Charlottetown and a governor's wife who had died of a broken heart +in the early days of the colony. + +"They say that story isn't true," said Felicity. "They say what +she really died of was indigestion. The Governor's wife who lives +there now is a relation of our own. She is a second cousin of +father's but we've never seen her. Her name was Agnes Clark. And +mind you, when father was a young man he was dead in love with her +and so was she with him." + +"Who ever told you that?" exclaimed Dan. + +"Aunt Olivia. And I've heard ma teasing father about it, too. Of +course, it was before father got acquainted with mother." + +"Why didn't your father marry her?" I asked. + +"Well, she just simply wouldn't marry him in the end. She got +over being in love with him. I guess she was pretty fickle. Aunt +Olivia said father felt awful about it for awhile, but he got over +it when he met ma. Ma was twice as good-looking as Agnes Clark. +Agnes was a sight for freckles, so Aunt Olivia says. But she and +father remained real good friends. Just think, if she had married +him we would have been the children of the Governor's wife." + +"But she wouldn't have been the Governor's wife then," said Dan. + +"I guess it's just as good being father's wife," declared Cecily +loyally. + +"You might think so if you saw the Governor," chuckled Dan. +"Uncle Roger says it would be no harm to worship him because he +doesn't look like anything in the heavens above or on the earth +beneath or the waters under the earth." + +"Oh, Uncle Roger just says that because he's on the opposite side +of politics," said Cecily. "The Governor isn't really so very +ugly. I saw him at the Markdale picnic two years ago. He's very +fat and bald and red-faced, but I've seen far worse looking men." + +"I'm afraid your seat is too near the stove, Aunt Eliza," shouted +Felicity. + +Our guest, whose face was certainly very much flushed, shook her +head. + +"Oh, no, I'm very comfortable," she said. But her voice had the +effect of making us uncomfortable. There was a queer, uncertain +little sound in it. Was Great-aunt Eliza laughing at us? We +looked at her sharply but her face was very solemn. Only her eyes +had a suspicious appearance. Somehow, we did not talk much more +the rest of the meal. + +When it was over Great-aunt Eliza said she was very sorry but she +must really go. Felicity politely urged her to stay, but was much +relieved when Great-aunt Eliza adhered to her intention of going. +When Felicity took her to the spare room Cecily slipped upstairs +and presently came back with a little parcel in her hand. + +"What have you got there?" demanded Felicity suspiciously. + +"A--a little bag of rose-leaves," faltered Cecily. "I thought I'd +give them to Aunt Eliza." + +"The idea! Don't you do such a thing," said Felicity +contemptuously. "She'd think you were crazy." + +"She was awfully nice when I asked her for her name for the +quilt," protested Cecily, "and she took a ten-cent section after +all. So I'd like to give her the rose-leaves--and I'm going to, +too, Miss Felicity." + +Great-aunt Eliza accepted the little gift quite graciously, bade +us all good-bye, said she had enjoyed herself very much, left +messages for father and mother, and finally betook herself away. +We watched her cross the yard, tall, stately, erect, and disappear +down the lane. Then, as often aforetime, we gathered together in +the cheer of the red hearth-flame, while outside the wind of a +winter twilight sang through fair white valleys brimmed with a +reddening sunset, and a faint, serene, silver-cold star glimmered +over the willow at the gate. + +"Well," said Felicity, drawing a relieved breath, "I'm glad she's +gone. She certainly is queer, just as mother said." + +"It's a different kind of queerness from what I expected, though," +said the Story Girl meditatively. "There's something I can't +quite make out about Aunt Eliza. I don't think I altogether like +her." + +"I'm precious sure I don't," said Dan. + +"Oh, well, never mind. She's gone now and that's the last of it," +said Cecily comfortingly . + +But it wasn't the last of it--not by any manner of means was it! +When our grown-ups returned almost the first words Aunt Janet said +were, + +"And so you had the Governor's wife to tea?" + +We all stared at her. + +"I don't know what you mean," said Felicity. "We had nobody to +tea except Great-aunt Eliza. She came this afternoon and--" + +"Great-aunt Eliza? Nonsense," said Aunt Janet. "Aunt Eliza was in +town today. She had tea with us at Aunt Louisa's. But wasn't +Mrs. Governor Lesley here? We met her on her way back to +Charlottetown and she told us she was. She said she was visiting +a friend in Carlisle and thought she'd call to see father for old +acquaintance sake. What in the world are all you children staring +like that for? Your eyes are like saucers." + +"There was a lady here to tea," said Felicity miserably, "but we +thought it was Great-aunt Eliza--she never SAID she wasn't--I +thought she acted queer--and we all yelled at her as if she was +deaf--and said things to each other about her nose--and Pat +running over her clothes--" + +"She must have heard all you said while I was showing her the +photographs, Dan," cried Cecily. + +"And about the Governor at tea time," chuckled unrepentant Dan. + +"I want to know what all this means," said Aunt Janet sternly. + +She knew in due time, after she had pieced the story together from +our disjointed accounts. She was horrified, and Uncle Alec was +mildly disturbed, but Uncle Roger roared with laughter and Aunt +Olivia echoed it. + +"To think you should have so little sense!" said Aunt Janet in a +disgusted tone. + +"I think it was real mean of her to pretend she was deaf," said +Felicity, almost on the verge of tears. + +"That was Agnes Clark all over," chuckled Uncle Roger. "How she +must have enjoyed this afternoon!" + +She had enjoyed it, as we learned the next day, when a letter came +from her. + +"Dear Cecily and all the rest of you," wrote the Governor's wife, +"I want to ask you to forgive me for pretending to be Aunt Eliza. +I suspect it was a little horrid of me, but really I couldn't +resist the temptation, and if you will forgive me for it I will +forgive you for the things you said about the Governor, and we +will all be good friends. You know the Governor is a very nice +man, though he has the misfortune not to be handsome. + +"I had just a splendid time at your place, and I envy your Aunt +Eliza her nephews and nieces. You were all so nice to me, and I +didn't dare to be a bit nice to you lest I should give myself +away. But I'll make up for that when you come to see me at +Government House, as you all must the very next time you come to +town. I'm so sorry I didn't see Paddy, for I love pussy cats, +even if they do track molasses over my clothes. And, Cecily, +thank you ever so much for that little bag of pot-pourri. It +smells like a hundred rose gardens, and I have put it between the +sheets for my very sparest room bed, where you shall sleep when +you come to see me, you dear thing. And the Governor wants you to +put his name on the quilt square, too, in the ten-cent section. + +"Tell Dan I enjoyed his comments on the photographs very much. +They were quite a refreshing contrast to the usual explanations of +'who's who.' And Felicity, your rusks were perfection. Do send me +your recipe for them, there's a darling. + +"Yours most cordially, + + AGNES CLARK LESLEY. + + +"Well, it was decent of her to apologize, anyhow," commented Dan. + +"If we only hadn't said that about the Governor," moaned Felicity. + +"How did you make your rusks?" asked Aunt Janet. "There was no +baking-powder in the house, and I never could get them right with +soda and cream of tartar." + +"There was plenty of baking-powder in the pantry," said Felicity. + +"No, there wasn't a particle. I used the last making those +cookies Thursday morning." + +"But I found another can nearly full, away back on the top shelf, +ma,--the one with the yellow label. I guess you forgot it was +there." + +Aunt Janet stared at her pretty daughter blankly. Then amazement +gave place to horror. + +"Felicity King!" she exclaimed. "You don't mean to tell me that +you raised those rusks with the stuff that was in that old yellow can?" + +"Yes, I did," faltered Felicity, beginning to look scared. "Why, +ma, what was the matter with it?" + +"Matter! That stuff was TOOTH-POWDER, that's what it was. Your +Cousin Myra broke the bottle her tooth-powder was in when she was +here last winter and I gave her that old can to keep it in. She +forgot to take it when she went away and I put it on that top +shelf. I declare you must all have been bewitched yesterday." + +Poor, poor Felicity! If she had not always been so horribly vain +over her cooking and so scornfully contemptuous of other people's +aspirations and mistakes along that line, I could have found it in +my heart to pity her. + +The Story Girl would have been more than human if she had not +betrayed a little triumphant amusement, but Peter stood up for his +lady manfully. + +"The rusks were splendid, anyhow, so what difference does it make +what they were raised with?" + +Dan, however, began to taunt Felicity with her tooth-powder rusks, +and kept it up for the rest of his natural life. + +"Don't forget to send the Governor's wife the recipe for them," he +said. + +Felicity, with eyes tearful and cheeks crimson from mortification, +rushed from the room, but never, never did the Governor's wife get +the recipe for those rusks. + + + +CHAPTER VII + +WE VISIT COUSIN MATTIE'S + + +One Saturday in March we walked over to Baywater, for a long- +talked-of visit to Cousin Mattie Dilke. By the road, Baywater was +six miles away, but there was a short cut across hills and fields +and woods which was scantly three. We did not look forward to our +visit with any particular delight, for there was nobody at Cousin +Mattie's except grown-ups who had been grown up so long that it +was rather hard for them to remember they had ever been children. +But, as Felicity told us, it was necessary to visit Cousin Mattie +at least once a year, or else she would be "huffed," so we +concluded we might as well go and have it over. + +"Anyhow, we'll get a splendiferous dinner," said Dan. "Cousin +Mattie's a great cook and there's nothing stingy about her." + +"You are always thinking of your stomach," said Felicity +pleasantly. + +"Well, you know I couldn't get along very well without it, +darling," responded Dan who, since New Year's, had adopted a new +method of dealing with Felicity--whether by way of keeping his +resolution or because he had discovered that it annoyed Felicity +far more than angry retorts, deponent sayeth not. He invariably +met her criticisms with a good-natured grin and a flippant remark +with some tender epithet tagged on to it. Poor Felicity used to +get hopelessly furious over it. + +Uncle Alec was dubious about our going that day. He looked abroad +on the general dourness of gray earth and gray air and gray sky, +and said a storm was brewing. But Cousin Mattie had been sent +word that we were coming, and she did not like to be disappointed, +so he let us go, warning us to stay with Cousin Mattie all night +if the storm came on while we were there. + +We enjoyed our walk--even Felix enjoyed it, although he had been +appointed to write up the visit for Our Magazine and was rather +weighed down by the responsibility of it. What mattered it though +the world were gray and wintry? We walked the golden road and +carried spring time in our hearts, and we beguiled our way with +laughter and jest, and the tales the Story Girl told us--myths and +legends of elder time. + +The walking was good, for there had lately been a thaw and +everything was frozen. We went over fields, crossed by spidery +trails of gray fences, where the withered grasses stuck forlornly +up through the snow; we lingered for a time in a group of hill +pines, great, majestic tree-creatures, friends of evening stars; +and finally struck into the belt of fir and maple which intervened +between Carlisle and Baywater. It was in this locality that Peg +Bowen lived, and our way lay near her house though not directly in +sight of it. We hoped we would not meet her, for since the affair +of the bewitchment of Paddy we did not know quite what to think of +Peg; the boldest of us held his breath as we passed her haunts, +and drew it again with a sigh of relief when they were safely left +behind. + +The woods were full of the brooding stillness that often precedes +a storm, and the wind crept along their white, cone-sprinkled +floors with a low, wailing cry. Around us were solitudes of snow, +arcades picked out in pearl and silver, long avenues of untrodden +marble whence sprang the cathedral columns of the firs. We were +all sorry when we were through the woods and found ourselves +looking down into the snug, commonplace, farmstead-dotted +settlement of Baywater. + +"There's Cousin Mattie's house--that big white one at the turn of +the road," said the Story Girl. "I hope she has that dinner +ready, Dan. I'm hungry as a wolf after our walk." + +"I wish Cousin Mattie's husband was still alive," said Dan. "He +was an awful nice old man. He always had his pockets full of nuts +and apples. I used to like going there better when he was alive. +Too many old women don't suit me." + +"Oh, Dan, Cousin Mattie and her sisters-in-law are just as nice +and kind as they can be," reproached Cecily. + +"Oh, they're kind enough, but they never seem to see that a fellow +gets over being five years old if he only lives long enough," +retorted Dan. + +"I know a story about Cousin Mattie's husband," said the Story +Girl. "His name was Ebenezer, you know--" + +"Is it any wonder he was thin and stunted looking?" said Dan. + +"Ebenezer is just as nice a name as Daniel," said Felicity. + +"Do you REALLY think so, my angel?" inquired Dan, in honey-sweet +tones. + +"Go on. Remember your second resolution," I whispered to the +Story Girl, who was stalking along with an outraged expression. + +The Story Girl swallowed something and went on. + +"Cousin Ebenezer had a horror of borrowing. He thought it was +simply a dreadful disgrace to borrow ANYTHING. Well, you know he +and Cousin Mattie used to live in Carlisle, where the Rays now +live. This was when Grandfather King was alive. One day Cousin +Ebenezer came up the hill and into the kitchen where all the +family were. Uncle Roger said he looked as if he had been +stealing sheep. He sat for a whole hour in the kitchen and hardly +spoke a word, but just looked miserable. At last he got up and +said in a desperate sort of way, 'Uncle Abraham, can I speak with +you in private for a minute?' 'Oh, certainly,' said grandfather, +and took him into the parlour. Cousin Ebenezer shut the door, +looked all around him and then said imploringly, 'MORE PRIVATE +STILL.' So grandfather took him into the spare room and shut that +door. He was getting frightened. He thought something terrible +must have happened Cousin Ebenezer. Cousin Ebenezer came right up +to grandfather, took hold of the lapel of his coat, and said in a +whisper, 'Uncle Abraham, CAN--YOU--LEND--ME--AN--AXE?'" + +"He needn't have made such a mystery about it," said Cecily, who +had missed the point entirely, and couldn't see why the rest of us +were laughing. But Cecily was such a darling that we did not mind +her lack of a sense of humour. + +"It's kind of mean to tell stories like that about people who are +dead," said Felicity. + +"Sometimes it's safer than when they're alive though, sweetheart," +commented Dan. + +We had our expected good dinner at Cousin Mattie's--may it be +counted unto her for righteousness. She and her sisters-in-law, +Miss Louisa Jane and Miss Caroline, were very kind to us. We had +quite a nice time, although I understood why Dan objected to them +when they patted us all on the head and told us whom we resembled +and gave us peppermint lozenges. + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +WE VISIT PEG BOWEN + + +We left Cousin Mattie's early, for it still looked like a storm, +though no more so than it had in the morning. We intended to go +home by a different path--one leading through cleared land +overgrown with scrub maple, which had the advantage of being +farther away from Peg Bowen's house. We hoped to be home before +it began to storm, but we had hardly reached the hill above the +village when a fine, driving snow began to fall. It would have +been wiser to have turned back even then; but we had already come +a mile and we thought we would have ample time to reach home +before it became really bad. We were sadly mistaken; by the time +we had gone another half-mile we were in the thick of a +bewildering, blinding snowstorm. But it was by now just as far +back to Cousin Mattie's as it was to Uncle Alec's, so we struggled +on, growing more frightened at every step. We could hardly face +the stinging snow, and we could not see ten feet ahead of us. It +had turned bitterly cold and the tempest howled all around us in +white desolation under the fast-darkening night. The narrow path +we were trying to follow soon became entirely obliterated and we +stumbled blindly on, holding to each other, and trying to peer +through the furious whirl that filled the air. Our plight had +come upon us so suddenly that we could not realize it. Presently +Peter, who was leading the van because he was supposed to know the +path best, stopped. + +"I can't see the road any longer," he shouted. "I don't know +where we are." + +We all stopped and huddled together in a miserable group. Fear +filled our hearts. It seemed ages ago that we had been snug and +safe and warm at Cousin Mattie's. Cecily began to cry with cold. +Dan, in spite of her protests, dragged off his overcoat and made +her put it on. + +"We can't stay here," he said. "We'll all freeze to death if we +do. Come on--we've got to keep moving. The snow ain't so deep +yet. Take hold of my hand, Cecily. We must all hold together. +Come, now." + +"It won't be nice to be frozen to death, but if we get through +alive think what a story we'll have to tell," said the Story Girl +between her chattering teeth. + +In my heart I did not believe we would ever get through alive. It +was almost pitch dark now, and the snow grew deeper every moment. +We were chilled to the heart. I thought how nice it would be to +lie down and rest; but I remembered hearing that that was fatal, +and I endeavoured to stumble on with the others. It was wonderful +how the girls kept up, even Cecily. It occurred to me to be +thankful that Sara Ray was not with us. + +But we were wholly lost now. All around us was a horror of great +darkness. Suddenly Felicity fell. We dragged her up, but she +declared she could not go on--she was done out. + +"Have you any idea where we are?" shouted Dan to Peter. + +"No," Peter shouted back, "the wind is blowing every which way. I +haven't any idea where home is." + +Home! Would we ever see it again? We tried to urge Felicity on, +but she only repeated drowsily that she must lie down and rest. +Cecily, too, was reeling against me. The Story Girl still stood +up staunchly and counselled struggling on, but she was numb with +cold and her words were hardly distinguishable. Some wild idea +was in my mind that we must dig a hole in the snow and all creep +into it. I had read somewhere that people had thus saved their +lives in snowstorms. Suddenly Felix gave a shout. + +"I see a light," he cried. + +"Where? Where?" We all looked but could see nothing. + +"I don't see it now but I saw it a moment ago," shouted Felix. +"I'm sure I did. Come on--over in this direction." + +Inspired with fresh hope we hurried after him. Soon we all saw +the light--and never shone a fairer beacon. A few more steps and, +coming into the shelter of the woodland on the further side, we +realized where we were. + +"That's Peg Bowen's house," exclaimed Peter, stopping short in +dismay. + +"I don't care whose house it is," declared Dan. "We've got to go +to it." + +"I s'pose so," acquiesced Peter ruefully. "We can't freeze to +death even if she is a witch." + +"For goodness' sake don't say anything about witches so close to +her house," gasped Felicity. "I'll be thankful to get in +anywhere." + +We reached the house, climbed the flight of steps that led to that +mysterious second story door, and Dan rapped. The door opened +promptly and Peg Bowen stood before us, in what seemed exactly the +same costume she had worn on the memorable day when we had come, +bearing gifts, to propitiate her in the matter of Paddy. + +"Behind her was a dim room scantly illumined by the one small +candle that had guided us through the storm; but the old Waterloo +stove was colouring the gloom with tremulous, rose-red whorls of +light, and warm and cosy indeed seemed Peg's retreat to us snow- +covered, frost-chilled, benighted wanderers. + +"Gracious goodness, where did yez all come from?" exclaimed Peg. +"Did they turn yez out?" + +"We've been over to Baywater, and we got lost in the storm coming +back," explained Dan. "We didn't know where we were till we saw +your light. I guess we'll have to stay here till the storm is +over--if you don't mind." + +"And if it won't inconvenience you," said Cecily timidly. + +"Oh, it's no inconvenience to speak of. Come in. Well, yez HAVE +got some snow on yez. Let me get a broom. You boys stomp your +feet well and shake your coats. You girls give me your things and +I'll hang them up. Guess yez are most froze. Well, sit up to the +stove and git het up." + +Peg bustled away to gather up a dubious assortment of chairs, with +backs and rungs missing, and in a few minutes we were in a circle +around her roaring stove, getting dried and thawed out. In our +wildest flights of fancy we had never pictured ourselves as guests +at the witch's hearth-stone. Yet here we were; and the witch +herself was actually brewing a jorum of ginger tea for Cecily, who +continued to shiver long after the rest of us were roasted to the +marrow. Poor Sis drank that scalding draught, being in too great +awe of Peg to do aught else. + +"That'll soon fix your shivers," said our hostess kindly. "And +now I'll get yez all some tea." + +"Oh, please don't trouble," said the Story Girl hastily. + +"'Tain't any trouble," said Peg briskly; then, with one of the +sudden changes to fierceness which made her such a terrifying +personage, "Do yez think my vittels ain't clean?" + +"Oh, no, no," cried Felicity quickly, before the Story Girl could +speak, "none of us would ever think THAT. Sara only meant she +didn't want you to go to any bother on our account." + +"It ain't any bother," said Peg, mollified. "I'm spry as a +cricket this winter, though I have the realagy sometimes. Many a +good bite I've had in your ma's kitchen. I owe yez a meal." + +No more protests were made. We sat in awed silence, gazing with +timid curiosity about the room, the stained, plastered walls of +which were well-nigh covered with a motley assortment of pictures, +chromos, and advertisements, pasted on without much regard for +order or character. + +We had heard much of Peg's pets and now we saw them. Six cats +occupied various cosy corners; one of them, the black goblin which +had so terrified us in the summer, blinked satirically at us from +the centre of Peg's bed. Another, a dilapidated, striped beastie, +with both ears and one eye gone, glared at us from the sofa in the +corner. A dog, with only three legs, lay behind the stove; a crow +sat on a roost above our heads, in company with a matronly old +hen; and on the clock shelf were a stuffed monkey and a grinning +skull. We had heard that a sailor had given Peg the monkey. But +where had she got the skull? And whose was it? I could not help +puzzling over these gruesome questions. + +Presently tea was ready and we gathered around the festal board--a +board literally as well as figuratively, for Peg's table was the +work of her own unskilled hands. The less said about the viands +of that meal, and the dishes they were served in, the better. But +we ate them--bless you, yes!--as we would have eaten any witch's +banquet set before us. Peg might or might not be a witch--common +sense said not; but we knew she was quite capable of turning every +one of us out of doors in one of her sudden fierce fits if we +offended her; and we had no mind to trust ourselves again to that +wild forest where we had fought a losing fight with the demon +forces of night and storm. + +But it was not an agreeable meal in more ways than one. Peg was +not at all careful of anybody's feelings. She hurt Felix's +cruelly as she passed him his cup of tea. + +"You've gone too much to flesh, boy. So the magic seed didn't +work, hey?" + +How in the world had Peg found out about that magic seed? Felix +looked uncommonly foolish. + +"If you'd come to me in the first place I'd soon have told you how +to get thin," said Peg, nodding wisely. + +"Won't you tell me now?" asked Felix eagerly, his desire to melt +his too solid flesh overcoming his dread and shame. + +"No, I don't like being second fiddle," answered Peg with a crafty +smile. "Sara, you're too scrawny and pale--not much like your ma. +I knew her well. She was counted a beauty, but she made no great +things of a match. Your father had some money but he was a tramp +like meself. Where is he now?" + +"In Rome," said the Story Girl rather shortly. + +"People thought your ma was crazy when she took him. But she'd a +right to please herself. Folks is too ready to call other folks +crazy. There's people who say I'M not in my right mind. Did yez +ever"--Peg fixed Felicity with a piercing glance--"hear anything +so ridiculous?" + +"Never," said Felicity, white to the lips. + +"I wish everybody was as sane as I am," said Peg scornfully. Then +she looked poor Felicity over critically. "You're good-looking +but proud. And your complexion won't wear. It'll be like your +ma's yet--too much red in it." + +"Well, that's better than being the colour of mud," muttered +Peter, who wasn't going to hear his lady traduced, even by a +witch. All the thanks he got was a furious look from Felicity, +but Peg had not heard him and now she turned her attention to +Cecily. + +"You look delicate. I daresay you'll never live to grow up." + +Cecily's lip trembled and Dan's face turned crimson. + +"Shut up," he said to Peg. "You've no business to say such things +to people." + +I think my jaw dropped. I know Peter's and Felix's did. Felicity +broke in wildly. + +"Oh, don't mind him, Miss Bowen. He's got SUCH a temper--that's +just the way he talks to us all at home. PLEASE excuse him." + +"Bless you, I don't mind him," said Peg, from whom the unexpected +seemed to be the thing to expect. "I like a lad of spurrit. And +so your father run away, did he, Peter? He used to be a beau of +mine--he seen me home three times from singing school when we was +young. Some folks said he did it for a dare. There's such a lot +of jealousy in the world, ain't there? Do you know where he is +now?" + +"No," said Peter. + +"Well, he's coming home before long," said Peg mysteriously. + +"Who told you that?" cried Peter in amazement. + +"Better not ask," responded Peg, looking up at the skull. + +If she meant to make the flesh creep on our bones she succeeded. +But now, much to our relief, the meal was over and Peg invited us +to draw our chairs up to the stove again. + +"Make yourselves at home," she said, producing her pipe from her +pocket. "I ain't one of the kind who thinks their houses too good +to live in. Guess I won't bother washing the dishes. They'll do +yez for breakfast if yez don't forget your places. I s'pose none +of yez smokes." + +"No," said Felicity, rather primly. + +"Then yez don't know what's good for yez," retorted Peg, rather +grumpily. But a few whiffs of her pipe placated her and, +observing Cecily sigh, she asked her kindly what was the matter. + +"I'm thinking how worried they'll be at home about us," explained +Cecily. + +"Bless you, dearie, don't be worrying over that. I'll send them +word that yez are all snug and safe here." + +"But how can you?" cried amazed Cecily. + +"Better not ask," said Peg again, with another glance at the +skull. + +An uncomfortable silence followed, finally broken by Peg, who +introduced her pets to us and told how she had come by them. The +black cat was her favourite. + +"That cat knows more than I do, if yez'll believe it," she said +proudly. "I've got a rat too, but he's a bit shy when strangers +is round. Your cat got all right again that time, didn't he?" + +"Yes," said the Story Girl. + +"Thought he would," said Peg, nodding sagely. "I seen to that. +Now, don't yez all be staring at the hole in my dress." + +"We weren't," was our chorus of protest. + +"Looked as if yez were. I tore that yesterday but I didn't mend +it. I was brought up to believe that a hole was an accident but a +patch was a disgrace. And so your Aunt Olivia is going to be +married after all?" + +This was news to us. We felt and looked dazed. + +"I never heard anything of it," said the Story Girl. + +"Oh, it's true enough. She's a great fool. I've no faith in +husbands. But one good thing is she ain't going to marry that +Henry Jacobs of Markdale. He wants her bad enough. Just like his +presumption,--thinking himself good enough for a King. His father +is the worst man alive. He chased me off his place with his dog +once. But I'll get even with him yet." + +Peg looked very savage, and visions of burned barns floated +through our minds. + +"He'll be punished in hell, you know," said Peter timidly. + +"But I won't be there to see that," rejoined Peg. "Some folks say +I'll go there because I don't go to church oftener. But I don't +believe it." + +"Why don't you go?" asked Peter, with a temerity that bordered on +rashness. + +"Well, I've got so sunburned I'm afraid folks might take me for an +Injun," explained Peg, quite seriously. "Besides, your minister +makes such awful long prayers. Why does he do it?" + +"I suppose he finds it easier to talk to God than to people," +suggested Peter reflectively. + +"Well, anyway, I belong to the round church," said Peg +comfortably, "and so the devil can't catch ME at the corners. I +haven't been to Carlisle church for over three years. I thought +I'd a-died laughing the last time I was there. Old Elder Marr +took up the collection that day. He'd on a pair of new boots and +they squeaked all the way up and down the aisles. And every time +the boots squeaked the elder made a face, like he had toothache. +It was awful funny. How's your missionary quilt coming on, +Cecily?" + +Was there anything Peg didn't know? + +"Very well," said Cecily. + +"You can put my name on it, if you want to." + +"Oh, thank you. Which section--the five-cent one or the ten-cent +one?" asked Cecily timidly. + +"The ten-cent one, of course. The best is none too good for me. +I'll give you the ten cents another time. I'm short of change +just now--not being as rich as Queen Victory. There's her picture +up there--the one with the blue sash and diamint crown and the +lace curting on her head. Can any of yez tell me this--is Queen +Victory a married woman?" + +"Oh, yes, but her husband is dead," answered the Story Girl. + +"Well, I s'pose they couldn't have called her an old maid, seeing +she was a queen, even if she'd never got married. Sometimes I sez +to myself, 'Peg, would you like to be Queen Victory?' But I never +know what to answer. In summer, when I can roam anywhere in the +woods and the sunshine--I wouldn't be Queen Victory for anything. +But when it's winter and cold and I can't git nowheres--I feel as +if I wouldn't mind changing places with her." + +Peg put her pipe back in her mouth and began to smoke fiercely. +The candle wick burned long, and was topped by a little cap of +fiery red that seemed to wink at us like an impish gnome. The +most grotesque shadow of Peg flickered over the wall behind her. +The one-eyed cat remitted his grim watch and went to sleep. +Outside the wind screamed like a ravening beast at the window. +Suddenly Peg removed her pipe from her mouth, bent forward, +gripped my wrist with her sinewy fingers until I almost cried out +with pain, and gazed straight into my face. I felt horribly +frightened of her. She seemed an entirely different creature. A +wild light was in her eyes, a furtive, animal-like expression was +on her face. When she spoke it was in a different voice and in +different language. + +"Do you hear the wind?" she asked in a thrilling whisper. "What +IS the wind? What IS the wind?" + +"I--I--don't know," I stammered. + +"No more do I," said Peg, "and nobody knows. Nobody knows what +the wind is. I wish I could find out. I mightn't be so afraid of +the wind if I knew what it was. I am afraid of it. When the +blasts come like that I want to crouch down and hide me. But I +can tell you one thing about the wind--it's the only free thing in +the world--THE--ONLY--FREE--THING. Everything else is subject to +some law, but the wind is FREE. It bloweth where it listeth and +no man can tame it. It's free--that's why I love it, though I'm +afraid of it. It's a grand thing to be free--free free--free!" + +Peg's voice rose almost to a shriek. We were dreadfully +frightened, for we knew there were times when she was quite crazy +and we feared one of her "spells" was coming on her. But with a +swift movement she turned the man's coat she wore up over her +shoulders and head like a hood, completely hiding her face. Then +she crouched forward, elbows on knees, and relapsed into silence. +None of us dared speak or move. We sat thus for half an hour. +Then Peg jumped up and said briskly in her usual tone, + +"Well, I guess yez are all sleepy and ready for bed. You girls +can sleep in my bed over there, and I'll take the sofy. Yez can +put the cat off if yez like, though he won't hurt yez. You boys +can go downstairs. There's a big pile of straw there that'll do +yez for a bed, if yez put your coats on. I'll light yez down, but +I ain't going to leave yez a light for fear yez'd set fire to the +place." + +Saying good-night to the girls, who looked as if they thought +their last hour was come, we went to the lower room. It was quite +empty, save for a pile of fire wood and another of clean straw. +Casting a stealthy glance around, ere Peg withdrew the light, I +was relieved to see that there were no skulls in sight. We four +boys snuggled down in the straw. We did not expect to sleep, but +we were very tired and before we knew it our eyes were shut, to +open no more till morning. The poor girls were not so fortunate. +They always averred they never closed an eye. Four things +prevented them from sleeping. In the first place Peg snored +loudly; in the second place the fitful gleams of firelight kept +flickering over the skull for half the night and making gruesome +effects on it; in the third place Peg's pillows and bedclothes +smelled rankly of tobacco smoke; and in the fourth place they were +afraid the rat Peg had spoken of might come out to make their +acquaintance. Indeed, they were sure they heard him skirmishing +about several times. + +When we wakened in the morning the storm was over and a young +morning was looking through rosy eyelids across a white world. +The little clearing around Peg's cabin was heaped with dazzling +drifts, and we boys fell to and shovelled out a road to her well. +She gave us breakfast--stiff oatmeal porridge without milk, and a +boiled egg apiece. Cecily could NOT eat her porridge; she +declared she had such a bad cold that she had no appetite; a cold +she certainly had; the rest of us choked our messes down and after +we had done so Peg asked us if we had noticed a soapy taste. + +"The soap fell into the porridge while I was making it," she said. +"But,"--smacking her lips,--"I'm going to make yez an Irish stew +for dinner. It'll be fine." + +An Irish stew concocted by Peg! No wonder Dan said hastily, + +"You are very kind but we'll have to go right home." + +"Yez can't walk," said Peg. + +"Oh, yes, we can. The drifts are so hard they'll carry, and the +snow will be pretty well blown off the middle of the fields. It's +only three-quarters of a mile. We boys will go home and get a +pung and come back for you girls." + +But the girls wouldn't listen to this. They must go with us, even +Cecily. + +"Seems to me yez weren't in such a hurry to leave last night," +observed Peg sarcastically. + +"Oh, it's only because they'll be so anxious about us at home, and +it's Sunday and we don't want to miss Sunday School," explained +Felicity. + +"Well, I hope your Sunday School will do yez good," said Peg, +rather grumpily. But she relented again at the last and gave +Cecily a wishbone. + +"Whatever you wish on that will come true," she said. "But you +only have the one wish, so don't waste it." + +"We're so much obliged to you for all your trouble," said the +Story Girl politely. + +"Never mind the trouble. The expense is the thing," retorted Peg +grimly. + +"Oh!" Felicity hesitated. "If you would let us pay you--give you +something--" + +"No, thank yez," responded Peg loftily. "There is people who take +money for their hospitality, I've heerd, but I'm thankful to say I +don't associate with that class. Yez are welcome to all yez have +had here, if yez ARE in a big hurry to get away." + +She shut the door behind us with something of a slam, and her +black cat followed us so far, with stealthy, furtive footsteps, +that we were frightened of it. Eventually it turned back; then, +and not till then, did we feel free to discuss our adventure. + +"Well, I'm thankful we're out of THAT," said Felicity, drawing a +long breath. "Hasn't it just been an awful experience?" + +"We might all have been found frozen stark and stiff this +morning," remarked the Story Girl with apparent relish. + +"I tell you, it was a lucky thing we got to Peg Bowen's," said +Dan. + +"Miss Marwood says there is no such thing as luck," protested +Cecily. "We ought to say it was Providence instead." + +"Well, Peg and Providence don't seem to go together very well, +somehow," retorted Dan. "If Peg is a witch it must be the Other +One she's in co. with." + +"Dan, it's getting to be simply scandalous the way you talk," said +Felicity. "I just wish ma could hear you." + +"Is soap in porridge any worse than tooth-powder in rusks, lovely +creature?" asked Dan. + +"Dan, Dan," admonished Cecily, between her coughs, "remember it's +Sunday." + +"It seems hard to remember that," said Peter. "It doesn't seem a +mite like Sunday and it seems awful long since yesterday." + +"Cecily, you've got a dreadful cold," said the Story Girl +anxiously. + +"In spite of Peg's ginger tea," added Felix. + +"Oh, that ginger tea was AWFUL," exclaimed poor Cecily. "I +thought I'd never get it down--it was so hot with ginger--and +there was so much of it! But I was so frightened of offending Peg +I'd have tried to drink it all if there had been a bucketful. Oh, +yes, it's very easy for you all to laugh! You didn't have to drink +it." + +"We had to eat two meals, though," said Felicity with a shiver. +"And I don't know when those dishes of hers were washed. I just +shut my eyes and took gulps." + +"Did you notice the soapy taste in the porridge?" asked the Story Girl. + +"Oh, there were so many queer tastes about it I didn't notice one +more than another," answered Felicity wearily. + +"What bothers me," remarked Peter absently, "is that skull. Do +you suppose Peg really finds things out by it?" + +"Nonsense! How could she?" scoffed Felix, bold as a lion in daylight. + +"She didn't SAY she did, you know," I said cautiously. + +"Well, we'll know in time if the things she said were going to +happen do," mused Peter. + +"Do you suppose your father is really coming home?" queried Felicity. + +"I hope not," answered Peter decidedly. + +"You ought to be ashamed of yourself," said Felicity severely. + +"No, I oughtn't. Father got drunk all the time he was home, and +wouldn't work and was bad to mother," said Peter defiantly. "She +had to support him as well as herself and me. I don't want to see +any father coming home, and you'd better believe it. Of course, +if he was the right sort of a father it'd be different." + +"What I would like to know is if Aunt Olivia is going to be +married," said the Story Girl absently. "I can hardly believe it. +But now that I think of it--Uncle Roger has been teasing her ever +since she was in Halifax last summer." + +"If she does get married you'll have to come and live with us," +said Cecily delightedly. + +Felicity did not betray so much delight and the Story Girl +remarked with a weary little sigh that she hoped Aunt Olivia +wouldn't. We all felt rather weary, somehow. Peg's predictions +had been unsettling, and our nerves had all been more or less +strained during our sojourn under her roof. We were glad when we +found ourselves at home. + +The folks had not been at all troubled about us, but it was +because they were sure the storm had come up before we would think +of leaving Cousin Mattie's and not because they had received any +mysterious message from Peg's skull. We were relieved at this, +but on the whole, our adventure had not done much towards clearing +up the vexed question of Peg's witchcraft. + + + +CHAPTER IX + +EXTRACTS FROM THE FEBRUARY AND MARCH NUMBERS OF Our Magazine + + +RESOLUTION HONOUR ROLL + +Miss Felicity King. + + +HONOURABLE MENTION + +Mr. Felix King. +Mr. Peter Craig. +Miss Sara Ray. + + +EDITORIAL + +The editor wishes to make a few remarks about the Resolution +Honour Roll. As will be seen, only one name figures on it. +Felicity says she has thought a beautiful thought every morning +before breakfast without missing one morning, not even the one we +were at Peg Bowen's. Some of our number think it not fair that +Felicity should be on the honour roll (FELICITY, ASIDE: "That's +Dan, of course.") when she only made one resolution and won't tell +us what any of the thoughts were. So we have decided to give +honourable mention to everybody who has kept one resolution +perfect. Felix has worked all his arithmetic problems by himself. +He complains that he never got more than a third of them right and +the teacher has marked him away down; but one cannot keep +resolutions without some inconvenience. Peter has never played +tit-tat-x in church or got drunk and says it wasn't as bad as he +expected. (PETER, INDIGNANTLY: "I never said it." CECILY, +SOOTHINGLY: "Now, Peter, Bev only meant that as a joke.") Sara Ray +has never talked any mean gossip, but does not find conversation +as interesting as it used to be. (SARA RAY, WONDERINGLY: "I don't +remember of saying that.") + +Felix did not eat any apples until March, but forgot and ate seven +the day we were at Cousin Mattie's. (FELIX: "I only ate five!") +He soon gave up trying to say what he thought always. He got into +too much trouble. We think Felix ought to change to old +Grandfather King's rule. It was, "Hold your tongue when you can, +and when you can't tell the truth." Cecily feels she has not read +all the good books she might, because some she tried to read were +very dull and the Pansy books were so much more interesting. And +it is no use trying not to feel bad because her hair isn't curly +and she has marked that resolution out. The Story Girl came very +near to keeping her resolution to have all the good times +possible, but she says she missed two, if not three, she might +have had. Dan refuses to say anything about his resolutions and +so does the editor. + + + +PERSONALS + +We regret that Miss Cecily King is suffering from a severe cold. + +Mr. Alexander Marr of Markdale died very suddenly last week. We +never heard of his death till he was dead. + +Miss Cecily King wishes to state that she did not ask the question +about "Holy Moses" and the other word in the January number. Dan +put it in for a mean joke. + +The weather has been cold and fine. We have only had one bad +storm. The coasting on Uncle Roger's hill continues good. + +Aunt Eliza did not favour us with a visit after all. She took +cold and had to go home. We were sorry that she had a cold but +glad that she had to go home. Cecily said she thought it wicked +of us to be glad. But when we asked her "cross her heart" if she +wasn't glad herself she had to say she was. + +Miss Cecily King has got three very distinguished names on her +quilt square. They are the Governor and his wife and a witch's. + +The King family had the honour of entertaining the Governor's wife +to tea on February the seventeenth. We are all invited to visit +Government House but some of us think we won't go. + +A tragic event occurred last Tuesday. Mrs. James Frewen came to +tea and there was no pie in the house. Felicity has not yet fully +recovered. + +A new boy is coming to school. His name is Cyrus Brisk and his +folks moved up from Markdale. He says he is going to punch Willy +Fraser's head if Willy keeps on thinking he is Miss Cecily King's +beau. + +(CECILY: "I haven't ANY beau! I don't mean to think of such a +thing for at least eight years yet!") + +Miss Alice Reade of Charlottetown Royalty has come to Carlisle to +teach music. She boards at Mr. Peter Armstrong's. The girls are +all going to take music lessons from her. Two descriptions of her +will be found in another column. Felix wrote one, but the girls +thought he did not do her justice, so Cecily wrote another one. +She admits she copied most of the description out of Valeria H. +Montague's story Lord Marmaduke's First, Last, and Only Love; or +the Bride of the Castle by the Sea, but says they fit Miss Reade +better than anything she could make up. + + + +HOUSEHOLD DEPARTMENT + +Always keep the kitchen tidy and then you needn't mind if company +comes unexpectedly. + +ANXIOUS INQUIRER: We don't know anything that will take the stain +out of a silk dress when a soft-boiled egg is dropped on it. +Better not wear your silk dress so often, especially when boiling +eggs. + +Ginger tea is good for colds. + +OLD HOUSEKEEPER: Yes, when the baking-powder gives out you can use +tooth-powder instead. + +(FELICITY: "I never wrote that! I don't care, I don't think it's +fair for other people to be putting things in my department!") + +Our apples are not keeping well this year. They are rotting; and +besides father says we eat an awful lot of them. + +PERSEVERANCE: I will give you the recipe for dumplings you ask +for. But remember it is not everyone who can make dumplings, even +from the recipe. There's a knack in it. + +If the soap falls into the porridge do not tell your guests about +it until they have finished eating it because it might take away +their appetite. + + FELICITY KING. + + + +ETIQUETTE DEPARTMENT + +P-r C-g:--Do not criticize people's noses unless you are sure they +can't hear you, and don't criticize your best girl's great-aunt's +nose in any case. + +(FELICITY, TOSSING HER HEAD: "Oh, my! I s'pose Dan thought that +was extra smart.") + +C-y K-g:--When my most intimate friend walks with another girl and +exchanges lace patterns with her, what ought I to do? Ans. Adopt +a dignified attitude. + +F-y K-g:--It is better not to wear your second best hat to church, +but if your mother says you must it is not for me to question her +decision. + +(FELICITY: "Dan just copied that word for word out of the Family +Guide, except about the hat part.") + +P-r C-g:--Yes, it would be quite proper to say good evening to the +family ghost if you met it. + +F-x K-g:--No, it is not polite to sleep with your mouth open. +What's more, it isn't safe. Something might fall into it. + + DAN KING. + + + +FASHION NOTES + +Crocheted watch pockets are all the rage now. If you haven't a +watch they do to carry your pencil in or a piece of gum. + +It is stylish to have hair ribbons to match your dress. But it is +hard to match gray drugget. I like scarlet for that. + +It is stylish to pin a piece of ribbon on your coat the same +colour as your chum wears in her hair. Mary Martha Cowan saw them +doing it in town and started us doing it here. I always wear +Kitty's ribbon and Kitty wears mine, but the Story Girl thinks it +is silly. + + CECILY KING. + + + +AN ACCOUNT OF OUR VISIT TO COUSIN MATTIE'S + +We all walked over to Cousin Mattie's last week. They were all +well there and we had a fine dinner. On our way back a snow-storm +came up and we got lost in the woods. We didn't know where we +were or nothing. If we hadn't seen a light I guess we'd all have +been frozen and snowed over, and they would never have found us +till spring and that would be very sad. But we saw a light and +made for it and it was Peg Bowen's. Some people think she is a +witch and it's hard to tell, but she was real hospitable and took +us all in. Her house was very untidy but it was warm. She has a +skull. I mean a loose skull, not her own. She lets on it tells +her things, but Uncle Alec says it couldn't because it was only an +Indian skull that old Dr. Beecham had and Peg stole it when he +died, but Uncle Roger says he wouldn't trust himself with Peg's +skull for anything. She gave us supper. It was a horrid meal. +The Story Girl says I must not tell what I found in the bread and +butter because it would be too disgusting to read in Our Magazine +but it don't matter because we were all there, except Sara Ray, +and know what it was. We stayed all night and us boys slept in +straw. None of us had ever slept on straw before. We got home in +the morning. That is all I can write about our visit to Cousin +Mattie's. + + FELIX KING. + + + +MY WORST ADVENTURE + +It's my turn to write it so I suppose I must. I guess my worst +adventure was two years ago when a whole lot of us were coasting +on Uncle Rogers hill. Charlie Cowan and Fred Marr had started, +but half-way down their sled got stuck and I run down to shove +them off again. Then I stood there just a moment to watch them +with my back to the top of the hill. While I was standing there +Rob Marr started Kitty and Em Frewen off on his sled. His sled +had a wooden tongue in it and it slanted back over the girls' +heads. I was right in the way and they yelled to me to get out, +but just as I heard them it struck me. The sled took me between +the legs and I was histed back over the tongue and dropped in a +heap behind before I knew what had happened to me. I thought a +tornado had struck me. The girls couldn't stop though they +thought I was killed, but Rob came tearing down and helped me up. +He was awful scared but I wasn't killed nor my back wasn't broken +but my nose bled something awful and kept on bleeding for three +days. Not all the time but by spells. + + DAN KING. + + + +THE STORY OF HOW CARLISLE GOT ITS NAME + +This is a true story to. Long ago there was a girl lived in +charlotte town. I dont know her name so I cant right it and maybe +it is just as well for Felicity might think it wasnt romantik like +Miss Jemima Parrs. She was awful pretty and a young englishman +who had come out to make his fortune fell in love with her and +they were engaged to be married the next spring. His name was Mr. +Carlisle. In the winter he started off to hunt cariboo for a +spell. Cariboos lived on the island then. There aint any here +now. He got to where it is Carlisle now. It wasn't anything then +only woods and a few indians. He got awful sick and was sick for +ever so long in a indian camp and only an old micmac squaw to wait +on him. Back in town they all thought he was dead and his girl +felt bad for a little while and then got over it and took up with +another beau. The girls say that wasnt romantik but I think it +was sensible but if it had been me that died I'd have felt bad if +she forgot me so soon. But he hadnt died and when he got back to +town he went right to her house and walked in and there she was +standing up to be married to the other fellow. Poor Mr. Carlisle +felt awful. He was sick and week and it went to his head. He +just turned and run and run till he got back to the old micmac's +camp and fell in front of it. But the indians had gone because it +was spring and it didnt matter because he really was dead this +time and people come looking for him from town and found him and +buryed him there and called the place after him. They say the +girl was never happy again and that was hard lines on her but +maybe she deserved it. + + PETER CRAIG. + + + +MISS ALICE READE + +Miss Alice Reade is a very pretty girl. She has kind of curly +blackish hair and big gray eyes and a pale face. She is tall and +thin but her figure is pretty fair and she has a nice mouth and a +sweet way of speaking. The girls are crazy about her and talk +about her all the time. + + FELIX KING. + + + +BEAUTIFUL ALICE + +That is what we girls call Miss Reade among ourselves. She is +divinely beautiful. Her magnificent wealth of raven hair flows +back in glistening waves from her sun-kissed brow. (DAN: "If +Felix had said she was sunburned you'd have all jumped on him." +(CECILY, COLDLY: "Sun-kissed doesn't mean sunburned." DAN: "What +does it mean then?" CECILY, EMBARRASSED: "I--I don't know. But +Miss Montague says the Lady Geraldine's brow was sun-kissed and of +course an earl's daughter wouldn't be sunburned. "THE STORY GIRL: +"Oh, don't interrupt the reading like this. It spoils it.") Her +eyes are gloriously dark and deep, like midnight lakes mirroring +the stars of heaven. Her features are like sculptured marble and +her mouth is a trembling, curving Cupid's bow. (PETER, ASIDE: +"What kind of a thing is that?") Her creamy skin is as fair and +flawless as the petals of a white lily. Her voice is like the +ripple of a woodland brook and her slender form is matchless in +its symmetry. (DAN: "That's Valeria's way of putting it, but +Uncle Roger says she don't show her feed much." FELICITY: "Dan! +if Uncle Roger is vulgar you needn't be!") Her hands are like a +poet's dreams. She dresses so nicely and looks so stylish in her +clothes. Her favourite colour is blue. Some people think she is +stiff and some say she is stuck-up, but she isn't a bit. It's +just that she is different from them and they don't like it. She +is just lovely and we adore her. + + CECILY KING. + + + +CHAPTER X + +DISAPPEARANCE OF PADDY + + + +As I remember, the spring came late that year in Carlisle. It was +May before the weather began to satisfy the grown-ups. But we +children were more easily pleased, and we thought April a splendid +month because the snow all went early and left gray, firm, frozen +ground for our rambles and games. As the days slipped by they +grew more gracious; the hillsides began to look as if they were +thinking of mayflowers; the old orchard was washed in a bath of +tingling sunshine and the sap stirred in the big trees; by day the +sky was veiled with delicate cloud drift, fine and filmy as woven +mist; in the evenings a full, low moon looked over the valleys, as +pallid and holy as some aureoled saint; a sound of laughter and +dream was on the wind and the world grew young with the mirth of +April breezes. + +"It's so nice to be alive in the spring," said the Story Girl one +twilight as we swung on the boughs of Uncle Stephen's walk. + +"It's nice to be alive any time," said Felicity, complacently. + +"But it's nicer in the spring," insisted the Story Girl. "When +I'm dead I think I'll FEEL dead all the rest of the year, but when +spring comes I'm sure I'll feel like getting up and being alive +again." + +"You do say such queer things," complained Felicity. "You won't +be really dead any time. You'll be in the next world. And I +think it's horrid to talk about people being dead anyhow." + +"We've all got to die," said Sara Ray solemnly, but with a certain +relish. It was as if she enjoyed looking forward to something in +which nothing, neither an unsympathetic mother, nor the cruel fate +which had made her a colourless little nonentity, could prevent +her from being the chief performer. + +"I sometimes think," said Cecily, rather wearily, "that it isn't +so dreadful to die young as I used to suppose." + +She prefaced her remark with a slight cough, as she had been all +too apt to do of late, for the remnants of the cold she had caught +the night we were lost in the storm still clung to her. + +"Don't talk such nonsense, Cecily," cried the Story Girl with +unwonted sharpness, a sharpness we all understood. All of us, in +our hearts, though we never spoke of it to each other, thought +Cecily was not as well as she ought to be that spring, and we +hated to hear anything said which seemed in any way to touch or +acknowledge the tiny, faint shadow which now and again showed +itself dimly athwart our sunshine. + +"Well, it was you began talking of being dead," said Felicity +angrily. "I don't think it's right to talk of such things. +Cecily, are you sure your feet ain't damp? We ought to go in +anyhow--it's too chilly out here for you." + +"You girls had better go," said Dan, "but I ain't going in till +old Isaac Frewen goes. I've no use for him." + +"I hate him, too," said Felicity, agreeing with Dan for once in +her life. "He chews tobacco all the time and spits on the floor-- +the horrid pig!" + +"And yet his brother is an elder in the church," said Sara Ray +wonderingly. + +"I know a story about Isaac Frewen," said the Story Girl. "When +he was young he went by the name of Oatmeal Frewen and he got it +this way. He was noted for doing outlandish things. He lived at +Markdale then and he was a great, overgrown, awkward fellow, six +feet tall. He drove over to Baywater one Saturday to visit his +uncle there and came home the next afternoon, and although it was +Sunday he brought a big bag of oatmeal in the wagon with him. +When he came to Carlisle church he saw that service was going on +there, and he concluded to stop and go in. But he didn't like to +leave his oatmeal outside for fear something would happen to it, +because there were always mischievous boys around, so he hoisted +the bag on his back and walked into church with it and right to +the top of the aisle to Grandfather King's pew. Grandfather King +used to say he would never forget it to his dying day. The +minister was preaching and everything was quiet and solemn when he +heard a snicker behind him. Grandfather King turned around with a +terrible frown--for you know in those days it was thought a +dreadful thing to laugh in church--to rebuke the offender; and +what did he see but that great, hulking young Isaac stalking up +the aisle, bending a little forward under the weight of a big bag +of oatmeal? Grandfather King was so amazed he couldn't laugh, but +almost everyone else in the church was laughing, and grandfather +said he never blamed them, for no funnier sight was ever seen. +Young Isaac turned into grandfather's pew and thumped the bag of +oatmeal down on the seat with a thud that cracked it. Then he +plumped down beside it, took off his hat, wiped his face, and +settled back to listen to the sermon, just as if it was all a +matter of course. When the service was over he hoisted his bag up +again, marched out of church, and drove home. He could never +understand why it made so much talk; but he was known by the name +of Oatmeal Frewen for years." + +Our laughter, as we separated, rang sweetly through the old +orchard and across the far, dim meadows. Felicity and Cecily went +into the house and Sara Ray and the Story Girl went home, but +Peter decoyed me into the granary to ask advice. + +"You know Felicity has a birthday next week," he said, "and I want +to write her an ode." + +"A--a what?" I gasped. + +"An ode," repeated Peter, gravely. "It's poetry, you know. I'll +put it in Our Magazine." + +"But you can't write poetry, Peter," I protested. + +"I'm going to try," said Peter stoutly. "That is, if you think +she won't be offended at me." + +"She ought to feel flattered," I replied. + +"You never can tell how she'll take things," said Peter gloomily. +"Of course I ain't going to sign my name, and if she ain't pleased +I won't tell her I wrote it. Don't you let on." + +I promised I wouldn't and Peter went off with a light heart. He +said he meant to write two lines every day till he got it done. + +Cupid was playing his world-old tricks with others than poor Peter +that spring. Allusion has been made in these chronicles to one, +Cyrus Brisk, and to the fact that our brown-haired, soft-voiced +Cecily had found favour in the eyes of the said Cyrus. Cecily did +not regard her conquest with any pride. On the contrary, it +annoyed her terribly to be teased about Cyrus. She declared she +hated both him and his name. She was as uncivil to him as sweet +Cecily could be to anyone, but the gallant Cyrus was nothing +daunted. He laid determined siege to Cecily's young heart by all +the methods known to love-lorn swains. He placed delicate +tributes of spruce gum, molasses taffy, "conversation" candies and +decorated slate pencils on her desk; he persistently "chose" her +in all school games calling for a partner; he entreated to be +allowed to carry her basket from school; he offered to work her +sums for her; and rumour had it that he had made a wild statement +to the effect that he meant to ask if he might see her home some +night from prayer meeting. Cecily was quite frightened that he +would; she confided to me that she would rather die than walk home +with him, but that if he asked her she would be too bashful to say +no. So far, however, Cyrus had not molested her out of school, +nor had he as yet thumped Willy Fraser--who was reported to be +very low in his spirits over the whole affair. + +And now Cyrus had written Cecily a letter--a love letter, mark +you. Moreover, he had sent it through the post-office, with a +real stamp on it. Its arrival made a sensation among us. Dan +brought it from the office and, recognizing the handwriting of +Cyrus, gave Cecily no peace until she showed us the letter. It +was a very sentimental and rather ill-spelled epistle in which the +inflammable Cyrus reproached her in heart-rending words for her +coldness, and begged her to answer his letter, saying that if she +did he would keep the secret "in violets." Cyrus probably meant +"inviolate" but Cecily thought it was intended for a poetical +touch. He signed himself "your troo lover, Cyrus Brisk" and added +in a postcript that he couldn't eat or sleep for thinking of her. + +"Are you going to answer it?" asked Dan. + +"Certainly not," said Cecily with dignity. + +"Cyrus Brisk wants to be kicked," growled Felix, who never seemed +to be any particular friend of Willy Fraser's either. "He'd +better learn how to spell before he takes to writing love +letters." + +"Maybe Cyrus will starve to death if you don't," suggested Sara +Ray. + +"I hope he will," said Cecily cruelly. She was truly vexed over +the letter; and yet, so contradictory a thing is the feminine +heart, even at twelve years old, I think she was a little +flattered by it also. It was her first love letter and she +confided to me that it gives you a very queer feeling to get it. +At all events--the letter, though unanswered, was not torn up. I +feel sure Cecily preserved it. But she walked past Cyrus next +morning at school with a frozen countenance, evincing not the +slightest pity for his pangs of unrequited affection. Cecily +winced when Pat caught a mouse, visited a school chum the day the +pigs were killed that she might not hear their squealing, and +would not have stepped on a caterpillar for anything; yet she did +not care at all how much she made the brisk Cyrus suffer. + +Then, suddenly, all our spring gladness and Maytime hopes were +blighted as by a killing frost. Sorrow and anxiety pervaded our +days and embittered our dreams by night. Grim tragedy held sway +in our lives for the next fortnight. + +Paddy disappeared. One night he lapped his new milk as usual at +Uncle Roger's dairy door and then sat blandly on the flat stone +before it, giving the world assurance of a cat, sleek sides +glistening, plumy tail gracefully folded around his paws, +brilliant eyes watching the stir and flicker of bare willow boughs +in the twilight air above him. That was the last seen of him. In +the morning he was not. + +At first we were not seriously alarmed. Paddy was no roving +Thomas, but occasionally he vanished for a day or so. But when +two days passed without his return we became anxious, the third +day worried us greatly, and the fourth found us distracted. + +"Something has happened to Pat," the Story Girl declared +miserably. "He never stayed away from home more than two days in +his life." + +"What could have happened to him?" asked Felix. + +"He's been poisoned--or a dog has killed him," answered the Story +Girl in tragic tones. + +Cecily began to cry at this; but tears were of no avail. Neither +was anything else, apparently. We searched every nook and cranny +of barns and out-buildings and woods on both the King farms; we +inquired far and wide; we roved over Carlisle meadows calling +Paddy's name, until Aunt Janet grew exasperated and declared we +must stop making such exhibitions of ourselves. But we found and +heard no trace of our lost pet. The Story Girl moped and refused +to be comforted; Cecily declared she could not sleep at night for +thinking of poor Paddy dying miserably in some corner to which he +had dragged his failing body, or lying somewhere mangled and torn +by a dog. We hated every dog we saw on the ground that he might +be the guilty one. + +"It's the suspense that's so hard," sobbed the Story Girl. "If I +just knew what had happened to him it wouldn't be QUITE so hard. +But I don't know whether he's dead or alive. He may be living and +suffering, and every night I dream that he has come home and when +I wake up and find it's only a dream it just breaks my heart." + +"It's ever so much worse than when he was so sick last fall," said +Cecily drearily. "Then we knew that everything was done for him +that could be done." + +We could not appeal to Peg Bowen this time. In our desperation we +would have done it, but Peg was far away. With the first breath +of spring she was up and off, answering to the lure of the long +road. She had not been seen in her accustomed haunts for many a +day. Her pets were gaining their own living in the woods and her +house was locked up. + + + +CHAPTER XI + +THE WITCH'S WISHBONE + + +When a fortnight had elapsed we gave up all hope. + +"Pat is dead," said the Story Girl hopelessly, as we returned one +evening from a bootless quest to Andrew Cowan's where a strange +gray cat had been reported--a cat which turned out to be a +yellowish brown nondescript, with no tail to speak of. + +"I'm afraid so," I acknowledged at last. + +"If only Peg Bowen had been at home she could have found him for +us," asserted Peter. "Her skull would have told her where he +was." + +"I wonder if the wishbone she gave me would have done any good," +cried Cecily suddenly. "I'd forgotten all about it. Oh, do you +suppose it's too late yet?" + +"There's nothing in a wishbone," said Dan impatiently. + +"You can't be sure. She TOLD me I'd get the wish I made on it. +I'm going to try whenever I get home." + +"It can't do any harm, anyhow," said Peter, "but I'm afraid you've +left it too late. If Pat is dead even a witch's wishbone can't +bring him back to life." + +"I'll never forgive myself for not thinking about it before," +mourned Cecily. + +As soon as we got home she flew to the little box upstairs where +she kept her treasures, and brought therefrom the dry and brittle +wishbone. + +"Peg told me how it must be done. I'm to hold the wishbone with +both hands, like this, and walk backward, repeating the wish nine +times. And when I've finished the ninth time I'm to turn around +nine times, from right to left, and then the wish will come true +right away." + +"Do you expect to see Pat when you finish turning?" said Dan +skeptically. + +None of us had any faith in the incantation except Peter, and, by +infection, Cecily. You never could tell what might happen. +Cecily took the wishbone in her trembling little hands and began +her backward pacing, repeating solemnly, "I wish that we may find +Paddy alive, or else his body, so that we can bury him decently." +By the time Cecily had repeated this nine times we were all +slightly infected with the desperate hope that something might +come of it; and when she had made her nine gyrations we looked +eagerly down the sunset lane, half expecting to see our lost pet. +But we saw only the Awkward Man turning in at the gate. This was +almost as surprising as the sight of Pat himself would have been; +but there was no sign of Pat and hope flickered out in every +breast but Peter's. + +"You've got to give the spell time to work," he expostulated. "If +Pat was miles away when it was wished it wouldn't be reasonable to +expect to see him right off." + +But we of little faith had already lost that little, and it was a +very disconsolate group which the Awkward Man presently joined. + +He was smiling--his rare, beautiful smile which only children ever +saw--and he lifted his hat to the girls with no trace of the +shyness and awkwardness for which he was notorious. + +"Good evening," he said. "Have you little people lost a cat lately?" + +We stared. Peter said "I knew it!" in a triumphant pig's whisper. +The Story Girl started eagerly forward. + +"Oh, Mr. Dale, can you tell us anything of Paddy?" she cried. + +"A silver gray cat with black points and very fine marking?" + +"Yes, yes!" + +"Alive?" + +"Yes." + +"Well, doesn't that beat the Dutch!" muttered Dan. + +But we were all crowding about the Awkward Man, demanding where +and when he had found Paddy. + +"You'd better come over to my place and make sure that it really +is your cat," suggested the Awkward Man, "and I'll tell you all +about finding him on the way. I must warn you that he is pretty +thin--but I think he'll pull through." + +We obtained permission to go without much difficulty, although the +spring evening was wearing late, for Aunt Janet said she supposed +none of us would sleep a wink that night if we didn't. A joyful +procession followed the Awkward Man and the Story Girl across the +gray, star-litten meadows to his home and through his pine-guarded +gate. + +"You know that old barn of mine back in the woods?" said the +Awkward Man. "I go to it only about once in a blue moon. There +was an old barrel there, upside down, one side resting on a block +of wood. This morning I went to the barn to see about having some +hay hauled home, and I had occasion to move the barrel. I noticed +that it seemed to have been moved slightly since my last visit, +and it was now resting wholly on the floor. I lifted it up--and +there was a cat lying on the floor under it. I had heard you had +lost yours and I took it this was your pet. I was afraid he was +dead at first. He was lying there with his eyes closed; but when +I bent over him he opened them and gave a pitiful little mew; or +rather his mouth made the motion of a mew, for he was too weak to +utter a sound." + +"Oh, poor, poor Paddy," said tender-hearted Cecily tearfully. + +"He couldn't stand, so I carried him home and gave him just a +little milk. Fortunately he was able to lap it. I gave him a +little more at intervals all day, and when I left he was able to +crawl around. I think he'll be all right, but you'll have to be +careful how you feed him for a few days. Don't let your hearts +run away with your judgment and kill him with kindness." + +"Do you suppose any one put him under that barrel?" asked the +Story Girl. + +"No. The barn was locked. Nothing but a cat could get in. I +suppose he went under the barrel, perhaps in pursuit of a mouse, +and somehow knocked it off the block and so imprisoned himself." + +Paddy was sitting before the fire in the Awkward Man's clean, bare +kitchen. Thin! Why, he was literally skin and bone, and his fur +was dull and lustreless. It almost broke our hearts to see our +beautiful Paddy brought so low. + +"Oh, how he must have suffered!" moaned Cecily. + +"He'll be as prosperous as ever in a week or two," said the +Awkward Man kindly. + +The Story Girl gathered Paddy up in her arms. Most mellifluously +did he purr as we crowded around to stroke him; with friendly joy +he licked our hands with his little red tongue; poor Paddy was a +thankful cat; he was no longer lost, starving, imprisoned, +helpless; he was with his comrades once more and he was going +home--home to his old familiar haunts of orchard and dairy and +granary, to his daily rations of new milk and cream, to the cosy +corner of his own fireside. We trooped home joyfully, the Story +Girl in our midst carrying Paddy hugged against her shoulder. +Never did April stars look down on a happier band of travellers on +the golden road. There was a little gray wind out in the meadows +that night, and it danced along beside us on viewless, fairy feet, +and sang a delicate song of the lovely, waiting years, while the +night laid her beautiful hands of blessing over the world. + +"You see what Peg's wishbone did," said Peter triumphantly. + +"Now, look here, Peter, don't talk nonsense," expostulated Dan. +"The Awkward Man found Paddy this morning and had started to bring +us word before Cecily ever thought of the wishbone. Do you mean +to say you believe he wouldn't have come walking up our lane just +when he did if she had never thought of it?" + +"I mean to say that I wouldn't mind if I had several wishbones of +the same kind," retorted Peter stubbornly. + +"Of course I don't think the wishbone had really anything to do +with our getting Paddy back, but I'm glad I tried it, for all +that," remarked Cecily in a tone of satisfaction. + +"Well, anyhow, we've got Pat and that's the main thing," said +Felix. + +"And I hope it will be a lesson to him to stay home after this," +commented Felicity. + +"They say the barrens are full of mayflowers," said the Story +Girl. "Let us have a mayflower picnic tomorrow to celebrate +Paddy's safe return." + + + +CHAPTER XII + +FLOWERS O' MAY + + +Accordingly we went a-maying, following the lure of dancing winds +to a certain westward sloping hill lying under the spirit-like +blue of spring skies, feathered over with lisping young pines and +firs, which cupped little hollows and corners where the sunshine +got in and never got out again, but stayed there and grew mellow, +coaxing dear things to bloom long before they would dream of +waking up elsewhere. + +'Twas there we found our mayflowers, after faithful seeking. +Mayflowers, you must know, never flaunt themselves; they must be +sought as becomes them, and then they will yield up their +treasures to the seeker--clusters of star-white and dawn-pink that +have in them the very soul of all the springs that ever were, re- +incarnated in something it seems gross to call perfume, so +exquisite and spiritual is it. + +We wandered gaily over the hill, calling to each other with +laughter and jest, getting parted and delightfully lost in that +little pathless wilderness, and finding each other unexpectedly in +nooks and dips and sunny silences, where the wind purred and +gentled and went softly. When the sun began to hang low, sending +great fan-like streamers of radiance up to the zenith, we +foregathered in a tiny, sequestered valley, full of young green +fern, lying in the shadow of a wooded hill. In it was a shallow +pool--a glimmering green sheet of water on whose banks nymphs +might dance as blithely as ever they did on Argive hill or in +Cretan dale. There we sat and stripped the faded leaves and stems +from our spoil, making up the blossoms into bouquets to fill our +baskets with sweetness. The Story Girl twisted a spray of +divinest pink in her brown curls, and told us an old legend of a +beautiful Indian maiden who died of a broken heart when the first +snows of winter were falling, because she believed her long-absent +lover was false. But he came back in the spring time from his +long captivity; and when he heard that she was dead he sought her +grave to mourn her, and lo, under the dead leaves of the old year +he found sweet sprays of a blossom never seen before, and knew +that it was a message of love and remembrance from his dark-eyed +sweet-heart. + +"Except in stories Indian girls are called squaws," remarked +practical Dan, tying his mayflowers together in one huge, solid, +cabbage-like bunch. Not for Dan the bother of filling his basket +with the loose sprays, mingled with feathery elephant's-ears and +trails of creeping spruce, as the rest of us, following the Story +Girl's example, did. Nor would he admit that ours looked any +better than his. + +"I like things of one kind together. I don't like them mixed," he +said. + +"You have no taste," said Felicity. + +"Except in my mouth, best beloved," responded Dan. + +"You do think you are so smart," retorted Felicity, flushing with +anger. + +"Don't quarrel this lovely day," implored Cecily. + +"Nobody's quarrelling, Sis. I ain't a bit mad. It's Felicity. +What on earth is that at the bottom of your basket, Cecily?" + +"It's a History of the Reformation in France," confessed poor +Cecily, "by a man named D-a-u-b-i-g-n-y. I can't pronounce it. I +heard Mr. Marwood saying it was a book everyone ought to read, so +I began it last Sunday. I brought it along today to read when I +got tired picking flowers. I'd ever so much rather have brought +Ester Reid. There's so much in the history I can't understand, +and it is so dreadful to read of people being burned to death. +But I felt I OUGHT to read it." + +"Do you really think your mind has improved any?" asked Sara Ray +seriously, wreathing the handle of her basket with creeping +spruce. + +"No, I'm afraid it hasn't one bit," answered Cecily sadly. "I +feel that I haven't succeeded very well in keeping my +resolutions." + +"I've kept mine," said Felicity complacently. + +"It's easy to keep just one," retorted Cecily, rather resentfully. + +"It's not so easy to think beautiful thoughts," answered Felicity. + +"It's the easiest thing in the world," said the Story Girl, +tiptoeing to the edge of the pool to peep at her own arch +reflection, as some nymph left over from the golden age might do. +"Beautiful thoughts just crowd into your mind at times." + +"Oh, yes, AT TIMES. But that's different from thinking one +REGULARLY at a given hour. And mother is always calling up the +stairs for me to hurry up and get dressed, and it's VERY hard +sometimes." + +"That's so," conceded the Story Girl. "There ARE times when I +can't think anything but gray thoughts. Then, other days, I think +pink and blue and gold and purple and rainbow thoughts all the +time." + +"The idea! As if thoughts were coloured," giggled Felicity. + +"Oh, they are!" cried the Story Girl. "Why, I can always SEE the +colour of any thought I think. Can't you?" + +"I never heard of such a thing," declared Felicity, "and I don't +believe it. I believe you are just making that up." + +"Indeed I'm not. Why, I always supposed everyone thought in +colours. It must be very tiresome if you don't." + +"When you think of me what colour is it?" asked Peter curiously. + +"Yellow," answered the Story Girl promptly. "And Cecily is a +sweet pink, like those mayflowers, and Sara Ray is very pale blue, +and Dan is red and Felix is yellow, like Peter, and Bev is +striped." + +"What colour am I?" asked Felicity, amid the laughter at my +expense. + +"You're--you're like a rainbow," answered the Story Girl rather +reluctantly. She had to be honest, but she would rather not have +complimented Felicity. "And you needn't laugh at Bev. His +stripes are beautiful. It isn't HE that is striped. It's just +the THOUGHT of him. Peg Bowen is a queer sort of yellowish green +and the Awkward Man is lilac. Aunt Olivia is pansy-purple mixed +with gold, and Uncle Roger is navy blue." + +"I never heard such nonsense," declared Felicity. The rest of us +were rather inclined to agree with her for once. We thought the +Story Girl was making fun of us. But I believe she really had a +strange gift of thinking in colours. In later years, when we were +grown up, she told me of it again. She said that everything had +colour in her thought; the months of the year ran through all the +tints of the spectrum, the days of the week were arrayed as +Solomon in his glory, morning was golden, noon orange, evening +crystal blue, and night violet. Every idea came to her mind robed +in its own especial hue. Perhaps that was why her voice and words +had such a charm, conveying to the listeners' perception such fine +shadings of meaning and tint and music. + +"Well, let's go and have something to eat," suggested Dan. "What +colour is eating, Sara?" + +"Golden brown, just the colour of a molasses cooky," laughed the +Story Girl. + +We sat on the ferny bank of the pool and ate of the generous +basket Aunt Janet had provided, with appetites sharpened by the +keen spring air and our wilderness rovings. Felicity had made +some very nice sandwiches of ham which we all appreciated except +Dan, who declared he didn't like things minced up and dug out of +the basket a chunk of boiled pork which he proceeded to saw up +with a jack-knife and devour with gusto. + +"I told ma to put this in for me. There's some CHEW to it," he +said. + +"You are not a bit refined," commented Felicity. + +"Not a morsel, my love," grinned Dan. + +"You make me think of a story I heard Uncle Roger telling about +Cousin Annetta King," said the Story Girl. "Great-uncle Jeremiah +King used to live where Uncle Roger lives now, when Grandfather +King was alive and Uncle Roger was a boy. In those days it was +thought rather coarse for a young lady to have too hearty an +appetite, and she was more admired if she was delicate about what +she ate. Cousin Annetta set out to be very refined indeed. She +pretended to have no appetite at all. One afternoon she was +invited to tea at Grandfather King's when they had some special +company--people from Charlottetown. Cousin Annetta said she could +hardly eat anything. 'You know, Uncle Abraham,' she said, in a +very affected, fine-young-lady voice, 'I really hardly eat enough +to keep a bird alive. Mother says she wonders how I continue to +exist.' And she picked and pecked until Grandfather King declared +he would like to throw something at her. After tea Cousin Annetta +went home, and just about dark Grandfather King went over to Uncle +Jeremiah's on an errand. As he passed the open, lighted pantry +window he happened to glance in, and what do you think he saw? +Delicate Cousin Annetta standing at the dresser, with a big loaf +of bread beside her and a big platterful of cold, boiled pork in +front of her; and Annetta was hacking off great chunks, like Dan +there, and gobbling them down as if she was starving. Grandfather +King couldn't resist the temptation. He stepped up to the window +and said, 'I'm glad your appetite has come back to you, Annetta. +Your mother needn't worry about your continuing to exist as long +as you can tuck away fat, salt pork in that fashion.' + +"Cousin Annetta never forgave him, but she never pretended to be +delicate again." + +"The Jews don't believe in eating pork," said Peter. + +"I'm glad I'm not a Jew and I guess Cousin Annetta was too," said +Dan. + +"I like bacon, but I can never look at a pig without wondering if +they were ever intended to be eaten," remarked Cecily naively. + +When we finished our lunch the barrens were already wrapping +themselves in a dim, blue dusk and falling upon rest in dell and +dingle. But out in the open there was still much light of a fine +emerald-golden sort and the robins whistled us home in it. "Horns +of Elfland" never sounded more sweetly around hoary castle and +ruined fane than those vesper calls of the robins from the +twilight spruce woods and across green pastures lying under the +pale radiance of a young moon. + +When we reached home we found that Miss Reade had been up to the +hill farm on an errand and was just leaving. The Story Girl went +for a walk with her and came back with an important expression on +her face. + +"You look as if you had a story to tell," said Felix. + +"One is growing. It isn't a whole story yet," answered the Story +Girl mysteriously. + +"What is it?" asked Cecily. + +"I can't tell you till it's fully grown," said the Story Girl. +"But I'll tell you a pretty little story the Awkward Man told us-- +told me--tonight. He was walking in his garden as we went by, +looking at his tulip beds. His tulips are up ever so much higher +than ours, and I asked him how he managed to coax them along so +early. And he said HE didn't do it--it was all the work of the +pixies who lived in the woods across the brook. There were more +pixy babies than usual this spring, and the mothers were in a +hurry for the cradles. The tulips are the pixy babies' cradles, +it seems. The mother pixies come out of the woods at twilight and +rock their tiny little brown babies to sleep in the tulip cups. +That is the reason why tulip blooms last so much longer than other +blossoms. The pixy babies must have a cradle until they are grown +up. They grow very fast, you see, and the Awkward Man says on a +spring evening, when the tulips are out, you can hear the +sweetest, softest, clearest, fairy music in his garden, and it is +the pixy folk singing as they rock the pixy babies to sleep." + +"Then the Awkward Man says what isn't true," said Felicity +severely. + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +A SURPRISING ANNOUNCEMENT + + +"Nothing exciting has happened for ever so long," said the Story +Girl discontentedly, one late May evening, as we lingered under +the wonderful white bloom of the cherry trees. There was a long +row of them in the orchard, with a Lombardy poplar at either end, +and a hedge of lilacs behind. When the wind blew over them all +the spicy breezes of Ceylon's isle were never sweeter. + +It was a time of wonder and marvel, of the soft touch of silver +rain on greening fields, of the incredible delicacy of young +leaves, of blossom in field and garden and wood. The whole world +bloomed in a flush and tremor of maiden loveliness, instinct with +all the evasive, fleeting charm of spring and girlhood and young +morning. We felt and enjoyed it all without understanding or +analyzing it. It was enough to be glad and young with spring on +the golden road. + +"I don't like excitement very much," said Cecily. "It makes one +so tired. I'm sure it was exciting enough when Paddy was missing, +but we didn't find that very pleasant." + +"No, but it was interesting," returned the Story Girl +thoughtfully. "After all, I believe I'd rather be miserable than +dull." + +"I wouldn't then," said Felicity decidedly. "And you need never +be dull when you have work to do. 'Satan finds some mischief +still for idle hands to do!'" + +"Well, mischief is interesting," laughed the Story Girl. "And I +thought you didn't think it lady-like to speak of that person, +Felicity?" + +"It's all right if you call him by his polite name," said Felicity +stiffly. + +"Why does the Lombardy poplar hold its branches straight up in the +air like that, when all the other poplars hold theirs out or hang +them down?" interjected Peter, who had been gazing intently at the +slender spire showing darkly against the fine blue eastern sky. + +"Because it grows that way," said Felicity. + +"Oh I know a story about that," cried the Story Girl. "Once upon +a time an old man found the pot of gold at the rainbow's end. +There IS a pot there, it is said, but it is very hard to find +because you can never get to the rainbow's end before it vanishes +from your sight. But this old man found it, just at sunset, when +Iris, the guardian of the rainbow gold, happened to be absent. As +he was a long way from home, and the pot was very big and heavy, +he decided to hide it until morning and then get one of his sons +to go with him and help him carry it. So he hid it under the +boughs of the sleeping poplar tree. + +"When Iris came back she missed the pot of gold and of course she +was in a sad way about it. She sent Mercury, the messenger of the +gods, to look for it, for she didn't dare leave the rainbow again, +lest somebody should run off with that too. Mercury asked all the +trees if they had seen the pot of gold, and the elm, oak and pine +pointed to the poplar and said, + +"'The poplar can tell you where it is.' + +"'How can I tell you where it is?' cried the poplar, and she held +up all her branches in surprise, just as we hold up our hands--and +down tumbled the pot of gold. The poplar was amazed and +indignant, for she was a very honest tree. She stretched her +boughs high above her head and declared that she would always hold +them like that, so that nobody could hide stolen gold under them +again. And she taught all the little poplars she knew to stand +the same way, and that is why Lombardy poplars always do. But the +aspen poplar leaves are always shaking, even on the very calmest +day. And do you know why?" + +And then she told us the old legend that the cross on which the +Saviour of the world suffered was made of aspen poplar wood and so +never again could its poor, shaken, shivering leaves know rest or +peace. There was an aspen in the orchard, the very embodiment of +youth and spring in its litheness and symmetry. Its little leaves +were hanging tremulously, not yet so fully blown as to hide its +development of bough and twig, making poetry against the spiritual +tints of a spring sunset. + +"It does look sad," said Peter, "but it is a pretty tree, and it +wasn't its fault." + +"There's a heavy dew and it's time we stopped talking nonsense and +went in," decreed Felicity. "If we don't we'll all have a cold, +and then we'll be miserable enough, but it won't be very +exciting." + +"All the same, I wish something exciting would happen," finished +the Story Girl, as we walked up through the orchard, peopled with +its nun-like shadows. + +"There's a new moon tonight, so may be you'll get your wish," said +Peter. "My Aunt Jane didn't believe there was anything in the +moon business, but you never can tell." + +The Story Girl did get her wish. Something happened the very next +day. She joined us in the afternoon with a quite indescribable +expression on her face, compounded of triumph, anticipation, and +regret. Her eyes betrayed that she had been crying, but in them +shone a chastened exultation. Whatever the Story Girl mourned +over it was evident she was not without hope. + +"I have some news to tell you," she said importantly. "Can you +guess what it is?" + +We couldn't and wouldn't try. + +"Tell us right off," implored Felix. "You look as if it was +something tremendous." + +"So it is. Listen--Aunt Olivia is going to be married." + +We stared in blank amazement. Peg Bowen's hint had faded from our +minds and we had never put much faith in it. + +"Aunt Olivia! I don't believe it," cried Felicity flatly. "Who +told you?" + +"Aunt Olivia herself. So it is perfectly true. I'm awfully sorry +in one way--but oh, won't it be splendid to have a real wedding in +the family? She's going to have a big wedding--and I am to be +bridesmaid." + +"I shouldn't think you were old enough to be a bridesmaid," said +Felicity sharply. + +"I'm nearly fifteen. Anyway, Aunt Olivia says I have to be." + +"Who's she going to marry?" asked Cecily, gathering herself +together after the shock, and finding that the world was going on +just the same. + +"His name is Dr. Seton and he is a Halifax man. She met him when +she was at Uncle Edward's last summer. They've been engaged ever +since. The wedding is to be the third week in June." + +"And our school concert comes off the next week," complained +Felicity. "Why do things always come together like that? And what +are you going to do if Aunt Olivia is going away?" + +"I'm coming to live at your house," answered the Story Girl rather +timidly. She did not know how Felicity might like that. But +Felicity took it rather well. + +"You've been here most of the time anyhow, so it'll just be that +you'll sleep and eat here, too. But what's to become of Uncle +Roger?" + +"Aunt Olivia says he'll have to get married, too. But Uncle Roger +says he'd rather hire a housekeeper than marry one, because in the +first case he could turn her off if he didn't like her, but in the +second case he couldn't." + +"There'll be a lot of cooking to do for the wedding," reflected +Felicity in a tone of satisfaction. + +"I s'pose Aunt Olivia will want some rusks made. I hope she has +plenty of tooth-powder laid in," said Dan. + +"It's a pity you don't use some of that tooth-powder you're so +fond of talking about yourself," retorted Felicity. "When anyone +has a mouth the size of yours the teeth show so plain." + +"I brush my teeth every Sunday," asseverated Dan. + +"Every Sunday! You ought to brush them every DAY." + +"Did anyone ever hear such nonsense?" demanded Dan sincerely. + +"Well, you know, it really does say so in the Family Guide," said +Cecily quietly. + +"Then the Family Guide people must have lots more spare time than +I have," retorted Dan contemptuously. + +"Just think, the Story Girl will have her name in the papers if +she's bridesmaid," marvelled Sara Ray. + +"In the Halifax papers, too," added Felix, "since Dr. Seton is a +Halifax man. What is his first name?" + +"Robert." + +"And will we have to call him Uncle Robert?" + +"Not until he's married to her. Then we will, of course." + +"I hope your Aunt Olivia won't disappear before the ceremony," +remarked Sara Ray, who was surreptitiously reading "The Vanquished +Bride," by Valeria H. Montague in the Family Guide. + +"I hope Dr. Seton won't fail to show up, like your cousin Rachel +Ward's beau," said Peter. + +"That makes me think of another story I read the other day about +Great-uncle Andrew King and Aunt Georgina," laughed the Story +Girl. "It happened eighty years ago. It was a very stormy winter +and the roads were bad. Uncle Andrew lived in Carlisle, and Aunt +Georgina--she was Miss Georgina Matheson then--lived away up west, +so he couldn't get to see her very often. They agreed to be +married that winter, but Georgina couldn't set the day exactly +because her brother, who lived in Ontario, was coming home for a +visit, and she wanted to be married while he was home. So it was +arranged that she was to write Uncle Andrew and tell him what day +to come. She did, and she told him to come on a Tuesday. But her +writing wasn't very good and poor Uncle Andrew thought she wrote +Thursday. So on Thursday he drove all the way to Georgina's home +to be married. It was forty miles and a bitter cold day. But it +wasn't any colder than the reception he got from Georgina. She +was out in the porch, with her head tied up in a towel, picking +geese. She had been all ready Tuesday, and her friends and the +minister were there, and the wedding supper prepared. But there +was no bridegroom and Georgina was furious. Nothing Uncle Andrew +could say would appease her. She wouldn't listen to a word of +explanation, but told him to go, and never show his nose there +again. So poor Uncle Andrew had to go ruefully home, hoping that +she would relent later on, because he was really very much in love +with her." + +"And did she?" queried Felicity. + +"She did. Thirteen years exactly from that day they were married. +It took her just that long to forgive him." + +"It took her just that long to find out she couldn't get anybody +else," said Dan, cynically. + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +A PRODIGAL RETURNS + + +Aunt Olivia and the Story Girl lived in a whirlwind of dressmaking +after that, and enjoyed it hugely. Cecily and Felicity also had +to have new dresses for the great event, and they talked of little +else for a fortnight. Cecily declared that she hated to go to +sleep because she was sure to dream that she was at Aunt Olivia's +wedding in her old faded gingham dress and a ragged apron. + +"And no shoes or stockings," she added, "and I can't move, and +everyone walks past and looks at my feet." + +"That's only in a dream," mourned Sara Ray, "but I may have to +wear my last summer's white dress to the wedding. It's too short, +but ma says it's plenty good for this summer. I'll be so +mortified if I have to wear it." + +"I'd rather not go at all than wear a dress that wasn't nice," +said Felicity pleasantly. + +"I'd go to the wedding if I had to go in my school dress," cried +Sara Ray. "I've never been to anything. I wouldn't miss it for +the world." + +"My Aunt Jane always said that if you were neat and tidy it didn't +matter whether you were dressed fine or not," said Peter. + +"I'm sick and tired of hearing about your Aunt Jane," said +Felicity crossly. + +Peter looked grieved but held his peace. Felicity was very hard +on him that spring, but his loyalty never wavered. Everything she +said or did was right in Peter's eyes. + +"It's all very well to be neat and tidy," said Sara Ray, "but I +like a little style too." + +"I think you'll find your mother will get you a new dress after +all," comforted Cecily. "Anyway, nobody will notice you because +everyone will be looking at the bride. Aunt Olivia will make a +lovely bride. Just think how sweet she'll look in a white silk +dress and a floating veil." + +"She says she is going to have the ceremony performed out here in +the orchard under her own tree," said the Story Girl. "Won't that +be romantic? It almost makes me feel like getting married myself." + +"What a way to talk," rebuked Felicity, "and you only fifteen." + +"Lots of people have been married at fifteen," laughed the Story +Girl. "Lady Jane Gray was." + +"But you are always saying that Valeria H. Montague's stories are +silly and not true to life, so that is no argument," retorted +Felicity, who knew more about cooking than about history, and +evidently imagined that the Lady Jane Gray was one of Valeria's +titled heroines. + +The wedding was a perennial source of conversation among us in +those days; but presently its interest palled for a time in the +light of another quite tremendous happening. One Saturday night +Peter's mother called to take him home with her for Sunday. She +had been working at Mr. James Frewen's, and Mr. Frewen was driving +her home. We had never seen Peter's mother before, and we looked +at her with discreet curiosity. She was a plump, black-eyed +little woman, neat as a pin, but with a rather tired and care-worn +face that looked as if it should have been rosy and jolly. Life +had been a hard battle for her, and I rather think that her curly- +headed little lad was all that had kept heart and spirit in her. +Peter went home with her and returned Sunday evening. We were in +the orchard sitting around the Pulpit Stone, where we had, +according to the custom of the households of King, been learning +our golden texts and memory verses for the next Sunday School +lesson. Paddy, grown sleek and handsome again, was sitting on the +stone itself, washing his jowls. + +Peter joined us with a very queer expression on his face. He +seemed bursting with some news which he wanted to tell and yet +hardly liked to. + +"Why are you looking so mysterious, Peter?" demanded the Story Girl. + +"What do you think has happened?" asked Peter solemnly. + +"What has?" + +"My father has come home," answered Peter. + +The announcement produced all the sensation he could have wished. +We crowded around him in excitement. + +"Peter! When did he come back?" + +"Saturday night. He was there when ma and I got home. It give +her an awful turn. I didn't know him at first, of course." + +"Peter Craig, I believe you are glad your father has come back," +cried the Story Girl. + +"'Course I'm glad," retorted Peter. + +"And after you saying you didn't want ever to see him again," said +Felicity. + +"You just wait. You haven't heard my story yet. I wouldn't have +been glad to see father if he'd come back the same as he went +away. But he is a changed man. He happened to go into a revival +meeting one night this spring and he got converted. And he's come +home to stay, and he says he's never going to drink another drop, +but he's going to look after his family. Ma isn't to do any more +washing for nobody but him and me, and I'm not to be a hired boy +any longer. He says I can stay with your Uncle Roger till the +fall 'cause I promised I would, but after that I'm to stay home +and go to school right along and learn to be whatever I'd like to +be. I tell you it made me feel queer. Everything seemed to be +upset. But he gave ma forty dollars--every cent he had--so I +guess he really is converted." + +"I hope it will last, I'm sure," said Felicity. She did not say +it nastily, however. We were all glad for Peter's sake, though a +little dizzy over the unexpectedness of it all. + +"This is what I'D like to know," said Peter. "How did Peg Bowen +know my father was coming home? Don't you tell me she isn't a +witch after that." + +"And she knew about your Aunt Olivia's wedding, too," added Sara +Ray. + +"Oh, well, she likely heard that from some one. Grown up folks +talk things over long before they tell them to children," said +Cecily. + +"Well, she couldn't have heard father was coming home from any +one," answered Peter. "He was converted up in Maine, where nobody +knew him, and he never told a soul he was coming till he got here. +No, you can believe what you like, but I'm satisfied at last that +Peg is a witch and that skull of hers does tell her things. She +told me father was coming home and he come!" + +"How happy you must be," sighed Sara Ray romantically. "It's just +like that story in the Family Guide, where the missing earl comes +home to his family just as the Countess and Lady Violetta are +going to be turned out by the cruel heir." + +Felicity sniffed. + +"There's some difference, I guess. The earl had been imprisoned +for years in a loathsome dungeon." + +Perhaps Peter's father had too, if we but realized it--imprisoned +in the dungeon of his own evil appetites and habits, than which +none could be more loathsome. But a Power, mightier than the +forces of evil, had struck off his fetters and led him back to his +long-forfeited liberty and light. And no countess or lady of high +degree could have welcomed a long-lost earl home more joyfully +than the tired little washerwoman had welcomed the erring husband +of her youth. + +But in Peter's ointment of joy there was a fly or two. So very, +very few things are flawless in this world, even on the golden +road. + +"Of course I'm awful glad that father has come back and that ma +won't have to wash any more," he said with a sigh, "but there are +two things that kind of worry me. My Aunt Jane always said that +it didn't do any good to worry, and I s'pose it don't, but it's +kind of a relief." + +"What's worrying you?" asked Felix. + +"Well, for one thing I'll feel awful bad to go away from you all. +I'll miss you just dreadful, and I won't even be able to go to the +same school. I'll have to go to Markdale school." + +"But you must come and see us often," said Felicity graciously. +"Markdale isn't so far away, and you could spend every other +Saturday afternoon with us anyway." + +Peter's black eyes filled with adoring gratitude. + +"That's so kind of you, Felicity. I'll come as often as I can, of +course; but it won't be the same as being around with you all the +time. The other thing is even worse. You see, it was a Methodist +revival father got converted in, and so of course he joined the +Methodist church. He wasn't anything before. He used to say he +was a Nothingarian and lived up to it--kind of bragging like. But +he's a strong Methodist now, and is going to go to Markdale +Methodist church and pay to the salary. Now what'll he say when I +tell him I'm a Presbyterian?" + +"You haven't told him, yet?" asked the Story Girl. + +"No, I didn't dare. I was scared he'd say I'd have to be a Methodist." + +"Well, Methodists are pretty near as good as Presbyterians," said +Felicity, with the air of one making a great concession. + +"I guess they're every bit as good," retorted Peter. "But that +ain't the point. I've got to be a Presbyterian, 'cause I stick to +a thing when I once decide it. But I expect father will be mad +when he finds out." + +"If he's converted he oughtn't to get mad," said Dan. + +"Well, lots o' people do. But if he isn't mad he'll be sorry, and +that'll be even worse, for a Presbyterian I'm bound to be. But I +expect it will make things unpleasant." + +"You needn't tell him anything about it," advised Felicity. "Just +keep quiet and go to the Methodist church until you get big, and +then you can go where you please." + +"No, that wouldn't be honest," said Peter sturdily. "My Aunt Jane +always said it was best to be open and above board in everything, +and especially in religion. So I'll tell father right out, but +I'll wait a few weeks so as not to spoil things for ma too soon if +he acts up." + +Peter was not the only one who had secret cares. Sara Ray was +beginning to feel worried over her looks. I heard her and Cecily +talking over their troubles one evening while I was weeding the +onion bed and they were behind the hedge knitting lace. I did not +mean to eavesdrop. I supposed they knew I was there until Cecily +overwhelmed me with indignation later on. + +"I'm so afraid, Cecily, that I'm going to be homely all my life," +said poor Sara with a tremble in her voice. "You can stand being +ugly when you are young if you have any hope of being better +looking when you grow up. But I'm getting worse. Aunt Mary says +I'm going to be the very image of Aunt Matilda. And Aunt Matilda +is as homely as she can be. It isn't"--and poor Sara sighed--"a +very cheerful prospect. If I am ugly nobody will ever want to +marry me, and," concluded Sara candidly, "I don't want to be an +old maid." + +"But plenty of girls get married who aren't a bit pretty," +comforted Cecily. "Besides, you are real nice looking at times, +Sara. I think you are going to have a nice figure." + +"But just look at my hands," moaned Sara. "They're simply covered +with warts." + +"Oh, the warts will all disappear before you grow up," said +Cecily. + +"But they won't disappear before the school concert. How am I to +get up there and recite? You know there is one line in my +recitation, 'She waved her lily-white hand,' and I have to wave +mine when I say it. Fancy waving a lily-white hand all covered +with warts. I've tried every remedy I ever heard of, but nothing +does any good. Judy Pineau said if I rubbed them with toad-spit +it would take them away for sure. But how am I to get any toad- +spit?" + +"It doesn't sound like a very nice remedy, anyhow," shuddered +Cecily. "I'd rather have the warts. But do you know, I believe +if you didn't cry so much over every little thing, you'd be ever +so much better looking. Crying spoils your eyes and makes the end +of your nose red." + +"I can't help crying," protested Sara. "My feelings are so very +sensitive. I've given up trying to keep THAT resolution." + +"Well, men don't like cry-babies," said Cecily sagely. Cecily had +a good deal of Mother Eve's wisdom tucked away in that smooth, +brown head of hers. + +"Cecily, do you ever intend to be married?" asked Sara in a +confidential tone. + +"Goodness!" cried Cecily, quite shocked. "It will be time enough +when I grow up to think of that, Sara." + +"I should think you'd have to think of it now, with Cyrus Brisk as +crazy after you as he is." + +"I wish Cyrus Brisk was at the bottom of the Red Sea," exclaimed +Cecily, goaded into a spurt of temper by mention of the detested +name. + +"What has Cyrus been doing now?" asked Felicity, coming around the +corner of the hedge. + +"Doing NOW! It's ALL the time. He just worries me to death," +returned Cecily angrily. "He keeps writing me letters and putting +them in my desk or in my reader. I never answer one of them, but +he keeps on. And in the last one, mind you, he said he'd do +something desperate right off if I wouldn't promise to marry him +when we grew up." + +"Just think, Cecily, you've had a proposal already," said Sara Ray +in an awe-struck tone. + +"But he hasn't done anything desperate yet, and that was last +week," commented Felicity, with a toss of her head. + +"He sent me a lock of his hair and wanted one of mine in +exchange," continued Cecily indignantly. "I tell you I sent his +back to him pretty quick." + +"Did you never answer any of his letters?" asked Sara Ray. + +"No, indeed! I guess not!" + +"Do you know," said Felicity, "I believe if you wrote him just +once and told him your exact opinion of him in good plain English +it would cure him of his nonsense." + +"I couldn't do that. I haven't enough spunk," confessed Cecily +with a blush. "But I'll tell you what I did do once. He wrote me +a long letter last week. It was just awfully SOFT, and every +other word was spelled wrong. He even spelled baking soda, 'bacon +soda!'" + +"What on earth had he to say about baking soda in a love-letter?" +asked Felicity. + +"Oh, he said his mother sent him to the store for some and he +forgot it because he was thinking about me. Well, I just took his +letter and wrote in all the words, spelled right, above the wrong +ones, in red ink, just as Mr. Perkins makes us do with our +dictation exercises, and sent it back to him. I thought maybe +he'd feel insulted and stop writing to me." + +"And did he?" + +"No, he didn't. It is my opinion you can't insult Cyrus Brisk. +He is too thick-skinned. He wrote another letter, and thanked me +for correcting his mistakes, and said it made him feel glad +because it showed I was beginning to take an interest in him when +I wanted him to spell better. Did you ever? Miss Marwood says it +is wrong to hate anyone, but I don't care, I hate Cyrus Brisk." + +"Mrs. Cyrus Brisk WOULD be an awful name," giggled Felicity. + +"Flossie Brisk says Cyrus is ruining all the trees on his father's +place cutting your name on them," said Sara Ray. "His father told +him he would whip him if he didn't stop, but Cyrus keeps right on. +He told Flossie it relieved his feelings. Flossie says he cut +yours and his together on the birch tree in front of the parlour +window, and a row of hearts around them." + +"Just where every visitor can see them, I suppose," lamented +Cecily. "He just worries my life out. And what I mind most of +all is, he sits and looks at me in school with such melancholy, +reproachful eyes when he ought to be working sums. I won't look +at him, but I FEEL him staring at me, and it makes me so nervous." + +"They say his mother was out of her mind at one time," said +Felicity. + +I do not think Felicity was quite well pleased that Cyrus should +have passed over her rose-red prettiness to set his affections on +that demure elf of a Cecily. She did not want the allegiance of +Cyrus in the least, but it was something of a slight that he had +not wanted her to want it. + +"And he sends me pieces of poetry he cuts out of the papers," +Cecily went on, "with lots of the lines marked with a lead pencil. +Yesterday he put one in his letter, and this is what he marked: + + + "'If you will not relent to me + Then must I learn to know + Darkness alone till life be flown. + +Here--I have the piece in my sewing-bag--I'll read it all to you." + +Those three graceless girls read the sentimental rhyme and giggled +over it. Poor Cyrus! His young affections were sadly misplaced. +But after all, though Cecily never relented towards him, he did +not condemn himself to darkness alone till life was flown. Quite +early in life he wedded a stout, rosy, buxom lass, the very +antithesis of his first love; he prospered in his undertakings, +raised a large and respectable family, and was eventually +appointed a Justice of the Peace. Which was all very sensible of +Cyrus. + + + +CHAPTER XV + +THE RAPE OF THE LOCK + + +June was crowded full of interest that year. We gathered in with +its sheaf of fragrant days the choicest harvest of childhood. +Things happened right along. Cecily declared she hated to go to +sleep for fear she might miss something. There were so many dear +delights along the golden road to give us pleasure--the earth +dappled with new blossom, the dance of shadows in the fields, the +rustling, rain-wet ways of the woods, the faint fragrance in +meadow lanes, liltings of birds and croon of bees in the old +orchard, windy pipings on the hills, sunset behind the pines, +limpid dews filling primrose cups, crescent moons through +darklings boughs, soft nights alight with blinking stars. We +enjoyed all these boons, unthinkingly and light-heartedly, as +children do. And besides these, there was the absorbing little +drama of human life which was being enacted all around us, and in +which each of us played a satisfying part--the gay preparations +for Aunt Olivia's mid-June wedding, the excitement of practising +for the concert with which our school-teacher, Mr. Perkins, had +elected to close the school year, and Cecily's troubles with Cyrus +Brisk, which furnished unholy mirth for the rest of us, though +Cecily could not see the funny side of it at all. + +Matters went from bad to worse in the case of the irrepressible +Cyrus. He continued to shower Cecily with notes, the spelling of +which showed no improvement; he worried the life out of her by +constantly threatening to fight Willy Fraser--although, as +Felicity sarcastically pointed out, he never did it. + +"But I'm always afraid he will," said Cecily, "and it would be +such a DISGRACE to have two boys fighting over me in school." + +"You must have encouraged Cyrus a little in the beginning or he'd +never have been so persevering," said Felicity unjustly. + +"I never did!" cried outraged Cecily. "You know very well, +Felicity King, that I hated Cyrus Brisk ever since the very first +time I saw his big, fat, red face. So there!" + +"Felicity is just jealous because Cyrus didn't take a notion to +her instead of you, Sis," said Dan. + +"Talk sense!" snapped Felicity. + +"If I did you wouldn't understand me, sweet little sister," +rejoined aggravating Dan. + +Finally Cyrus crowned his iniquities by stealing the denied lock +of Cecily's hair. One sunny afternoon in school, Cecily and Kitty +Marr asked and received permission to sit out on the side bench +before the open window, where the cool breeze swept in from the +green fields beyond. To sit on this bench was always considered a +treat, and was only allowed as a reward of merit; but Cecily and +Kitty had another reason for wishing to sit there. Kitty had read +in a magazine that sun-baths were good for the hair; so both she +and Cecily tossed their long braids over the window-sill and let +them hang there in the broiling sun-shine. And while Cecily sat +thus, diligently working a fraction sum on her slate, that base +Cyrus asked permission to go out, having previously borrowed a +pair of scissors from one of the big girls who did fancy work at +the noon recess. Outside, Cyrus sneaked up close to the window +and cut off a piece of Cecily's hair. + +This rape of the lock did not produce quite such terrible +consequences as the more famous one in Pope's poem, but Cecily's +soul was no less agitated than Belinda's. She cried all the way +home from school about it, and only checked her tears when Dan +declared he'd fight Cyrus and make him give it up. + +"Oh, no, You mustn't." said Cecily, struggling with her sobs. "I +won't have you fighting on my account for anything. And besides, +he'd likely lick you--he's so big and rough. And the folks at +home might find out all about it, and Uncle Roger would never give +me any peace, and mother would be cross, for she'd never believe +it wasn't my fault. It wouldn't be so bad if he'd only taken a +little, but he cut a great big chunk right off the end of one of +the braids. Just look at it. I'll have to cut the other to make +them fair--and they'll look so awful stubby." + +But Cyrus' acquirement of the chunk of hair was his last triumph. +His downfall was near; and, although it involved Cecily in a most +humiliating experience, over which she cried half the following +night, in the end she confessed it was worth undergoing just to +get rid of Cyrus. + +Mr. Perkins was an exceedingly strict disciplinarian. No +communication of any sort was permitted between his pupils during +school hours. Anyone caught violating this rule was promptly +punished by the infliction of one of the weird penances for which +Mr. Perkins was famous, and which were generally far worse than +ordinary whipping. + +One day in school Cyrus sent a letter across to Cecily. Usually +he left his effusions in her desk, or between the leaves of her +books; but this time it was passed over to her under cover of the +desk through the hands of two or three scholars. Just as Em +Frewen held it over the aisle Mr. Perkins wheeled around from his +station before the blackboard and caught her in the act. + +"Bring that here, Emmeline," he commanded. + +Cyrus turned quite pale. Em carried the note to Mr. Perkins. He +took it, held it up, and scrutinized the address. + +"Did you write this to Cecily, Emmeline?" he asked. + +"No, sir." + +"Who wrote it then?" + +Em said quite shamelessly that she didn't know--it had just been +passed over from the next row. + +"And I suppose you have no idea where it came from?" said Mr. +Perkins, with his frightful, sardonic grin. "Well, perhaps Cecily +can tell us. You may take your seat, Emmeline, and you will +remain at the foot of your spelling class for a week as punishment +for passing the note. Cecily, come here." + +Indignant Em sat down and poor, innocent Cecily was haled forth to +public ignominy. She went with a crimson face. + +"Cecily," said her tormentor, "do you know who wrote this letter +to you?" + +Cecily, like a certain renowned personage, could not tell a lie. + +"I--I think so, sir," she murmured faintly. + +"Who was it?" + +"I can't tell you that," stammered Cecily, on the verge of tears. + +"Ah!" said Mr. Perkins politely. "Well, I suppose I could easily +find out by opening it. But it is very impolite to open other +people's letters. I think I have a better plan. Since you refuse +to tell me who wrote it, open it yourself, take this chalk, and +copy the contents on the blackboard that we may all enjoy them. +And sign the writer's name at the bottom." + +"Oh," gasped Cecily, choosing the lesser of two evils, "I'll tell +you who wrote it--it was-- + +"Hush!" Mr. Perkins checked her with a gentle motion of his hand. +He was always most gentle when most inexorable. "You did not obey +me when I first ordered you to tell me the writer. You cannot +have the privilege of doing so now. Open the note, take the +chalk, and do as I command you." + +Worms will turn, and even meek, mild, obedient little souls like +Cecily may be goaded to the point of wild, sheer rebellion. + +"I--I won't!" she cried passionately. + +Mr. Perkins, martinet though he was, would hardly, I think, have +inflicted such a punishment on Cecily, who was a favourite of his, +had he known the real nature of that luckless missive. But, as he +afterwards admitted, he thought it was merely a note from some +other girl, of such trifling sort as school-girls are wont to +write; and moreover, he had already committed himself to the +decree, which, like those of Mede and Persian, must not alter. To +let Cecily off, after her mad defiance, would be to establish a +revolutionary precedent. + +"So you really think you won't?" he queried smilingly. "Well, on +second thoughts, you may take your choice. Either you will do as +I have bidden you, or you will sit for three days with"--Mr. +Perkins' eye skimmed over the school-room to find a boy who was +sitting alone--"with Cyrus Brisk." + +This choice of Mr. Perkins, who knew nothing of the little drama +of emotions that went on under the routine of lessons and +exercises in his domain, was purely accidental, but we took it at +the time as a stroke of diabolical genius. It left Cecily no +choice. She would have done almost anything before she would have +sat with Cyrus Brisk. With flashing eyes she tore open the +letter, snatched up the chalk, and dashed at the blackboard. + +In a few minutes the contents of that letter graced the expanse +usually sacred to more prosaic compositions. I cannot reproduce +it verbatim, for I had no after opportunity of refreshing my +memory. But I remember that it was exceedingly sentimental and +exceedingly ill-spelled--for Cecily mercilessly copied down poor +Cyrus' mistakes. He wrote her that he wore her hare over his +hart--"and he stole it," Cecily threw passionately over her +shoulder at Mr. Perkins--that her eyes were so sweet and lovely +that he couldn't find words nice enuf to describ them, that he +could never forget how butiful she had looked in prar meeting the +evening before, and that some meels he couldn't eat for thinking +of her, with more to the same effect and he signed it "yours till +deth us do part, Cyrus Brisk." + +As the writing proceeded we scholars exploded into smothered +laughter, despite our awe of Mr. Perkins. Mr. Perkins himself +could not keep a straight face. He turned abruptly away and +looked out of the window, but we could see his shoulders shaking. +When Cecily had finished and had thrown down the chalk with bitter +vehemence, he turned around with a very red face. + +"That will do. You may sit down. Cyrus, since it seems you are +the guilty person, take the eraser and wipe that off the board. +Then go stand in the corner, facing the room, and hold your arms +straight above your head until I tell you to take them down." + +Cyrus obeyed and Cecily fled to her seat and wept, nor did Mr. +Perkins meddle with her more that day. She bore her burden of +humiliation bitterly for several days, until she was suddenly +comforted by a realization that Cyrus had ceased to persecute her. +He wrote no more letters, he gazed no longer in rapt adoration, he +brought no more votive offerings of gum and pencils to her shrine. +At first we thought he had been cured by the unmerciful chaffing +he had to undergo from his mates, but eventually his sister told +Cecily the true reason. Cyrus had at last been driven to believe +that Cecily's aversion to him was real, and not merely the defence +of maiden coyness. If she hated him so intensely that she would +rather write that note on the blackboard than sit with him, what +use was it to sigh like a furnace longer for her? Mr. Perkins had +blighted love's young dream for Cyrus with a killing frost. +Thenceforth sweet Cecily kept the noiseless tenor of her way +unvexed by the attentions of enamoured swains. + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +AUNT UNA'S STORY + + +Felicity, and Cecily, Dan, Felix, Sara Ray and I were sitting one +evening on the mossy stones in Uncle Roger's hill pasture, where +we had sat the morning the Story Girl told us the tale of the +Wedding Veil of the Proud Princess. But it was evening now and +the valley beneath us was brimmed up with the glow of the +afterlight. Behind us, two tall, shapely spruce trees rose up +against the sunset, and through the dark oriel of their sundered +branches an evening star looked down. We sat on a little strip of +emerald grassland and before us was a sloping meadow all white +with daisies. + +We were waiting for Peter and the Story Girl. Peter had gone to +Markdale after dinner to spend the afternoon with his reunited +parents because it was his birthday. He had left us grimly +determined to confess to his father the dark secret of his +Presbyterianism, and we were anxious to know what the result had +been. The Story Girl had gone that morning with Miss Reade to +visit the latter's home near Charlottetown, and we expected soon +to see her coming gaily along over the fields from the Armstrong +place. + +Presently Peter came jauntily stepping along the field path up the +hill. + +"Hasn't Peter got tall?" said Cecily. + +"Peter is growing to be a very fine looking boy," decreed +Felicity. + +"I notice he's got ever so much handsomer since his father came +home," said Dan, with a killing sarcasm that was wholly lost on +Felicity, who gravely responded that she supposed it was because +Peter felt so much freer from care and responsibility. + +"What luck, Peter?" yelled Dan, as soon as Peter was within earshot. + +"Everything's all right," he shouted jubilantly. "I told father +right off, licketty-split, as soon as I got home," he added when +he reached us. "I was anxious to have it over with. I says, +solemn-like, 'Dad, there's something I've got to tell you, and I +don't know how you'll take it, but it can't be helped,' I says. +Dad looked pretty sober, and he says, says he, 'What have you been +up to, Peter? Don't be afraid to tell me. I've been forgiven to +seventy times seven, so surely I can forgive a little, too?' +'Well,' I says, desperate-like, 'the truth is, father, I'm a +Presbyterian. I made up my mind last summer, the time of the +Judgment Day, that I'd be a Presbyterian, and I've got to stick to +it. I'm sorry I can't be a Methodist, like you and mother and +Aunt Jane, but I can't and that's all there is to it,' I says. +Then I waited, scared-like. But father, he just looked relieved +and he says, says he, 'Goodness, boy, you can be a Presbyterian or +anything else you like, so long as it's Protestant. I'm not +caring,' he says. 'The main thing is that you must be good and do +what's right.' I tell you," concluded Peter emphatically, "father +is a Christian all right." + +"Well, I suppose your mind will be at rest now," said Felicity. +"What's that you have in your buttonhole?" + +"That's a four-leaved clover," answered Peter exultantly. "That +means good luck for the summer. I found it in Markdale. There +ain't much clover in Carlisle this year of any kind of leaf. The +crop is going to be a failure. Your Uncle Roger says it's because +there ain't enough old maids in Carlisle. There's lots of them in +Markdale, and that's the reason, he says, why they always have +such good clover crops there." + +"What on earth have old maids to do with it?" cried Cecily. + +"I don't believe they've a single thing to do with it, but Mr. +Roger says they have, and he says a man called Darwin proved it. +This is the rigmarole he got off to me the other day. The clover +crop depends on there being plenty of bumble-bees, because they +are the only insects with tongues long enough to--to--fer-- +fertilize--I think he called it the blossoms. But mice eat +bumble-bees and cats eat mice and old maids keep cats. So your +Uncle Roger says the more old maids the more cats, and the more +cats the fewer field-mice, and the fewer field-mice the more +bumble-bees, and the more bumble-bees the better clover crops." + +"So don't worry if you do get to be old maids, girls," said Dan. +"Remember, you'll be helping the clover crops." + +"I never heard such stuff as you boys talk," said Felicity, "and +Uncle Roger is no better." + +"There comes the Story Girl," cried Cecily eagerly. "Now we'll +hear all about Beautiful Alice's home." + +The Story Girl was bombarded with eager questions as soon as she +arrived. Miss Reade's home was a dream of a place, it appeared. +The house was just covered with ivy and there was a most +delightful old garden--"and," added the Story Girl, with the joy +of a connoisseur who has found a rare gem, "the sweetest little +story connected with it. And I saw the hero of the story too." + +"Where was the heroine?" queried Cecily. + +"She is dead." + +"Oh, of course she'd have to die," exclaimed Dan in disgust. "I'd +like a story where somebody lived once in awhile." + +"I've told you heaps of stories where people lived," retorted the +Story Girl. "If this heroine hadn't died there wouldn't have been +any story. She was Miss Reade's aunt and her name was Una, and I +believe she must have been just like Miss Reade herself. Miss +Reade told me all about her. When we went into the garden I saw +in one corner of it an old stone bench arched over by a couple of +pear trees and all grown about with grass and violets. And an old +man was sitting on it--a bent old man with long, snow-white hair +and beautiful sad blue eyes. He seemed very lonely and sorrowful +and I wondered that Miss Reade didn't speak to him. But she never +let on she saw him and took me away to another part of the garden. +After awhile he got up and went away and then Miss Reade said, +'Come over to Aunt Una's seat and I will tell you about her and +her lover--that man who has just gone out.' + +"'Oh, isn't he too old for a lover?' I said. + +"Beautiful Alice laughed and said it was forty years since he had +been her Aunt Una's lover. He had been a tall, handsome young man +then, and her Aunt Una was a beautiful girl of nineteen. + +"We went over and sat down and Miss Reade told me all about her. +She said that when she was a child she had heard much of her Aunt +Una--that she seemed to have been one of those people who are not +soon forgotten, whose personality seems to linger about the scenes +of their lives long after they have passed away." + +"What is a personality? Is it another word for ghost?" asked Peter. + +"No," said the Story Girl shortly. "I can't stop in a story to +explain words." + +"I don't believe you know what it is yourself," said Felicity. + +The Story Girl picked up her hat, which she had thrown down on the +grass, and placed it defiantly on her brown curls. + +"I'm going in," she announced. "I have to help Aunt Olivia ice a +cake tonight, and you all seem more interested in dictionaries +than stories." + +"That's not fair," I exclaimed. "Dan and Felix and Sara Ray and +Cecily and I have never said a word. It's mean to punish us for +what Peter and Felicity did. We want to hear the rest of the +story. Never mind what a personality is but go on--and, Peter, +you young ass, keep still." + +"I only wanted to know," muttered Peter sulkily. + +"I DO know what personality is, but it's hard to explain," said +the Story Girl, relenting. "It's what makes you different from +Dan, Peter, and me different from Felicity or Cecily. Miss +Reade's Aunt Una had a personality that was very uncommon. And +she was beautiful, too, with white skin and night-black eyes and +hair--a 'moonlight beauty,' Miss Reade called it. She used to +keep a kind of a diary, and Miss Reade's mother used to read parts +of it to her. She wrote verses in it and they were lovely; and +she wrote descriptions of the old garden which she loved very +much. Miss Reade said that everything in the garden, plot or +shrub or tree, recalled to her mind some phrase or verse of her +Aunt Una's, so that the whole place seemed full of her, and her +memory haunted the walks like a faint, sweet perfume. + +"Una had, as I've told you, a lover; and they were to have been +married on her twentieth birthday. Her wedding dress was to have +been a gown of white brocade with purple violets in it. But a +little while before it she took ill with fever and died; and she +was buried on her birthday instead of being married. It was just +in the time of opening roses. Her lover has been faithful to her +ever since; he has never married, and every June, on her birthday, +he makes a pilgrimage to the old garden and sits for a long time +in silence on the bench where he used to woo her on crimson eves +and moonlight nights of long ago. Miss Reade says she always +loves to see him sitting there because it gives her such a deep +and lasting sense of the beauty and strength of love which can +thus outlive time and death. And sometimes, she says, it gives +her a little eerie feeling, too, as if her Aunt Una were really +sitting there beside him, keeping tryst, although she has been in +her grave for forty years." + +"It would be real romantic to die young and have your lover make a +pilgrimage to your garden every year," reflected Sara Ray. + +"It would be more comfortable to go on living and get married to +him," said Felicity. "Mother says all those sentimental ideas are +bosh and I expect they are. It's a wonder Beautiful Alice hasn't +a beau herself. She is so pretty and lady-like." + +"The Carlisle fellows all say she is too stuck up," said Dan. + +"There's nobody in Carlisle half good enough for her," cried the +Story Girl, "except--ex-cept--" + +"Except who?" asked Felix. + +"Never mind," said the Story Girl mysteriously. + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +AUNT OLIVIA'S WEDDING + + +What a delightful, old-fashioned, wholesome excitement there was +about Aunt Olivia's wedding! The Monday and Tuesday preceding it +we did not go to school at all, but were all kept home to do +chores and run errands. The cooking and decorating and arranging +that went on those two days was amazing, and Felicity was so happy +over it all that she did not even quarrel with Dan--though she +narrowly escaped it when he told her that the Governor's wife was +coming to the wedding. + +"Mind you have some of her favourite rusks for her," he said. + +"I guess," said Felicity with dignity, "that Aunt Olivia's wedding +supper will be good enough for even a Governor's wife." + +"I s'pose none of us except the Story Girl will get to the first +table," said Felix, rather gloomily. + +"Never mind," comforted Felicity. "There's a whole turkey to be +kept for us, and a freezerful of ice cream. Cecily and I are +going to wait on the tables, and we'll put away a little of +everything that's extra nice for our suppers." + +"I do so want to have my supper with you," sighed Sara Ray, "but I +s'pose ma will drag me with her wherever she goes. She won't +trust me out of her sight a minute the whole evening--I know she +won't." + +"I'll get Aunt Olivia to ask her to let you have your supper with +us," said Cecily. "She can't refuse the bride's request." + +"You don't know all ma can do," returned Sara darkly. "No, I feel +that I'll have to eat my supper with her. But I suppose I ought +to be very thankful I'm to get to the wedding at all, and that ma +did get me a new white dress for it. Even yet I'm so scared +something will happen to prevent me from getting to it." + +Monday evening shrouded itself in clouds, and all night long the +voice of the wind answered to the voice of the rain. Tuesday the +downpour continued. We were quite frantic about it. Suppose it +kept on raining over Wednesday! Aunt Olivia couldn't be married in +the orchard then. That would be too bad, especially when the late +apple tree had most obligingly kept its store of blossom until +after all the other trees had faded and then burst lavishly into +bloom for Aunt Olivia's wedding. That apple tree was always very +late in blooming, and this year it was a week later than usual. +It was a sight to see--a great tree-pyramid with high, far- +spreading boughs, over which a wealth of rosy snow seemed to have +been flung. Never had bride a more magnificent canopy. + +To our rapture, however, it cleared up beautifully Tuesday +evening, and the sun, before setting in purple pomp, poured a +flood of wonderful radiance over the whole great, green, diamond- +dripping world, promising a fair morrow. Uncle Alec drove off to +the station through it to bring home the bridegroom and his best +man. Dan was full of a wild idea that we should all meet them at +the gate, armed with cowbells and tin-pans, and "charivari" them +up the lane. Peter sided with him, but the rest of us voted down +the suggestion. + +"Do you want Dr. Seton to think we are a pack of wild Indians?" +asked Felicity severely. "A nice opinion he'd have of our +manners!" + +"Well, it's the only chance we'll have to chivaree them," grumbled +Dan. "Aunt Olivia wouldn't mind. SHE can take a joke." + +"Ma would kill you if you did such a thing," warned Felicity. +"Dr. Seton lives in Halifax and they NEVER chivaree people there. +He would think it very vulgar." + +"Then he should have stayed in Halifax and got married there," +retorted Dan, sulkily. + +We were very curious to see our uncle-elect. When he came and +Uncle Alec took him into the parlour, we were all crowded into the +dark corner behind the stairs to peep at him. Then we fled to the +moonlight world outside and discussed him at the dairy. + +"He's bald," said Cecily disappointedly. + +"And RATHER short and stout," said Felicity. + +"He's forty, if he's a day," said Dan. + +"Never you mind," cried the Story Girl loyally, "Aunt Olivia loves +him with all her heart." + +"And more than that, he's got lots of money," added Felicity. + +"Well, he may be all right," said Peter, "but it's my opinion that +your Aunt Olivia could have done just as well on the Island." + +"YOUR opinion doesn't matter very much to our family," said +Felicity crushingly. + +But when we made the acquaintance of Dr. Seton next morning we +liked him enormously, and voted him a jolly good fellow. Even +Peter remarked aside to me that he guessed Miss Olivia hadn't made +much of a mistake after all, though it was plain he thought she +was running a risk in not sticking to the Island. The girls had +not much time to discuss him with us. They were all exceedingly +busy and whisked about at such a rate that they seemed to possess +the power of being in half a dozen places at once. The importance +of Felicity was quite terrible. But after dinner came a lull. + +"Thank goodness, everything is ready at last," breathed Felicity +devoutly, as we foregathered for a brief space in the fir wood. +"We've nothing more to do now but get dressed. It's really a +serious thing to have a wedding in the family." + +"I have a note from Sara Ray," said Cecily. "Judy Pineau brought +it up when she brought Mrs. Ray's spoons. Just let me read it to +you:-- + + +DEAREST CECILY:--A DREADFUL MISFORTUNE has happened to me. Last +night I went with Judy to water the cows and in the spruce bush we +found a WASPS' NEST and Judy thought it was AN OLD ONE and she +POKED IT WITH A STICK. And it was a NEW ONE, full of wasps, and +they all flew out and STUNG US TERRIBLY, on the face and hands. +My face is all swelled up and I can HARDLY SEE out of one eye. +The SUFFERING was awful but I didn't mind that as much as being +scared ma wouldn't take me to the wedding. But she says I can go +and I'm going. I know that I am a HARD-LOOKING SIGHT, but it +isn't anything catching. I am writing this so that you won't get +a shock when you see me. Isn't it SO STRANGE to think your dear +Aunt Olivia is going away? How you will miss her! But your loss +will be her gain. + + "'Au revoir, + "'Your loving chum, + SARA RAY.'" + + +"That poor child," said the Story Girl. + +"Well, all I hope is that strangers won't take her for one of the +family," remarked Felicity in a disgusted tone. + +Aunt Olivia was married at five o'clock in the orchard under the +late apple tree. It was a pretty scene. The air was full of the +perfume of apple bloom, and the bees blundered foolishly and +delightfully from one blossom to another, half drunken with +perfume. The old orchard was full of smiling guests in wedding +garments. Aunt Olivia was most beautiful amid the frost of her +bridal veil, and the Story Girl, in an unusually long white dress, +with her brown curls clubbed up behind, looked so tall and grown- +up that we hardly recognized her. After the ceremony--during +which Sara Ray cried all the time--there was a royal wedding +supper, and Sara Ray was permitted to eat her share of the feast +with us. + +"I'm glad I was stung by the wasps after all," she said +delightedly. "If I hadn't been ma would never have let me eat +with you. She just got tired explaining to people what was the +matter with my face, and so she was glad to get rid of me. I know +I look awful, but, oh, wasn't the bride a dream?" + +We missed the Story Girl, who, of course, had to have her supper +at the bridal table; but we were a hilarious little crew and the +girls had nobly kept their promise to save tid-bits for us. By +the time the last table was cleared away Aunt Olivia and our new +uncle were ready to go. There was an orgy of tears and +leavetakings, and then they drove away into the odorous moonlight +night. Dan and Peter pursued them down the lane with a fiendish +din of bells and pans, much to Felicity's wrath. But Aunt Olivia +and Uncle Robert took it in good part and waved their hands back +to us with peals of laughter. + +"They're just that pleased with themselves that they wouldn't mind +if there was an earthquake," said Felix, grinning. + +"It's been splendid and exciting, and everything went off well," +sighed Cecily, "but, oh dear, it's going to be so queer and +lonesome without Aunt Olivia. I just believe I'll cry all night." + +"You're tired to death, that's what's the matter with you," said +Dan, returning. "You girls have worked like slaves today." + +"Tomorrow will be even harder," said Felicity comfortingly. +"Everything will have to be cleaned up and put away." + +Peg Bowen paid us a call the next day and was regaled with a feast +of fat things left over from the supper. + +"Well, I've had all I can eat," she said, when she had finished +and brought out her pipe. "And that doesn't happen to me every +day. There ain't been as much marrying as there used to be, and +half the time they just sneak off to the minister, as if they were +ashamed of it, and get married without any wedding or supper. +That ain't the King way, though. And so Olivia's gone off at +last. She weren't in any hurry but they tell me she's done well. +Time'll show." + +"Why don't you get married yourself, Peg?" queried Uncle Roger +teasingly. We held our breath over his temerity. + +"Because I'm not so easy to please as your wife will be," retorted +Peg. + +She departed in high good humour over her repartee. Meeting Sara +Ray on the doorstep she stopped and asked her what was the matter +with her face. + +"Wasps," stammered Sara Ray, laconic from terror. + +"Humph! And your hands?" + +"Warts." + +"I'll tell you what'll take them away. You get a pertater and go +out under the full moon, cut the pertater in two, rub your warts +with one half and say, 'One, two, three, warts, go away from me.' +Then rub them with the other half and say, 'One, two, three, four, +warts, never trouble me more.' Then bury the pertater and never +tell a living soul where you buried it. You won't have no more +warts. Mind you bury the pertater, though. If you don't, and +anyone picks it up, she'll get your warts." + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +SARA RAY HELPS OUT + + +We all missed Aunt Olivia greatly; she had been so merry and +companionable, and had possessed such a knack of understanding +small fry. But youth quickly adapts itself to changed conditions; +in a few weeks it seemed as if the Story Girl had always been +living at Uncle Alec's, and as if Uncle Roger had always had a +fat, jolly housekeeper with a double chin and little, twinkling +blue eyes. I don't think Aunt Janet ever quite got over missing +Aunt Olivia, or looked upon Mrs. Hawkins as anything but a +necessary evil; but life resumed its even tenor on the King farm, +broken only by the ripples of excitement over the school concert +and letters from Aunt Olivia describing her trip through the land +of Evangeline. We incorporated the letters in Our Magazine under +the heading "From Our Special Correspondent" and were very proud +of them. + +At the end of June our school concert came off and was a great +event in our young lives. It was the first appearance of most of +us on any platform, and some of us were very nervous. We all had +recitations, except Dan, who had refused flatly to take any part +and was consequently care-free. + +"I'm sure I shall die when I find myself up on that platform, +facing people," sighed Sara Ray, as we talked the affair over in +Uncle Stephen's Walk the night before the concert. + +"I'm afraid I'll faint," was Cecily's more moderate foreboding. + +"I'm not one single bit nervous," said Felicity complacently. + +"I'm not nervous this time," said the Story Girl, "but the first +time I recited I was." + +"My Aunt Jane," remarked Peter, "used to say that an old teacher +of hers told her that when she was going to recite or speak in +public she must just get it firmly into her mind that it was only +a lot of cabbage heads she had before her, and she wouldn't be +nervous." + +"One mightn't be nervous, but I don't think there would be much +inspiration in reciting to cabbage heads," said the Story Girl +decidedly. "I want to recite to PEOPLE, and see them looking +interested and thrilled." + +"If I can only get through my piece without breaking down I don't +care whether I thrill people or not," said Sara Ray. + +"I'm afraid I'll forget mine and get stuck," foreboded Felix. +"Some of you fellows be sure and prompt me if I do--and do it +quick, so's I won't get worse rattled." + +"I know one thing," said Cecily resolutely, "and that is, I'm +going to curl my hair for to-morrow night. I've never curled it +since Peter almost died, but I simply must tomorrow night, for all +the other girls are going to have theirs in curls." + +"The dew and heat will take all the curl out of yours and then +you'll look like a scarecrow," warned Felicity. + +"No, I won't. I'm going to put my hair up in paper tonight and +wet it with a curling-fluid that Judy Pineau uses. Sara brought +me up a bottle of it. Judy says it is great stuff--your hair will +keep in curl for days, no matter how damp the weather is. I'll +leave my hair in the papers till tomorrow evening, and then I'll +have beautiful curls." + +"You'd better leave your hair alone," said Dan gruffly. "Smooth +hair is better than a lot of fly-away curls." + +But Cecily was not to be persuaded. Curls she craved and curls +she meant to have. + +"I'm thankful my warts have all gone, any-way," said Sara Ray. + +"So they have," exclaimed Felicity. "Did you try Peg's recipe?" + +"Yes. I didn't believe in it but I tried it. For the first few +days afterwards I kept watching my warts, but they didn't go away, +and then I gave up and forgot them. But one day last week I just +happened to look at my hands and there wasn't a wart to be seen. +It was the most amazing thing." + +"And yet you'll say Peg Bowen isn't a witch," said Peter. + +"Pshaw, it was just the potato juice," scoffed Dan. + +"It was a dry old potato I had, and there wasn't much juice in +it," said Sara Ray. "One hardly knows what to believe. But one +thing is certain--my warts are gone." + +Cecily put her hair up in curl-papers that night, thoroughly +soaked in Judy Pineau's curling-fluid. It was a nasty job, for +the fluid was very sticky, but Cecily persevered and got it done. +Then she went to bed with a towel tied over her head to protect +the pillow. She did not sleep well and had uncanny dreams, but +she came down to breakfast with an expression of triumph. The +Story Girl examined her head critically and said, + +"Cecily, if I were you I'd take those papers out this morning." + +"Oh, no; if I do my hair will be straight again by night. I mean +to leave them in till the last minute." + +"I wouldn't do that--I really wouldn't," persisted the Story Girl. +"If you do your hair will be too curly and all bushy and fuzzy." + +Cecily finally yielded and went upstairs with the Story Girl. +Presently we heard a little shriek--then two little shrieks--then +three. Then Felicity came flying down and called her mother. +Aunt Janet went up and presently came down again with a grim +mouth. She filled a large pan with warm water and carried it +upstairs. We dared ask her no questions, but when Felicity came +down to wash the dishes we bombarded her. + +"What on earth is the matter with Cecily?" demanded Dan. "Is she sick?" + +"No, she isn't. I warned her not to put her hair in curls but she +wouldn't listen to me. I guess she wishes she had now. When +people haven't natural curly hair they shouldn't try to make it +curly. They get punished if they do." + +"Look here, Felicity, never mind all that. Just tell us what has +happened Sis." + +"Well, this is what has happened her. That ninny of a Sara Ray +brought up a bottle of mucilage instead of Judy's curling-fluid, +and Cecily put her hair up with THAT. It's in an awful state." + +"Good gracious!" exclaimed Dan. "Look here, will she ever get it out?" + +"Goodness knows. She's got her head in soak now. Her hair is +just matted together hard as a board. That's what comes of +vanity," said Felicity, than whom no vainer girl existed. + +Poor Cecily paid dearly enough for HER vanity. She spent a bad +forenoon, made no easier by her mother's severe rebukes. For an +hour she "soaked" her head; that is, she stood over a panful of +warm water and kept dipping her head in with tightly shut eyes. +Finally her hair softened sufficiently to be disentangled from the +curl papers; and then Aunt Janet subjected it to a merciless +shampoo. Eventually they got all the mucilage washed out of it +and Cecily spent the remainder of the forenoon sitting before the +open oven door in the hot kitchen drying her ill-used tresses. +She felt very down-hearted; her hair was of that order which, +glossy and smooth normally, is dry and harsh and lustreless for +several days after being shampooed. + +"I'll look like a fright tonight," said the poor child to me with +trembling voice. "The ends will be sticking out all over my +head." + +"Sara Ray is a perfect idiot," I said wrathfully + +"Qh, don't be hard on poor Sara. She didn't mean to bring me +mucilage. It's really all my own fault, I know. I made a solemn +vow when Peter was dying that I would never curl my hair again, +and I should have kept it. It isn't right to break solemn vows. +But my hair will look like dried hay tonight." + +Poor Sara Ray was quite overwhelmed when she came up and found +what she had done. Felicity was very hard on her, and Aunt Janet +was coldly disapproving, but sweet Cecily forgave her +unreservedly, and they walked to the school that night with their +arms about each other's waists as usual. + +The school-room was crowded with friends and neighbours. Mr. +Perkins was flying about, getting things into readiness, and Miss +Reade, who was the organist of the evening, was sitting on the +platform, looking her sweetest and prettiest. She wore a +delightful white lace hat with a fetching little wreath of tiny +forget-me-nots around the brim, a white muslin dress with sprays +of blue violets scattered over it, and a black lace scarf. + +"Doesn't she look angelic?" said Cecily rapturously. + +"Mind you," said Sara Ray, "the Awkward Man is here--in the corner +behind the door. I never remember seeing him at a concert +before." + +"I suppose he came to hear the Story Girl recite," said Felicity. +"He is such a friend of hers." + +The concert went off very well. Dialogues, choruses and +recitations followed each other in rapid succession. Felix got +through his without "getting stuck," and Peter did excellently, +though he stuffed his hands in his trousers pockets--a habit of +which Mr. Perkins had vainly tried to break him. Peter's +recitation was one greatly in vogue at that time, beginning, + + + "My name is Norval; on the Grampian hills + My father feeds his flocks." + + +At our first practice Peter had started gaily in, rushing through +the first line with no thought whatever of punctuation--" My name +is Norval on the Grampian Hills." + +"Stop, stop, Peter," quoth Mr. Perkins, sarcastically, "your name +might be Norval if you were never on the Grampian Hills. There's +a semi-colon in that line, I wish you to remember." + +Peter did remember it. Cecily neither fainted nor failed when it +came her turn. She recited her little piece very well, though +somewhat mechanically. I think she really did much better than if +she had had her desired curls. The miserable conviction that her +hair, alone among that glossy-tressed bevy, was looking badly, +quite blotted out all nervousness and self-consciousness from her +mind. Her hair apart, she looked very pretty. The prevailing +excitement had made bright her eye and flushed her cheeks rosily-- +too rosily, perhaps. I heard a Carlisle woman behind me whisper +that Cecily King looked consumptive, just like her Aunt Felicity; +and I hated her fiercely for it. + +Sara Ray also managed to get through respectably, although she was +pitiably nervous. Her bow was naught but a short nod--"as if her +head worked on wires," whispered Felicity uncharitably--and the +wave of her lily-white hand more nearly resembled an agonized jerk +than a wave. We all felt relieved when she finished. She was, in +a sense, one of "our crowd," and we had been afraid she would +disgrace us by breaking down. + +Felicity followed her and recited her selection without haste, +without rest, and absolutely without any expression whatever. But +what mattered it how she recited? To look at her was sufficient. +What with her splendid fleece of golden curls, her great, +brilliant blue eyes, her exquisitely tinted face, her dimpled +hands and arms, every member of the audience must have felt it was +worth the ten cents he had paid merely to see her. + +The Story Girl followed. An expectant silence fell over the room, +and Mr. Perkins' face lost the look of tense anxiety it had worn +all the evening. Here was a performer who could be depended on. +No need to fear stage fright or forgetfulness on her part. The +Story Girl was not looking her best that night. White never +became her, and her face was pale, though her eyes were splendid. +But nobody thought about her appearance when the power and magic +of her voice caught and held her listeners spellbound. + +Her recitation was an old one, figuring in one of the School +Readers, and we scholars all knew it off by heart. Sara Ray alone +had not heard the Story Girl recite it. The latter had not been +drilled at practices as had the other pupils, Mr. Perkins choosing +not to waste time teaching her what she already knew far better +than he did. The only time she had recited it had been at the +"dress rehearsal" two nights before, at which Sara Ray had not +been present. + +In the poem a Florentine lady of old time, wedded to a cold and +cruel husband, had died, or was supposed to have died, and had +been carried to "the rich, the beautiful, the dreadful tomb" of +her proud family. In the night she wakened from her trance and +made her escape. Chilled and terrified, she had made her way to +her husband's door, only to be driven away brutally as a restless +ghost by the horror-stricken inmates. A similar reception awaited +her at her father's. Then she had wandered blindly through the +streets of Florence until she had fallen exhausted at the door of +the lover of her girlhood. He, unafraid, had taken her in and +cared for her. On the morrow, the husband and father, having +discovered the empty tomb, came to claim her. She refused to +return to them and the case was carried to the court of law. The +verdict given was that a woman who had been "to burial borne" and +left for dead, who had been driven from her husband's door and +from her childhood home, "must be adjudged as dead in law and +fact," was no more daughter or wife, but was set free to form what +new ties she would. The climax of the whole selection came in the +line, + +"The court pronounces the defendant--DEAD!" and the Story Girl was +wont to render it with such dramatic intensity and power that the +veriest dullard among her listeners could not have missed its +force and significance. + +She swept along through the poem royally, playing on the emotions +of her audience as she had so often played on ours in the old +orchard. Pity, terror, indignation, suspense, possessed her +hearers in turn. In the court scene she surpassed herself. She +was, in very truth, the Florentine judge, stern, stately, +impassive. Her voice dropped into the solemnity of the all- +important line, + +"'The court pronounces the defendant--'" + +She paused for a breathless moment, the better to bring out the +tragic import of the last word. + +"DEAD," piped up Sara Ray in her shrill, plaintive little voice. + +The effect, to use a hackneyed but convenient phrase, can better +be imagined than described. Instead of the sigh of relieved +tension that should have swept over the audience at the conclusion +of the line, a burst of laughter greeted it. The Story Girl's +performance was completely spoiled. She dealt the luckless Sara a +glance that would have slain her on the spot could glances kill, +stumbled lamely and impotently through the few remaining lines of +her recitation, and fled with crimson cheeks to hide her +mortification in the little corner that had been curtained off for +a dressing-room. Mr. Perkins looked things not lawful to be +uttered, and the audience tittered at intervals for the rest of +the performance. + +Sara Ray alone remained serenely satisfied until the close of the +concert, when we surrounded her with a whirlwind of reproaches. + +"Why," she stammered aghast, "what did I do? I--I thought she was +stuck and that I ought to prompt her quick." + +"You little fool, she just paused for effect," cried Felicity +angrily. Felicity might be rather jealous of the Story Girl's +gift, but she was furious at beholding "one of our family" made +ridiculous in such a fashion. "You have less sense than anyone I +ever heard of, Sara Ray." + +Poor Sara dissolved in tears. + +"I didn't know. I thought she was stuck," she wailed again. + +She cried all the way home, but we did not try to comfort her. We +felt quite out of patience with her. Even Cecily was seriously +annoyed. This second blunder of Sara's was too much even for her +loyalty. We saw her turn in at her own gate and go sobbing up her +lane with no relenting. + +The Story Girl was home before us, having fled from the +schoolhouse as soon as the programme was over. We tried to +sympathize with her but she would not be sympathized with. + +"Please don't ever mention it to me again," she said, with +compressed lips. "I never want to be reminded of it. Oh, that +little IDIOT!" + +"She spoiled Peter's sermon last summer and now she's spoiled your +recitation," said Felicity. "I think it's time we gave up +associating with Sara Ray." + +"Oh, don't be quite so hard on her," pleaded Cecily. "Think of +the life the poor child has to live at home. I know she'll cry +all night." + +"Oh, let's go to bed," growled Dan. "I'm good and ready for it. +I've had enough of school concerts." + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +BY WAY OF THE STARS + + +But for two of us the adventures of the night were not yet over. +Silence settled down over the old house--the eerie, whisperful, +creeping silence of night. Felix and Dan were already sound +asleep; I was drifting near the coast o' dreams when I was aroused +by a light tap on the door. + +"Bev, are you asleep?" came in the Story Girl's whisper. + +"No, what is it?" + +"S-s-h. Get up and dress and come out. I want you." + +With a good deal of curiosity and some misgiving I obeyed. What +was in the wind now? Outside in the hall I found the Story Girl, +with a candle in her hand, and her hat and jacket. + +"Where are you going?" I whispered in amazement. + +"Hush. I've got to go to the school and you must come with me. I +left my coral necklace there. The clasp came loose and I was so +afraid I'd lose it that I took it off and put it in the bookcase. +I was feeling so upset when the concert was over that I forgot all +about it." + +The coral necklace was a very handsome one which had belonged to +the Story Girl's mother. She had never been permitted to wear it +before, and it had only been by dint of much coaxing that she had +induced Aunt Janet to let her wear it to the concert. + +"But there's no sense in going for it in the dead of night," I +objected. "It will be quite safe. You can go for it in the +morning." + +"Lizzie Paxton and her daughter are going to clean the school +tomorrow, and I heard Lizzie say tonight she meant to be at it by +five o'clock to get through before the heat of the day. You know +perfectly well what Liz Paxton's reputation is. If she finds that +necklace I'll never see it again. Besides, if I wait till the +morning, Aunt Janet may find out that I left it there and she'd +never let me wear it again. No, I'm going for it now. If you're +afraid," added the Story Girl with delicate scorn, "of course you +needn't come." + +Afraid! I'd show her! + +"Come on," I said. + +We slipped out of the house noiselessly and found ourselves in the +unutterable solemnity and strangeness of a dark night. It was a +new experience, and our hearts thrilled and our nerves tingled to +the charm of it. Never had we been abroad before at such an hour. +The world around us was not the world of daylight. 'Twas an alien +place, full of weird, evasive enchantment and magicry. + +Only in the country can one become truly acquainted with the +night. There it has the solemn calm of the infinite. The dim +wide fields lie in silence, wrapped in the holy mystery of +darkness. A wind, loosened from wild places far away, steals out +to blow over dewy, star-lit, immemorial hills. The air in the +pastures is sweet with the hush of dreams, and one may rest here +like a child on its mother's breast. + +"Isn't it wonderful?" breathed the Story Girl as we went down the +long hill. "Do you know, I can forgive Sara Ray now. I thought +tonight I never could--but now it doesn't matter any more. I can +even see how funny it was. Oh, wasn't it funny? 'DEAD' in that +squeaky little voice of Sara's! I'll just behave to her tomorrow +as if nothing had happened. It seems so long ago now, here in the +night." + +Neither of us ever forgot the subtle delight of that stolen walk. +A spell of glamour was over us. The breezes whispered strange +secrets of elf-haunted glens, and the hollows where the ferns grew +were brimmed with mystery and romance. Ghostlike scents crept out +of the meadows to meet us, and the fir wood before we came to the +church was a living sweetness of Junebells growing in abundance. + +Junebells have another and more scientific name, of course. But +who could desire a better name than Junebells? They are so perfect +in their way that they seem to epitomize the very scent and charm +of the forest, as if the old wood's daintiest thoughts had +materialized in blossom; and not all the roses by Bendameer's +stream are as fragrant as a shallow sheet of Junebells under the +boughs of fir. + +There were fireflies abroad that night, too, increasing the +gramarye of it. There is certainly something a little +supernatural about fireflies. Nobody pretends to understand them. +They are akin to the tribes of fairy, survivals of the elder time +when the woods and hills swarmed with the little green folk. It +is still very easy to believe in fairies when you see those goblin +lanterns glimmering among the fir tassels. + +"Isn't it beautiful?" said the Story Girl in rapture. "I wouldn't +have missed it for anything. I'm glad I left my necklace. And I +am glad you are with me, Bev. The others wouldn't understand so +well. I like you because I don't have to talk to you all the +time. It's so nice to walk with someone you don't have to talk +to. Here is the graveyard. Are you frightened to pass it, Bev?" + +"No, I don't think I'm frightened," I answered slowly, "but I have +a queer feeling." + +"So have I. But it isn't fear. I don't know what it is. I feel +as if something was reaching out of the graveyard to hold me-- +something that wanted life--I don't like it--let's hurry. But +isn't it strange to think of all the dead people in there who were +once alive like you and me. I don't feel as if I could EVER die. +Do you?" + +"No, but everybody must. Of course we go on living afterwards, +just the same. Don't let's talk of such things here," I said +hurriedly. + +When we reached the school I contrived to open a window. We +scrambled in, lighted a lamp and found the missing necklace. The +Story Girl stood on the platform and gave an imitation of the +catastrophe of the evening that made me shout with laughter. We +prowled around for sheer delight over being there at an unearthly +hour when everybody supposed we were sound asleep in our beds. It +was with regret that we left, and we walked home as slowly as we +could to prolong the adventure. + +"Let's never tell anyone," said the Story Girl, as we reached +home. "Let's just have it as a secret between us for ever and +ever--something that nobody else knows a thing about but you and +me." + +"We'd better keep it a secret from Aunt Janet anyhow," I +whispered, laughing. "She'd think we were both crazy." + +"It's real jolly to be crazy once in a while," said the Story +Girl. + + + +CHAPTER XX + +EXTRACTS FROM OUR MAGAZINE + + +EDITORIAL + +As will be seen there is no Honour Roll in this number. Even +Felicity has thought all the beautiful thoughts that can be +thought and cannot think any more. Peter has never got drunk but, +under existing circumstances, that is not greatly to his credit. +As for our written resolutions they have silently disappeared from +our chamber walls and the place that once knew them knows them no +more for ever. (PETER, PERPLEXEDLY: "Seems to me I've heard +something like that before.") It is very sad but we will all make +some new resolutions next year and maybe it will be easier to keep +those. + + +THE STORY OF THE LOCKET THAT WAS BAKED + +This was a story my Aunt Jane told me about her granma when she +was a little girl. Its funny to think of baking a locket, but it +wasn't to eat. She was my great granma but Ill call her granma +for short. It happened when she was ten years old. Of course she +wasent anybodys granma then. Her father and mother and her were +living in a new settlement called Brinsley. Their nearest naybor +was a mile away. One day her Aunt Hannah from Charlottetown came +and wanted her ma to go visiting with her. At first granma's ma +thought she couldent go because it was baking day and granma's pa +was away. But granma wasent afraid to stay alone and she knew how +to bake the bread so she made her ma go and her Aunt Hannah took +off the handsome gold locket and chain she was waring round her +neck and hung it on granmas and told her she could ware it all +day. Granma was awful pleased for she had never had any jewelry. +She did all the chores and then was needing the loaves when she +looked up and saw a tramp coming in and he was an awful villenus +looking tramp. He dident even pass the time of day but just set +down on a chair. Poor granma was awful fritened and she turned +her back on him and went on needing the loaf cold and trembling-- +that is, granma was trembling not the loaf. She was worried about +the locket. She didn't know how she could hide it for to get +anywhere she would have to turn round and pass him. + +All of a suddent she thought she would hide it in the bread. She +put her hand up and pulled it hard and quick and broke the +fastening and needed it right into the loaf. Then she put the +loaf in the pan and set it in the oven. + +The tramp hadent seen her do it and then he asked for something to +eat. Granma got him up a meal and when hed et it he began +prowling about the kitchen looking into everything and opening the +cubbord doors. Then he went into granma's mas room and turned the +buro drawers and trunk inside out and threw the things in them all +about. All he found was a purse with a dollar in it and he swore +about it and took it and went away. When granma was sure he was +really gone she broke down and cried. She forgot all about the +bread and it burned as black as coal. When she smelled it burning +granma run and pulled it out. She was awful scared the locket was +spoiled but she sawed open the loaf and it was there safe and +sound. When her Aunt Hannah came back she said granma deserved +the locket because she had saved it so clever and she gave it to +her and grandma always wore it and was very proud of it. And +granma used to say that was the only loaf of bread she ever +spoiled in her life. + + PETER CRAIG. + + +(FELICITY: "Those stories are all very well but they are only true +stories. It's easy enough to write true stories. I thought Peter +was appointed fiction editor, but he has never written any fiction +since the paper started. That's not MY idea of a fiction editor. +He ought to make up stories out of his own head." PETER, +SPUNKILY: "I can do it, too, and I will next time. And it ain't +easier to write true stories. It's harder, 'cause you have to +stick to facts." FELICITY: "I don't believe you could make up a +story." PETER: "I'll show you!") + + +MY MOST EXCITING ADVENTURE + +It's my turn to write it but I'm SO NERVOUS. My worst adventure +happened TWO YEARS AGO. It was an awful one. I had a striped +ribbon, striped brown and yellow and I LOST IT. I was very sorry +for it was a handsome ribbon and all the girls in school were +jealous of it. (FELICITY: "I wasn't. I didn't think it one bit +pretty." CECILY: "Hush!") I hunted everywhere but I couldn't find +it. Next day was Sunday and I was running into the house by the +front door and I saw SOMETHING LYING ON THE STEP and I thought it +was my ribbon and I made a grab at it as I passed. But, oh, it +was A SNAKE! Oh, I can never describe how I felt when I felt that +awful thing WRIGGLING IN MY HAND. I let it go and SCREAMED AND +SCREAMED, and ma was cross at me for yelling on Sunday and made me +read seven chapters in the Bible but I didn't mind that much after +what I had come through. I would rather DIE than have SUCH AN +EXPERIENCE again. + + SARA RAY. + + + TO FELICITY ON HER BERTHDAY + + Oh maiden fair with golden hair + And brow of purest white, + Id fight for you I'd die for you + Let me be your faithful knite. + + This is your berthday blessed day + You are thirteen years old today + May you be happy and fair as you are now + Until your hair is gray. + + I gaze into your shining eyes, + They are so blue and bright. + Id fight for you Id die for you + Let me be your faithful knite. + + A FRIEND. + + +(DAN: "Great snakes, who got that up? I'll bet it was Peter." +FELICITY, WITH DIGNITY: "Well, it's more than YOU could do. YOU +couldn't write poetry to save your life." PETER, ASIDE TO +BEVERLEY: "She seems quite pleased. I'm glad I wrote it, but it +was awful hard work.") + + +PERSONALS + +Patrick Grayfur, Esq., caused his friends great anxiety recently +by a prolonged absence from home. When found he was very thin but +is now as fat and conceited as ever. + +On Wednesday, June 20th, Miss Olivia King was united in the bonds +of holy matrimony to Dr. Robert Seton of Halifax. Miss Sara +Stanley was bridesmaid, and Mr. Andrew Seton attended the groom. +The young couple received many handsome presents. Rev. Mr. +Marwood tied the nuptial knot. After the ceremony a substantial +repast was served in Mrs. Alex King's well-known style and the +happy couple left for their new home in Nova Scotia. Their many +friends join in wishing them a very happy and prosperous journey +through life. + + + A precious one from us is gone, + A voice we loved is stilled. + A place is vacant in our home + That never can be filled. + + +(THE STORY GIRL: "Goodness, that sounds as if somebody had died. +I've seen that verse on a tombstone. WHO wrote that notice?" +FELICITY, WHO WROTE IT: "I think it is just as appropriate to a +wedding as to a funeral!") + +Our school concert came off on the evening of June 29th and was a +great success. We made ten dollars for the library. + +We regret to chronicle that Miss Sara Ray met with a misfortune +while taking some violent exercise with a wasps' nest recently. +The moral is that it is better not to monkey with a wasps' nest, +new or old. + +Mrs. C. B. Hawkins of Baywater is keeping house for Uncle Roger. +She is a very large woman. Uncle Roger says he has to spend too +much time walking round her, but otherwise she is an excellent +housekeeper. + +It is reported that the school is haunted. A mysterious light was +seen there at two o'clock one night recently. + +(THE STORY GIRL AND I EXCHANGE KNOWING SMILES BEHIND THE OTHERS' +BACKS.) + +Dan and Felicity had a fight last Tuesday--not with fists but with +tongues. Dan came off best--as usual. (FELICITY LAUGHS +SARCASTICALLY.) + +Mr. Newton Craig of Markdale returned home recently after a +somewhat prolonged visit in foreign parts. We are glad to welcome +Mr. Craig back to our midst. + +Billy Robinson was hurt last week. A cow kicked him. I suppose +it is wicked of us to feel glad but we all do feel glad because of +the way he cheated us with the magic seed last summer. + +On April 1st Uncle Roger sent Mr. Peter Craig to the manse to +borrow the biography of Adam's grandfather. Mr. Marwood told +Peter he didn't think Adam had any grandfather and advised him to +go home and look at the almanac. (PETER, SOURLY: "Your Uncle +Roger thought he was pretty smart." FELICITY, SEVERELY: "Uncle +Roger IS smart. It was so easy to fool you.") + +A pair of blue birds have built a nest in a hole in the sides of +the well, just under the ferns. We can see the eggs when we look +down. They are so cunning. + +Felix sat down on a tack one day in May. Felix thinks house- +cleaning is great foolishness. + + +ADS. + +LOST--STOLEN--OR STRAYED--A HEART. Finder will be rewarded by +returning same to Cyrus E. Brisk, Desk 7, Carlisle School. + +LOST OR STOLEN. A piece of brown hair about three inches long and +one inch thick. Finder will kindly return to Miss Cecily King, +Desk 15, Carlisle School. + +(CECILY: "Cyrus keeps my hair in his Bible for a bookmark, so +Flossie tells me. He says he means to keep it always for a +remembrance though he has given up hope." DAN: "I'll steal it out +of his Bible in Sunday School." CECILY, BLUSHING: "Oh, let him +keep it if it is any comfort to him. Besides, it isn't right to +steal." DAN: "He stole it." CECILY: "But Mr. Marwood says two +wrongs never make a right.") + + +HOUSEHOLD DEPARTMENT + +Aunt Olivia's wedding cake was said to be the best one of its kind +ever tasted in Carlisle. Me and mother made it. + +ANXIOUS INQUIRER:--It is not advisable to curl your hair with +mucilage if you can get anything else. Quince juice is better. +(CECILY, BITTERLY: "I suppose I'll never hear the last of that +mucilage." DAN: "Ask her who used tooth-powder to raise +biscuits?") + +We had rhubarb pies for the first time this spring last week. +They were fine but hard on the cream. + + FELICITY KING. + + +ETIQUETTE DEPARTMENT + +PATIENT SUFFERER:--What will I do when a young man steals a lock +of my hair? Ans.:--Grow some more. + +No, F-l-x, a little caterpillar is not called a kittenpillar. +(FELIX, ENRAGED: "I never asked that! Dan just makes that +etiquette column up from beginning to end!" FELICITY: "I don't +see what that kind of a question has to do with etiquette +anyhow.") + +Yes, P-t-r, it is quite proper to treat a lady friend to ice cream +twice if you can afford it. + +No, F-l-c-t-y, it is not ladylike to chew tobacco. Better stick +to spruce gum. + + DAN KING. + + +FASHION NOTES + +Frilled muslin aprons will be much worn this summer. It is no +longer fashionable to trim them with knitted lace. One pocket is +considered smart. + +Clam-shells are fashionable keepsakes. You write your name and +the date inside one and your friend writes hers in the other and +you exchange. + + CECILY KING. + + +FUNNY PARAGRAPHS + +MR. PERKINS:--"Peter, name the large islands of the world." + +PETER:--"The Island, the British Isles and Australia." (PETER, +DEFIANTLY: "Well, Mr. Perkins said he guessed I was right, so you +needn't laugh.") + +This is a true joke and really happened. It's about Mr. Samuel +Clask again. He was once leading a prayer meeting and he looked +through the window and saw the constable driving up and guessed he +was after him because he was always in debt. So in a great hurry +he called on Brother Casey to lead in prayer and while Brother +Casey was praying with his eyes shut and everybody else had their +heads bowed Mr. Clask got out of the window and got away before +the constable got in because he didn't like to come in till the +prayer was finished. + +Uncle Roger says it was a smart trick on Mr. Clask's part, but I +don't think there was much religion about it. + + FELIX KING. + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +PEG BOWEN COMES TO CHURCH + + +When those of us who are still left of that band of children who +played long years ago in the old orchard and walked the golden +road together in joyous companionship, foregather now and again in +our busy lives and talk over the events of those many merry moons-- +there are some of our adventures that gleam out more vividly in +memory than the others, and are oftener discussed. The time we +bought God's picture from Jerry Cowan--the time Dan ate the poison +berries--the time we heard the ghostly bell ring--the bewitchment +of Paddy--the visit of the Governor's wife--and the night we were +lost in the storm--all awaken reminiscent jest and laughter; but +none more than the recollection of the Sunday Peg Bowen came to +church and sat in our pew. Though goodness knows, as Felicity +would say, we did not think it any matter for laughter at the +time--far from it. + +It was one Sunday evening in July. Uncle Alec and Aunt Janet, +having been out to the morning service, did not attend in the +evening, and we small fry walked together down the long hill road, +wearing Sunday attire and trying, more or less successfully, to +wear Sunday faces also. Those walks to church, through the golden +completeness of the summer evenings, were always very pleasant to +us, and we never hurried, though, on the other hand, we were very +careful not to be late. + +This particular evening was particularly beautiful. It was cool +after a hot day, and wheat fields all about us were ripening to +their harvestry. The wind gossiped with the grasses along our +way, and over them the buttercups danced, goldenly-glad. Waves of +sinuous shadow went over the ripe hayfields, and plundering bees +sang a freebooting lilt in wayside gardens. + +"The world is so lovely tonight," said the Story Girl. "I just +hate the thought of going into the church and shutting all the +sunlight and music outside. I wish we could have the service +outside in summer." + +"I don't think that would be very religious," said Felicity. + +"I'd feel ever so much more religious outside than in," retorted +the Story Girl. + +"If the service was outside we'd have to sit in the graveyard and +that wouldn't be very cheerful," said Felix. + +"Besides, the music isn't shut out," added Felicity. "The choir +is inside." + +"'Music has charms to soothe a savage breast,'" quoted Peter, who +was getting into the habit of adorning his conversation with +similar gems. "That's in one of Shakespeare's plays. I'm reading +them now, since I got through with the Bible. They're great." + +"I don't see when you get time to read them," said Felicity. + +"Oh, I read them Sunday afternoons when I'm home." + +"I don't believe they're fit to read on Sundays," exclaimed +Felicity. "Mother says Valeria Montague's stories ain't." + +"But Shakespeare's different from Valeria," protested Peter. + +"I don't see in what way. He wrote a lot of things that weren't +true, just like Valeria, and he wrote swear words too. Valeria +never does that. Her characters all talk in a very refined +fashion." + +"Well, I always skip the swear words," said Peter. "And Mr. +Marwood said once that the Bible and Shakespeare would furnish any +library well. So you see he put them together, but I'm sure that +he would never say that the Bible and Valeria would make a +library." + +"Well, all I know is, I shall never read Shakespeare on Sunday," +said Felicity loftily. + +"I wonder what kind of a preacher young Mr. Davidson is," +speculated Cecily. + +"Well, we'll know when we hear him tonight," said the Story Girl. +"He ought to be good, for his uncle before him was a fine +preacher, though a very absent-minded man. But Uncle Roger says +the supply in Mr. Marwood's vacation never amounts to much. I +know an awfully funny story about old Mr. Davidson. He used to be +the minister in Baywater, you know, and he had a large family and +his children were very mischievous. One day his wife was ironing +and she ironed a great big nightcap with a frill round it. One of +the children took it when she wasn't looking and hid it in his +father's best beaver hat--the one he wore on Sundays. When Mr. +Davidson went to church next Sunday he put the hat on without ever +looking into the crown. He walked to church in a brown study and +at the door he took off his hat. The nightcap just slipped down +on his head, as if it had been put on, and the frill stood out +around his face and the string hung down his back. But he never +noticed it, because his thoughts were far away, and he walked up +the church aisle and into the pulpit, like that. One of his +elders had to tiptoe up and tell him what he had on his head. He +plucked it off in a dazed fashion, held it up, and looked at it. +'Bless me, it is Sally's nightcap!' he exclaimed mildly. 'I do +not know how I could have got it on.' Then he just stuffed it into +his pocket calmly and went on with the service, and the long +strings of the nightcap hung down out of his pocket all the time." + +"It seems to me," said Peter, amid the laughter with which we +greeted the tale, "that a funny story is funnier when it is about +a minister than it is about any other man. I wonder why." + +"Sometimes I don't think it is right to tell funny stories about +ministers," said Felicity. "It certainly isn't respectful." + +"A good story is a good story--no matter who it's about," said the +Story Girl with ungrammatical relish. + +There was as yet no one in the church when we reached it, so we +took our accustomed ramble through the graveyard surrounding it. +The Story Girl had brought flowers for her mother's grave as +usual, and while she arranged them on it the rest of us read for +the hundredth time the epitaph on Great-Grandfather King's +tombstone, which had been composed by Great-Grandmother King. +That epitaph was quite famous among the little family traditions +that entwine every household with mingled mirth and sorrow, smiles +and tears. It had a perennial fascination for us and we read it +over every Sunday. Cut deeply in the upright slab of red Island +sandstone, the epitaph ran as follows:-- + + +SWEET DEPARTED SPIRIT + +Do receive the vows a grateful widow pays, +Each future day and night shall hear her speak her Isaac's praise. +Though thy beloved form must in the grave decay +Yet from her heart thy memory no time, no change shall steal away. +Do thou from mansions of eternal bliss +Remember thy distressed relict. +Look on her with an angel's love-- +Soothe her sad life and cheer her end +Through this world's dangers and its griefs. +Then meet her with thy well-known smiles and welcome +At the last great day. + + +"Well, I can't make out what the old lady was driving at," said +Dan. + +"That's a nice way to speak of your great-grandmother," said +Felicity severely. + +"How does The Family Guide say you ought to speak of your great- +grandma, sweet one?" asked Dan. + +"There is one thing about it that puzzles me," remarked Cecily. +"She calls herself a GRATEFUL widow. Now, what was she grateful +for?" + +"Because she was rid of him at last," said graceless Dan. + +"Oh, it couldn't have been that," protested Cecily seriously. +"I've always heard that Great-Grandfather and Great-Grandmother +were very much attached to each other." + +"Maybe, then, it means she was grateful that she'd had him as long +as she did," suggested Peter. + +"She was grateful to him because he had been so kind to her in +life, I think," said Felicity. + +"What is a 'distressed relict'?" asked Felix. + +"'Relict' is a word I hate," said the Story Girl. "It sounds so +much like relic. Relict means just the same as widow, only a man +can be a relict, too." + +"Great-Grandmother seemed to run short of rhymes at the last of +the epitaph," commented Dan. + +"Finding rhymes isn't as easy as you might think," avowed Peter, +out of his own experience. + +"I think Grandmother King intended the last of the epitaph to be +in blank verse," said Felicity with dignity. + +There was still only a sprinkling of people in the church when we +went in and took our places in the old-fashioned, square King pew. +We had just got comfortably settled when Felicity said in an +agitated whisper, "Here is Peg Bowen!" + +We all stared at Peg, who was pacing composedly up the aisle. We +might be excused for so doing, for seldom were the decorous aisles +of Carlisle church invaded by such a figure. Peg was dressed in +her usual short drugget skirt, rather worn and frayed around the +bottom, and a waist of brilliant turkey red calico. She wore no +hat, and her grizzled black hair streamed in elf locks over her +shoulders. Face, arms and feet were bare--and face, arms and feet +were liberally powdered with FLOUR. Certainly no one who saw Peg +that night could ever forget the apparition. + +Peg's black eyes, in which shone a more than usually wild and +fitful light, roved scrutinizingly over the church, then settled +on our pew. + +"She's coming here," whispered Felicity in horror. "Can't we +spread out and make her think the pew is full?" + +But the manoeuvre was too late. The only result was that Felicity +and the Story Girl in moving over left a vacant space between them +and Peg promptly plumped down in it. + +"Well, I'm here," she remarked aloud. "I did say once I'd never +darken the door of Carlisle church again, but what that boy +there"--nodding at Peter--"said last winter set me thinking, and I +concluded maybe I'd better come once in a while, to be on the safe +side." + +Those poor girls were in an agony. Everybody in the church was +looking at our pew and smiling. We all felt that we were terribly +disgraced; but we could do nothing. Peg was enjoying herself +hugely, beyond all doubt. From where she sat she could see the +whole church, including pulpit and gallery, and her black eyes +darted over it with restless glances. + +"Bless me, there's Sam Kinnaird," she exclaimed, still aloud. +"He's the man that dunned Jacob Marr for four cents on the church +steps one Sunday. I heard him. 'I think, Jacob, you owe me four +cents on that cow you bought last fall. Rec'llect you couldn't +make the change?' Well, you know, 'twould a-made a cat laugh. The +Kinnairds were all mighty close, I can tell you. That's how they +got rich." + +What Sam Kinnaird felt or thought during this speech, which +everyone in the church must have heard, I know not. Gossip had it +that he changed colour. We wretched occupants of the King pew +were concerned only with our own outraged feelings. + +"And there's Melita Ross," went on Peg. "She's got the same +bonnet on she had last time I was in Carlisle church six years +ago. Some folks has the knack of making things last. But look at +the style Mrs. Elmer Brewer wears, will yez? Yez wouldn't think +her mother died in the poor-house, would yez, now?" + +Poor Mrs. Brewer! From the tip of her smart kid shoes to the +dainty cluster of ostrich tips in her bonnet--she was most +immaculately and handsomely arrayed; but I venture to think she +could have taken small pleasure in her fashionable attire that +evening. Some of the unregenerate, including Dan, were shaking +with suppressed laughter, but most of the people looked as if they +were afraid to smile, lest their turn should come next. + +"There's old Stephen Grant coming in," exclaimed Peg viciously, +shaking her floury fist at him, "and looking as if butter wouldn't +melt in his mouth. He may be an elder, but he's a scoundrel just +the same. He set fire to his house to get the insurance and then +blamed ME for doing it. But I got even with him for it. Oh, yes! +He knows that, and so do I! He, he!" + +Peg chuckled quite fiendishly and Stephen Grant tried to look as +if nothing had been said. + +"Oh, will the minister never come?" moaned Felicity in my ear. +"Surely she'll have to stop then." + +But the minister did not come and Peg had no intention of +stopping. + +"There's Maria Dean." she resumed. "I haven't seen Maria for +years. I never call there for she never seems to have anything to +eat in the house. She was a Clayton and the Claytons never could +cook. Maria sorter looks as if she'd shrunk in the wash, now, +don't she? And there's Douglas Nicholson. His brother put rat +poison in the family pancakes. Nice little trick that, wasn't it? +They say it was by mistake. I hope it WAS a mistake. His wife is +all rigged out in silk. Yez wouldn't think to look at her she was +married in cotton--and mighty thankful to get married in anything, +it's my opinion. There's Timothy Patterson. He's the meanest man +alive--meaner'n Sam Kinnaird even. Timothy pays his children five +cents apiece to go without their suppers, and then steals the +cents out of their pockets after they've gone to bed. It's a +fact. And when his old father died he wouldn't let his wife put +his best shirt on him. He said his second best was plenty good to +be buried in. That's another fact." + +"I can't stand much more of this," wailed Felicity. + +"See here, Miss Bowen, you really oughtn't to talk like that about +people," expostulated Peter in a low tone, goaded thereto, despite +his awe of Peg, by Felicity's anguish. + +"Bless you, boy," said Peg good-humouredly, "the only difference +between me and other folks is that I say these things out loud and +they just think them. If I told yez all the things I know about +the people in this congregation you'd be amazed. Have a +peppermint?" + +To our horror Peg produced a handful of peppermint lozenges from +the pocket of her skirt and offered us one each. We did not dare +refuse but we each held our lozenge very gingerly in our hands. + +"Eat them," commanded Peg rather fiercely. + +"Mother doesn't allow us to eat candy in church," faltered +Felicity. + +"Well, I've seen just as fine ladies as your ma give their +children lozenges in church," said Peg loftily. She put a +peppermint in her own mouth and sucked it with gusto. We were +relieved, for she did not talk during the process; but our relief +was of short duration. A bevy of three very smartly dressed young +ladies, sweeping past our pew, started Peg off again. + +"Yez needn't be so stuck up," she said, loudly and derisively. +"Yez was all of yez rocked in a flour barrel. And there's old +Henry Frewen, still above ground. I called my parrot after him +because their noses were exactly alike. Look at Caroline Marr, +will yez? That's a woman who'd like pretty well to get married, +And there's Alexander Marr. He's a real Christian, anyhow, and +so's his dog. I can always size up what a man's religion amounts +to by the kind of dog he keeps. Alexander Marr is a good man." + +It was a relief to hear Peg speak well of somebody; but that was +the only exception she made. + +"Look at Dave Fraser strutting in," she went on. "That man has +thanked God so often that he isn't like other people that it's +come to be true. He isn't! And there's Susan Frewen. She's +jealous of everybody. She's even jealous of Old Man Rogers +because he's buried in the best spot in the graveyard. Seth +Erskine has the same look he was born with. They say the Lord +made everybody but I believe the devil made all the Erskines." + +"She's getting worse all the time. What WILL she say next?" +whispered poor Felicity. + +But her martyrdom was over at last. The minister appeared in the +pulpit and Peg subsided into silence. She folded her bare, floury +arms over her breast and fastened her black eyes on the young +preacher. Her behaviour for the next half-hour was decorum +itself, save that when the minister prayed that we might all be +charitable in judgment Peg ejaculated "Amen" several times, loudly +and forcibly, somewhat to the discomfiture of the Young man, to +whom Peg was a stranger. He opened his eyes, glanced at our pew +in a startled way, then collected himself and went on. + +Peg listened to the sermon, silently and motionlessly, until Mr. +Davidson was half through. Then she suddenly got on her feet. + +"This is too dull for me," she exclaimed. "I want something more +exciting." + +Mr. Davidson stopped short and Peg marched down the aisle in the +midst of complete silence. Half way down the aisle she turned +around and faced the minister. + +"There are so many hypocrites in this church that it isn't fit for +decent people to come to," she said. "Rather than be such +hypocrites as most of you are it would be better for you to go +miles into the woods and commit suicide." + +Wheeling about, she strode to the door. Then she turned for a +Parthian shot. + +"I've felt kind of worried for God sometimes, seeing He has so +much to attend to," she said, "but I see I needn't be, so long's +there's plenty of ministers to tell Him what to do." + +With that Peg shook the dust of Carlisle church from her feet. +Poor Mr. Davidson resumed his discourse. Old Elder Bayley, whose +attention an earthquake could not have distracted from the sermon, +afterwards declared that it was an excellent and edifying +exhortation, but I doubt if anyone else in Carlisle church tasted +it much or gained much good therefrom. Certainly we of the King +household did not. We could not even remember the text when we +reached home. Felicity was comfortless. + +"Mr. Davidson would be sure to think she belonged to our family +when she was in our pew," she said bitterly. "Oh, I feel as if I +could never get over such a mortification! Peter, I do wish you +wouldn't go telling people they ought to go to church. It's all +your fault that this happened." + +"Never mind, it will be a good story to tell sometime," remarked +the Story Girl with relish. + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +THE YANKEE STORM + + +In an August orchard six children and a grown-up were sitting +around the pulpit stone. The grown-up was Miss Reade, who had +been up to give the girls their music lesson and had consented to +stay to tea, much to the rapture of the said girls, who continued +to worship her with unabated and romantic ardour. To us, over the +golden grasses, came the Story Girl, carrying in her hand a single +large poppy, like a blood-red chalice filled with the wine of +August wizardry. She proffered it to Miss Reade and, as the +latter took it into her singularly slender, beautiful hand, I saw +a ring on her third finger. I noticed it, because I had heard the +girls say that Miss Reade never wore rings, not liking them. It +was not a new ring; it was handsome, but of an old-fashioned +design and setting, with a glint of diamonds about a central +sapphire. Later on, when Miss Reade had gone, I asked the Story +Girl if she had noticed the ring. She nodded, but seemed +disinclined to say more about it. + +"Look here, Sara," I said, "there's something about that ring-- +something you know." + +"I told you once there was a story growing but you would have to +wait until it was fully grown," she answered. + +"Is Miss Reade going to marry anybody--anybody we know?" I persisted. + +"Curiosity killed a cat," observed the Story Girl coolly. "Miss +Reade hasn't told me that she was going to marry anybody. You +will find out all that is good for you to know in due time." + +When the Story Girl put on grown-up airs I did not like her so +well, and I dropped the subject with a dignity that seemed to +amuse her mightily. + +She had been away for a week, visiting cousins in Markdale, and +she had come home with a new treasure-trove of stories, most of +which she had heard from the old sailors of Markdale Harbour. She +had promised that morning to tell us of "the most tragic event +that had ever been known on the north shore," and we now reminded +her of her promise. + +"Some call it the 'Yankee Storm,' and others the 'American Gale,'" +she began, sitting down by Miss Reade and beaming, because the +latter put her arm around her waist. "It happened nearly forty +years ago, in October of 1851. Old Mr. Coles at the Harbour told +me all about it. He was a young man then and he says he can never +forget that dreadful time. You know in those days hundreds of +American fishing schooners used to come down to the Gulf every +summer to fish mackerel. On one beautiful Saturday night in this +October of 1851, more than one hundred of these vessels could be +counted from Markdale Capes. By Monday night more than seventy of +them had been destroyed. Those which had escaped were mostly +those which went into harbour Saturday night, to keep Sunday. Mr. +Coles says the rest stayed outside and fished all day Sunday, same +as through the week, and HE says the storm was a judgment on them +for doing it. But he admits that even some of them got into +harbour later on and escaped, so it's hard to know what to think. +But it is certain that on Sunday night there came up a sudden and +terrible storm--the worst, Mr. Coles says, that has ever been +known on the north shore. It lasted for two days and scores of +vessels were driven ashore and completely wrecked. The crews of +most of the vessels that went ashore on the sand beaches were +saved, but those that struck on the rocks went to pieces and all +hands were lost. For weeks after the storm the north shore was +strewn with the bodies of drowned men. Think of it! Many of them +were unknown and unrecognizable, and they were buried in Markdale +graveyard. Mr. Coles says the schoolmaster who was in Markdale +then wrote a poem on the storm and Mr. Coles recited the first two +verses to me. + + + "'Here are the fishers' hillside graves, + The church beside, the woods around, + Below, the hollow moaning waves + Where the poor fishermen were drowned. + + "'A sudden tempest the blue welkin tore, + The seamen tossed and torn apart + Rolled with the seaweed to the shore + While landsmen gazed with aching heart.' + + +"Mr. Coles couldn't remember any more of it. But the saddest of +all the stories of the Yankee Storm was the one about the Franklin +Dexter. The Franklin Dexter went ashore on the Markdale Capes and +all on board perished, the Captain and three of his brothers among +them. These four young men were the sons of an old man who lived +in Portland, Maine, and when he heard what had happened he came +right down to the Island to see if he could find their bodies. +They had all come ashore and had been buried in Markdale +graveyard; but he was determined to take them up and carry them +home for burial. He said he had promised their mother to take her +boys home to her and he must do it. So they were taken up and put +on board a sailing vessel at Markdale Harbour to be taken back to +Maine, while the father himself went home on a passenger steamer. +The name of the sailing vessel was the Seth Hall, and the +captain's name was Seth Hall, too. Captain Hall was a dreadfully +profane man and used to swear blood-curdling oaths. On the night +he sailed out of Markdale Harbour the old sailors warned him that +a storm was brewing and that it would catch him if he did not wait +until it was over. The captain had become very impatient because +of several delays he had already met with, and he was in a furious +temper. He swore a wicked oath that he would sail out of Markdale +Harbour that night and 'God Almighty Himself shouldn't catch him.' +He did sail out of the harbour; and the storm did catch him, and +the Seth Hall went down with all hands, the dead and the living +finding a watery grave together. So the poor old mother up in +Maine never had her boys brought back to her after all. Mr. Coles +says it seems as if it were foreordained that they should not rest +in a grave, but should lie beneath the waves until the day when +the sea gives up its dead." + + + "'They sleep as well beneath that purple tide + As others under turf,'" + + +quoted Miss Reade softly. "I am very thankful," she added. "that +I am not one of those whose dear ones 'go down to the sea in +ships.' It seems to me that they have treble their share of this +world's heartache." + +"Uncle Stephen was a sailor and he was drowned," said Felicity, +"and they say it broke Grandmother King's heart. I don't see why +people can't be contented on dry land." + +Cecily's tears had been dropping on the autograph quilt square she +was faithfully embroidering. She had been diligently collecting +names for it ever since the preceding autumn and had a goodly +number; but Kitty Marr had one more and this was certainly a fly +in Cecily's ointment. + +"Besides, one I've got isn't paid for--Peg Bowen's," she lamented, +"and I don't suppose it ever will be, for I'll never dare to ask +her for it." + +"I wouldn't put it on at all," said Felicity. + +"Oh, I don't dare not to. She'd be sure to find out I didn't and +then she'd be very angry. I wish I could get just one more name +and then I'd be contented. But I don't know of a single person +who hasn't been asked already." + +"Except Mr. Campbell," said Dan. + +"Oh, of course nobody would ask Mr. Campbell. We all know it +would be of no use. He doesn't believe in missions at all--in +fact, he says he detests the very mention of missions--and he +never gives one cent to them." + +"All the same, I think he ought to be asked, so that he wouldn't +have the excuse that nobody DID ask him," declared Dan. + +"Do you really think so, Dan?" asked Cecily earnestly. + +"Sure," said Dan, solemnly. Dan liked to tease even Cecily a wee +bit now and then. + +Cecily relapsed into anxious thought, and care sat visibly on her +brow for the rest of the day. Next morning she came to me and +said: + +"Bev, would you like to go for a walk with me this afternoon?" + +"Of course," I replied. "Any particular where?" + +"I'm going to see Mr. Campbell and ask him for his name for my +square," said Cecily resolutely. "I don't suppose it will do any +good. He wouldn't give anything to the library last summer, you +remember, till the Story Girl told him that story about his +grandmother. She won't go with me this time--I don't know why. I +can't tell a story and I'm frightened to death just to think of +going to him. But I believe it is my duty; and besides I would +love to get as many names on my square as Kitty Marr has. So if +you'll go with me we'll go this afternoon. I simply COULDN'T go +alone." + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +A MISSIONARY HEROINE + + +Accordingly, that afternoon we bearded the lion in his den. The +road we took was a beautiful one, for we went "cross lots," and we +enjoyed it, in spite of the fact that we did not expect the +interview with Mr. Campbell to be a very pleasant one. To be +sure, he had been quite civil on the occasion of our last call +upon him, but the Story Girl had been with us then and had +beguiled him into good-humour and generosity by the magic of her +voice and personality. We had no such ally now, and Mr. Campbell +was known to be virulently opposed to missions in any shape or +form. + +"I don't know whether it would have been any better if I could +have put on my good clothes," said Cecily, with a rueful glance at +her print dress, which, though neat and clean, was undeniably +faded and RATHER short and tight. "The Story Girl said it would, +and I wanted to, but mother wouldn't let me. She said it was all +nonsense, and Mr. Campbell would never notice what I had on." + +"It's my opinion that Mr. Campbell notices a good deal more than +you'd think for," I said sagely. + +"Well, I wish our call was over," sighed Cecily. "I can't tell +you how I dread it." + +"Now, see here, Sis," I said cheerfully, "let's not think about it +till we get there. It'll only spoil our walk and do no good. +Let's just forget it and enjoy ourselves." + +"I'll try," agreed Cecily, "but it's ever so much easier to preach +than to practise." + +Our way lay first over a hill top, gallantly plumed with golden +rod, where cloud shadows drifted over us like a gypsying crew. +Carlisle, in all its ripely tinted length and breadth, lay below +us, basking in the August sunshine, that spilled over the brim of +the valley to the far-off Markdale Harbour, cupped in its harvest- +golden hills. + +Then came a little valley overgrown with the pale purple bloom of +thistles and elusively haunted with their perfume. You say that +thistles have no perfume? Go you to a brook hollow where they grow +some late summer twilight at dewfall; and on the still air that +rises suddenly to meet you will come a waft of faint, aromatic +fragrance, wondrously sweet and evasive, the distillation of that +despised thistle bloom. + +Beyond this the path wound through a forest of fir, where a wood +wind wove its murmurous spell and a wood brook dimpled pellucidly +among the shadows--the dear, companionable, elfin shadows--that +lurked under the low growing boughs. Along the edges of that +winding path grew banks of velvet green moss, starred with +clusters of pigeon berries. Pigeon berries are not to be eaten. +They are woolly, tasteless things. But they are to be looked at +in their glowing scarlet. They are the jewels with which the +forest of cone-bearers loves to deck its brown breast. Cecily +gathered some and pinned them on hers, but they did not become +her. I thought how witching the Story Girl's brown curls would +have looked twined with those brilliant clusters. Perhaps Cecily +was thinking of it, too, for she presently said, + +"Bev, don't you think the Story Girl is changing somehow?" + +"There are times--just times--when she seems to belong more among +the grown-ups than among us," I said, reluctantly, "especially +when she puts on her bridesmaid dress." + +"Well, she's the oldest of us, and when you come to think of it, +she's fifteen,--that's almost grown-up," sighed Cecily. Then she +added, with sudden vehemence, "I hate the thought of any of us +growing up. Felicity says she just longs to be grown-up, but I +don't, not a bit. I wish I could just stay a little girl for +ever--and have you and Felix and all the others for playmates +right along. I don't know how it is--but whenever I think of +being grown-up I seem to feel tired." + +Something about Cecily's speech--or the wistful look that had +crept into her sweet brown eyes--made me feel vaguely +uncomfortable; I was glad that we were at the end of our journey, +with Mr. Campbell's big house before us, and his dog sitting +gravely at the veranda steps. + +"Oh, dear," said Cecily, with a shiver, "I'd been hoping that dog +wouldn't be around." + +"He never bites," I assured her. + +"Perhaps he doesn't, but he always looks as if he was going to," +rejoined Cecily. + +The dog continued to look, and, as we edged gingerly past him and +up the veranda steps, he turned his head and kept on looking. +What with Mr. Campbell before us and the dog behind, Cecily was +trembling with nervousness; but perhaps it was as well that the +dour brute was there, else I verily believe she would have turned +and fled shamelessly when we heard steps in the hall. + +It was Mr. Campbell's housekeeper who came to the door, however; +she ushered us pleasantly into the sitting-room where Mr. Campbell +was reading. He laid down his book with a slight frown and said +nothing at all in response to our timid "good afternoon." But +after we had sat for a few minutes in wretched silence, wishing +ourselves a thousand miles away, he said, with a chuckle, + +"Well, is it the school library again?" + +Cecily had remarked as we were coming that what she dreaded most +of all was introducing the subject; but Mr. Campbell had given her +a splendid opening, and she plunged wildly in at once, rattling +her explanation off nervously with trembling voice and flushed +cheeks. + +"No, it's our Mission Band autograph quilt, Mr. Campbell. There +are to be as many squares in it as there are members in the Band. +Each one has a square and is collecting names for it. If you want +to have your name on the quilt you pay five cents, and if you want +to have it right in the round spot in the middle of the square you +must pay ten cents. Then when we have got all the names we can we +will embroider them on the squares. The money is to go to the +little girl our Band is supporting in Korea. I heard that nobody +had asked you, so I thought perhaps you would give me your name +for my square." + +Mr. Campbell drew his black brows together in a scowl. + +"Stuff and nonsense!" he exclaimed angrily. "I don't believe in +Foreign Missions--don't believe in them at all. I never give a +cent to them." + +"Five cents isn't a very large sum," said Cecily earnestly. + +Mr. Campbell's scowl disappeared and he laughed. + +"It wouldn't break me," he admitted, "but it's the principle of +the thing. And as for that Mission Band of yours, if it wasn't +for the fun you get out of it, catch one of you belonging. You +don't really care a rap more for the heathen than I do." + +"Oh, we do," protested Cecily. "We do think of all the poor +little children in Korea, and we like to think we are helping +them, if it's ever so little. We ARE in earnest, Mr. Campbell-- +indeed we are." + +"Don't believe it--don't believe a word of it," said Mr. Campbell +impolitely. "You'll do things that are nice and interesting. +You'll get up concerts, and chase people about for autographs and +give money your parents give you and that doesn't cost you either +time or labour. But you wouldn't do anything you disliked for the +heathen children--you wouldn't make any real sacrifice for them-- +catch you!" + +"Indeed we would," cried Cecily, forgetting her timidity in her +zeal. "I just wish I had a chance to prove it to you." + +"You do, eh? Come, now, I'll take you at your word. I'll test +you. Tomorrow is Communion Sunday and the church will be full of +folks and they'll all have their best clothes on. If you go to +church tomorrow in the very costume you have on at present, +without telling anyone why you do so, until it is all over, I'll +give you--why, I vow I'll give you five dollars for that quilt of +yours." + +Poor Cecily! To go to church in a faded print dress, with a shabby +little old sun-hat and worn shoes! It was very cruel of Mr. +Campbell. + +"I--I don't think mother would let me," she faltered. + +Her tormentor smiled grimly. + +"It's not hard to find some excuse," he said sarcastically. + +Cecily crimsoned and sat up facing Mr. Campbell spunkily. + +"It's NOT an excuse," she said. "If mother will let me go to +church like this I'll go. But I'll have to tell HER why, Mr. +Campbell, because I'm certain she'd never let me if I didn't." + +"Oh, you can tell all your own family," said Mr. Campbell, "but +remember, none of them must tell it outside until Sunday is over. +If they do, I'll be sure to find it out and then our bargain is +off. If I see you in church tomorrow, dressed as you are now, +I'll give you my name and five dollars. But I won't see you. +You'll shrink when you've had time to think it over." + +"I sha'n't," said Cecily resolutely. + +"Well, we'll see. And now come out to the barn with me. I've got +the prettiest little drove of calves out there you ever saw. I +want you to see them." + +Mr. Campbell took us all over his barns and was very affable. He +had beautiful horses, cows and sheep, and I enjoyed seeing them. +I don't think Cecily did, however. She was very quiet and even +Mr. Campbell's handsome new span of dappled grays failed to arouse +any enthusiasm in her. She was already in bitter anticipation +living over the martyrdom of the morrow. On the way home she +asked me seriously if I thought Mr. Campbell would go to heaven +when he died. + +"Of course he will," I said. "Isn't he a member of the church?" + +"Oh, yes, but I can't imagine him fitting into heaven. You know +he isn't really fond of anything but live stock." + +"He's fond of teasing people, I guess," I responded. "Are you +really going to church to-morrow in that dress, Sis?" + +"If mother'll let me I'll have to," said poor Cecily. "I won't +let Mr. Campbell triumph over me. And I DO want to have as many +names as Kitty has. And I DO want to help the poor little Korean +children. But it will be simply dreadful. I don't know whether I +hope mother will or not." + +I did not believe she would, but Aunt Janet sometimes could be +depended on for the unexpected. She laughed and told Cecily she +could please herself. Felicity was in a rage over it, and +declared SHE wouldn't go to church if Cecily went in such a rig. +Dan sarcastically inquired if all she went to church for was to +show off her fine clothes and look at other people's; then they +quarrelled and didn't speak to each other for two days, much to +Cecily's distress. + +I suspect poor Sis wished devoutly that it might rain the next +day; but it was gloriously fine. We were all waiting in the +orchard for the Story Girl who had not begun to dress for church +until Cecily and Felicity were ready. Felicity was her prettiest +in flower-trimmed hat, crisp muslin, floating ribbons and trim +black slippers. Poor Cecily stood beside her mute and pale, in +her faded school garb and heavy copper-toed boots. But her face, +if pale, was very determined. Cecily, having put her hand to the +plough, was not of those who turn back. + +"You do look just awful," said Felicity. "I don't care--I'm going +to sit in Uncle James' pew. I WON'T sit with you. There will be +so many strangers there, and all the Markdale people, and what +will they think of you? Some of them will never know the reason, +either." + +"I wish the Story Girl would hurry," was all poor Cecily said. +"We're going to be late. It wouldn't have been quite so hard if I +could have got there before anyone and slipped quietly into our +pew." + +"Here she comes at last," said Dan. "Why--what's she got on?" + +The Story Girl joined us with a quizzical smile on her face. Dan +whistled. Cecily's pale cheeks flushed with understanding and +gratitude. The Story Girl wore her school print dress and hat +also, and was gloveless and heavy shod. + +"You're not going to have to go through this all alone, Cecily," +she said. + +"Oh, it won't be half so hard now," said Cecily, with a long +breath of relief. + +I fancy it was hard enough even then. The Story Girl did not care +a whit, but Cecily rather squirmed under the curious glances that +were cast at her. She afterwards told me that she really did not +think she could have endured it if she had been alone. + +Mr. Campbell met us under the elms in the churchyard, with a +twinkle in his eye. + +"Well, you did it, Miss," he said to Cecily, "but you should have +been alone. That was what I meant. I suppose you think you've +cheated me nicely." + +"No, she doesn't," spoke up the Story Girl undauntedly. "She was +all dressed and ready to come before she knew I was going to dress +the same way. So she kept her bargain faithfully, Mr. Campbell, +and I think you were cruel to make her do it." + +"You do, eh? Well, well, I hope you'll forgive me. I didn't +think she'd do it--I was sure feminine vanity would win the day +over missionary zeal. It seems it didn't--though how much was +pure missionary zeal and how much just plain King spunk I'm +doubtful. I'll keep my promise, Miss. You shall have your five +dollars, and mind you put my name in the round space. No five- +cent corners for me." + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +A TANTALIZING REVELATION + + +"I shall have something to tell you in the orchard this evening," +said the Story Girl at breakfast one morning. Her eyes were very +bright and excited. She looked as if she had not slept a great +deal. She had spent the previous evening with Miss Reade and had +not returned until the rest of us were in bed. Miss Reade had +finished giving music lessons and was going home in a few days. +Cecily and Felicity were in despair over this and mourned as those +without comfort. But the Story Girl, who had been even more +devoted to Miss Reade than either of them, had not, as I noticed, +expressed any regret and seemed to be very cheerful over the whole +matter. + +"Why can't you tell it now?" asked Felicity. + +"Because the evening is the nicest time to tell things in. I only +mentioned it now so that you would have something interesting to +look forward to all day." + +"Is it about Miss Reade?" asked Cecily. + +"Never mind." + +"I'll bet she's going to be married," I exclaimed, remembering the ring. + +"Is she?" cried Felicity and Cecily together. + +The Story Girl threw an annoyed glance at me. She did not like to +have her dramatic announcements forestalled. + +"I don't say that it is about Miss Reade or that it isn't. You +must just wait till the evening." + +"I wonder what it is," speculated Cecily, as the Story Girl left +the room. + +"I don't believe it's much of anything," said Felicity, beginning +to clear away the breakfast dishes. "The Story Girl always likes +to make so much out of so little. Anyhow, I don't believe Miss +Reade is going to be married. She hasn't any beaus around here +and Mrs. Armstrong says she's sure she doesn't correspond with +anybody. Besides, if she was she wouldn't be likely to tell the +Story Girl." + +"Oh, she might. They're such friends, you know," said Cecily. + +"Miss Reade is no better friends with her than she is with me and +you," retorted Felicity. + +"No, but sometimes it seems to me that she's a different kind of +friend with the Story Girl than she is with me and you," reflected +Cecily. "I can't just explain what I mean." + +"No wonder. Such nonsense," sniffed Felicity. "It's only some +girl's secret, anyway," said Dan, loftily. "I don't feel much +interest in it." + +But he was on hand with the rest of us that evening, interest or +no interest, in Uncle Stephen's Walk, where the ripening apples +were beginning to glow like jewels among the boughs. + +"Now, are you going to tell us your news?" asked Felicity impatiently. + +"Miss Reade IS going to be married," said the Story Girl. "She +told me so last night. She is going to be married in a +fortnight's time." + +"Who to?" exclaimed the girls. + +"To"--the Story Girl threw a defiant glance at me as if to say, +"You can't spoil the surprise of THIS, anyway,"--"to--the Awkward Man." + +For a few moments amazement literally held us dumb. + +"You're not in earnest, Sara Stanley?" gasped Felicity at last. + +"Indeed I am. I thought you'd be astonished. But I wasn't. I've +suspected it all summer, from little things I've noticed. Don't +you remember that evening last spring when I went a piece with +Miss Reade and told you when I came back that a story was growing? +I guessed it from the way the Awkward Man looked at her when I +stopped to speak to him over his garden fence." + +"But--the Awkward Man!" said Felicity helplessly. "It doesn't +seem possible. Did Miss Reade tell you HERSELF?" + +"Yes." + +"I suppose it must be true then. But how did it ever come about? +He's SO shy and awkward. How did he ever manage to get up enough +spunk to ask her to marry him?" + +"Maybe she asked him," suggested Dan. + +The Story Girl looked as if she might tell if she would. + +"I believe that WAS the way of it," I said, to draw her on. + +"Not exactly," she said reluctantly. "I know all about it but I +can't tell you. I guessed part from things I've seen--and Miss +Reade told me a good deal--and the Awkward Man himself told me his +side of it as we came home last night. I met him just as I left +Mr. Armstrong's and we were together as far as his house. It was +dark and he just talked on as if he were talking to himself--I +think he forgot I was there at all, once he got started. He has +never been shy or awkward with me, but he never talked as he did +last night." + +"You might tell us what he said," urged Cecily. "We'd never +tell." + +The Story Girl shook her head. + +"No, I can't. You wouldn't understand. Besides, I couldn't tell +it just right. It's one of the things that are hardest to tell. +I'd spoil it if I told it--now. Perhaps some day I'll be able to +tell it properly. It's very beautiful--but it might sound very +ridiculous if it wasn't told just exactly the right way." + +"I don't know what you mean, and I don't believe you know +yourself," said Felicity pettishly. "All that I can make out is +that Miss Reade is going to marry Jasper Dale, and I don't like +the idea one bit. She is so beautiful and sweet. I thought she'd +marry some dashing young man. Jasper Dale must be nearly twenty +years older than her--and he's so queer and shy--and such a +hermit." + +"Miss Reade is perfectly happy," said the Story Girl. "She thinks +the Awkward Man is lovely--and so he is. You don't know him, but +I do." + +"Well, you needn't put on such airs about it," sniffed Felicity. + +"I am not putting on any airs. But it's true. Miss Reade and I +are the only people in Carlisle who really know the Awkward Man. +Nobody else ever got behind his shyness to find out just what sort +of a man he is." + +"When are they to be married?" asked Felicity. + +"In a fortnight's time. And then they are coming right back to +live at Golden Milestone. Won't it be lovely to have Miss Reade +always so near us?" + +"I wonder what she'll think about the mystery of Golden +Milestone," remarked Felicity. + +Golden Milestone was the beautiful name the Awkward Man had given +his home; and there was a mystery about it, as readers of the +first volume of these chronicles will recall. + +"She knows all about the mystery and thinks it perfectly lovely-- +and so do I," said the Story Girl. + +"Do YOU know the secret of the locked room?" cried Cecily. + +"Yes, the Awkward Man told me all about it last night. I told you +I'd find out the mystery some time." + +"And what is it?" + +"I can't tell you that either." + +"I think you're hateful and mean," exclaimed Felicity. "It hasn't +anything to do with Miss Reade, so I think you might tell us." + +"It has something to do with Miss Reade. It's all about her." + +"Well, I don't see how that can be when the Awkward Man never saw +or heard of Miss Reade until she came to Carlisle in the spring," +said Felicity incredulously, "and he's had that locked room for +years." + +"I can't explain it to you--but it's just as I've said," responded +the Story Girl. + +"Well, it's a very queer thing," retorted Felicity. + +"The name in the books in the room was Alice--and Miss Reade's +name is Alice," marvelled Cecily. "Did he know her before she +came here?" + +"Mrs. Griggs says that room has been locked for ten years. Ten +years ago Miss Reade was just a little girl of ten. SHE couldn't +be the Alice of the books," argued Felicity. + +"I wonder if she'll wear the blue silk dress," said Sara Ray. + +"And what will she do about the picture, if it isn't hers?" added Cecily. + +"The picture couldn't be hers, or Mrs. Griggs would have known her +for the same when she came to Carlisle," said Felix. + +"I'm going to stop wondering about it," exclaimed Felicity +crossly, aggravated by the amused smile with which the Story Girl +was listening to the various speculations. "I think Sara is just +as mean as mean when she won't tell us." + +"I can't," repeated the Story Girl patiently. + +"You said one time you had an idea who 'Alice' was," I said. "Was +your idea anything like the truth?" + +"Yes, I guessed pretty nearly right." + +"Do you suppose they'll keep the room locked after they are married?" +asked Cecily. + +"Oh, no. I can tell you that much. It is to be Miss Reade's own +particular sitting room." + +"Why, then, perhaps we'll see it some time ourselves, when we go +to see Miss Reade," cried Cecily. + +"I'd be frightened to go into it," confessed Sara Ray. "I hate +things with mysteries. They always make me nervous." + +"I love them. They're so exciting," said the Story Girl. + +"Just think, this will be the second wedding of people we know," +reflected Cecily. "Isn't that interesting?" + +"I only hope the next thing won't be a funeral," remarked Sara Ray +gloomily. "There were three lighted lamps on our kitchen table +last night, and Judy Pineau says that's a sure sign of a funeral." + +"Well, there are funerals going on all the time," said Dan. + +"But it means the funeral of somebody you know. I don't believe +in it--MUCH--but Judy says she's seen it come true time and again. +I hope if it does it won't be anybody we know very well. But I +hope it'll be somebody I know a LITTLE, because then I might get +to the funeral. I'd just love to go to a funeral." + +"That's a dreadful thing to say," commented Felicity in a shocked +tone. + +Sara Ray looked bewildered. + +"I don't see what is dreadful in it," she protested. + +"People don't go to funerals for the fun of it," said Felicity +severely. "And you just as good as said you hoped somebody you +knew would die so you'd get to the funeral." + +"No, no, I didn't. I didn't mean that AT ALL, Felicity. I don't +want anybody to die; but what I meant was, if anybody I knew HAD +to die there might be a chance to go to the funeral. I've never +been to a single funeral yet, and it must be so interesting." + +"Well, don't mix up talk about funerals with talk about weddings," +said Felicity. "It isn't lucky. I think Miss Reade is simply +throwing herself away, but I hope she'll be happy. And I hope the +Awkward Man will manage to get married without making some awful +blunder, but it's more than I expect." + +"The ceremony is to be very private," said the Story Girl. + +"I'd like to see them the day they appear out in church," chuckled +Dan. "How'll he ever manage to bring her in and show her into the +pew? I'll bet he'll go in first--or tramp on her dress--or fall +over his feet." + +"Maybe he won't go to church at all the first Sunday and she'll +have to go alone," said Peter. "That happened in Markdale. A man +was too bashful to go to church the first time after getting +married, and his wife went alone till he got used to the idea." + +"They may do things like that in Markdale but that is not the way +people behave in Carlisle," said Felicity loftily. + +Seeing the Story Girl slipping away with a disapproving face I +joined her. + +"What is the matter, Sara?" I asked. + +"I hate to hear them talking like that about Miss Reade and Mr. +Dale," she answered vehemently. "It's really all so beautiful-- +but they make it seem silly and absurd, somehow." + +"You might tell me all about it, Sara," I insinuated. "I wouldn't +tell--and I'd understand." + +"Yes, I think you would," she said thoughtfully. "But I can't +tell it even to you because I can't tell it well enough yet. I've +a feeling that there's only one way to tell it--and I don't know +the way yet. Some day I'll know it--and then I'll tell you, Bev." + +Long, long after she kept her word. Forty years later I wrote to +her, across the leagues of land and sea that divided us, and told +her that Jasper Dale was dead; and I reminded her of her old +promise and asked its fulfilment. In reply she sent me the +written love story of Jasper Dale and Alice Reade. Now, when +Alice sleeps under the whispering elms of the old Carlisle +churchyard, beside the husband of her youth, that story may be +given, in all its old-time sweetness, to the world. + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +THE LOVE STORY OF THE AWKWARD MAN + +(Written by the Story Girl) + + +Jasper Dale lived alone in the old homestead which he had named +Golden Milestone. In Carlisle this giving one's farm a name was +looked upon as a piece of affectation; but if a place must be +named why not give it a sensible name with some meaning to it? Why +Golden Milestone, when Pinewood or Hillslope or, if you wanted to +be very fanciful, Ivy Lodge, might be had for the taking? + +He had lived alone at Golden Milestone since his mother's death; +he had been twenty then and he was close upon forty now, though he +did not look it. But neither could it be said that he looked +young; he had never at any time looked young with common youth; +there had always been something in his appearance that stamped him +as different from the ordinary run of men, and, apart from his +shyness, built up an intangible, invisible barrier between him and +his kind. He had lived all his life in Carlisle; and all the +Carlisle people knew of or about him--although they thought they +knew everything--was that he was painfully, abnormally shy. He +never went anywhere except to church; he never took part in +Carlisle's simple social life; even with most men he was distant +and reserved; as for women, he never spoke to or looked at them; +if one spoke to him, even if she were a matronly old mother in +Israel, he was at once in an agony of painful blushes. He had no +friends in the sense of companions; to all outward appearance his +life was solitary and devoid of any human interest. + +He had no housekeeper; but his old house, furnished as it had been +in his mother's lifetime, was cleanly and daintily kept. The +quaint rooms were as free from dust and disorder as a woman could +have had them. This was known, because Jasper Dale occasionally +had his hired man's wife, Mrs. Griggs, in to scrub for him. On +the morning she was expected he betook himself to woods and +fields, returning only at night-fall. During his absence Mrs. +Griggs was frankly wont to explore the house from cellar to attic, +and her report of its condition was always the same--"neat as +wax." To be sure, there was one room that was always locked +against her, the west gable, looking out on the garden and the +hill of pines beyond. But Mrs. Griggs knew that in the lifetime +of Jasper Dale's mother it had been unfurnished. She supposed it +still remained so, and felt no especial curiosity concerning it, +though she always tried the door. + +Jasper Dale had a good farm, well cultivated; he had a large +garden where he worked most of his spare time in summer; it was +supposed that he read a great deal, since the postmistress +declared that he was always getting books and magazines by mail. +He seemed well contented with his existence and people let him +alone, since that was the greatest kindness they could do him. It +was unsupposable that he would ever marry; nobody ever had +supposed it. + +"Jasper Dale never so much as THOUGHT about a woman," Carlisle +oracles declared. Oracles, however, are not always to be trusted. + +One day Mrs. Griggs went away from the Dale place with a very +curious story, which she diligently spread far and wide. It made +a good deal of talk, but people, although they listened eagerly, +and wondered and questioned, were rather incredulous about it. +They thought Mrs. Griggs must be drawing considerably upon her +imagination; there were not lacking those who declared that she +had invented the whole account, since her reputation for strict +veracity was not wholly unquestioned. + +Mrs. Griggs's story was as follows:-- + +One day she found the door of the west gable unlocked. She went +in, expecting to see bare walls and a collection of odds and ends. +Instead she found herself in a finely furnished room. Delicate +lace curtains hung before the small, square, broad-silled windows. +The walls were adorned with pictures in much finer taste than Mrs. +Griggs could appreciate. There was a bookcase between the windows +filled with choicely bound books. Beside it stood a little table +with a very dainty work-basket on it. By the basket Mrs. Griggs +saw a pair of tiny scissors and a silver thimble. A wicker +rocker, comfortable with silk cushions, was near it. Above the +bookcase a woman's picture hung--a water-colour, if Mrs. Griggs +had but known it--representing a pale, very sweet face, with +large, dark eyes and a wistful expression under loose masses of +black, lustrous hair. Just beneath the picture, on the top shelf +of the bookcase, was a vaseful of flowers. Another vaseful stood +on the table beside the basket. + +All this was astonishing enough. But what puzzled Mrs. Griggs +completely was the fact that a woman's dress was hanging over a +chair before the mirror--a pale blue, silken affair. And on the +floor beside it were two little blue satin slippers! + +Good Mrs. Griggs did not leave the room until she had thoroughly +explored it, even to shaking out the blue dress and discovering it +to be a tea-gown--wrapper, she called it. But she found nothing +to throw any light on the mystery. The fact that the simple name +"Alice" was written on the fly-leaves of all the books only +deepened it, for it was a name unknown in the Dale family. In +this puzzled state she was obliged to depart, nor did she ever +find the door unlocked again; and, discovering that people thought +she was romancing when she talked about the mysterious west gable +at Golden Milestone, she indignantly held her peace concerning the +whole affair. + +But Mrs. Griggs had told no more than the simple truth. Jasper +Dale, under all his shyness and aloofness, possessed a nature full +of delicate romance and poesy, which, denied expression in the +common ways of life, bloomed out in the realm of fancy and +imagination. Left alone, just when the boy's nature was deepening +into the man's, he turned to this ideal kingdom for all he +believed the real world could never give him. Love--a strange, +almost mystical love--played its part here for him. He shadowed +forth to himself the vision of a woman, loving and beloved; he +cherished it until it became almost as real to him as his own +personality and he gave this dream woman the name he liked best-- +Alice. In fancy he walked and talked with her, spoke words of love +to her, and heard words of love in return. When he came from work +at the close of day she met him at his threshold in the twilight-- +a strange, fair, starry shape, as elusive and spiritual as a +blossom reflected in a pool by moonlight--with welcome on her lips +and in her eyes. + +One day, when he was in Charlottetown on business, he had been +struck by a picture in the window of a store. It was strangely +like the woman of his dream love. He went in, awkward and +embarrassed, and bought it. When he took it home he did not know +where to put it. It was out of place among the dim old engravings +of bewigged portraits and conventional landscapes on the walls of +Golden Milestone. As he pondered the matter in his garden that +evening he had an inspiration. The sunset, flaming on the windows +of the west gable, kindled them into burning rose. Amid the +splendour he fancied Alice's fair face peeping archly down at him +from the room. The inspiration came then. It should be her room; +he would fit it up for her; and her picture should hang there. + +He was all summer carrying out his plan. Nobody must know or +suspect, so he must go slowly and secretly. One by one the +furnishings were purchased and brought home under cover of +darkness. He arranged them with his own hands. He bought the +books he thought she would like best and wrote her name in them; +he got the little feminine knick-knacks of basket and thimble. +Finally he saw in a store a pale blue tea-gown and the satin +slippers. He had always fancied her as dressed in blue. He +bought them and took them home to her room. Thereafter it was +sacred to her; he always knocked on its door before he entered; he +kept it sweet with fresh flowers; he sat there in the purple +summer evenings and talked aloud to her or read his favourite +books to her. In his fancy she sat opposite to him in her rocker, +clad in the trailing blue gown, with her head leaning on one +slender hand, as white as a twilight star. + +But Carlisle people knew nothing of this--would have thought him +tinged with mild lunacy if they had known. To them, he was just +the shy, simple farmer he appeared. They never knew or guessed at +the real Jasper Dale. + +One spring Alice Reade came to teach music in Carlisle. Her +pupils worshipped her, but the grown people thought she was rather +too distant and reserved. They had been used to merry, jolly +girls who joined eagerly in the social life of the place. Alice +Reade held herself aloof from it--not disdainfully, but as one to +whom these things were of small importance. She was very fond of +books and solitary rambles; she was not at all shy but she was as +sensitive as a flower; and after a time Carlisle people were +content to let her live her own life and no longer resented her +unlikeness to themselves. + +She boarded with the Armstrongs, who lived beyond Golden Milestone +around the hill of pines. Until the snow disappeared she went out +to the main road by the long Armstrong lane; but when spring came +she was wont to take a shorter way, down the pine hill, across the +brook, past Jasper Dale's garden, and out through his lane. And +one day, as she went by, Jasper Dale was working in his garden. + +He was on his knees in a corner, setting out a bunch of roots--an +unsightly little tangle of rainbow possibilities. It was a still +spring morning; the world was green with young leaves; a little +wind blew down from the pines and lost itself willingly among the +budding delights of the garden. The grass opened eyes of blue +violets. The sky was high and cloudless, turquoise-blue, shading +off into milkiness on the far horizons. Birds were singing along +the brook valley. Rollicking robins were whistling joyously in +the pines. Jasper Dale's heart was filled to over-flowing with a +realization of all the virgin loveliness around him; the feeling +in his soul had the sacredness of a prayer. At this moment he +looked up and saw Alice Reade. + +She was standing outside the garden fence, in the shadow of a +great pine tree, looking not at him, for she was unaware of his +presence, but at the virginal bloom of the plum trees in a far +corner, with all her delight in it outblossoming freely in her +face. For a moment Jasper Dale believed that his dream love had +taken visible form before him. She was like--so like; not in +feature, perhaps, but in grace and colouring--the grace of a +slender, lissome form and the colouring of cloudy hair and +wistful, dark gray eyes, and curving red mouth; and more than all, +she was like her in expression--in the subtle revelation of +personality exhaling from her like perfume from a flower. It was +as if his own had come to him at last and his whole soul suddenly +leaped out to meet and welcome her. + +Then her eyes fell upon him and the spell was broken. Jasper +remained kneeling mutely there, shy man once more, crimson with +blushes, a strange, almost pitiful creature in his abject +confusion. A little smile flickered about the delicate corners of +her mouth, but she turned and walked swiftly away down the lane. + +Jasper looked after her with a new, painful sense of loss and +loveliness. It had been agony to feel her conscious eyes upon +him, but he realized now that there had been a strange sweetness +in it, too. It was still greater pain to watch her going from +him. + +He thought she must be the new music teacher but he did not even +know her name. She had been dressed in blue, too--a pale, dainty +blue; but that was of course; he had known she must wear it; and +he was sure her name must be Alice. When, later on, he discovered +that it was, he felt no surprise. + +He carried some mayflowers up to the west gable and put them under +the picture. But the charm had gone out of the tribute; and +looking at the picture, he thought how scant was the justice it +did her. Her face was so much sweeter, her eyes so much softer, +her hair so much more lustrous. The soul of his love had gone +from the room and from the picture and from his dreams. When he +tried to think of the Alice he loved he saw, not the shadowy +spirit occupant of the west gable, but the young girl who had +stood under the pine, beautiful with the beauty of moonlight, of +starshine on still water, of white, wind-swayed flowers growing in +silent, shadowy places. He did not then realize what this meant: +had he realized it he would have suffered bitterly; as it was he +felt only a vague discomfort--a curious sense of loss and gain +commingled. + +He saw her again that afternoon on her way home. She did not +pause by the garden but walked swiftly past. Thereafter, every +day for a week he watched unseen to see her pass his home. Once a +little child was with her, clinging to her hand. No child had +ever before had any part in the shy man's dream life. But that +night in the twilight the vision of the rocking-chair was a girl +in a blue print dress, with a little, golden-haired shape at her +knee--a shape that lisped and prattled and called her "mother;" +and both of them were his. + +It was the next day that he failed for the first time to put +flowers in the west gable. Instead, he cut a loose handful of +daffodils and, looking furtively about him as if committing a +crime, he laid them across the footpath under the pine. She must +pass that way; her feet would crush them if she failed to see +them. Then he slipped back into his garden, half exultant, half +repentant. From a safe retreat he saw her pass by and stoop to +lift his flowers. Thereafter he put some in the same place every +day. + +When Alice Reade saw the flowers she knew at once who had put them +there, and divined that they were for her. She lifted them +tenderly in much surprise and pleasure. She had heard all about +Jasper Dale and his shyness; but before she had heard about him +she had seen him in church and liked him. She thought his face +and his dark blue eyes beautiful; she even liked the long brown +hair that Carlisle people laughed at. That he was quite different +from other people she had understood at once, but she thought the +difference in his favour. Perhaps her sensitive nature divined +and responded to the beauty in his. At least, in her eyes Jasper +Dale was never a ridiculous figure. + +When she heard the story of the west gable, which most people +disbelieved, she believed it, although she did not understand it. +It invested the shy man with interest and romance. She felt that +she would have liked, out of no impertinent curiosity, to solve +the mystery; she believed that it contained the key to his +character. + +Thereafter, every day she found flowers under the pine tree; she +wished to see Jasper to thank him, unaware that he watched her +daily from the screen of shrubbery in his garden; but it was some +time before she found the opportunity. One evening she passed +when he, not expecting her, was leaning against his garden fence +with a book in his hand. She stopped under the pine. + +"Mr. Dale," she said softly, "I want to thank you for your +flowers." + +Jasper, startled, wished that he might sink into the ground. His +anguish of embarrassment made her smile a little. He could not +speak, so she went on gently. + +"It has been so good of you. They have given me so much pleasure-- +I wish you could know how much." + +"It was nothing--nothing," stammered Jasper. His book had fallen +on the ground at her feet, and she picked it up and held it out to +him. + +"So you like Ruskin," she said. "I do, too. But I haven't read +this." + +"If you--would care--to read it--you may have it," Jasper +contrived to say. + +She carried the book away with her. He did not again hide when +she passed, and when she brought the book back they talked a +little about it over the fence. He lent her others, and got some +from her in return; they fell into the habit of discussing them. +Jasper did not find it hard to talk to her now; it seemed as if he +were talking to his dream Alice, and it came strangely natural to +him. He did not talk volubly, but Alice thought what he did say +was worth while. His words lingered in her memory and made music. +She always found his flowers under the pine, and she always wore +some of them, but she did not know if he noticed this or not. + +One evening Jasper walked shyly with her from his gate up the pine +hill. After that he always walked that far with her. She would +have missed him much if he had failed to do so; yet it did not +occur to her that she was learning to love him. She would have +laughed with girlish scorn at the idea. She liked him very much; +she thought his nature beautiful in its simplicity and purity; in +spite of his shyness she felt more delightfully at home in his +society than in that of any other person she had ever met. He was +one of those rare souls whose friendship is at once a pleasure and +a benediction, showering light from their own crystal clearness +into all the dark corners in the souls of others, until, for the +time being at least, they reflected his own nobility. But she +never thought of love. Like other girls she had her dreams of a +possible Prince Charming, young and handsome and debonair. It +never occurred to her that he might be found in the shy, dreamy +recluse of Golden Milestone. + +In August came a day of gold and blue. Alice Reade, coming +through the trees, with the wind blowing her little dark love- +locks tricksily about under her wide blue hat, found a fragrant +heap of mignonette under the pine. She lifted it and buried her +face in it, drinking in the wholesome, modest perfume. + +She had hoped Jasper would be in his garden, since she wished to +ask him for a book she greatly desired to read. But she saw him +sitting on the rustic seat at the further side. His back was +towards her, and he was partially screened by a copse of lilacs. + +Alice, blushing slightly, unlatched the garden gate, and went down +the path. She had never been in the garden before, and she found +her heart beating in a strange fashion. + +He did not hear her footsteps, and she was close behind him when +she heard his voice, and realized that he was talking to himself, +in a low, dreamy tone. As the meaning of his words dawned on her +consciousness she started and grew crimson. She could not move or +speak; as one in a dream she stood and listened to the shy man's +reverie, guiltless of any thought of eavesdropping. + +"How much I love you, Alice," Jasper Dale was saying, unafraid, +with no shyness in voice or manner. "I wonder what you would say +if you knew. You would laugh at me--sweet as you are, you would +laugh in mockery. I can never tell you. I can only dream of +telling you. In my dream you are standing here by me, dear. I +can see you very plainly, my sweet lady, so tall and gracious, +with your dark hair and your maiden eyes. I can dream that I tell +you my love; that--maddest, sweetest dream of all--that you love +me in return. Everything is possible in dreams, you know, dear. +My dreams are all I have, so I go far in them, even to dreaming +that you are my wife. I dream how I shall fix up my dull old +house for you. One room will need nothing more--it is your room, +dear, and has been ready for you a long time--long before that day +I saw you under the pine. Your books and your chair and your +picture are there, dear--only the picture is not half lovely +enough. But the other rooms of the house must be made to bloom +out freshly for you. What a delight it is thus to dream of what I +would do for you! Then I would bring you home, dear, and lead you +through my garden and into my house as its mistress. I would see +you standing beside me in the old mirror at the end of the hall--a +bride, in your pale blue dress, with a blush on your face. I +would lead you through all the rooms made ready for your coming, +and then to your own. I would see you sitting in your own chair +and all my dreams would find rich fulfilment in that royal moment. +Oh, Alice, we would have a beautiful life together! It's sweet to +make believe about it. You will sing to me in the twilight, and +we will gather early flowers together in the spring days. When I +come home from work, tired, you will put your arms about me and +lay your head on my shoulder. I will stroke it--so--that bonny, +glossy head of yours. Alice, my Alice--all mine in my dream-- +never to be mine in real life--how I love you!" + +The Alice behind him could bear no more. She gave a little +choking cry that betrayed her presence. Jasper Dale sprang up and +gazed upon her. He saw her standing there, amid the languorous +shadows of August, pale with feeling, wide-eyed, trembling. + +For a moment shyness wrung him. Then every trace of it was +banished by a sudden, strange, fierce anger that swept over him. +He felt outraged and hurt to the death; he felt as if he had been +cheated out of something incalculably precious--as if sacrilege +had been done to his most holy sanctuary of emotion. White, tense +with his anger, he looked at her and spoke, his lips as pale as if +his fiery words scathed them. + +"How dare you? You have spied on me--you have crept in and +listened! How dare you? Do you know what you have done, girl? You +have destroyed all that made life worth while to me. My dream is +dead. It could not live when it was betrayed. And it was all I +had. Oh, laugh at me--mock me! I know that I am ridiculous! What +of it? It never could have hurt you! Why must you creep in like +this to hear me and put me to shame? Oh, I love you--I will say +it, laugh as you will. Is it such a strange thing that I should +have a heart like other men? This will make sport for you! I, who +love you better than my life, better than any other man in the +world can love you, will be a jest to you all your life. I love +you--and yet I think I could hate you--you have destroyed my +dream--you have done me deadly wrong." + +"Jasper! Jasper!" cried Alice, finding her voice. His anger hurt +her with a pain she could not endure. It was unbearable that +Jasper should be angry with her. In that moment she realized that +she loved him--that the words he had spoken when unconscious of +her presence were the sweetest she had ever heard, or ever could +hear. Nothing mattered at all, save that he loved her and was +angry with her. + +"Don't say such dreadful things to me," she stammered, "I did not +mean to listen. I could not help it. I shall never laugh at you. +Oh, Jasper"--she looked bravely at him and the fine soul of her +shone through the flesh like an illuminating lamp--"I am glad that +you love me! and I am glad I chanced to overhear you, since you +would never have had the courage to tell me otherwise. Glad-- +glad! Do you understand, Jasper?" + +Jasper looked at her with the eyes of one who, looking through +pain, sees rapture beyond. + +"Is it possible?" he said, wonderingly. "Alice--I am so much +older than you--and they call me the Awkward Man--they say I am +unlike other people"-- + +"You ARE unlike other people," she said softly, "and that is why I +love you. I know now that I must have loved you ever since I saw +you." + +"I loved you long before I saw you," said Jasper. + +He came close to her and drew her into his arms, tenderly and +reverently, all his shyness and awkwardness swallowed up in the +grace of his great happiness. In the old garden he kissed her +lips and Alice entered into her own. + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + +UNCLE BLAIR COMES HOME + + +It happened that the Story Girl and I both got up very early on +the morning of the Awkward Man's wedding day. Uncle Alec was +going to Charlottetown that day, and I, awakened at daybreak by +the sounds in the kitchen beneath us, remembered that I had +forgotten to ask him to bring me a certain school-book I wanted. +So I hurriedly dressed and hastened down to tell him before he +went. I was joined on the stairs by the Story Girl, who said she +had wakened and, not feeling like going to sleep again, thought +she might as well get up. + +"I had such a funny dream last night," she said. "I dreamed that +I heard a voice calling me from away down in Uncle Stephen's Walk-- +'Sara, Sara, Sara,' it kept calling. I didn't know whose it was, +and yet it seemed like a voice I knew. I wakened up while it was +calling, and it seemed so real I could hardly believe it was a +dream. It was bright moonlight, and I felt just like getting up +and going out to the orchard. But I knew that would be silly and +of course I didn't go. But I kept on wanting to and I couldn't +sleep any more. Wasn't it queer?" + +When Uncle Alec had gone I proposed a saunter to the farther end +of the orchard, where I had left a book the preceding evening. A +young mom was walking rosily on the hills as we passed down Uncle +Stephen's Walk, with Paddy trotting before us. High overhead was +the spirit-like blue of paling skies; the east was a great arc of +crystal, smitten through with auroral crimsonings; just above it +was one milk-white star of morning, like a pearl on a silver sea. +A light wind of dawn was weaving an orient spell. + +"It's lovely to be up as early as this, isn't it?" said the Story +Girl. "The world seems so different just at sunrise, doesn't it? +It makes me feel just like getting up to see the sun rise every +morning of my life after this. But I know I won't. I'll likely +sleep later than ever tomorrow morning. But I wish I could." + +"The Awkward Man and Miss Reade are going to have a lovely day for +their wedding," I said. + +"Yes, and I'm so glad. Beautiful Alice deserves everything good. +Why, Bev--why, Bev! Who is that in the hammock?" + +I looked. The hammock was swung under the two end trees of the +Walk. In it a man was lying, asleep, his head pillowed on his +overcoat. He was sleeping easily, lightly, and wholesomely. He +had a pointed brown beard and thick wavy brown hair. His cheeks +were a dusky red and the lashes of his closed eyes were as long +and dark and silken as a girl's. He wore a light gray suit, and +on the slender white hand that hung down over the hammock's edge +was a spark of diamond fire. + +It seemed to me that I knew his face, although assuredly I had +never seen him before. While I groped among vague speculations +the Story Girl gave a queer, choked little cry. The next moment +she had sprung over the intervening space, dropped on her knees by +the hammock, and flung her arms about the man's neck. + +"Father! Father!" she cried, while I stood, rooted to the ground +in my amazement. + +The sleeper stirred and opened two large, exceedingly brilliant +hazel eyes. For a moment he gazed rather blankly at the brown- +curled young lady who was embracing him. Then a most delightful +smile broke over his face; he sprang up and caught her to his +heart. + +"Sara--Sara--my little Sara! To think didn't know you at first +glance! But you are almost a woman. And when I saw you last you +were just a little girl of eight. My own little Sara!" + +"Father--father--sometimes I've wondered if you were ever coming +back to me," I heard the Story Girl say, as I turned and scuttled +up the Walk, realizing that I was not wanted there just then and +would be little missed. Various emotions and speculations +possessed my mind in my retreat; but chiefly did I feel a sense of +triumph in being the bearer of exciting news. + +"Aunt Janet, Uncle Blair is here," I announced breathlessly at the +kitchen door. + +Aunt Janet, who was kneading her bread, turned round and lifted +floury hands. Felicity and Cecily, who were just entering the +kitchen, rosy from slumber, stopped still and stared at me. + +"Uncle who?" exclaimed Aunt Janet. + +"Uncle Blair--the Story Girl's father, you know. He's here." + +"WHERE?" + +"Down in the orchard. He was asleep in the hammock. We found him there." + +"Dear me!" said Aunt Janet, sitting down helplessly. "If that +isn't like Blair! Of course he couldn't come like anybody else. I +wonder," she added in a tone unheard by anyone else save myself, +"I wonder if he has come to take the child away." + +My elation went out like a snuffed candle. I had never thought of +this. If Uncle Blair took the Story Girl away would not life +become rather savourless on the hill farm? I turned and followed +Felicity and Cecily out in a very subdued mood. + +Uncle Blair and the Story Girl were just coming out of the +orchard. His arm was about her and hers was on his shoulder. +Laughter and tears were contending in her eyes. Only once before-- +when Peter had come back from the Valley of the Shadow--had I +seen the Story Girl cry. Emotion had to go very deep with her ere +it touched the source of tears. I had always known that she loved +her father passionately, though she rarely talked of him, +understanding that her uncles and aunts were not whole-heartedly +his friends. + +But Aunt Janet's welcome was cordial enough, though a trifle +flustered. Whatever thrifty, hard-working farmer folk might think +of gay, Bohemian Blair Stanley in his absence, in his presence +even they liked him, by the grace of some winsome, lovable quality +in the soul of him. He had "a way with him"--revealed even in the +manner with which he caught staid Aunt Janet in his arms, swung +her matronly form around as though she had been a slim schoolgirl, +and kissed her rosy cheek. + +"Sister o' mine, are you never going to grow old?" he said. "Here +you are at forty-five with the roses of sixteen--and not a gray +hair, I'll wager." + +"Blair, Blair, it is you who are always young," laughed Aunt +Janet, not ill pleased. "Where in the world did you come from? +And what is this I hear of your sleeping all night in the +hammock?" + +"I've been painting in the Lake District all summer, as you know," +answered Uncle Blair, "and one day I just got homesick to see my +little girl. So I sailed for Montreal without further delay. I +got here at eleven last night--the station-master's son drove me +down. Nice boy. The old house was in darkness and I thought it +would be a shame to rouse you all out of bed after a hard day's +work. So I decided that I would spend the night in the orchard. +It was moonlight, you know, and moonlight in an old orchard is one +of the few things left over from the Golden Age." + +"It was very foolish of you," said practical Aunt Janet. "These +September nights are real chilly. You might have caught your +death of cold--or a bad dose of rheumatism." + +"So I might. No doubt it was foolish of me," agreed Uncle Blair +gaily. "It must have been the fault, of the moonlight. +Moonlight, you know, Sister Janet, has an intoxicating quality. +It is a fine, airy, silver wine, such as fairies may drink at +their revels, unharmed of it; but when a mere mortal sips of it, +it mounts straightway to his brain, to the undoing of his daylight +common sense. However, I have got neither cold nor rheumatism, as +a sensible person would have done had he ever been lured into +doing such a non-sensible thing; there is a special Providence for +us foolish folk. I enjoyed my night in the orchard; for a time I +was companioned by sweet old memories; and then I fell asleep +listening to the murmurs of the wind in those old trees yonder. +And I had a beautiful dream, Janet. I dreamed that the old +orchard blossomed again, as it did that spring eighteen years ago. +I dreamed that its sunshine was the sunshine of spring, not +autumn. There was newness of life in my dream, Janet, and the +sweetness of forgotten words." + +"Wasn't it strange about MY dream?" whispered the Story Girl to me. + +"Well, you'd better come in and have some breakfast," said Aunt +Janet. "These are my little girls--Felicity and Cecily." + +"I remember them as two most adorable tots," said Uncle Blair, +shaking hands. "They haven't changed quite so much as my own +baby-child. Why, she's a woman, Janet--she's a woman." + +"She's child enough still," said Aunt Janet hastily. + +The Story Girl shook her long brown curls. + +"I'm fifteen," she said. "And you ought to see me in my long +dress, father." + +"We must not be separated any longer, dear heart," I heard Uncle +Blair say tenderly. I hoped that he meant he would stay in +Canada--not that he would take the Story Girl away. + +Apart from this we had a gay day with Uncle Blair. He evidently +liked our society better than that of the grown-ups, for he was a +child himself at heart, gay, irresponsible, always acting on the +impulse of the moment. We all found him a delightful companion. +There was no school that day, as Mr. Perkins was absent, attending +a meeting of the Teachers' Convention, so we spent most of its +golden hours in the orchard with Uncle Blair, listening to his +fascinating accounts of foreign wanderings. He also drew all our +pictures for us, and this was especially delightful, for the day +of the camera was only just dawning and none of us had ever had +even our photographs taken. Sara Ray's pleasure was, as usual, +quite spoiled by wondering what her mother would say of it, for +Mrs. Ray had, so it appeared, some very peculiar prejudices +against the taking or making of any kind of picture whatsoever, +owing to an exceedingly strict interpretation of the second +commandment. Dan suggested that she need not tell her mother +anything about it; but Sara shook her head. + +"I'll have to tell her. I've made it a rule to tell ma everything +I do ever since the Judgment Day." + +"Besides," added Cecily seriously, "the Family Guide says one +ought to tell one's mother everything." + +"It's pretty hard sometimes, though," sighed Sara. "Ma scolds so +much when I do tell her things, that it sort of discourages me. +But when I think of how dreadful I felt the time of the Judgment +Day over deceiving her in some things it nerves me up. I'd do +almost anything rather than feel like that the next time the +Judgment Day comes." + +"Fe, fi, fo, fum, I smell a story," said Uncle Blair. "What do +you mean by speaking of the Judgment Day in the past tense?" + +The Story Girl told him the tale of that dreadful Sunday in the +preceding summer and we all laughed with him at ourselves. + +"All the same," muttered Peter, "I don't want to have another +experience like that. I hope I'll be dead the next time the +Judgment Day comes." + +"But you'll be raised up for it," said Felix. + +"Oh, that'll be all right. I won't mind that. I won't know +anything about it till it really happens. It's the expecting it +that's the worst." + +"I don't think you ought to talk of such things," said Felicity. + +When evening came we all went to Golden Milestone. We knew the +Awkward Man and his bride were expected home at sunset, and we +meant to scatter flowers on the path by which she must enter her +new home. It was the Story Girl's idea, but I don't think Aunt +Janet would have let us go if Uncle Blair had not pleaded for us. +He asked to be taken along, too, and we agreed, if he would stand +out of sight when the newly married pair came home. + +"You see, father, the Awkward Man won't mind us, because we're +only children and he knows us well," explained the Story Girl, +"but if he sees you, a stranger, it might confuse him and we might +spoil the homecoming, and that would be such a pity." + +So we went to Golden Milestone, laden with all the flowery spoil +we could plunder from both gardens. It was a clear amber-tinted +September evening and far away, over Markdale Harbour, a great +round red moon was rising as we waited. Uncle Blair was hidden +behind the wind-blown tassels of the pines at the gate, but he and +the Story Girl kept waving their hands at each other and calling +out gay, mirthful jests. + +"Do you really feel acquainted with your father?" whispered Sara +Ray wonderingly. "It's long since you saw him." + +"If I hadn't seen him for a hundred years it wouldn't make any +difference that way," laughed the Story Girl. + +"S-s-h-s-s-h--they're coming," whispered Felicity excitedly. + +And then they came--Beautiful Alice blushing and lovely, in the +prettiest of pretty blue dresses, and the Awkward Man, so +fervently happy that he quite forgot to be awkward. He lifted her +out of the buggy gallantly and led her forward to us, smiling. We +retreated before them, scattering our flowers lavishly on the +path, and Alice Dale walked to the very doorstep of her new home +over a carpet of blossoms. On the step they both paused and +turned towards us, and we shyly did the proper thing in the way of +congratulations and good wishes. + +"It was so sweet of you to do this," said the smiling bride. + +"It was lovely to be able to do it for you, dearest," whispered +the Story Girl, "and oh, Miss Reade--Mrs. Dale, I mean--we all +hope you'll be so, so happy for ever." + +"I am sure I shall," said Alice Dale, turning to her husband. He +looked down into her eyes--and we were quite forgotten by both of +them. We saw it, and slipped away, while Jasper Dale drew his +wife into their home and shut the world out. + +We scampered joyously away through the moonlit dusk. Uncle Blair +joined us at the gate and the Story Girl asked him what he thought +of the bride. + +"When she dies white violets will grow out of her dust," he +answered. + +"Uncle Blair says even queerer things than the Story Girl," +Felicity whispered to me. + +And so that beautiful day went away from us, slipping through our +fingers as we tried to hold it. It hooded itself in shadows and +fared forth on the road that is lighted by the white stars of +evening. It had been a gift of Paradise. Its hours had all been +fair and beloved. From dawn flush to fall of night there had been +naught to mar it. It took with it its smiles and laughter. But +it left the boon of memory. + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + +THE OLD ORDER CHANGETH + + +"I am going away with father when he goes. He is going to spend +the winter in Paris, and I am to go to school there." + +The Story Girl told us this one day in the orchard. There was a +little elation in her tone, but more regret. The news was not a +great surprise to us. We had felt it in the air ever since Uncle +Blair's arrival. Aunt Janet had been very unwilling to let the +Story Girl go. But Uncle Blair was inexorable. It was time, he +said, that she should go to a better school than the little +country one in Carlisle; and besides, he did not want her to grow +into womanhood a stranger to him. So it was finally decided that +she was to go. + +"Just think, you are going to Europe," said Sara Ray in an awe- +struck tone. "Won't that be splendid!" + +"I suppose I'll like it after a while," said the Story Girl +slowly, "but I know I'll be dreadfully homesick at first. Of +course, it will be lovely to be with father, but oh, I'll miss the +rest of you so much!" + +"Just think how WE'LL miss YOU," sighed Cecily. "It will be so +lonesome here this winter, with you and Peter both gone. Oh, +dear, I do wish things didn't have to change." + +Felicity said nothing. She kept looking down at the grass on +which she sat, absently pulling at the slender blades. Presently +we saw two big tears roll down over her cheeks. The Story Girl +looked surprised. + +"Are you crying because I'm going away, Felicity?" she asked. + +"Of course I am," answered Felicity, with a big sob. "Do you +think I've no f-f-eeling?" + +"I didn't think you'd care much," said the Story Girl frankly. +"You've never seemed to like me very much." + +"I d-don't wear my h-heart on my sleeve," said poor Felicity, with +an attempt at dignity. "I think you m-might stay. Your father +would let you s-stay if you c-coaxed him." + +"Well, you see I'd have to go some time," sighed the Story Girl, +"and the longer it was put off the harder it would be. But I do +feel dreadfully about it. I can't even take poor Paddy. I'll +have to leave him behind, and oh, I want you all to promise to be +kind to him for my sake." + +We all solemnly assured her that we would. + +"I'll g-give him cream every m-morning and n-night," sobbed +Felicity, "but I'll never be able to look at him without crying. +He'll make me think of you." + +"Well, I'm not going right away," said the Story Girl, more +cheerfully. "Not till the last of October. So we have over a +month yet to have a good time in. Let's all just determine to +make it a splendid month for the last. We won't think about my +going at all till we have to, and we won't have any quarrels among +us, and we'll just enjoy ourselves all we possibly can. So don't +cry any more, Felicity. I'm awfully glad you do like me and am +sorry I'm going away, but let's all forget it for a month." + +Felicity sighed, and tucked away her damp handkerchief. + +"It isn't so easy for me to forget things, but I'll try," she said +disconsolately, "and if you want any more cooking lessons before +you go I'll be real glad to teach you anything I know." + +This was a high plane of self-sacrifice for Felicity to attain. +But the Story Girl shook her head. + +"No, I'm not going to bother my head about cooking lessons this +last month. It's too vexing." + +"Do you remember the time you made the pudding--" began Peter, and +suddenly stopped. + +"Out of sawdust?" finished the Story Girl cheerfully. "You +needn't be afraid to mention it to me after this. I don't mind +any more. I begin to see the fun of it now. I should think I do +remember it--and the time I baked the bread before it was raised +enough." + +"People have made worse mistakes than that," said Felicity kindly. + +"Such as using tooth-powd--" but here Dan stopped abruptly, +remembering the Story Girl's plea for a beautiful month. Felicity +coloured, but said nothing--did not even LOOK anything. + +"We HAVE had lots of fun together one way or another," said +Cecily, retrospectively. + +"Just think how much we've laughed this last year or so," said the +Story Girl. "We've had good times together; but I think we'll +have lots more splendid years ahead." + +"Eden is always behind us--Paradise always before," said Uncle +Blair, coming up in time to hear her. He said it with a sigh that +was immediately lost in one of his delightful smiles. + +"I like Uncle Blair so much better than I expected to," Felicity +confided to me. "Mother says he's a rolling stone, but there +really is something very nice about him, although he says a great +many things I don't understand. I suppose the Story Girl will +have a very gay time in Paris." + +"She's going to school and she'll have to study hard," I said. + +"She says she's going to study for the stage," said Felicity. +"Uncle Roger thinks it is all right, and says she'll be very +famous some day. But mother thinks it's dreadful, and so do I." + +"Aunt Julia is a concert singer," I said. + +"Oh, that's very different. But I hope poor Sara will get on all +right," sighed Felicity. "You never know what may happen to a +person in those foreign countries. And everybody says Paris is +such a wicked place. But we must hope for the best," she +concluded in a resigned tone. + +That evening the Story Girl and I drove the cows to pasture after +milking, and when we came home we sought out Uncle Blair in the +orchard. He was sauntering up and down Uncle Stephen's Walk, his +hands clasped behind him and his beautiful, youthful face uplifted +to the western sky where waves of night were breaking on a dim +primrose shore of sunset. + +"See that star over there in the south-west?" he said, as we +joined him. "The one just above that pine? An evening star +shining over a dark pine tree is the whitest thing in the +universe--because it is LIVING whiteness--whiteness possessing a +soul. How full this old orchard is of twilight! Do you know, I +have been trysting here with ghosts." + +"The Family Ghost?" I asked, very stupidly. + +"No, not the Family Ghost. I never saw beautiful, broken-hearted +Emily yet. Your mother saw her once, Sara--that was a strange +thing," he added absently, as if to himself. + +"Did mother really see her?" whispered the Story Girl. + +"Well, she always believed she did. Who knows?" + +"Do you think there are such things as ghosts, Uncle Blair?" +I asked curiously. + +"I never saw any, Beverley." + +"But you said you were trysting with ghosts here this evening," +said the Story Girl. + +"Oh, yes--the ghosts of the old years. I love this orchard +because of its many ghosts. We are good comrades, those ghosts +and I; we walk and talk--we even laugh together--sorrowful +laughter that has sorrow's own sweetness. And always there comes +to me one dear phantom and wanders hand in hand with me--a lost +lady of the old years." + +"My mother?" said the Story Girl very softly. + +"Yes, your mother. Here, in her old haunts, it is impossible for +me to believe that she can be dead--that her LAUGHTER can be dead. +She was the gayest, sweetest thing--and so young--only three years +older than you, Sara. Yonder old house had been glad because of +her for eighteen years when I met her first." + +"I wish I could remember her," said the Story Girl, with a little +sigh. "I haven't even a picture of her. Why didn't you paint +one, father?" + +"She would never let me. She had some queer, funny, half-playful, +half-earnest superstition about it. But I always meant to when +she would become willing to let me. And then--she died. Her twin +brother Felix died the same day. There was something strange +about that, too. I was holding her in my arms and she was looking +up at me; suddenly she looked past me and gave a little start. +'Felix!' she said. For a moment she trembled and then she smiled +and looked up at me again a little beseechingly. 'Felix has come +for me, dear,' she said. 'We were always together before you +came--you must not mind--you must be glad I do not have to go +alone.' Well, who knows? But she left me, Sara--she left me." + +There was that in Uncle Blair's voice that kept us silent for a +time. Then the Story Girl said, still very softly: + +"What did mother look like, father? I don't look the least little +bit like her, do I?" + +"No, I wish you did, you brown thing. Your mother's face was as +white as a wood-lily, with only a faint dream of rose in her +cheeks. She had the eyes of one who always had a song in her +heart--blue as a mist, those eyes were. She had dark lashes, and +a little red mouth that quivered when she was very sad or very +happy like a crimson rose too rudely shaken by the wind. She was +as slim and lithe as a young, white-stemmed birch tree. How I +loved her! How happy we were! But he who accepts human love must +bind it to his soul with pain, and she is not lost to me. Nothing +is ever really lost to us as long as we remember it." + +Uncle Blair looked up at the evening star. We saw that he had +forgotten us, and we slipped away, hand in hand, leaving him alone +in the memory-haunted shadows of the old orchard. + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + +THE PATH TO ARCADY + + +October that year gathered up all the spilled sunshine of the +summer and clad herself in it as in a garment. The Story Girl had +asked us to try to make the last month together beautiful, and +Nature seconded our efforts, giving us that most beautiful of +beautiful things--a gracious and perfect moon of falling leaves. +There was not in all that vanished October one day that did not +come in with auroral splendour and go out attended by a fair +galaxy of evening stars--not a day when there were not golden +lights in the wide pastures and purple hazes in the ripened +distances. Never was anything so gorgeous as the maple trees that +year. Maples are trees that have primeval fire in their souls. +It glows out a little in their early youth, before the leaves +open, in the redness and rosy-yellowness of their blossoms, but in +summer it is carefully hidden under a demure, silver-lined +greenness. Then when autumn comes, the maples give up trying to +be sober and flame out in all the barbaric splendour and +gorgeousness of their real nature, making of the hills things out +of an Arabian Nights dream in the golden prime of good Haroun +Alraschid. + +You may never know what scarlet and crimson really are until you +see them in their perfection on an October hillside, under the +unfathomable blue of an autumn sky. All the glow and radiance and +joy at earth's heart seem to have broken loose in a splendid +determination to express itself for once before the frost of +winter chills her beating pulses. It is the year's carnival ere +the dull Lenten days of leafless valleys and penitential mists +come. + +The time of apple-picking had come around once more and we worked +joyously. Uncle Blair picked apples with us, and between him and +the Story Girl it was an October never to be forgotten. + +"Will you go far afield for a walk with me to-day?" he said to her +and me, one idle afternoon of opal skies, pied meadows and misty hills. + +It was Saturday and Peter had gone home; Felix and Dan were +helping Uncle Alec top turnips; Cecily and Felicity were making +cookies for Sunday, so the Story Girl and I were alone in Uncle +Stephen's Walk. + +We liked to be alone together that last month, to think the long, +long thoughts of youth and talk about our futures. There had +grown up between us that summer a bond of sympathy that did not +exist between us and the others. We were older than they--the +Story Girl was fifteen and I was nearly that; and all at once it +seemed as if we were immeasurably older than the rest, and +possessed of dreams and visions and forward-reaching hopes which +they could not possibly share or understand. At times we were +still children, still interested in childish things. But there +came hours when we seemed to our two selves very grown up and old, +and in those hours we talked our dreams and visions and hopes, +vague and splendid, as all such are, over together, and so began +to build up, out of the rainbow fragments of our childhood's +companionship, that rare and beautiful friendship which was to +last all our lives, enriching and enstarring them. For there is +no bond more lasting than that formed by the mutual confidences of +that magic time when youth is slipping from the sheath of +childhood and beginning to wonder what lies for it beyond those +misty hills that bound the golden road. + +"Where are you going?" asked the Story Girl. + +"To 'the woods that belt the gray hillside'--ay, and overflow +beyond it into many a valley purple-folded in immemorial peace," +answered Uncle Blair. "I have a fancy for one more ramble in +Prince Edward Island woods before I leave Canada again. But I +would not go alone. So come, you two gay youthful things to whom +all life is yet fair and good, and we will seek the path to +Arcady. There will be many little things along our way to make us +glad. Joyful sounds will 'come ringing down the wind;' a wealth +of gypsy gold will be ours for the gathering; we will learn the +potent, unutterable charm of a dim spruce wood and the grace of +flexile mountain ashes fringing a lonely glen; we will tryst with +the folk of fur and feather; we'll hearken to the music of gray +old firs. Come, and you'll have a ramble and an afternoon that +you will both remember all your lives." + +We did have it; never has its remembrance faded; that idyllic +afternoon of roving in the old Carlisle woods with the Story Girl +and Uncle Blair gleams in my book of years, a page of living +beauty. Yet it was but a few hours of simplest pleasure; we +wandered pathlessly through the sylvan calm of those dear places +which seemed that day to be full of a great friendliness; Uncle +Blair sauntered along behind us, whistling softly; sometimes he +talked to himself; we delighted in those brief reveries of his; +Uncle Blair was the only man I have ever known who could, when he +so willed, "talk like a book," and do it without seeming +ridiculous; perhaps it was because he had the knack of choosing +"fit audience, though few," and the proper time to appeal to that +audience. + +We went across the fields, intending to skirt the woods at the +back of Uncle Alec's farm and find a lane that cut through Uncle +Roger's woods; but before we came to it we stumbled on a sly, +winding little path quite by accident--if, indeed, there can be +such a thing as accident in the woods, where I am tempted to think +we are led by the Good People along such of their fairy ways as +they have a mind for us to walk in. + +"Go to, let us explore this," said Uncle Blair. "It always drags +terribly at my heart to go past a wood lane if I can make any +excuse at all for traversing it: for it is the by-ways that lead +to the heart of the woods and we must follow them if we would know +the forest and be known of it. When we can really feel its wild +heart beating against ours its subtle life will steal into our +veins and make us its own for ever, so that no matter where we go +or how wide we wander in the noisy ways of cities or over the lone +ways of the sea, we shall yet be drawn back to the forest to find +our most enduring kinship." + +"I always feel so SATISFIED in the woods," said the Story Girl +dreamily, as we turned in under the low-swinging fir boughs. +"Trees seem such friendly things." + +"They are the most friendly things in God's good creation," said +Uncle Blair emphatically. "And it is so easy to live with them. +To hold converse with pines, to whisper secrets with the poplars, +to listen to the tales of old romance that beeches have to tell, +to walk in eloquent silence with self-contained firs, is to learn +what real companionship is. Besides, trees are the same all over +the world. A beech tree on the slopes of the Pyrenees is just +what a beech tree here in these Carlisle woods is; and there used +to be an old pine hereabouts whose twin brother I was well +acquainted with in a dell among the Apennines. Listen to those +squirrels, will you, chattering over yonder. Did you ever hear +such a fuss over nothing? Squirrels are the gossips and busybodies +of the woods; they haven't learned the fine reserve of its other +denizens. But after all, there is a certain shrill friendliness +in their greeting." + +"They seem to be scolding us," I said, laughing. + +"Oh, they are not half such scolds as they sound," answered Uncle +Blair gaily. "If they would but 'tak a thought and mend ' their +shrew-like ways they would be dear, lovable creatures enough." + +"If I had to be an animal I think I'd like to be a squirrel," said +the Story Girl. "It must be next best thing to flying." + +"Just see what a spring that fellow gave," laughed Uncle Blair. +"And now listen to his song of triumph! I suppose that chasm he +cleared seemed as wide and deep to him as Niagara Gorge would to +us if we leaped over it. Well, the wood people are a happy folk +and very well satisfied with themselves." + +Those who have followed a dim, winding, balsamic path to the +unexpected hollow where a wood-spring lies have found the rarest +secret the forest can reveal. Such was our good fortune that day. +At the end of our path we found it, under the pines, a crystal- +clear thing with lips unkissed by so much as a stray sunbeam. + +"It is easy to dream that this is one of the haunted springs of +old romance," said Uncle Blair. "'Tis an enchanted spot this, I +am very sure, and we should go softly, speaking low, lest we +disturb the rest of a white, wet naiad, or break some spell that +has cost long years of mystic weaving." + +"It's so easy to believe things in the woods," said the Story +Girl, shaping a cup from a bit of golden-brown birch bark and +filling it at the spring. + +"Drink a toast in that water, Sara," said Uncle Blair. "There's +not a doubt that it has some potent quality of magic in it and the +wish you wish over it will come true." + +The Story Girl lifted her golden-hued flagon to her red lips. Her +hazel eyes laughed at us over the brim. + +"Here's to our futures," she cried, "I wish that every day of our +lives may be better than the one that went before." + +"An extravagant wish--a very wish of youth," commented Uncle +Blair, "and yet in spite of its extravagance, a wish that will +come true if you are true to yourselves. In that case, every day +WILL be better than all that went before--but there will be many +days, dear lad and lass, when you will not believe it." + +We did not understand him, but we knew Uncle Blair never explained +his meaning. When asked it he was wont to answer with a smile, +"Some day you'll grow to it. Wait for that." So we addressed +ourselves to follow the brook that stole away from the spring in +its windings and doublings and tricky surprises. + +"A brook," quoth Uncle Blair, "is the most changeful, bewitching, +lovable thing in the world. It is never in the same mind or mood +two minutes. Here it is sighing and murmuring as if its heart +were broken. But listen--yonder by the birches it is laughing as +if it were enjoying some capital joke all by itself." + +It was indeed a changeful brook; here it would make a pool, dark +and brooding and still, where we bent to look at our mirrored +faces; then it grew communicative and gossiped shallowly over a +broken pebble bed where there was a diamond dance of sunbeams and +no troutling or minnow could glide through without being seen. +Sometimes its banks were high and steep, hung with slender ashes +and birches; again they were mere, low margins, green with +delicate mosses, shelving out of the wood. Once it came to a +little precipice and flung itself over undauntedly in an +indignation of foam, gathering itself up rather dizzily among the +mossy stones below. It was some time before it got over its +vexation; it went boiling and muttering along, fighting with the +rotten logs that lie across it, and making far more fuss than was +necessary over every root that interfered with it. We were +getting tired of its ill-humour and talked of leaving it, when it +suddenly grew sweet-tempered again, swooped around a curve--and +presto, we were in fairyland. + +It was a little dell far in the heart of the woods. A row of +birches fringed the brook, and each birch seemed more exquisitely +graceful and golden than her sisters. The woods receded from it +on every hand, leaving it lying in a pool of amber sunshine. The +yellow trees were mirrored in the placid stream, with now and then +a leaf falling on the water, mayhap to drift away and be used, as +Uncle Blair suggested, by some adventurous wood sprite who had it +in mind to fare forth to some far-off, legendary region where all +the brooks ran into the sea. + +"Oh, what a lovely place!" I exclaimed, looking around me with delight. + +"A spell of eternity is woven over it, surely," murmured Uncle +Blair. "Winter may not touch it, or spring ever revisit it. It +should be like this for ever." + +"Let us never come here again," said the Story Girl softly, +"never, no matter how often we may be in Carlisle. Then we will +never see it changed or different. We can always remember it just +as we see it now, and it will be like this for ever for us." + +"I'm going to sketch it," said Uncle Blair. + +While he sketched it the Story Girl and I sat on the banks of the +brook and she told me the story of the Sighing Reed. It was a +very simple little story, that of the slender brown reed which +grew by the forest pool and always was sad and sighing because it +could not utter music like the brook and the birds and the winds. +All the bright, beautiful things around it mocked it and laughed +at it for its folly. Who would ever look for music in it, a +plain, brown, unbeautiful thing? But one day a youth came through +the wood; he was as beautiful as the spring; he cut the brown reed +and fashioned it according to his liking; and then he put it to +his lips and breathed on it; and, oh, the music that floated +through the forest! It was so entrancing that everything--brooks +and birds and winds--grew silent to listen to it. Never had +anything so lovely been heard; it was the music that had for so +long been shut up in the soul of the sighing reed and was set free +at last through its pain and suffering. + +I had heard the Story Girl tell many a more dramatic tale; but +that one stands out for me in memory above them all, partly, +perhaps, because of the spot in which she told it, partly because +it was the last one I was to hear her tell for many years--the +last one she was ever to tell me on the golden road. + +When Uncle Blair had finished his sketch the shafts of sunshine +were turning crimson and growing more and more remote; the early +autumn twilight was falling over the woods. We left our dell, +saying good-bye to it for ever, as the Story Girl had suggested, +and we went slowly homeward through the fir woods, where a +haunting, indescribable odour stole out to meet us. + +"There is magic in the scent of dying fir," Uncle Blair was saying +aloud to himself, as if forgetting he was not quite alone. "It +gets into our blood like some rare, subtly-compounded wine, and +thrills us with unutterable sweetnesses, as of recollections from +some other fairer life, lived in some happier star. Compared to +it, all other scents seem heavy and earth-born, luring to the +valleys instead of the heights. But the tang of the fir summons +onward and upward to some 'far-off, divine event'--some spiritual +peak of attainment whence we shall see with unfaltering, unclouded +vision the spires of some aerial City Beautiful, or the fulfilment +of some fair, fadeless land of promise." + +He was silent for a moment, then added in a lower tone, + +"Felicity, you loved the scent of dying fir. If you were here +tonight with me--Felicity--Felicity!" + +Something in his voice made me suddenly sad. I was comforted when +I felt the Story Girl slip her hand into mine. So we walked out +of the woods into the autumn dusk. + +We were in a little valley. Half-way up the opposite slope a +brush fire was burning clearly and steadily in a maple grove. +There was something indescribably alluring in that fire, glowing +so redly against the dark background of forest and twilit hill. + +"Let us go to it," cried Uncle Blair, gaily, casting aside his +sorrowful mood and catching our hands. "A wood fire at night has +a fascination not to be resisted by those of mortal race. Hasten-- +we must not lose time." + +"Oh, it will burn a long time yet," I gasped, for Uncle Blair was +whisking us up the hill at a merciless rate. + +"You can't be sure. It may have been lighted by some good, honest +farmer-man, bent on tidying up his sugar orchard, but it may also, +for anything we know, have been kindled by no earthly woodman as a +beacon or summons to the tribes of fairyland, and may vanish away +if we tarry." + +It did not vanish and presently we found ourselves in the grove. +It was very beautiful; the fire burned with a clear, steady glow +and a soft crackle; the long arcades beneath the trees were +illuminated with a rosy radiance, beyond which lurked companies of +gray and purple shadows. Everything was very still and dreamy and +remote. + +"It is impossible that out there, just over the hill, lies a +village of men, where tame household lamps are shining," said +Uncle Blair. + +"I feel as if we must be thousands of miles away from everything +we've ever known," murmured the Story Girl. + +"So you are!" said Uncle Blair emphatically. "You're back in the +youth of the race--back in the beguilement of the young world. +Everything is in this hour--the beauty of classic myths, the +primal charm of the silent and the open, the lure of mystery. +Why, it's a time and place when and where everything might come +true--when the men in green might creep out to join hands and +dance around the fire, or dryads steal from their trees to warm +their white limbs, grown chilly in October frosts, by the blaze. +I wouldn't be much surprised if we should see something of the +kind. Isn't that the flash of an ivory shoulder through yonder +gloom? And didn't you see a queer little elfin face peering at us +around that twisted gray trunk? But one can't be sure. Mortal +eyesight is too slow and clumsy a thing to match against the +flicker of a pixy-litten fire." + +Hand in hand we wandered through that enchanted place, seeking the +folk of elf-land, "and heard their mystic voices calling, from +fairy knoll and haunted hill." Not till the fire died down into +ashes did we leave the grove. Then we found that the full moon +was gleaming lustrously from a cloudless sky across the valley. +Between us and her stretched up a tall pine, wondrously straight +and slender and branchless to its very top, where it overflowed in +a crest of dark boughs against the silvery splendour behind it. +Beyond, the hill farms were lying in a suave, white radiance. + +"Doesn't it seem a long, long time to you since we left home this +afternoon?" asked the Story Girl. "And yet it is only a few hours." + +Only a few hours--true; yet such hours were worth a cycle of +common years untouched by the glory and the dream. + + + +CHAPTER XXIX + +WE LOSE A FRIEND + + +Our beautiful October was marred by one day of black tragedy--the +day Paddy died. For Paddy, after seven years of as happy a life +as ever a cat lived, died suddenly--of poison, as was supposed. +Where he had wandered in the darkness to meet his doom we did not +know, but in the frosty dawnlight he dragged himself home to die. +We found him lying on the doorstep when we got up, and it did not +need Aunt Janet's curt announcement, or Uncle Blair's reluctant +shake of the head, to tell us that there was no chance of our pet +recovering this time. We felt that nothing could be done. Lard +and sulphur on his paws would be of no use, nor would any visit to +Peg Bowen avail. We stood around in mournful silence; the Story +Girl sat down on the step and took poor Paddy upon her lap. + +"I s'pose there's no use even in praying now," said Cecily +desperately. + +"It wouldn't do any harm to try," sobbed Felicity. + +"You needn't waste your prayers," said Dan mournfully, "Pat is +beyond human aid. You can tell that by his eyes. Besides, I +don't believe it was the praying cured him last time." + +"No, it was Peg Bowen," declared Peter, "but she couldn't have +bewitched him this time for she's been away for months, nobody +knows where." + +"If he could only TELL us where he feels the worst!" said Cecily +piteously. "It's so dreadful to see him suffering and not be able +to do a single thing to help him!" + +"I don't think he's suffering much now," I said comfortingly. + +The Story Girl said nothing. She passed and repassed her long +brown hand gently over her pet's glossy fur. Pat lifted his head +and essayed to creep a little nearer to his beloved mistress. The +Story Girl drew his limp body close in her arms. There was a +plaintive little mew--a long quiver--and Paddy's friendly soul had +fared forth to wherever it is that good cats go. + +"Well, he's gone," said Dan, turning his back abruptly to us. + +"It doesn't seem as if it can be true," sobbed Cecily. "This time +yesterday morning he was full of life." + +"He drank two full saucers of cream," moaned Felicity, "and I saw +him catch a mouse in the evening. Maybe it was the last one he +ever caught." + +"He did for many a mouse in his day," said Peter, anxious to pay +his tribute to the departed. + +"'He was a cat--take him for all in all. We shall not look upon +his like again,'" quoted Uncle Blair. + +Felicity and Cecily and Sara Ray cried so much that Aunt Janet +lost patience completely and told them sharply that they would +have something to cry for some day--which did not seem to comfort +them much. The Story Girl shed no tears, though the look in her +eyes hurt more than weeping. + +"After all, perhaps it's for the best," she said drearily. "I've +been feeling so badly over having to go away and leave Paddy. No +matter how kind you'd all be to him I know he'd miss me terribly. +He wasn't like most cats who don't care who comes and goes as long +as they get plenty to eat. Paddy wouldn't have been contented +without me." + +"Oh, no-o-o, oh, no-o-o," wailed Sara Ray lugubriously. + +Felix shot a disgusted glance at her. + +"I don't see what YOU are making such a fuss about," he said +unfeelingly. "He wasn't your cat." + +"But I l-l-oved him," sobbed Sara, "and I always feel bad when my +friends d-do." + +"I wish we could believe that cats went to heaven, like people," +sighed Cecily. "Do you really think it isn't possible?" + +Uncle Blair shook his head. + +"I'm afraid not. I'd like to think cats have a chance for heaven, +but I can't. There's nothing heavenly about cats, delightful +creatures though they are." + +"Blair, I'm really surprised to hear the things you say to the +children," said Aunt Janet severely. + +"Surely you wouldn't prefer me to tell them that cats DO go to +heaven," protested Uncle Blair. + +"I think it's wicked to carry on about an animal as those children +do," answered Aunt Janet decidedly, "and you shouldn't encourage +them. Here now, children, stop making a fuss. Bury that cat and +get off to your apple picking." + +We had to go to our work, but Paddy was not to be buried in any +such off-hand fashion as that. It was agreed that we should bury +him in the orchard at sunset that evening, and Sara Ray, who had +to go home, declared she would be back for it, and implored us to +wait for her if she didn't come exactly on time. + +"I mayn't be able to get away till after milking," she sniffed, +"but I don't want to miss it. Even a cat's funeral is better than +none at all." + +"Horrid thing!" said Felicity, barely waiting until Sara was +out of earshot. + +We worked with heavy hearts that day; the girls cried bitterly +most of the time and we boys whistled defiantly. But as evening +drew on we began to feel a sneaking interest in the details of the +funeral. As Dan said, the thing should be done properly, since +Paddy was no common cat. The Story Girl selected the spot for the +grave, in a little corner behind the cherry copse, where early +violets enskied the grass in spring, and we boys dug the grave, +making it "soft and narrow," as the heroine of the old ballad +wanted hers made. Sara Ray, who managed to come in time after +all, and Felicity stood and watched us, but Cecily and the Story +Girl kept far aloof. + +"This time last night you never thought you'd be digging Pat's +grave to-night," sighed Felicity. + +"We little k-know what a day will bring forth," sobbed Sara. +"I've heard the minister say that and it is true." + +"Of course it's true. It's in the Bible; but I don't think you +should repeat it in connection with a cat," said Felicity +dubiously. + +When all was in readiness the Story Girl brought her pet through +the orchard where he had so often frisked and prowled. No useless +coffin enclosed his breast but he reposed in a neat cardboard box. + +"I wonder if it would be right to say 'ashes to ashes and dust to +dust,'" said Peter. + +"No, it wouldn't," averred Felicity. "It would be real wicked." + +"I think we ought to sing a hymn, anyway," asseverated Sara Ray. + +"Well, we might do that, if it isn't a very religious one," +conceded Felicity. + +"How would 'Pull for the shore, sailor, pull for the shore,' do?" +asked Cecily. "That never seemed to me a very religious hymn." + +"But it doesn't seem very appropriate to a funeral occasion +either," said Felicity. + +"I think 'Lead, kindly light,' would be ever so much more +suitable," suggested Sara Ray, "and it is kind of soothing and +melancholy too." + +"We are not going to sing anything," said the Story Girl coldly. +"Do you want to make the affair ridiculous? We will just fill up +the grave quietly and put a flat stone over the top." + +"It isn't much like my idea of a funeral," muttered Sara Ray +discontentedly. + +"Never mind, we're going to have a real obituary about him in Our +Magazine," whispered Cecily consolingly. + +"And Peter is going to cut his name on top of the stone," added +Felicity. "Only we mustn't let on to the grown-ups until it is +done, because they might say it wasn't right." + +We left the orchard, a sober little band, with the wind of the +gray twilight blowing round us. Uncle Roger passed us at the +gate. + +"So the last sad obsequies are over?" he remarked with a grin. + +And we hated Uncle Roger. But we loved Uncle Blair because he +said quietly, + +"And so you've buried your little comrade?" + +So much may depend on the way a thing is said. But not even Uncle +Blair's sympathy could take the sting out of the fact that there +was no Paddy to get the froth that night at milking time. +Felicity cried bitterly all the time she was straining the milk. +Many human beings have gone to their graves unattended by as much +real regret as followed that one gray pussy cat to his. + + + +CHAPTER XXX + +PROPHECIES + + +"Here's a letter for you from father," said Felix, tossing it to +me as he came through the orchard gate. We had been picking +apples all day, but were taking a mid-afternoon rest around the +well, with a cup of its sparkling cold water to refresh us. + +I opened the letter rather indifferently, for father, with all his +excellent and lovable traits, was but a poor correspondent; his +letters were usually very brief and very unimportant. + +This letter was brief enough, but it was freighted with a message +of weighty import. I sat gazing stupidly at the sheet after I had +read it until Felix exclaimed, + +"Bev, what's the matter with you? What's in that letter?" + +"Father is coming home," I said dazedly. "He is to leave South +America in a fortnight and will be here in November to take us +back to Toronto." + +Everybody gasped. Sara Ray, of course, began to cry, which +aggravated me unreasonably. + +"Well," said Felix, when he got his second wind, "I'll be awful +glad to see father again, but I tell you I don't like the thought +of leaving here." + +I felt exactly the same but, in view of Sara Ray's tears, admit it +I would not; so I sat in grum silence while the other tongues +wagged. + +"If I were not going away myself I'd feel just terrible," said the +Story Girl. "Even as it is I'm real sorry. I'd like to be able +to think of you as all here together when I'm gone, having good +times and writing me about them." + +"It'll be awfully dull when you fellows go," muttered Dan. + +"I'm sure I don't know what we're ever going to do here this +winter," said Felicity, with the calmness of despair. + +"Thank goodness there are no more fathers to come back," breathed +Cecily with a vicious earnestness that made us all laugh, even in +the midst of our dismay. + +We worked very half-heartedly the rest of the day, and it was not +until we assembled in the orchard in the evening that our spirits +recovered something like their wonted level. It was clear and +slightly frosty; the sun had declined behind a birch on a distant +hill and it seemed a tree with a blazing heart of fire. The great +golden willow at the lane gate was laughter-shaken in the wind of +evening. Even amid all the changes of our shifting world we could +not be hopelessly low-spirited--except Sara Ray, who was often so, +and Peter, who was rarely so. But Peter had been sorely vexed in +spirit for several days. The time was approaching for the October +issue of Our Magazine and he had no genuine fiction ready for it. +He had taken so much to heart Felicity's taunt that his stories +were all true that he had determined to have a really-truly false +one in the next number. But the difficulty was to get anyone to +write it. He had asked the Story Girl to do it, but she refused; +then he appealed to me and I shirked. Finally Peter determined to +write a story himself. + +"It oughtn't to be any harder than writing a poem and I managed +that," he said dolefully. + +He worked at it in the evenings in the granary loft, and the rest +of us forebore to question him concerning it, because he evidently +disliked talking about his literary efforts. But this evening I +had to ask him if he would soon have it ready, as I wanted to make +up the paper. + +"It's done," said Peter, with an air of gloomy triumph. "It don't +amount to much, but anyhow I made it all out of my own head. Not +one word of it was ever printed or told before, and nobody can say +there was." + +"Then I guess we have all the stuff in and I'll have Our Magazine +ready to read by tomorrow night," I said. + +"I s'pose it will be the last one we'll have," sighed Cecily. "We +can't carry it on after you all go, and it has been such fun." + +"Bev will be a real newspaper editor some day," declared the Story +Girl, on whom the spirit of prophecy suddenly descended that +night. + +She was swinging on the bough of an apple tree, with a crimson +shawl wrapped about her head, and her eyes were bright with +roguish fire. + +"How do you know he will?" asked Felicity. + +"Oh, I can tell futures," answered the Story Girl mysteriously. +"I know what's going to happen to all of you. Shall I tell you?" + +"Do, just for the fun of it," I said. "Then some day we'll know +just how near you came to guessing right. Go on. What else about me?" + +"You'll write books, too, and travel all over the world," +continued the Story Girl. "Felix will be fat to the end of his +life, and he will be a grandfather before he is fifty, and he will +wear a long black beard." + +"I won't," cried Felix disgustedly. "I hate whiskers. Maybe I +can't help the grandfather part, but I CAN help having a beard." + +"You can't. It's written in the stars." + +"'Tain't. The stars can't prevent me from shaving." + +"Won't Grandpa Felix sound awful funny?" reflected Felicity. + +"Peter will be a minister," went on the Story Girl. + +"Well, I might be something worse," remarked Peter, in a not +ungratified tone. + +"Dan will be a farmer and will marry a girl whose name begins with +K and he will have eleven children. And he'll vote Grit." + +"I won't," cried scandalized Dan. "You don't know a thing about +it. Catch ME ever voting Grit! As for the rest of it--I don't +care. Farming's well enough, though I'd rather be a sailor." + +"Don't talk such nonsense," protested Felicity sharply. "What on +earth do you want to be a sailor for and be drowned?" + +"All sailors aren't drowned," said Dan. + +"Most of them are. Look at Uncle Stephen." + +"You ain't sure he was drowned." + +"Well, he disappeared, and that is worse." + +"How do you know? Disappearing might be real easy." + +"It's not very easy for your family." + +"Hush, let's hear the rest of the predictions," said Cecily. + +"Felicity," resumed the Story Girl gravely, "will marry a +minister." + +Sara Ray giggled and Felicity blushed. Peter tried hard not to +look too self-consciously delighted. + +"She will be a perfect housekeeper and will teach a Sunday School +class and be very happy all her life." + +"Will her husband be happy?" queried Dan solemnly. + +"I guess he'll be as happy as your wife," retorted Felicity +reddening. + +"He'll be the happiest man in the world," declared Peter warmly. + +"What about me?" asked Sara Ray. + +The Story Girl looked rather puzzled. It was so hard to imagine +Sara Ray as having any kind of future. Yet Sara was plainly +anxious to have her fortune told and must be gratified. + +"You'll be married," said the Story Girl recklessly, "and you'll +live to be nearly a hundred years old, and go to dozens of +funerals and have a great many sick spells. You will learn not to +cry after you are seventy; but your husband will never go to +church." + +"I'm glad you warned me," said Sara Ray solemnly, "because now I +know I'll make him promise before I marry him that he will go." + +"He won't keep the promise," said the Story Girl, shaking her +head. "But it is getting cold and Cecily is coughing. Let us go +in." + +"You haven't told my fortune," protested Cecily disappointedly. + +The Story Girl looked very tenderly at Cecily--at the smooth +little brown head, at the soft, shining eyes, at the cheeks that +were often over-rosy after slight exertion, at the little +sunburned hands that were always busy doing faithful work or quiet +kindnesses. A very strange look came over the Story Girl's face; +her eyes grew sad and far-reaching, as if of a verity they pierced +beyond the mists of hidden years. + +"I couldn't tell any fortune half good enough for you, dearest," +she said, slipping her arm round Cecily. "You deserve everything +good and lovely. But you know I've only been in fun--of course I +don't know anything about what's going to happen to us." + +"Perhaps you know more than you think for," said Sara Ray, who +seemed much pleased with her fortune and anxious to believe it, +despite the husband who wouldn't go to church. + +"But I'd like to be told my fortune, even in fun," persisted +Cecily. + +"Everybody you meet will love you as long as you live." said the +Story Girl. "There that's the very nicest fortune I can tell you, +and it will come true whether the others do or not, and now we +must go in." + +We went, Cecily still a little disappointed. In later years I +often wondered why the Story Girl refused to tell her fortune that +night. Did some strange gleam of foreknowledge fall for a moment +across her mirth-making? Did she realize in a flash of prescience +that there was no earthly future for our sweet Cecily? Not for her +were to be the lengthening shadows or the fading garland. The end +was to come while the rainbow still sparkled on her wine of life, +ere a single petal had fallen from her rose of joy. Long life was +before all the others who trysted that night in the old homestead +orchard; but Cecily's maiden feet were never to leave the golden +road. + + + +CHAPTER XXXI + +THE LAST NUMBER OF OUR MAGAZINE + + + +EDITORIAL + +It is with heartfelt regret that we take up our pen to announce +that this will be the last number of Our Magazine. We have edited +ten numbers of it and it has been successful beyond our +expectations. It has to be discontinued by reason of +circumstances over which we have no control and not because we +have lost interest in it. Everybody has done his or her best for +Our Magazine. Prince Edward Island expected everyone to do his +and her duty and everyone did it. + +Mr. Dan King conducted the etiquette department in a way worthy of +the Family Guide itself. He is especially entitled to +commendation because he laboured under the disadvantage of having +to furnish most of the questions as well as the answers. Miss +Felicity King has edited our helpful household department very +ably, and Miss Cecily King's fashion notes were always up to date. +The personal column was well looked after by Miss Sara Stanley and +the story page has been a marked success under the able management +of Mr. Peter Craig, to whose original story in this issue, "The +Battle of the Partridge Eggs," we would call especial attention. +The Exciting Adventure series has also been very popular. + +And now, in closing, we bid farewell to our staff and thank them +one and all for their help and co-operation in the past year. We +have enjoyed our work and we trust that they have too. We wish +them all happiness and success in years to come, and we hope that +the recollection of Our Magazine will not be held least dear among +the memories of their childhood. + +(SOBS FROM THE GIRLS): "INDEED IT WON'T!" + + +OBITUARY + +On October eighteenth, Patrick Grayfur departed for that bourne +whence no traveller returns. He was only a cat, but he had been +our faithful friend for a long time and we aren't ashamed to be +sorry for him. There are lots of people who are not as friendly +and gentlemanly as Paddy was, and he was a great mouser. We +buried all that was mortal of poor Pat in the orchard and we are +never going to forget him. We have resolved that whenever the +date of his death comes round we'll bow our heads and pronounce +his name at the hour of his funeral. If we are anywhere where we +can't say the name out loud we'll whisper it. + + +"Farewell, dearest Paddy, in all the years that are to be +We'll cherish your memory faithfully."[1] + + +[1] The obituary was written by Mr. Felix King, but the two lines +of poetry were composed by Miss Sara Ray. + + +MY MOST EXCITING ADVENTURE + +My most exciting adventure was the day I fell off Uncle Roger's +loft two years ago. I wasn't excited until it was all over +because I hadn't time to be. The Story Girl and I were looking +for eggs in the loft. It was filled with wheat straw nearly to +the roof and it was an awful distance from us to the floor. And +wheat straw is so slippery. I made a little spring and the straw +slipped from under my feet and there I was going head first down +from the loft. It seemed to me I was an awful long time falling, +but the Story Girl says I couldn't have been more than three +seconds. But I know that I thought five thoughts and there seemed +to be quite a long time between them. The first thing I thought +was, what has happened, because I really didn't know at first, it +was so sudden. Then after a spell I thought the answer, I am +falling off the loft. And then I thought, what will happen to me +when I strike the floor, and after another little spell I thought, +I'll be killed. And then I thought, well, I don't care. I really +wasn't a bit frightened. I just was quite willing to be killed. +If there hadn't been a big pile of chaff on the barn floor these +words would never have been written. But there was and I fell on +it and wasn't a bit hurt, only my hair and mouth and eyes and ears +got all full of chaff. The strange part is that I wasn't a bit +frightened when I thought I was going to be killed, but after all +the danger was over I was awfully frightened and trembled so the +Story Girl had to help me into the house. + + FELICITY KING. + + +THE BATTLE OF THE PARTRIDGE EGGS + +Once upon a time there lived about half a mile from a forrest a +farmer and his wife and his sons and daughters and a +granddaughter. The farmer and his wife loved this little girl +very much but she caused them great trouble by running away into +the woods and they often spent haf days looking for her. One day +she wondered further into the forrest than usual and she begun to +be hungry. Then night closed in. She asked a fox where she could +get something to eat. The fox told her he knew where there was a +partridges nest and a bluejays nest full of eggs. So he led her +to the nests and she took five eggs out of each. When the birds +came home they missed the eggs and flew into a rage. The bluejay +put on his topcoat and was going to the partridge for law when he +met the partridge coming to him. They lit up a fire and commenced +sining their deeds when they heard a tremendous howl close behind +them. They jumped up and put out the fire and were immejutly +attacked by five great wolves. The next day the little girl was +rambelling through the woods when they saw her and took her +prisoner. After she had confessed that she had stole the eggs +they told her to raise an army. They would have to fight over the +nests of eggs and whoever one would have the eggs. So the +partridge raised a great army of all kinds of birds except robins +and the little girl got all the robins and foxes and bees and +wasps. And best of all the little girl had a gun and plenty of +ammunishun. The leader of her army was a wolf. The result of the +battle was that all the birds were killed except the partridge and +the bluejay and they were taken prisoner and starved to death. + +The little girl was then taken prisoner by a witch and cast into a +dunjun full of snakes where she died from their bites and people +who went through the forrest after that were taken prisoner by her +ghost and cast into the same dunjun where they died. About a year +after the wood turned into a gold castle and one morning +everything had vanished except a piece of a tree. + + PETER CRAIG. + + + +(DAN, WITH A WHISTLE:--"Well, I guess nobody can say Peter can't +write fiction after THAT." + +SARA RAY, WIPING AWAY HER TEARS:--"It's a very interesting story, +but it ends SO sadly." + +FELIX:--"What made you call it The Battle of the Partridge Eggs +when the bluejay had just as much to do with it?" + +PETER, SHORTLY:--"Because it sounded better that way." + +FELICITY:--"Did she eat the eggs raw?" + +SARA RAY:--"Poor little thing, I suppose if you're starving you +can't be very particular." + +CECILY, SIGHING:--"I wish you'd let her go home safe, Peter, and +not put her to such a cruel death." + +BEVERLEY:--"I don't quite understand where the little girl got her +gun and ammunition." + +PETER, SUSPECTING THAT HE IS BEING MADE FUN OF:--"If you could +write a better story, why didn't you? I give you the chance." + +THE STORY GIRL, WITH A PRETERNATURALLY SOLEMN FACE:--"You +shouldn't criticize Peter's story like that. It's a fairy tale, +you know, and anything can happen in a fairy tale." + +FELICITY:--"There isn't a word about fairies in it!" + +CECILY:--"Besides, fairy tales always end nicely and this +doesn't." + +PETER, SULKILY:--"I wanted to punish her for running away from +home." + +DAN:--"Well, I guess you did it all right." + +CECILY:--"Oh, well, it was very interesting, and that is all that +is really necessary in a story." ) + + +PERSONALS + +Mr. Blair Stanley is visiting friends and relatives in Carlisle. +He intends returning to Europe shortly. His daughter, Miss Sara, +will accompany him. + +Mr. Alan King is expected home from South America next month. His +sons will return with him to Toronto. Beverley and Felix have +made hosts of friends during their stay in Carlisle and will be +much missed in social circles. + +The Mission Band of Carlisle Presbyterian Church completed their +missionary quilt last week. Miss Cecily King collected the +largest sum on her square. Congratulations, Cecily. + +Mr. Peter Craig will be residing in Markdale after October and +will attend school there this winter. Peter is a good fellow and +we all wish him success and prosperity. + +Apple picking is almost ended. There was an unusually heavy crop +this year. Potatoes, not so good. + + +HOUSEHOLD DEPARTMENT + +Apple pies are the order of the day. + +Eggs are a very good price now. Uncle Roger says it isn't fair to +have to pay as much for a dozen little eggs as a dozen big ones, +but they go just as far. + + FELICITY KING. + + +ETIQUETTE DEPARTMENT + +F-l-t-y. Is it considered good form to eat peppermints in church? +Ans.; No, not if a witch gives them to you. + +No, F-l-x, we would not call Treasure Island or the Pilgrim's +Progress dime novels. + +Yes, P-t-r, when you call on a young lady and her mother offers +you a slice of bread and jam it is quite polite for you to accept +it. + + DAN KING. + + +FASHION NOTES + +Necklaces of roseberries are very much worn now. + +It is considered smart to wear your school hat tilted over your +left eye. + +Bangs are coming in. Em Frewen has them. She went to Summerside +for a visit and came back with them. All the girls in school are +going to bang their hair as soon as their mothers will let them. +But I do not intend to bang mine. + + CECILY KING. + + +(SARA RAY, DESPAIRINGLY:--"I know ma will never let ME have +bangs.") + + +FUNNY PARAGRAPHS + +D-n. What are details? C-l-y. I am not sure, but I think they +are things that are left over. + +(CECILY, WONDERINGLY:--"I don't see why that was put among the +funny paragraphs. Shouldn't it have gone in the General +Information department?") + +Old Mr. McIntyre's son on the Markdale Road had been very sick for +several years and somebody was sympathizing with him because his +son was going to die. "Oh," Mr. McIntyre said, quite easy, "he +might as weel be awa'. He's only retarding buzziness." + + FELIX KING. + + +GENERAL INFORMATION BUREAU + +P-t-r. What kind of people live in uninhabited places? + +Ans.: Cannibals, likely. + + FELIX KING. + + + +CHAPTER XXXII + +OUR LAST EVENING TOGETHER + + +IT was the evening before the day on which the Story Girl and +Uncle Blair were to leave us, and we were keeping our last tryst +together in the orchard where we had spent so many happy hours. +We had made a pilgrimage to all the old haunts--the hill field, +the spruce wood, the dairy, Grandfather King's willow, the Pulpit +Stone, Pat's grave, and Uncle Stephen's Walk; and now we +foregathered in the sere grasses about the old well and feasted on +the little jam turnovers Felicity had made that day specially for +the occasion. + +"I wonder if we'll ever all be together again," sighed Cecily. + +"I wonder when I'll get jam turnovers like this again," said the +Story Girl, trying to be gay but not making much of a success of +it. + +"If Paris wasn't so far away I could send you a box of nice things +now and then," said Felicity forlornly, "but I suppose there's no +use thinking of that. Dear knows what they'll give you to eat +over there." + +"Oh, the French have the reputation of being the best cooks in the +world," rejoined the Story Girl, "but I know they can't beat your +jam turnovers and plum puffs, Felicity. Many a time I'll be +hankering after them." + +"If we ever do meet again you'll be grown up," said Felicity +gloomily. + +"Well, you won't have stood still yourselves, you know." + +"No, but that's just the worst of it. We'll all be different and +everything will be changed." + +"Just think," said Cecily, "last New Year's Eve we were wondering +what would happen this year; and what a lot of things have +happened that we never expected. Oh, dear!" + +"If things never happened life would be pretty dull," said the +Story Girl briskly. "Oh, don't look so dismal, all of you." + +"It's hard to be cheerful when everybody's going away," sighed +Cecily. + +"Well, let's pretend to be, anyway," insisted the Story Girl. +"Don't let's think of parting. Let's think instead of how much +we've laughed this last year or so. I'm sure I shall never forget +this dear old place. We've had so many good times here." + +"And some bad times, too," reminded Felix. + +"Remember when Dan et the bad berries last summer?" + +"And the time we were so scared over that bell ringing in the +house," grinned Peter. + +"And the Judgment Day," added Dan. + +"And the time Paddy was bewitched," suggested Sara Ray. + +"And when Peter was dying of the measles," said Felicity. + +"And the time Jimmy Patterson was lost," said Dan. "Gee-whiz, but +that scared me out of a year's growth." + +"Do you remember the time we took the magic seed," grinned Peter. + +"Weren't we silly?" said Felicity. "I really can never look Billy +Robinson in the face when I meet him. I'm always sure he's +laughing at me in his sleeve." + +"It's Billy Robinson who ought to be ashamed when he meets you or +any of us," commented Cecily severely. "I'd rather be cheated +than cheat other people." + +"Do you mind the time we bought God's picture?" asked Peter. + +"I wonder if it's where we buried it yet," speculated Felix. + +"I put a stone over it, just as we did over Pat," said Cecily. + +"I wish I could forget what God looks like," sighed Sara Ray. "I +can't forget it--and I can't forget what the bad place is like +either, ever since Peter preached that sermon on it." + +"When you get to be a real minister you'll have to preach that +sermon over again, Peter," grinned Dan. + +"My Aunt Jane used to say that people needed a sermon on that +place once in a while," retorted Peter seriously. + +"Do you mind the night I et the cucumbers and milk to make me dream?" +said Cecily. + +And therewith we hunted out our old dream books to read them +again, and, forgetful of coming partings, laughed over them till +the old orchard echoed to our mirth. When we had finished we +stood in a circle around the well and pledged "eternal friendship" +in a cup of its unrivalled water. + +Then we joined hands and sang "Auld Lang Syne." Sara Ray cried +bitterly in lieu of singing. + +"Look here," said the Story Girl, as we turned to leave the old +orchard, "I want to ask a favour of you all. Don't say good-bye +to me tomorrow morning." + +"Why not?" demanded Felicity in astonishment. + +"Because it's such a hopeless sort of word. Don't let's SAY it at +all. Just see me off with a wave of your hands. It won't seem +half so bad then. And don't any of you cry if you can help it. I +want to remember you all smiling." + +We went out of the old orchard where the autumn night wind was +beginning to make its weird music in the russet boughs, and shut +the little gate behind us. Our revels there were ended. + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII + +THE STORY GIRL GOES + + +The morning dawned, rosy and clear and frosty. Everybody was up +early, for the travellers must leave in time to catch the nine +o'clock train. The horse was harnessed and Uncle Alec was waiting +by the door. Aunt Janet was crying, but everybody else was making +a valiant effort not to. The Awkward Man and Mrs. Dale came to +see the last of their favourite. Mrs. Dale had brought her a +glorious sheaf of chrysanthemums, and the Awkward Man gave her, +quite gracefully, another little, old, limp book from his library. + +"Read it when you are sad or happy or lonely or discouraged or +hopeful," he said gravely. + +"He has really improved very much since he got married," whispered +Felicity to me. + +Sara Stanley wore a smart new travelling suit and a blue felt hat +with a white feather. She looked so horribly grown up in it that +we felt as if she were lost to us already. + +Sara Ray had vowed tearfully the night before that she would be up +in the morning to say farewell. But at this juncture Judy Pineau +appeared to say that Sara, with her usual luck, had a sore throat, +and that her mother consequently would not permit her to come. So +Sara had written her parting words in a three-cornered pink note. + + +"My OWN DARLING FRIEND:--WORDS CANNOT EXPRESS my feelings over not +being able to go up this morning to say good-bye to one I so +FONDLY ADORE. When I think that I cannot SEE YOU AGAIN my heart +is almost TOO FULL FOR UTTERANCE. But mother says I cannot and I +MUST OBEY. But I will be present IN SPIRIT. It just BREAKS MY +HEART that you are going SO FAR AWAY. You have always been SO +KIND to me and never hurt my feelings AS SOME DO and I shall miss +you SO MUCH. But I earnestly HOPE AND PRAY that you will be HAPPY +AND PROSPEROUS wherever YOUR LOT IS CAST and not be seasick on THE +GREAT OCEAN. I hope you will find time AMONG YOUR MANY DUTIES to +write me a letter ONCE IN A WHILE. I shall ALWAYS REMEMBER YOU +and please remember me. I hope we WILL MEET AGAIN sometime, but +if not may we meet in A FAR BETTER WORLD where there are no SAD +PARTINGS. + +"Your true and loving friend, + + "SARA RAY" + + +"Poor little Sara," said the Story Girl, with a queer catch in her +voice, as she slipped the tear-blotted note into her pocket. "She +isn't a bad little soul, and I'm sorry I couldn't see her once +more, though maybe it's just as well for she'd have to cry and set +us all off. I WON'T cry. Felicity, don't you dare. Oh, you +dear, darling people, I love you all so much and I'll go on loving +you always." + +"Mind you write us every week at the very least," said Felicity, +winking furiously. + +"Blair, Blair, watch over the child well," said Aunt Janet. +"Remember, she has no mother." + +The Story Girl ran over to the buggy and climbed in. Uncle Blair +followed her. Her arms were full of Mrs. Dale's chrysanthemums, +held close up to her face, and her beautiful eyes shone softly at +us over them. No good-byes were said, as she wished. We all +smiled bravely and waved our hands as they drove out of the lane +and down the moist red road into the shadows of the fir wood in +the valley. But we still stood there, for we knew we should see +the Story Girl once more. Beyond the fir wood was an open curve +in the road and she had promised to wave a last farewell as they +passed around it. + +We watched the curve in silence, standing in a sorrowful little +group in the sunshine of the autumn morning. The delight of the +world had been ours on the golden road. It had enticed us with +daisies and rewarded us with roses. Blossom and lyric had waited +on our wishes. Thoughts, careless and sweet, had visited us. +Laughter had been our comrade and fearless Hope our guide. But +now the shadow of change was over it. + +"There she is," cried Felicity. + +The Story Girl stood up and waved her chrysanthemums at us. We +waved wildly back until the buggy had driven around the curve. +Then we went slowly and silently back to the house. The Story +Girl was gone. + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Etext of The Golden Road by L. M. Montgomery + + + diff --git a/old/goldr10.zip b/old/goldr10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..05a383a --- /dev/null +++ b/old/goldr10.zip |
