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diff --git a/5342-h/5342-h.htm b/5342-h/5342-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c4c7d4c --- /dev/null +++ b/5342-h/5342-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,12700 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + The Story Girl, by L. M. Montgomery + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + 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%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Story Girl, 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 Story Girl + +Author: Lucy Maud Montgomery + + +Release Date: March, 2004 [EBook #5342] +[This file was first posted on July 2, 2002] +Last Updated: October 6, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE STORY GIRL *** + + + + +Text file produced by Leslee Suttie, Mary Mark Ockerbloom, and Ben Crowder + +HTML file produced by David Widger + + + +</pre> + + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + THE STORY GIRL + </h1> + <h2> + By L. M. Montgomery + </h2> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h5> + Author of “Anne of Green Gables,” “Anne of Avonlea,"<br /> “Kilmeny of the + Orchard,” etc. + </h5> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h5> + With frontispiece and cover in colour by George Gibbs (not available in + this file) + </h5> + <hr /> + <blockquote> + <p> + This book has been put on-line as part of the BUILD-A-BOOK Initiative at + the Celebration of Women Writers through the combined work of Leslee + Suttie and Mary Mark Ockerbloom. <br /> <br /> + http://digital.library.upenn.edu/women/ <br /> Reformatted by Ben Crowder + </p> + </blockquote> + <hr /> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “She was a form of life and light + That seen, became a part of sight, + And rose, where’er I turn’d mine eye, + The morning-star of Memory!” —Byron. +</pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h4> + TO MY COUSIN <br /> <br /> Frederica E. Campbell <br /> <br /> IN REMEMBRANCE + OF OLD DAYS, OLD DREAMS, AND OLD LAUGHTER + </h4> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <p> + <b>CONTENTS</b> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>THE STORY GIRL</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. THE HOME OF OUR FATHERS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. A QUEEN OF HEARTS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. LEGENDS OF THE OLD ORCHARD </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV. THE WEDDING VEIL OF THE PROUD + PRINCESS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. PETER GOES TO CHURCH </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI. THE MYSTERY OF GOLDEN MILESTONE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII. HOW BETTY SHERMAN WON A HUSBAND </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII. A TRAGEDY OF CHILDHOOD </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX. MAGIC SEED </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X. A DAUGHTER OF EVE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI. THE STORY GIRL DOES PENANCE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII. THE BLUE CHEST OF RACHEL WARD </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII. AN OLD PROVERB WITH A NEW MEANING + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV. FORBIDDEN FRUIT </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV. A DISOBEDIENT BROTHER </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI. THE GHOSTLY BELL </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII. THE PROOF OF THE PUDDING </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII. HOW KISSING WAS DISCOVERED </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX. A DREAD PROPHECY </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX. THE JUDGMENT SUNDAY </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER XXI. DREAMERS OF DREAMS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER XXII. THE DREAM BOOKS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XXIII. SUCH STUFF AS DREAMS ARE MADE ON + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER XXIV. THE BEWITCHMENT OF PAT </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER XXV. A CUP OF FAILURE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER XXVI. PETER MAKES AN IMPRESSION </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER XXVII. THE ORDEAL OF BITTER APPLES </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0028"> CHAPTER XXVIII. THE TALE OF THE RAINBOW BRIDGE + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0029"> CHAPTER XXIX. THE SHADOW FEARED OF MAN </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0030"> CHAPTER XXX. A COMPOUND LETTER </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0031"> CHAPTER XXXI. ON THE EDGE OF LIGHT AND DARK </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0032"> CHAPTER XXXII. THE OPENING OF THE BLUE CHEST </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + THE STORY GIRL + </h1> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. THE HOME OF OUR FATHERS + </h2> + <p> + “I do like a road, because you can be always wondering what is at the end + of it.” + </p> + <p> + The Story Girl said that once upon a time. Felix and I, on the May morning + when we left Toronto for Prince Edward Island, had not then heard her say + it, and, indeed, were but barely aware of the existence of such a person + as the Story Girl. We did not know her at all under that name. We knew + only that a cousin, Sara Stanley, whose mother, our Aunt Felicity, was + dead, was living down on the Island with Uncle Roger and Aunt Olivia King, + on a farm adjoining the old King homestead in Carlisle. We supposed we + should get acquainted with her when we reached there, and we had an idea, + from Aunt Olivia’s letters to father, that she would be quite a jolly + creature. Further than that we did not think about her. We were more + interested in Felicity and Cecily and Dan, who lived on the homestead and + would therefore be our roofmates for a season. + </p> + <p> + But the spirit of the Story Girl’s yet unuttered remark was thrilling in + our hearts that morning, as the train pulled out of Toronto. We were + faring forth on a long road; and, though we had some idea what would be at + the end of it, there was enough glamour of the unknown about it to lend a + wonderful charm to our speculations concerning it. + </p> + <p> + We were delighted at the thought of seeing father’s old home, and living + among the haunts of his boyhood. He had talked so much to us about it, and + described its scenes so often and so minutely, that he had inspired us + with some of his own deep-seated affection for it—an affection that + had never waned in all his years of exile. We had a vague feeling that we, + somehow, belonged there, in that cradle of our family, though we had never + seen it. We had always looked forward eagerly to the promised day when + father would take us “down home,” to the old house with the spruces behind + it and the famous “King orchard” before it—when we might ramble in + “Uncle Stephen’s Walk,” drink from the deep well with the Chinese roof + over it, stand on “the Pulpit Stone,” and eat apples from our “birthday + trees.” + </p> + <p> + The time had come sooner than we had dared to hope; but father could not + take us after all. His firm asked him to go to Rio de Janeiro that spring + to take charge of their new branch there. It was too good a chance to + lose, for father was a poor man and it meant promotion and increase of + salary; but it also meant the temporary breaking up of our home. Our + mother had died before either of us was old enough to remember her; father + could not take us to Rio de Janeiro. In the end he decided to send us to + Uncle Alec and Aunt Janet down on the homestead; and our housekeeper, who + belonged to the Island and was now returning to it, took charge of us on + the journey. I fear she had an anxious trip of it, poor woman! She was + constantly in a quite justifiable terror lest we should be lost or killed; + she must have felt great relief when she reached Charlottetown and handed + us over to the keeping of Uncle Alec. Indeed, she said as much. + </p> + <p> + “The fat one isn’t so bad. He isn’t so quick to move and get out of your + sight while you’re winking as the thin one. But the only safe way to + travel with those young ones would be to have ‘em both tied to you with a + short rope—a MIGHTY short rope.” + </p> + <p> + “The fat one” was Felix, who was very sensitive about his plumpness. He + was always taking exercises to make him thin, with the dismal result that + he became fatter all the time. He vowed that he didn’t care; but he DID + care terribly, and he glowered at Mrs. MacLaren in a most undutiful + fashion. He had never liked her since the day she had told him he would + soon be as broad as he was long. + </p> + <p> + For my own part, I was rather sorry to see her going; and she cried over + us and wished us well; but we had forgotten all about her by the time we + reached the open country, driving along, one on either side of Uncle Alec, + whom we loved from the moment we saw him. He was a small man, with thin, + delicate features, close-clipped gray beard, and large, tired, blue eyes—father’s + eyes over again. We knew that Uncle Alec was fond of children and was + heart-glad to welcome “Alan’s boys.” We felt at home with him, and were + not afraid to ask him questions on any subject that came uppermost in our + minds. We became very good friends with him on that twenty-four mile + drive. + </p> + <p> + Much to our disappointment it was dark when we reached Carlisle—too + dark to see anything very distinctly, as we drove up the lane of the old + King homestead on the hill. Behind us a young moon was hanging over + southwestern meadows of spring-time peace, but all about us were the soft, + moist shadows of a May night. We peered eagerly through the gloom. + </p> + <p> + “There’s the big willow, Bev,” whispered Felix excitedly, as we turned in + at the gate. + </p> + <p> + There it was, in truth—the tree Grandfather King had planted when he + returned one evening from ploughing in the brook field and stuck the + willow switch he had used all day in the soft soil by the gate. + </p> + <p> + It had taken root and grown; our father and our uncles and aunts had + played in its shadow; and now it was a massive thing, with a huge girth of + trunk and great spreading boughs, each of them as large as a tree in + itself. + </p> + <p> + “I’m going to climb it to-morrow,” I said joyfully. + </p> + <p> + Off to the right was a dim, branching place which we knew was the orchard; + and on our left, among sibilant spruces and firs, was the old, whitewashed + house—from which presently a light gleamed through an open door, and + Aunt Janet, a big, bustling, sonsy woman, with full-blown peony cheeks, + came to welcome us. + </p> + <p> + Soon after we were at supper in the kitchen, with its low, dark, raftered + ceiling from which substantial hams and flitches of bacon were hanging. + Everything was just as father had described it. We felt that we had come + home, leaving exile behind us. + </p> + <p> + Felicity, Cecily, and Dan were sitting opposite us, staring at us when + they thought we would be too busy eating to see them. We tried to stare at + them when THEY were eating; and as a result we were always catching each + other at it and feeling cheap and embarrassed. + </p> + <p> + Dan was the oldest; he was my age—thirteen. He was a lean, freckled + fellow with rather long, lank, brown hair and the shapely King nose. We + recognized it at once. His mouth was his own, however, for it was like to + no mouth on either the King or the Ward side; and nobody would have been + anxious to claim it, for it was an undeniably ugly one—long and + narrow and twisted. But it could grin in friendly fashion, and both Felix + and I felt that we were going to like Dan. + </p> + <p> + Felicity was twelve. She had been called after Aunt Felicity, who was the + twin sister of Uncle Felix. Aunt Felicity and Uncle Felix, as father had + often told us, had died on the same day, far apart, and were buried side + by side in the old Carlisle graveyard. + </p> + <p> + We had known from Aunt Olivia’s letters, that Felicity was the beauty of + the connection, and we had been curious to see her on that account. She + fully justified our expectations. She was plump and dimpled, with big, + dark-blue, heavy-lidded eyes, soft, feathery, golden curls, and a pink and + white skin—“the King complexion.” The Kings were noted for their + noses and complexion. Felicity had also delightful hands and wrists. At + every turn of them a dimple showed itself. It was a pleasure to wonder + what her elbows must be like. + </p> + <p> + She was very nicely dressed in a pink print and a frilled muslin apron; + and we understood, from something Dan said, that she had “dressed up” in + honour of our coming. This made us feel quite important. So far as we + knew, no feminine creatures had ever gone to the pains of dressing up on + our account before. + </p> + <p> + Cecily, who was eleven, was pretty also—or would have been had + Felicity not been there. Felicity rather took the colour from other girls. + Cecily looked pale and thin beside her; but she had dainty little + features, smooth brown hair of satin sheen, and mild brown eyes, with just + a hint of demureness in them now and again. We remembered that Aunt Olivia + had written to father that Cecily was a true Ward—she had no sense + of humour. We did not know what this meant, but we thought it was not + exactly complimentary. + </p> + <p> + Still, we were both inclined to think we would like Cecily better than + Felicity. To be sure, Felicity was a stunning beauty. But, with the swift + and unerring intuition of childhood, which feels in a moment what it + sometimes takes maturity much time to perceive, we realized that she was + rather too well aware of her good looks. In brief, we saw that Felicity + was vain. + </p> + <p> + “It’s a wonder the Story Girl isn’t over to see you,” said Uncle Alec. + “She’s been quite wild with excitement about your coming.” + </p> + <p> + “She hasn’t been very well all day,” explained Cecily, “and Aunt Olivia + wouldn’t let her come out in the night air. She made her go to bed + instead. The Story Girl was awfully disappointed.” + </p> + <p> + “Who is the Story Girl?” asked Felix. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Sara—Sara Stanley. We call her the Story Girl partly because + she’s such a hand to tell stories—oh, I can’t begin to describe it—and + partly because Sara Ray, who lives at the foot of the hill, often comes up + to play with us, and it is awkward to have two girls of the same name in + the same crowd. Besides, Sara Stanley doesn’t like her name and she’d + rather be called the Story Girl.” + </p> + <p> + Dan speaking for the first time, rather sheepishly volunteered the + information that Peter had also been intending to come over but had to go + home to take some flour to his mother instead. + </p> + <p> + “Peter?” I questioned. I had never heard of any Peter. + </p> + <p> + “He is your Uncle Roger’s handy boy,” said Uncle Alec. “His name is Peter + Craig, and he is a real smart little chap. But he’s got his share of + mischief, that same lad.” + </p> + <p> + “He wants to be Felicity’s beau,” said Dan slyly. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t talk silly nonsense, Dan,” said Aunt Janet severely. + </p> + <p> + Felicity tossed her golden head and shot an unsisterly glance at Dan. + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn’t be very likely to have a hired boy for a beau,” she observed. + </p> + <p> + We saw that her anger was real, not affected. Evidently Peter was not an + admirer of whom Felicity was proud. + </p> + <p> + We were very hungry boys; and when we had eaten all we could—and oh, + what suppers Aunt Janet always spread!—we discovered that we were + very tired also—too tired to go out and explore our ancestral + domains, as we would have liked to do, despite the dark. + </p> + <p> + We were quite willing to go to bed; and presently we found ourselves + tucked away upstairs in the very room, looking out eastward into the + spruce grove, which father had once occupied. Dan shared it with us, + sleeping in a bed of his own in the opposite corner. The sheets and + pillow-slips were fragrant with lavender, and one of Grandmother King’s + noted patchwork quilts was over us. The window was open and we heard the + frogs singing down in the swamp of the brook meadow. We had heard frogs + sing in Ontario, of course; but certainly Prince Edward Island frogs were + more tuneful and mellow. Or was it simply the glamour of old family + traditions and tales which was over us, lending its magic to all sights + and sounds around us? This was home—father’s home—OUR home! We + had never lived long enough in any one house to develop a feeling of + affection for it; but here, under the roof-tree built by Great-Grandfather + King ninety years ago, that feeling swept into our boyish hearts and souls + like a flood of living sweetness and tenderness. + </p> + <p> + “Just think, those are the very frogs father listened to when he was a + little boy,” whispered Felix. + </p> + <p> + “They can hardly be the SAME frogs,” I objected doubtfully, not feeling + very certain about the possible longevity of frogs. “It’s twenty years + since father left home.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, they’re the descendants of the frogs he heard,” said Felix, “and + they’re singing in the same swamp. That’s near enough.” + </p> + <p> + Our door was open and in their room across the narrow hall the girls were + preparing for bed, and talking rather more loudly than they might have + done had they realized how far their sweet, shrill voices carried. + </p> + <p> + “What do you think of the boys?” asked Cecily. + </p> + <p> + “Beverley is handsome, but Felix is too fat,” answered Felicity promptly. + </p> + <p> + Felix twitched the quilt rather viciously and grunted. But I began to + think I would like Felicity. It might not be altogether her fault that she + was vain. How could she help it when she looked in the mirror? + </p> + <p> + “I think they’re both nice and nice looking,” said Cecily. + </p> + <p> + Dear little soul! + </p> + <p> + “I wonder what the Story Girl will think of them,” said Felicity, as if, + after all, that was the main thing. + </p> + <p> + Somehow, we, too, felt that it was. We felt that if the Story Girl did not + approve of us it made little difference who else did or did not. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder if the Story Girl is pretty,” said Felix aloud. + </p> + <p> + “No, she isn’t,” said Dan instantly, from across the room. “But you’ll + think she is while she’s talking to you. Everybody does. It’s only when + you go away from her that you find out she isn’t a bit pretty after all.” + </p> + <p> + The girls’ door shut with a bang. Silence fell over the house. We drifted + into the land of sleep, wondering if the Story Girl would like us. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. A QUEEN OF HEARTS + </h2> + <p> + I wakened shortly after sunrise. The pale May sunshine was showering + through the spruces, and a chill, inspiring wind was tossing the boughs + about. + </p> + <p> + “Felix, wake up,” I whispered, shaking him. + </p> + <p> + “What’s the matter?” he murmured reluctantly. + </p> + <p> + “It’s morning. Let’s get up and go down and out. I can’t wait another + minute to see the places father has told us of.” + </p> + <p> + We slipped out of bed and dressed, without arousing Dan, who was still + slumbering soundly, his mouth wide open, and his bed-clothes kicked off on + the floor. I had hard work to keep Felix from trying to see if he could + “shy” a marble into that tempting open mouth. I told him it would waken + Dan, who would then likely insist on getting up and accompanying us, and + it would be so much nicer to go by ourselves for the first time. + </p> + <p> + Everything was very still as we crept downstairs. Out in the kitchen we + heard some one, presumably Uncle Alec, lighting the fire; but the heart of + house had not yet begun to beat for the day. + </p> + <p> + We paused a moment in the hall to look at the big “Grandfather” clock. It + was not going, but it seemed like an old, familiar acquaintance to us, + with the gilt balls on its three peaks; the little dial and pointer which + would indicate the changes of the moon, and the very dent in its wooden + door which father had made when he was a boy, by kicking it in a fit of + naughtiness. + </p> + <p> + Then we opened the front door and stepped out, rapture swelling in our + bosoms. There was a rare breeze from the south blowing to meet us; the + shadows of the spruces were long and clear-cut; the exquisite skies of + early morning, blue and wind-winnowed, were over us; away to the west, + beyond the brook field, was a long valley and a hill purple with firs and + laced with still leafless beeches and maples. + </p> + <p> + Behind the house was a grove of fir and spruce, a dim, cool place where + the winds were fond of purring and where there was always a resinous, + woodsy odour. On the further side of it was a thick plantation of slender + silver birches and whispering poplars; and beyond it was Uncle Roger’s + house. + </p> + <p> + Right before us, girt about with its trim spruce hedge, was the famous + King orchard, the history of which was woven into our earliest + recollections. We knew all about it, from father’s descriptions, and in + fancy we had roamed in it many a time and oft. + </p> + <p> + It was now nearly sixty years since it had had its beginning, when + Grandfather King brought his bride home. Before the wedding he had fenced + off the big south meadow that sloped to the sun; it was the finest, most + fertile field on the farm, and the neighbours told young Abraham King that + he would raise many a fine crop of wheat in that meadow. Abraham King + smiled and, being a man of few words, said nothing; but in his mind he had + a vision of the years to be, and in that vision he saw, not rippling acres + of harvest gold, but great, leafy avenues of wide-spreading trees laden + with fruit to gladden the eyes of children and grandchildren yet unborn. + </p> + <p> + It was a vision to develop slowly into fulfilment. Grandfather King was in + no hurry. He did not set his whole orchard out at once, for he wished it + to grow with his life and history, and be bound up with all of good and + joy that should come to his household. So the morning after he had brought + his young wife home they went together to the south meadow and planted + their bridal trees. These trees were no longer living; but they had been + when father was a boy, and every spring bedecked themselves in blossom as + delicately tinted as Elizabeth King’s face when she walked through the old + south meadow in the morn of her life and love. + </p> + <p> + When a son was born to Abraham and Elizabeth a tree was planted in the + orchard for him. They had fourteen children in all, and each child had its + “birth tree.” Every family festival was commemorated in like fashion, and + every beloved visitor who spent a night under their roof was expected to + plant a tree in the orchard. So it came to pass that every tree in it was + a fair green monument to some love or delight of the vanished years. And + each grandchild had its tree, there, also, set out by grandfather when the + tidings of its birth reached him; not always an apple tree—perhaps + it was a plum, or cherry or pear. But it was always known by the name of + the person for whom, or by whom, it was planted; and Felix and I knew as + much about “Aunt Felicity’s pears,” and “Aunt Julia’s cherries,” and + “Uncle Alec’s apples,” and the “Rev. Mr. Scott’s plums,” as if we had been + born and bred among them. + </p> + <p> + And now we had come to the orchard; it was before us; we had only to open + that little whitewashed gate in the hedge and we might find ourselves in + its storied domain. But before we reached the gate we glanced to our left, + along the grassy, spruce-bordered lane which led over to Uncle Roger’s; + and at the entrance of that lane we saw a girl standing, with a gray cat + at her feet. She lifted her hand and beckoned blithely to us; and, the + orchard forgotten, we followed her summons. For we knew that this must be + the Story Girl; and in that gay and graceful gesture was an allurement not + to be gainsaid or denied. + </p> + <p> + We looked at her as we drew near with such interest that we forgot to feel + shy. No, she was not pretty. She was tall for her fourteen years, slim and + straight; around her long, white face—rather too long and too white—fell + sleek, dark-brown curls, tied above either ear with rosettes of scarlet + ribbon. Her large, curving mouth was as red as a poppy, and she had + brilliant, almond-shaped, hazel eyes; but we did not think her pretty. + </p> + <p> + Then she spoke; she said, + </p> + <p> + “Good morning.” + </p> + <p> + Never had we heard a voice like hers. Never, in all my life since, have I + heard such a voice. I cannot describe it. I might say it was clear; I + might say it was sweet; I might say it was vibrant and far-reaching and + bell-like; all this would be true, but it would give you no real idea of + the peculiar quality which made the Story Girl’s voice what it was. + </p> + <p> + If voices had colour, hers would have been like a rainbow. It made words + LIVE. Whatever she said became a breathing entity, not a mere verbal + statement or utterance. Felix and I were too young to understand or + analyze the impression it made upon us; but we instantly felt at her + greeting that it WAS a good morning—a surpassingly good morning—the + very best morning that had ever happened in this most excellent of worlds. + </p> + <p> + “You are Felix and Beverley,” she went on, shaking our hands with an air + of frank comradeship, which was very different from the shy, feminine + advances of Felicity and Cecily. From that moment we were as good friends + as if we had known each other for a hundred years. “I am glad to see you. + I was so disappointed I couldn’t go over last night. I got up early this + morning, though, for I felt sure you would be up early, too, and that + you’d like to have me tell you about things. I can tell things so much + better than Felicity or Cecily. Do you think Felicity is VERY pretty?” + </p> + <p> + “She’s the prettiest girl I ever saw,” I said enthusiastically, + remembering that Felicity had called me handsome. + </p> + <p> + “The boys all think so,” said the Story Girl, not, I fancied, quite well + pleased. “And I suppose she is. She is a splendid cook, too, though she is + only twelve. I can’t cook. I am trying to learn, but I don’t make much + progress. Aunt Olivia says I haven’t enough natural gumption ever to be a + cook; but I’d love to be able to make as good cakes and pies as Felicity + can make. But then, Felicity is stupid. It’s not ill-natured of me to say + that. It’s just the truth, and you’d soon find it out for yourselves. I + like Felicity very well, but she IS stupid. Cecily is ever so much + cleverer. Cecily’s a dear. So is Uncle Alec; and Aunt Janet is pretty + nice, too.” + </p> + <p> + “What is Aunt Olivia like?” asked Felix. + </p> + <p> + “Aunt Olivia is very pretty. She is just like a pansy—all velvety + and purply and goldy.” + </p> + <p> + Felix and I SAW, somewhere inside of our heads, a velvet and purple and + gold pansy-woman, just as the Story Girl spoke. + </p> + <p> + “But is she NICE?” I asked. That was the main question about grown-ups. + Their looks mattered little to us. + </p> + <p> + “She is lovely. But she is twenty-nine, you know. That’s pretty old. She + doesn’t bother me much. Aunt Janet says that I’d have no bringing up at + all, if it wasn’t for her. Aunt Olivia says children should just be let + COME up—that everything else is settled for them long before they + are born. I don’t understand that. Do you?” + </p> + <p> + No, we did not. But it was our experience that grown-ups had a habit of + saying things hard to understand. + </p> + <p> + “What is Uncle Roger like?” was our next question. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I like Uncle Roger,” said the Story Girl meditatively. “He is big + and jolly. But he teases people too much. You ask him a serious question + and you get a ridiculous answer. He hardly ever scolds or gets cross, + though, and THAT is something. He is an old bachelor.” + </p> + <p> + “Doesn’t he ever mean to get married?” asked Felix. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know. Aunt Olivia wishes he would, because she’s tired keeping + house for him, and she wants to go to Aunt Julia in California. But she + says he’ll never get married, because he is looking for perfection, and + when he finds her she won’t have HIM.” + </p> + <p> + By this time we were all sitting down on the gnarled roots of the spruces, + and the big gray cat came over and made friends with us. He was a lordly + animal, with a silver-gray coat beautifully marked with darker stripes. + With such colouring most cats would have had white or silver feet; but he + had four black paws and a black nose. Such points gave him an air of + distinction, and marked him out as quite different from the common or + garden variety of cats. He seemed to be a cat with a tolerably good + opinion of himself, and his response to our advances was slightly tinged + with condescension. + </p> + <p> + “This isn’t Topsy, is it?” I asked. I knew at once that the question was a + foolish one. Topsy, the cat of which father had talked, had flourished + thirty years before, and all her nine lives could scarcely have lasted so + long. + </p> + <p> + “No, but it is Topsy’s great-great-great-great-grandson,” said the Story + Girl gravely. “His name is Paddy and he is my own particular cat. We have + barn cats, but Paddy never associates with them. I am very good friends + with all cats. They are so sleek and comfortable and dignified. And it is + so easy to make them happy. Oh, I’m so glad you boys have come to live + here. Nothing ever happens here, except days, so we have to make our own + good times. We were short of boys before—only Dan and Peter to four + girls.” + </p> + <p> + “FOUR girls? Oh, yes, Sara Ray. Felicity mentioned her. What is she like? + Where does she live?” + </p> + <p> + “Just down the hill. You can’t see the house for the spruce bush. Sara is + a nice girl. She’s only eleven, and her mother is dreadfully strict. She + never allows Sara to read a single story. JUST you fancy! Sara’s + conscience is always troubling her for doing things she’s sure her mother + won’t approve, but it never prevents her from doing them. It only spoils + her fun. Uncle Roger says that a mother who won’t let you do anything, and + a conscience that won’t let you enjoy anything is an awful combination, + and he doesn’t wonder Sara is pale and thin and nervous. But, between you + and me, I believe the real reason is that her mother doesn’t give her half + enough to eat. Not that she’s mean, you know—but she thinks it isn’t + healthy for children to eat much, or anything but certain things. Isn’t it + fortunate we weren’t born into that sort of a family?” + </p> + <p> + “I think it’s awfully lucky we were all born into the same family,” Felix + remarked. + </p> + <p> + “Isn’t it? I’ve often thought so. And I’ve often thought what a dreadful + thing it would have been if Grandfather and Grandmother King had never got + married to each other. I don’t suppose there would have been a single one + of us children here at all; or if we were, we would be part somebody else + and that would be almost as bad. When I think it all over I can’t feel too + thankful that Grandfather and Grandmother King happened to marry each + other, when there were so many other people they might have married.” + </p> + <p> + Felix and I shivered. We felt suddenly that we had escaped a dreadful + danger—the danger of having been born somebody else. But it took the + Story Girl to make us realize just how dreadful it was and what a terrible + risk we had run years before we, or our parents either, had existed. + </p> + <p> + “Who lives over there?” I asked, pointing to a house across the fields. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that belongs to the Awkward Man. His name is Jasper Dale, but + everybody calls him the Awkward Man. And they do say he writes poetry. He + calls his place Golden Milestone. I know why, because I’ve read + Longfellow’s poems. He never goes into society because he is so awkward. + The girls laugh at him and he doesn’t like it. I know a story about him + and I’ll tell it to you sometime.” + </p> + <p> + “And who lives in that other house?” asked Felix, looking over the + westering valley where a little gray roof was visible among the trees. + </p> + <p> + “Old Peg Bowen. She’s very queer. She lives there with a lot of pet + animals in winter, and in summer she roams over the country and begs her + meals. They say she is crazy. People have always tried to frighten us + children into good behaviour by telling us that Peg Bowen would catch us + if we didn’t behave. I’m not so frightened of her as I once was, but I + don’t think I would like to be caught by her. Sara Ray is dreadfully + scared of her. Peter Craig says she is a witch and that he bets she’s at + the bottom of it when the butter won’t come. But I don’t believe THAT. + Witches are so scarce nowadays. There may be some somewhere in the world, + but it’s not likely there are any here right in Prince Edward Island. They + used to be very plenty long ago. I know some splendid witch stories I’ll + tell you some day. They’ll just make your blood freeze in your veins.” + </p> + <p> + We hadn’t a doubt of it. If anybody could freeze the blood in our veins + this girl with the wonderful voice could. But it was a May morning, and + our young blood was running blithely in our veins. We suggested a visit to + the orchard would be more agreeable. + </p> + <p> + “All right. I know stories about it, too,” she said, as we walked across + the yard, followed by Paddy of the waving tail. “Oh, aren’t you glad it is + spring? The beauty of winter is that it makes you appreciate spring.” + </p> + <p> + The latch of the gate clicked under the Story Girl’s hand, and the next + moment we were in the King orchard. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. LEGENDS OF THE OLD ORCHARD + </h2> + <p> + Outside of the orchard the grass was only beginning to grow green; but + here, sheltered by the spruce hedges from uncertain winds and sloping to + southern suns, it was already like a wonderful velvet carpet; the leaves + on the trees were beginning to come out in woolly, grayish clusters; and + there were purple-pencilled white violets at the base of the Pulpit Stone. + </p> + <p> + “It’s all just as father described it,” said Felix with a blissful sigh, + “and there’s the well with the Chinese roof.” + </p> + <p> + We hurried over to it, treading on the spears of mint that were beginning + to shoot up about it. It was a very deep well, and the curb was of rough, + undressed stones. Over it, the queer, pagoda-like roof, built by Uncle + Stephen on his return from a voyage to China, was covered with yet + leafless vines. + </p> + <p> + “It’s so pretty, when the vines leaf out and hang down in long festoons,” + said the Story Girl. “The birds build their nests in it. A pair of wild + canaries come here every summer. And ferns grow out between the stones of + the well as far down as you can see. The water is lovely. Uncle Edward + preached his finest sermon about the Bethlehem well where David’s soldiers + went to get him water, and he illustrated it by describing his old well at + the homestead—this very well—and how in foreign lands he had + longed for its sparkling water. So you see it is quite famous.” + </p> + <p> + “There’s a cup just like the one that used to be here in father’s time,” + exclaimed Felix, pointing to an old-fashioned shallow cup of clouded blue + ware on a little shelf inside the curb. + </p> + <p> + “It is the very same cup,” said the Story Girl impressively. “Isn’t it an + amazing thing? That cup has been here for forty years, and hundreds of + people have drunk from it, and it has never been broken. Aunt Julia + dropped it down the well once, but they fished it up, not hurt a bit + except for that little nick in the rim. I think it is bound up with the + fortunes of the King family, like the Luck of Edenhall in Longfellow’s + poem. It is the last cup of Grandmother King’s second best set. Her best + set is still complete. Aunt Olivia has it. You must get her to show it to + you. It’s so pretty, with red berries all over it, and the funniest little + pot-bellied cream jug. Aunt Olivia never uses it except on a family + anniversary.” + </p> + <p> + We took a drink from the blue cup and then went to find our birthday + trees. We were rather disappointed to find them quite large, sturdy ones. + It seemed to us that they should still be in the sapling stage + corresponding to our boyhood. + </p> + <p> + “Your apples are lovely to eat,” the Story Girl said to me, “but Felix’s + are only good for pies. Those two big trees behind them are the twins’ + trees—my mother and Uncle Felix, you know. The apples are so dead + sweet that nobody but us children and the French boys can eat them. And + that tall, slender tree over there, with the branches all growing straight + up, is a seedling that came up of itself, and NOBODY can eat its apples, + they are so sour and bitter. Even the pigs won’t eat them. Aunt Janet + tried to make pies of them once, because she said she hated to see them + going to waste. But she never tried again. She said it was better to waste + apples alone than apples and sugar too. And then she tried giving them + away to the French hired men, but they wouldn’t even carry them home.” + </p> + <p> + The Story Girl’s words fell on the morning air like pearls and diamonds. + Even her prepositions and conjunctions had untold charm, hinting at + mystery and laughter and magic bound up in everything she mentioned. Apple + pies and sour seedlings and pigs became straightway invested with a + glamour of romance. + </p> + <p> + “I like to hear you talk,” said Felix in his grave, stodgy way. + </p> + <p> + “Everybody does,” said the Story Girl coolly. “I’m glad you like the way I + talk. But I want you to like ME, too—AS WELL as you like Felicity + and Cecily. Not BETTER. I wanted that once but I’ve got over it. I found + out in Sunday School, the day the minister taught our class, that it was + selfish. But I want you to like me AS WELL.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I will, for one,” said Felix emphatically. I think he was + remembering that Felicity had called him fat. + </p> + <p> + Cecily now joined us. It appeared that it was Felicity’s morning to help + prepare breakfast, therefore she could not come. We all went to Uncle + Stephen’s Walk. + </p> + <p> + This was a double row of apple trees, running down the western side of the + orchard. Uncle Stephen was the first born of Abraham and Elizabeth King. + He had none of grandfather’s abiding love for woods and meadows and the + kindly ways of the warm red earth. Grandmother King had been a Ward, and + in Uncle Stephen the blood of the seafaring race claimed its own. To sea + he must go, despite the pleadings and tears of a reluctant mother; and it + was from the sea he came to set out his avenue in the orchard with trees + brought from a foreign land. + </p> + <p> + Then he sailed away again—and the ship was never heard of more. The + gray first came in grandmother’s brown hair in those months of waiting. + The, for the first time, the orchard heard the sound of weeping and was + consecrated by a sorrow. + </p> + <p> + “When the blossoms come out it’s wonderful to walk here,” said the Story + Girl. “It’s like a dream of fairyland—as if you were walking in a + king’s palace. The apples are delicious, and in winter it’s a splendid + place for coasting.” + </p> + <p> + From the Walk we went to the Pulpit Stone—a huge gray boulder, as + high as a man’s head, in the southeastern corner. It was straight and + smooth in front, but sloped down in natural steps behind, with a ledge + midway on which one could stand. It had played an important part in the + games of our uncles and aunts, being fortified castle, Indian ambush, + throne, pulpit, or concert platform, as occasion required. Uncle Edward + had preached his first sermon at the age of eight from that old gray + boulder; and Aunt Julia, whose voice was to delight thousands, sang her + earliest madrigals there. + </p> + <p> + The Story Girl mounted to the ledge, sat on the rim, and looked at us. Pat + sat gravely at its base and daintily washed his face with his black paws. + </p> + <p> + “Now for your stories about the orchard,” said I. + </p> + <p> + “There are two important ones,” said the Story Girl. “The story of the + Poet Who Was Kissed, and the Tale of the Family Ghost. Which one shall I + tell?” + </p> + <p> + “Tell them both,” said Felix greedily, “but tell the ghost one first.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know.” The Story Girl looked dubious. “That sort of story ought + to be told in the twilight among the shadows. Then it would frighten the + souls out of your bodies.” + </p> + <p> + We thought it might be more agreeable not to have the souls frightened out + of our bodies, and we voted for the Family Ghost. + </p> + <p> + “Ghost stories are more comfortable in daytime,” said Felix. + </p> + <p> + The Story Girl began it and we listened avidly. Cecily, who had heard it + many times before, listened just as eagerly as we did. She declared to me + afterwards that no matter how often the Story Girl told a story it always + seemed as new and exciting as if you had just heard it for the first time. + </p> + <p> + “Long, long ago,” began the Story Girl, her voice giving us an impression + of remote antiquity, “even before Grandfather King was born, an orphan + cousin of his lived here with his parents. Her name was Emily King. She + was very small and very sweet. She had soft brown eyes that were too timid + to look straight at anybody—like Cecily’s there—and long, + sleek, brown curls—like mine; and she had a tiny birthmark like a + pink butterfly on one cheek—right here. + </p> + <p> + “Of course, there was no orchard here then. It was just a field; but there + was a clump of white birches in it, right where that big, spreading tree + of Uncle Alec’s is now, and Emily liked to sit among the ferns under the + birches and read or sew. She had a lover. His name was Malcolm Ward and he + was as handsome as a prince. She loved him with all her heart and he loved + her the same; but they had never spoken about it. They used to meet under + the birches and talk about everything except love. One day he told her he + was coming the next day to ask A VERY IMPORTANT QUESTION, and he wanted to + find her under the birches when he came. Emily promised to meet him there. + I am sure she stayed awake that night, thinking about it, and wondering + what the important question would be, although she knew perfectly well. I + would have. And the next day she dressed herself beautifully in her best + pale blue muslin and sleeked her curls and went smiling to the birches. + And while she was waiting there, thinking such lovely thoughts, a + neighbour’s boy came running up—a boy who didn’t know about her + romance—and cried out that Malcolm Ward had been killed by his gun + going off accidentally. Emily just put her hands to her heart—so—and + fell, all white and broken among the ferns. And when she came back to life + she never cried or lamented. She was CHANGED. She was never, never like + herself again; and she was never contented unless she was dressed in her + blue muslin and waiting under the birches. She got paler and paler every + day, but the pink butterfly grew redder, until it looked just like a stain + of blood on her white cheek. When the winter came she died. But next + spring”—the Story Girl dropped her voice to a whisper that was as + audible and thrilling as her louder tones—“people began to tell that + Emily was sometimes seen waiting under the birches still. Nobody knew just + who told it first. But more than one person saw her. Grandfather saw her + when he was a little boy. And my mother saw her once.” + </p> + <p> + “Did YOU ever see her?” asked Felix skeptically. + </p> + <p> + “No, but I shall some day, if I keep on believing in her,” said the Story + Girl confidently. + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn’t like to see her. I’d be afraid,” said Cecily with a shiver. + </p> + <p> + “There wouldn’t be anything to be afraid of,” said the Story Girl + reassuringly. “It’s not as if it were a strange ghost. It’s our own family + ghost, so of course it wouldn’t hurt us.” + </p> + <p> + We were not so sure of this. Ghosts were unchancy folk, even if they were + our family ghosts. The Story Girl had made the tale very real to us. We + were glad we had not heard it in the evening. How could we ever have got + back to the house through the shadows and swaying branches of a darkening + orchard? As it was, we were almost afraid to look up it, lest we should + see the waiting, blue-clad Emily under Uncle Alec’s tree. But all we saw + was Felicity, tearing over the green sward, her curls streaming behind her + in a golden cloud. + </p> + <p> + “Felicity’s afraid she’s missed something,” remarked the Story Girl in a + tone of quiet amusement. “Is your breakfast ready, Felicity, or have I + time to tell the boys the Story of the Poet Who Was Kissed?” + </p> + <p> + “Breakfast is ready, but we can’t have it till father is through attending + to the sick cow, so you will likely have time,” answered Felicity. + </p> + <p> + Felix and I couldn’t keep our eyes off her. Crimson-cheeked, shining-eyed + from her haste, her face was like a rose of youth. But when the Story Girl + spoke, we forgot to look at Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “About ten years after Grandfather and Grandmother King were married, a + young man came to visit them. He was a distant relative of grandmother’s + and he was a Poet. He was just beginning to be famous. He was VERY famous + afterward. He came into the orchard to write a poem, and he fell asleep + with his head on a bench that used to be under grandfather’s tree. Then + Great-Aunt Edith came into the orchard. She was not a Great-Aunt then, of + course. She was only eighteen, with red lips and black, black hair and + eyes. They say she was always full of mischief. She had been away and had + just come home, and she didn’t know about the Poet. But when she saw him, + sleeping there, she thought he was a cousin they had been expecting from + Scotland. And she tiptoed up—so—and bent over—so—and + kissed his cheek. Then he opened his big blue eyes and looked up into + Edith’s face. She blushed as red as a rose, for she knew she had done a + dreadful thing. This could not be her cousin from Scotland. She knew, for + he had written so to her, that he had eyes as black as her own. Edith ran + away and hid; and of course she felt still worse when she found out that + he was a famous poet. But he wrote one of his most beautiful poems on it + afterwards and sent it to her—and it was published in one of his + books.” + </p> + <p> + We had SEEN it all—the sleeping genius—the roguish, red-lipped + girl—the kiss dropped as lightly as a rose-petal on the sunburned + cheek. + </p> + <p> + “They should have got married,” said Felix. + </p> + <p> + “Well, in a book they would have, but you see this was in real life,” said + the Story Girl. “We sometimes act the story out. I like it when Peter + plays the poet. I don’t like it when Dan is the poet because he is so + freckled and screws his eyes up so tight. But you can hardly ever coax + Peter to be the poet—except when Felicity is Edith—and Dan is + so obliging that way.” + </p> + <p> + “What is Peter like?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Peter is splendid. His mother lives on the Markdale road and washes for a + living. Peter’s father ran away and left them when Peter was only three + years old. He has never come back, and they don’t know whether he is alive + or dead. Isn’t that a nice way to behave to your family? Peter has worked + for his board ever since he was six. Uncle Roger sends him to school, and + pays him wages in summer. We all like Peter, except Felicity.” + </p> + <p> + “I like Peter well enough in his place,” said Felicity primly, “but you + make far too much of him, mother says. He is only a hired boy, and he + hasn’t been well brought up, and hasn’t much education. I don’t think you + should make such an equal of him as you do.” + </p> + <p> + Laughter rippled over the Story Girl’s face as shadow waves go over ripe + wheat before a wind. + </p> + <p> + “Peter is a real gentleman, and he is more interesting than YOU could ever + be, if you were brought up and educated for a hundred years,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “He can hardly write,” said Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “William the Conqueror couldn’t write at all,” said the Story Girl + crushingly. + </p> + <p> + “He never goes to church, and he never says his prayers,” retorted + Felicity, uncrushed. + </p> + <p> + “I do, too,” said Peter himself, suddenly appearing through a little gap + in the hedge. “I say my prayers sometimes.” + </p> + <p> + This Peter was a slim, shapely fellow, with laughing black eyes and thick + black curls. Early in the season as it was, he was barefooted. His attire + consisted of a faded, gingham shirt and a scanty pair of corduroy + knickerbockers; but he wore it with such an unconscious air of purple and + fine linen that he seemed to be much better dressed than he really was. + </p> + <p> + “You don’t pray very often,” insisted Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “Well, God will be all the more likely to listen to me if I don’t pester + Him all the time,” argued Peter. + </p> + <p> + This was rank heresy to Felicity, but the Story Girl looked as if she + thought there might be something in it. + </p> + <p> + “You NEVER go to church, anyhow,” continued Felicity, determined not to be + argued down. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I ain’t going to church till I’ve made up my mind whether I’m going + to be a Methodist or a Presbyterian. Aunt Jane was a Methodist. My mother + ain’t much of anything but I mean to be something. It’s more respectable + to be a Methodist or a Presbyterian, or SOMETHING, than not to be + anything. When I’ve settled what I’m to be I’m going to church same as + you.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s not the same as being BORN something,” said Felicity loftily. + </p> + <p> + “I think it’s a good deal better to pick your own religion than have to + take it just because it was what your folks had,” retorted Peter. + </p> + <p> + “Now, never mind quarrelling,” said Cecily. “You leave Peter alone, + Felicity. Peter, this is Beverley King, and this is Felix. And we’re all + going to be good friends and have a lovely summer together. Think of the + games we can have! But if you go squabbling you’ll spoil it all. Peter, + what are you going to do to-day?” + </p> + <p> + “Harrow the wood field and dig your Aunt Olivia’s flower beds.” + </p> + <p> + “Aunt Olivia and I planted sweet peas yesterday,” said the Story Girl, + “and I planted a little bed of my own. I am NOT going to dig them up this + year to see if they have sprouted. It is bad for them. I shall try to + cultivate patience, no matter how long they are coming up.” + </p> + <p> + “I am going to help mother plant the vegetable garden to-day,” said + Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I never like the vegetable garden,” said the Story Girl. “Except when + I am hungry. Then I DO like to go and look at the nice little rows of + onions and beets. But I love a flower garden. I think I could be always + good if I lived in a garden all the time.” + </p> + <p> + “Adam and Eve lived in a garden all the time,” said Felicity, “and THEY + were far from being always good.” + </p> + <p> + “They mightn’t have kept good as long as they did if they hadn’t lived in + a garden,” said the Story Girl. + </p> + <p> + We were now summoned to breakfast. Peter and the Story Girl slipped away + through the gap, followed by Paddy, and the rest of us walked up the + orchard to the house. + </p> + <p> + “Well, what do you think of the Story Girl?” asked Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “She’s just fine,” said Felix, enthusiastically. “I never heard anything + like her to tell stories.” + </p> + <p> + “She can’t cook,” said Felicity, “and she hasn’t a good complexion. Mind + you, she says she’s going to be an actress when she grows up. Isn’t that + dreadful?” + </p> + <p> + We didn’t exactly see why. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, because actresses are always wicked people,” said Felicity in a + shocked tone. “But I daresay the Story Girl will go and be one just as + soon as she can. Her father will back her up in it. He is an artist, you + know.” + </p> + <p> + Evidently Felicity thought artists and actresses and all such poor trash + were members one of another. + </p> + <p> + “Aunt Olivia says the Story Girl is fascinating,” said Cecily. + </p> + <p> + The very adjective! Felix and I recognized its beautiful fitness at once. + Yes, the Story Girl WAS fascinating and that was the final word to be said + on the subject. + </p> + <p> + Dan did not come down until breakfast was half over, and Aunt Janet talked + to him after a fashion which made us realize that it would be well to + keep, as the piquant country phrase went, from the rough side of her + tongue. But all things considered, we liked the prospect of our summer + very much. Felicity to look at—the Story Girl to tell us tales of + wonder—Cecily to admire us—Dan and Peter to play with—what + more could reasonable fellows want? + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. THE WEDDING VEIL OF THE PROUD PRINCESS + </h2> + <p> + When we had lived for a fortnight in Carlisle we belonged there, and the + freedom of all its small fry was conferred on us. With Peter and Dan, with + Felicity and Cecily and the Story Girl, with pale, gray-eyed little Sara + Ray, we were boon companions. We went to school, of course; and certain + home chores were assigned to each of us for the faithful performance of + which we were held responsible. But we had long hours for play. Even Peter + had plenty of spare time when the planting was over. + </p> + <p> + We got along very well with each other in the main, in spite of some minor + differences of opinion. As for the grown-up denizens of our small world, + they suited us also. + </p> + <p> + We adored Aunt Olivia; she was pretty and merry and kind; and, above all, + she had mastered to perfection the rare art of letting children alone. If + we kept ourselves tolerably clean, and refrained from quarrelling or + talking slang, Aunt Olivia did not worry us. Aunt Janet, on the contrary, + gave us so much good advice and was so constantly telling us to do this or + not to do the other thing, that we could not remember half her + instructions, and did not try. + </p> + <p> + Uncle Roger was, as we had been informed, quite jolly and fond of teasing. + We liked him; but we had an uncomfortable feeling that the meaning of his + remarks was not always that which met the ear. Sometimes we believed Uncle + Roger was making fun of us, and the deadly seriousness of youth in us + resented that. + </p> + <p> + To Uncle Alec we gave our warmest love. We felt that we always had a + friend at court in Uncle Alec, no matter what we did or left undone. And + we never had to turn HIS speeches inside out to discover their meaning. + </p> + <p> + The social life of juvenile Carlisle centred in the day and Sunday + Schools. We were especially interested in our Sunday School, for we were + fortunate enough to be assigned to a teacher who made our lessons so + interesting that we no longer regarded Sunday School attendance as a + disagreeable weekly duty; but instead looked forward to it with pleasure, + and tried to carry out our teacher’s gentle precepts—at least on + Mondays and Tuesdays. I am afraid the remembrance grew a little dim the + rest of the week. + </p> + <p> + She was also deeply interested in missions; and one talk on this subject + inspired the Story Girl to do a little home missionary work on her own + account. The only thing she could think of, along this line, was to + persuade Peter to go to church. + </p> + <p> + Felicity did not approve of the design, and said so plainly. + </p> + <p> + “He won’t know how to behave, for he’s never been inside a church door in + his life,” she warned the Story Girl. “He’ll likely do something awful, + and then you’ll feel ashamed and wish you’d never asked him to go, and + we’ll all be disgraced. It’s all right to have our mite boxes for the + heathen, and send missionaries to them. They’re far away and we don’t have + to associate with them. But I don’t want to have to sit in a pew with a + hired boy.” + </p> + <p> + But the Story Girl undauntedly continued to coax the reluctant Peter. It + was not an easy matter. Peter did not come of a churchgoing stock; and + besides, he alleged, he had not yet made up his mind whether to be a + Presbyterian or a Methodist. + </p> + <p> + “It isn’t a bit of difference which you are,” pleaded the Story Girl. + “They both go to heaven.” + </p> + <p> + “But one way must be easier or better than the other, or else they’d all + be one kind,” argued Peter. “I want to find the easiest way. And I’ve got + a hankering after the Methodists. My Aunt Jane was a Methodist.” + </p> + <p> + “Isn’t she one still?” asked Felicity pertly. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don’t know exactly. She’s dead,” said Peter rebukingly. “Do + people go on being just the same after they’re dead?” + </p> + <p> + “No, of course not. They’re angels then—not Methodists or anything, + but just angels. That is, if they go to heaven.” + </p> + <p> + “S’posen they went to the other place?” + </p> + <p> + But Felicity’s theology broke down at this point. She turned her back on + Peter and walked disdainfully away. + </p> + <p> + The Story Girl returned to the main point with a new argument. + </p> + <p> + “We have such a lovely minister, Peter. He looks just like the picture of + St. John my father sent me, only he is old and his hair is white. I know + you’d like him. And even if you are going to be a Methodist it won’t hurt + you to go to the Presbyterian church. The nearest Methodist church is six + miles away, at Markdale, and you can’t attend there just now. Go to the + Presbyterian church until you’re old enough to have a horse.” + </p> + <p> + “But s’posen I got too fond of being Presbyterian and couldn’t change if I + wanted to?” objected Peter. + </p> + <p> + Altogether, the Story Girl had a hard time of it; but she persevered; and + one day she came to us with the announcement that Peter had yielded. + </p> + <p> + “He’s going to church with us to-morrow,” she said triumphantly. + </p> + <p> + We were out in Uncle Roger’s hill pasture, sitting on some smooth, round + stones under a clump of birches. Behind us was an old gray fence, with + violets and dandelions thick in its corners. Below us was the Carlisle + valley, with its orchard-embowered homesteads, and fertile meadows. Its + upper end was dim with a delicate spring mist. Winds blew up the field + like wave upon wave of sweet savour—spice of bracken and balsam. + </p> + <p> + We were eating little jam “turnovers,” which Felicity had made for us. + Felicity’s turnovers were perfection. I looked at her and wondered why it + was not enough that she should be so pretty and capable of making such + turnovers. If she were only more interesting! Felicity had not a particle + of the nameless charm and allurement which hung about every motion of the + Story Girl, and made itself manifest in her lightest word and most + careless glance. Ah well, one cannot have every good gift! The Story Girl + had no dimples at her slim, brown wrists. + </p> + <p> + We all enjoyed our turnovers except Sara Ray. She ate hers but she knew + she should not have done so. Her mother did not approve of snacks between + meals, or of jam turnovers at any time. Once, when Sara was in a brown + study, I asked her what she was thinking of. + </p> + <p> + “I’m trying to think of something ma hasn’t forbid,” she answered with a + sigh. + </p> + <p> + We were all glad to hear that Peter was going to church, except Felicity. + She was full of gloomy forebodings and warnings. + </p> + <p> + “I’m surprised at you, Felicity King,” said Cecily severely. “You ought to + be glad that poor boy is going to get started in the right way.” + </p> + <p> + “There’s a great big patch on his best pair of trousers,” protested + Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “Well, that’s better than a hole,” said the Story Girl, addressing herself + daintily to her turnover. “God won’t notice the patch.” + </p> + <p> + “No, but the Carlisle people will,” retorted Felicity, in a tone which + implied that what the Carlisle people thought was far more important. “And + I don’t believe that Peter has got a decent stocking to his name. What + will you feel like if he goes to church with the skin of his legs showing + through the holes, Miss Story Girl?” + </p> + <p> + “I’m not a bit afraid,” said the Story Girl staunchly. “Peter knows better + than that.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, all I hope is that he’ll wash behind his ears,” said Felicity + resignedly. + </p> + <p> + “How is Pat to-day?” asked Cecily, by way of changing the conversation. + </p> + <p> + “Pat isn’t a bit better. He just mopes about the kitchen,” said the Story + Girl anxiously. “I went out to the barn and I saw a mouse. I had a stick + in my hand and I fetched a swipe at it—so. I killed it stone dead. + Then I took it in to Paddy. Will you believe it? He wouldn’t even look at + it. I’m so worried. Uncle Roger says he needs a dose of physic. But how is + he to be made take it, that’s the question. I mixed a powder in some milk + and tried to pour it down his throat while Peter held him. Just look at + the scratches I got! And the milk went everywhere except down Pat’s + throat.” + </p> + <p> + “Wouldn’t it be awful if—if anything happened to Pat?” whispered + Cecily. + </p> + <p> + “Well, we could have a jolly funeral, you know,” said Dan. + </p> + <p> + We looked at him in such horror that Dan hastened to apologize. + </p> + <p> + “I’d be awful sorry myself if Pat died. But if he DID, we’d have to give + him the right kind of a funeral,” he protested. “Why, Paddy just seems + like one of the family.” + </p> + <p> + The Story Girl finished her turnover, and stretched herself out on the + grasses, pillowing her chin in her hands and looking at the sky. She was + bare headed, as usual, and her scarlet ribbon was bound filletwise about + her head. She had twined freshly plucked dandelions around it and the + effect was that of a crown of brilliant golden stars on her sleek, brown + curls. + </p> + <p> + “Look at that long, thin, lacy cloud up there,” she said. “What does it + make you think of, girls?” + </p> + <p> + “A wedding veil,” said Cecily. + </p> + <p> + “That is just what it is—the Wedding Veil of the Proud Princess. I + know a story about it. I read it in a book. Once upon a time”—the + Story Girl’s eyes grew dreamy, and her accents floated away on the summer + air like wind-blown rose petals—“there was a princess who was the + most beautiful princess in the world, and kings from all lands came to woo + her for a bride. But she was as proud as she was beautiful. She laughed + all her suitors to scorn. And when her father urged her to choose one of + them as her husband she drew herself up haughtily—so—” + </p> + <p> + The Story Girl sprang to her feet and for a moment we saw the proud + princess of the old tale in all her scornful loveliness— + </p> + <p> + “and she said, + </p> + <p> + “‘I will not wed until a king comes who can conquer all kings. Then I + shall be the wife of the king of the world and no one can hold herself + higher than I.’ + </p> + <p> + “So every king went to war to prove that he could conquer every one else, + and there was a great deal of bloodshed and misery. But the proud princess + laughed and sang, and she and her maidens worked at a wonderful lace veil + which she meant to wear when the king of all kings came. It was a very + beautiful veil; but her maidens whispered that a man had died and a + woman’s heart had broken for every stitch set in it. + </p> + <p> + “Just when a king thought he had conquered everybody some other king would + come and conquer HIM; and so it went on until it did not seem likely the + proud princess would ever get a husband at all. But still her pride was so + great that she would not yield, even though everybody except the kings who + wanted to marry her, hated her for the suffering she had caused. One day a + horn was blown at the palace gate; and there was one tall man in complete + armor with his visor down, riding on a white horse. When he said he had + come to marry the princess every one laughed, for he had no retinue and no + beautiful apparel, and no golden crown. + </p> + <p> + “‘But I am the king who conquers all kings,’ he said. + </p> + <p> + “‘You must prove it before I shall marry you,’ said the proud princess. + But she trembled and turned pale, for there was something in his voice + that frightened her. And when he laughed, his laughter was still more + dreadful. + </p> + <p> + “‘I can easily prove it, beautiful princess,’ he said, ‘but you must go + with me to my kingdom for the proof. Marry me now, and you and I and your + father and all your court will ride straightway to my kingdom; and if you + are not satisfied then that I am the king who conquers all kings you may + give me back my ring and return home free of me forever more.’ + </p> + <p> + “It was a strange wooing and the friends of the princess begged her to + refuse. But her pride whispered that it would be such a wonderful thing to + be the queen of the king of the world; so she consented; and her maidens + dressed her, and put on the long lace veil that had been so many years + a-making. Then they were married at once, but the bridegroom never lifted + his visor and no one saw his face. The proud princess held herself more + proudly than ever, but she was as white as her veil. And there was no + laughter or merry-making, such as should be at a wedding, and every one + looked at every one else with fear in his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “After the wedding the bridegroom lifted his bride before him on his white + horse, and her father and all the members of his court mounted, too, and + rode after them. On and on they rode, and the skies grew darker and the + wind blew and wailed, and the shades of evening came down. And just in the + twilight they rode into a dark valley, filled with tombs and graves. + </p> + <p> + “‘Why have you brought me here?’ cried the proud princess angrily. + </p> + <p> + “‘This is my kingdom,’ he answered. ‘These are the tombs of the kings I + have conquered. Behold me, beautiful princess. I am Death!’ + </p> + <p> + “He lifted his visor. All saw his awful face. The proud princess shrieked. + </p> + <p> + “‘Come to my arms, my bride,’ he cried. ‘I have won you fairly. I am the + king who conquers all kings!’ + </p> + <p> + “He clasped her fainting form to his breast and spurred his white horse to + the tombs. A tempest of rain broke over the valley and blotted them from + sight. Very sadly the old king and courtiers rode home, and never, never + again did human eye behold the proud princess. But when those long, white + clouds sweep across the sky, the country people in the land where she + lived say, ‘Look you, there is the Wedding Veil of the Proud Princess.’” + </p> + <p> + The weird spell of the tale rested on us for some moments after the Story + Girl had finished. We had walked with her in the place of death and grown + cold with the horror that chilled the heart of the poor princess. Dan + presently broke the spell. + </p> + <p> + “You see it doesn’t do to be too proud, Felicity,” he remarked, giving her + a poke. “You’d better not say too much about Peter’s patches.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. PETER GOES TO CHURCH + </h2> + <p> + There was no Sunday School the next afternoon, as superintendent and + teachers wished to attend a communion service at Markdale. The Carlisle + service was in the evening, and at sunset we were waiting at Uncle Alec’s + front door for Peter and the Story Girl. + </p> + <p> + None of the grown-ups were going to church. Aunt Olivia had a sick + headache and Uncle Roger stayed home with her. Aunt Janet and Uncle Alec + had gone to the Markdale service and had not yet returned. + </p> + <p> + Felicity and Cecily were wearing their new summer muslins for the first + time—and were acutely conscious of the fact. Felicity, her pink and + white face shadowed by her drooping, forget-me-not-wreathed, leghorn hat, + was as beautiful as usual; but Cecily, having tortured her hair with curl + papers all night, had a rampant bush of curls all about her head which + quite destroyed the sweet, nun-like expression of her little features. + Cecily cherished a grudge against fate because she had not been given + naturally curly hair as had the other two girls. But she attained the + desire of her heart on Sundays at least, and was quite well satisfied. It + was impossible to convince her that the satin smooth lustre of her + week-day tresses was much more becoming to her. + </p> + <p> + Presently Peter and the Story Girl appeared, and we were all more or less + relieved to see that Peter looked quite respectable, despite the + indisputable patch on his trousers. His face was rosy, his thick black + curls were smoothly combed, and his tie was neatly bowed; but it was his + legs which we scrutinized most anxiously. At first glance they seemed well + enough; but closer inspection revealed something not altogether customary. + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter with your stockings, Peter?” asked Dan bluntly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I hadn’t a pair without holes in the legs,” answered Peter easily, + “because ma hadn’t time to darn them this week. So I put on two pairs. The + holes don’t come in the same places, and you’d never notice them unless + you looked right close.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you got a cent for collection?” demanded Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve got a Yankee cent. I s’pose it will do, won’t it?” + </p> + <p> + Felicity shook her head vehemently. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, no. It may be all right to pass a Yankee cent on a store keeper + or an egg peddler, but it would never do for church.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll have to go without any, then,” said Peter. “I haven’t another cent. + I only get fifty cents a week and I give it all to ma last night.” + </p> + <p> + But Peter must have a cent. Felicity would have given him one herself—and + she was none too lavish of her coppers—rather than have him go + without one. Dan, however, lent him one, on the distinct understanding + that it was to be repaid the next week. + </p> + <p> + Uncle Roger wandered by at this moment and, beholding Peter, said, + </p> + <p> + “‘Is Saul also among the prophets?’ What can have induced you to turn + church-goer, Peter, when all Olivia’s gentle persuasions were of no avail? + The old, old argument I suppose—‘beauty draws us with a single + hair.’” + </p> + <p> + Uncle Roger looked quizzically at Felicity. We did not know what his + quotations meant, but we understood he thought Peter was going to church + because of Felicity. Felicity tossed her head. + </p> + <p> + “It isn’t my fault that he’s going to church,” she said snappishly. “It’s + the Story Girl’s doings.” + </p> + <p> + Uncle Roger sat down on the doorstep, and gave himself over to one of the + silent, inward paroxysms of laughter we all found so very aggravating. He + shook his big, blond head, shut his eyes, and murmured, + </p> + <p> + “Not her fault! Oh, Felicity, Felicity, you’ll be the death of your dear + Uncle yet if you don’t watch out.” + </p> + <p> + Felicity started off indignantly, and we followed, picking up Sara Ray at + the foot of the hill. + </p> + <p> + The Carlisle church was a very old-fashioned one, with a square, ivy-hung + tower. It was shaded by tall elms, and the graveyard surrounded it + completely, many of the graves being directly under its windows. We always + took the corner path through it, passing the King plot where our kindred + of four generations slept in a green solitude of wavering light and + shadow. + </p> + <p> + There was Great-grandfather King’s flat tombstone of rough Island + sandstone, so overgrown with ivy that we could hardly read its lengthy + inscription, recording his whole history in brief, and finishing with + eight lines of original verse composed by his widow. I do not think that + poetry was Great-grandmother King’s strong point. When Felix read it, on + our first Sunday in Carlisle, he remarked dubiously that it LOOKED like + poetry but didn’t SOUND like it. + </p> + <p> + There, too, slept the Emily whose faithful spirit was supposed to haunt + the orchard; but Edith who had kissed the poet lay not with her kindred. + She had died in a far, foreign land, and the murmur of an alien sea + sounded about her grave. + </p> + <p> + White marble tablets, ornamented with weeping willow trees, marked where + Grandfather and Grandmother King were buried, and a single shaft of red + Scotch granite stood between the graves of Aunt Felicity and Uncle Felix. + The Story Girl lingered to lay a bunch of wild violets, misty blue and + faintly sweet, on her mother’s grave; and then she read aloud the verse on + the stone. + </p> + <p> + “‘They were lovely and pleasant in their lives and in their death they + were not divided.’” + </p> + <p> + The tones of her voice brought out the poignant and immortal beauty and + pathos of that wonderful old lament. The girls wiped their eyes; and we + boys felt as if we might have done so, too, had nobody been looking. What + better epitaph could any one wish than to have it said that he was lovely + and pleasant in his life? When I heard the Story Girl read it I made a + secret compact with myself that I would try to deserve such an epitaph. + </p> + <p> + “I wish I had a family plot,” said Peter, rather wistfully. “I haven’t + ANYTHING you fellows have. The Craigs are just buried anywhere they happen + to die.” + </p> + <p> + “I’d like to be buried here when I die,” said Felix. “But I hope it won’t + be for a good while yet,” he added in a livelier tone, as we moved onward + to the church. + </p> + <p> + The interior of the church was as old-fashioned as its exterior. It was + furnished with square box pews; the pulpit was a “wine-glass” one, and was + reached by a steep, narrow flight of steps. Uncle Alec’s pew was at the + top of the church, quite near the pulpit. + </p> + <p> + Peter’s appearance did not attract as much attention as we had fondly + expected. Indeed, nobody seemed to notice him at all. The lamps were not + yet lighted and the church was filled with a soft twilight and hush. + Outside, the sky was purple and gold and silvery green, with a delicate + tangle of rosy cloud above the elms. + </p> + <p> + “Isn’t it awful nice and holy in here?” whispered Peter reverently. “I + didn’t know church was like this. It’s nice.” + </p> + <p> + Felicity frowned at him, and the Story Girl touched her with her slippered + foot to remind him that he must not talk in church. Peter stiffened up and + sat at attention during the service. Nobody could have behaved better. But + when the sermon was over and the collection was being taken up, he made + the sensation which his entrance had not produced. + </p> + <p> + Elder Frewen, a tall, pale man, with long, sandy side-whiskers, appeared + at the door of our pew with the collection plate. We knew Elder Frewen + quite well and liked him; he was Aunt Janet’s cousin and often visited + her. The contrast between his week-day jollity and the unearthly solemnity + of his countenance on Sundays always struck us as very funny. It seemed so + to strike Peter; for as Peter dropped his cent into the plate he laughed + aloud! + </p> + <p> + Everybody looked at our pew. I have always wondered why Felicity did not + die of mortification on the spot. The Story Girl turned white, and Cecily + turned red. As for that poor, unlucky Peter, the shame of his countenance + was pitiful to behold. He never lifted his head for the remainder of the + service; and he followed us down the aisle and across the graveyard like a + beaten dog. None of us uttered a word until we reached the road, lying in + the white moonshine of the May night. Then Felicity broke the tense + silence by remarking to the Story Girl, + </p> + <p> + “I told you so!” + </p> + <p> + The Story Girl made no response. Peter sidled up to her. + </p> + <p> + “I’m awful sorry,” he said contritely. “I never meant to laugh. It just + happened before I could stop myself. It was this way—” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you ever speak to me again,” said the Story Girl, in a tone of cold + concentrated fury. “Go and be a Methodist, or a Mohammedan, or ANYTHING! I + don’t care what you are! You have HUMILIATED me!” + </p> + <p> + She marched off with Sara Ray, and Peter dropped back to us with a + frightened face. + </p> + <p> + “What is it I’ve done to her?” he whispered. “What does that big word + mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, never mind,” I said crossly—for I felt that Peter HAD disgraced + us—“She’s just mad—and no wonder. Whatever made you act so + crazy, Peter?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I didn’t mean to. And I wanted to laugh twice before that and + DIDN’T. It was the Story Girl’s stories made me want to laugh, so I don’t + think it’s fair for her to be mad at me. She hadn’t ought to tell me + stories about people if she don’t want me to laugh when I see them. When I + looked at Samuel Ward I thought of him getting up in meeting one night, + and praying that he might be guided in his upsetting and downrising. I + remembered the way she took him off, and I wanted to laugh. And then I + looked at the pulpit and thought of the story she told about the old + Scotch minister who was too fat to get in at the door of it, and had to + h’ist himself by his two hands over it, and then whispered to the other + minister so that everybody heard him. + </p> + <p> + “‘<i>This pulpit door was made for speerits</i>’—and I wanted to + laugh. And then Mr. Frewen come—and I thought of her story about his + sidewhiskers—how when his first wife died of information of the + lungs he went courting Celia Ward, and Celia told him she wouldn’t marry + him unless he shaved them whiskers off. And he wouldn’t, just to be + stubborn. And one day one of them caught fire, when he was burning brush, + and burned off, and every one thought he’d HAVE to shave the other off + then. But he didn’t and just went round with one whisker till the burned + one grew out. And then Celia gave in and took him, because she saw there + wasn’t no hope of HIM ever giving in. I just remembered that story, and I + thought I could see him, taking up the cents so solemn, with one long + whisker; and the laugh just laughed itself before I could help it.” + </p> + <p> + We all exploded with laughter on the spot, much to the horror of Mrs. + Abraham Ward, who was just driving past, and who came up the next day and + told Aunt Janet we had “acted scandalous” on the road home from church. We + felt ashamed ourselves, because we knew people should conduct themselves + decently and in order on Sunday farings-forth. But, as with Peter, it “had + laughed itself.” + </p> + <p> + Even Felicity laughed. Felicity was not nearly so angry with Peter as + might have been expected. She even walked beside him and let him carry her + Bible. They talked quite confidentially. Perhaps she forgave him the more + easily, because he had justified her in her predictions, and thus afforded + her a decided triumph over the Story Girl. + </p> + <p> + “I’m going to keep on going to church,” Peter told her. “I like it. + Sermons are more int’resting than I thought, and I like the singing. I + wish I could make up my mind whether to be a Presbyterian or a Methodist. + I s’pose I might ask the ministers about it.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, no, don’t do that,” said Felicity in alarm. “Ministers wouldn’t + want to be bothered with such questions.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not? What are ministers for if they ain’t to tell people how to get + to heaven?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well, it’s all right for grown-ups to ask them things, of course. But + it isn’t respectful for little boys—especially hired boys.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t see why. But anyhow, I s’pose it wouldn’t be much use, because if + he was a Presbyterian minister he’d say I ought to be a Presbyterian, and + if he was a Methodist he’d tell me to be one, too. Look here, Felicity, + what IS the difference between them?” + </p> + <p> + “I—I don’t know,” said Felicity reluctantly. “I s’pose children + can’t understand such things. There must be a great deal of difference, of + course, if we only knew what it was. Anyhow, I am a Presbyterian, and I’m + glad of it.” + </p> + <p> + We walked on in silence for a time, thinking our own young thoughts. + Presently they were scattered by an abrupt and startling question from + Peter. + </p> + <p> + “What does God look like?” he said. + </p> + <p> + It appeared that none of us had any idea. + </p> + <p> + “The Story Girl would prob’ly know,” said Cecily. + </p> + <p> + “I wish I knew,” said Peter gravely. “I wish I could see a picture of God. + It would make Him seem lots more real.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve often wondered myself what he looks like,” said Felicity in a burst + of confidence. Even in Felicity, so it would seem, there were depths of + thought unplumbed. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve seen pictures of Jesus,” said Felix meditatively. “He looks just + like a man, only better and kinder. But now that I come to think of it, + I’ve never seen a picture of God.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, if there isn’t one in Toronto it isn’t likely there’s one + anywhere,” said Peter disappointedly. “I saw a picture of the devil once,” + he added. “It was in a book my Aunt Jane had. She got it for a prize in + school. My Aunt Jane was clever.” + </p> + <p> + “It couldn’t have been a very good book if there was such a picture in + it,” said Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “It was a real good book. My Aunt Jane wouldn’t have a book that wasn’t + good,” retorted Peter sulkily. + </p> + <p> + He refused to discuss the subject further, somewhat to our disappointment. + For we had never seen a picture of the person referred to, and we were + rather curious regarding it. + </p> + <p> + “We’ll ask Peter to describe it sometime when he’s in a better humour,” + whispered Felix. + </p> + <p> + Sara Ray having turned in at her own gate, I ran ahead to join the Story + Girl, and we walked up the hill together. She had recovered her calmness + of mind, but she made no reference to Peter. When we reached our lane and + passed under Grandfather King’s big willow the fragrance of the orchard + struck us in the face like a wave. We could see the long rows of trees, a + white gladness in the moonshine. It seemed to us that there was in the + orchard something different from other orchards that we had known. We were + too young to analyze the vague sensation. In later years we were to + understand that it was because the orchard blossomed not only apple + blossoms but all the love, faith, joy, pure happiness and pure sorrow of + those who had made it and walked there. + </p> + <p> + “The orchard doesn’t seem the same place by moonlight at all,” said the + Story Girl dreamily. “It’s lovely, but it’s different. When I was very + small I used to believe the fairies danced in it on moonlight nights. I + would like to believe it now but I can’t.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it’s so hard to believe things you know are not true. It was Uncle + Edward who told me there were no such things as fairies. I was just seven. + He is a minister, so of course I knew he spoke the truth. It was his duty + to tell me, and I do not blame him, but I have never felt quite the same + to Uncle Edward since.” + </p> + <p> + Ah, do we ever “feel quite the same” towards people who destroy our + illusions? Shall I ever be able to forgive the brutal creature who first + told me there was no such person as Santa Claus? He was a boy, three years + older than myself; and he may now, for aught I know, be a most useful and + respectable member of society, beloved by his kind. But I know what he + must ever seem to me! + </p> + <p> + We waited at Uncle Alec’s door for the others to come up. Peter was by way + of skulking shamefacedly past into the shadows; but the Story Girl’s + brief, bitter anger had vanished. + </p> + <p> + “Wait for me, Peter,” she called. + </p> + <p> + She went over to him and held out her hand. + </p> + <p> + “I forgive you,” she said graciously. + </p> + <p> + Felix and I felt that it would really be worth while to offend her, just + to be forgiven in such an adorable voice. Peter eagerly grasped her hand. + </p> + <p> + “I tell you what, Story Girl, I’m awfully sorry I laughed in church, but + you needn’t be afraid I ever will again. No, sir! And I’m going to church + and Sunday School regular, and I’ll say my prayers every night. I want to + be like the rest of you. And look here! I’ve thought of the way my Aunt + Jane used to give medicine to a cat. You mix the powder in lard, and + spread it on his paws and his sides and he’ll lick it off, ‘cause a cat + can’t stand being messy. If Paddy isn’t any better to-morrow, we’ll do + that.” + </p> + <p> + They went away together hand in hand, children-wise, up the lane of + spruces crossed with bars of moonlight. And there was peace over all that + fresh and flowery land, and peace in our little hearts. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI. THE MYSTERY OF GOLDEN MILESTONE + </h2> + <p> + Paddy was smeared with medicated lard the next day, all of us assisting at + the rite, although the Story Girl was high priestess. Then, out of regard + for mats and cushions, he was kept in durance vile in the granary until he + had licked his fur clean. This treatment being repeated every day for a + week, Pat recovered his usual health and spirits, and our minds were set + at rest to enjoy the next excitement—collecting for a school library + fund. + </p> + <p> + Our teacher thought it would be an excellent thing to have a library in + connection with the school; and he suggested that each of the pupils + should try to see how much money he or she could raise for the project + during the month of June. We might earn it by honest toil, or gather it in + by contributions levied on our friends. + </p> + <p> + The result was a determined rivalry as to which pupil should collect the + largest sum; and this rivalry was especially intense in our home coterie. + </p> + <p> + Our relatives started us with a quarter apiece. For the rest, we knew we + must depend on our own exertions. Peter was handicapped at the beginning + by the fact that he had no family friend to finance him. + </p> + <p> + “If my Aunt Jane’d been living she’d have given me something,” he + remarked. “And if my father hadn’t run away he might have given me + something too. But I’m going to do the best I can anyhow. Your Aunt Olivia + says I can have the job of gathering the eggs, and I’m to have one egg out + of every dozen to sell for myself.” + </p> + <p> + Felicity made a similar bargain with her mother. The Story Girl and Cecily + were each to be paid ten cents a week for washing dishes in their + respective homes. Felix and Dan contracted to keep the gardens free from + weeds. I caught brook trout in the westering valley of spruces and sold + them for a cent apiece. + </p> + <p> + Sara Ray was the only unhappy one among us. She could do nothing. She had + no relatives in Carlisle except her mother, and her mother did not approve + of the school library project, and would not give Sara a cent, or put her + in any way of earning one. To Sara, this was humiliation indescribable. + She felt herself an outcast and an alien to our busy little circle, where + each member counted every day, with miserly delight, his slowly increasing + hoard of small cash. + </p> + <p> + “I’m just going to pray to God to send me some money,” she announced + desperately at last. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t believe that will do any good,” said Dan. “He gives lots of + things, but he doesn’t give money, because people can earn that for + themselves.” + </p> + <p> + “I can’t,” said Sara, with passionate defiance. “I think He ought to take + that into account.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t worry, dear,” said Cecily, who always poured balm. “If you can’t + collect any money everybody will know it isn’t your fault.” + </p> + <p> + “I won’t ever feel like reading a single book in the library if I can’t + give something to it,” mourned Sara. + </p> + <p> + Dan and the girls and I were sitting in a row on Aunt Olivia’s garden + fence, watching Felix weed. Felix worked well, although he did not like + weeding—“fat boys never do,” Felicity informed him. Felix pretended + not to hear her, but I knew he did, because his ears grew red. Felix’s + face never blushed, but his ears always gave him away. As for Felicity, + she did not say things like that out of malice prepense. It never occurred + to her that Felix did not like to be called fat. + </p> + <p> + “I always feel so sorry for the poor weeds,” said the Story Girl dreamily. + “It must be very hard to be rooted up.” + </p> + <p> + “They shouldn’t grow in the wrong place,” said Felicity mercilessly. + </p> + <p> + “When weeds go to heaven I suppose they will be flowers,” continued the + Story Girl. + </p> + <p> + “You do think such queer things,” said Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “A rich man in Toronto has a floral clock in his garden,” I said. “It + looks just like the face of a clock, and there are flowers in it that open + at every hour, so that you can always tell the time.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I wish we had one here,” exclaimed Cecily. + </p> + <p> + “What would be the use of it?” asked the Story Girl a little disdainfully. + “Nobody ever wants to know the time in a garden.” + </p> + <p> + I slipped away at this point, suddenly remembering that it was time to + take a dose of magic seed. I had bought it from Billy Robinson three days + before in school. Billy had assured me that it would make me grow fast. + </p> + <p> + I was beginning to feel secretly worried because I did not grow. I had + overheard Aunt Janet say I was going to be short, like Uncle Alec. Now, I + loved Uncle Alec, but I wanted to be taller than he was. So when Billy + confided to me, under solemn promise of secrecy, that he had some “magic + seed,” which would make boys grow, and would sell me a box of it for ten + cents, I jumped at the offer. Billy was taller than any boy of his age in + Carlisle, and he assured me it all came from taking magic seed. + </p> + <p> + “I was a regular runt before I begun,” he said, “and look at me now. I got + it from Peg Bowen. She’s a witch, you know. I wouldn’t go near her again + for a bushel of magic seed. It was an awful experience. I haven’t much + left, but I guess I’ve enough to do me till I’m as tall as I want to be. + You must take a pinch of the seed every three hours, walking backward, and + you must never tell a soul you’re taking it, or it won’t work. I wouldn’t + spare any of it to any one but you.” + </p> + <p> + I felt deeply grateful to Billy, and sorry that I had not liked him + better. Somehow, nobody did like Billy Robinson over and above. But I + vowed I WOULD like him in future. I paid him the ten cents cheerfully and + took the magic seed as directed, measuring myself carefully every day by a + mark on the hall door. I could not see any advance in growth yet, but then + I had been taking it only three days. + </p> + <p> + One day the Story Girl had an inspiration. + </p> + <p> + “Let us go and ask the Awkward Man and Mr. Campbell for a contribution to + the library fund,” she said. “I am sure no one else has asked them, + because nobody in Carlisle is related to them. Let us all go, and if they + give us anything we’ll divide it equally among us.” + </p> + <p> + It was a daring proposition, for both Mr. Campbell and the Awkward Man + were regarded as eccentric personages; and Mr. Campbell was supposed to + detest children. But where the Story Girl led we would follow to the + death. The next day being Saturday, we started out in the afternoon. + </p> + <p> + We took a short cut to Golden Milestone, over a long, green, dewy land + full of placid meadows, where sunshine had fallen asleep. At first all was + not harmonious. Felicity was in an ill humour; she had wanted to wear her + second best dress, but Aunt Janet had decreed that her school clothes were + good enough to go “traipsing about in the dust.” Then the Story Girl + arrived, arrayed not in any second best but in her very best dress and + hat, which her father had sent her from Paris—a dress of soft, + crimson silk, and a white leghorn hat encircled by flame-red poppies. + Neither Felicity nor Cecily could have worn it; but it became the Story + Girl perfectly. In it she was a thing of fire and laughter and glow, as if + the singular charm of her temperament were visible and tangible in its + vivid colouring and silken texture. + </p> + <p> + “I shouldn’t think you’d put on your best clothes to go begging for the + library in,” said Felicity cuttingly. + </p> + <p> + “Aunt Olivia says that when you are going to have an important interview + with a man you ought to look your very best,” said the Story Girl, giving + her skirt a lustrous swirl and enjoying the effect. + </p> + <p> + “Aunt Olivia spoils you,” said Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “She doesn’t either, Felicity King! Aunt Olivia is just sweet. She kisses + me good-night every night, and your mother NEVER kisses you.” + </p> + <p> + “My mother doesn’t make kisses so common,” retorted Felicity. “But she + gives us pie for dinner every day.” + </p> + <p> + “So does Aunt Olivia.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but look at the difference in the size of the pieces! And Aunt + Olivia only gives you skim milk. My mother gives us cream.” + </p> + <p> + “Aunt Olivia’s skim milk is as good as your mother’s cream,” cried the + Story Girl hotly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, girls, don’t fight,” said Cecily, the peacemaker. “It’s such a nice + day, and we’ll have a nice time if you don’t spoil it by fighting.” + </p> + <p> + “We’re NOT fighting,” said Felicity. “And I like Aunt Olivia. But my + mother is just as good as Aunt Olivia, there now!” + </p> + <p> + “Of course she is. Aunt Janet is splendid,” agreed the Story Girl. + </p> + <p> + They smiled at each other amicably. Felicity and the Story Girl were + really quite fond of each other, under the queer surface friction that + commonly resulted from their intercourse. + </p> + <p> + “You said once you knew a story about the Awkward Man,” said Felix. “You + might tell it to us.” + </p> + <p> + “All right,” agreed the Story Girl. “The only trouble is, I don’t know the + whole story. But I’ll tell you all I do know. I call it ‘The Mystery of + the Golden Milestone.’” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don’t believe that story is true,” said Felicity. “I believe Mrs. + Griggs was just romancing. She DOES romance, mother says.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; but I don’t believe she could ever have thought of such a thing as + this herself, so I believe it must be true,” said the Story Girl. “Anyway, + this is the story, boys. You know the Awkward Man has lived alone ever + since his mother died, ten years ago. Abel Griggs is his hired man, and he + and his wife live in a little house down the Awkward Man’s lane. Mrs. + Griggs makes his bread for him, and she cleans up his house now and then. + She says he keeps it very neat. But till last fall there was one room she + never saw. It was always locked—the west one, looking out over his + garden. One day last fall the Awkward Man went to Summerside, and Mrs. + Griggs scrubbed his kitchen. Then she went over the whole house and she + tried the door of the west room. Mrs. Griggs is a VERY curious woman. + Uncle Roger says all women have as much curiosity as is good for them, but + Mrs. Griggs has more. She expected to find the door locked as usual. It + was NOT locked. She opened it and went in. What do you suppose she found?” + </p> + <p> + “Something like—like Bluebeard’s chamber?” suggested Felix in a + scared tone. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, NO! Nothing like THAT could happen in Prince Edward Island. But + if there HAD been beautiful wives hanging up by their hair all round the + walls I don’t believe Mrs. Griggs could have been much more astonished. + The room had never been furnished in his mother’s time, but now it was + ELEGANTLY furnished, though Mrs. Griggs says SHE doesn’t know when or how + that furniture was brought there. She says she never saw a room like it in + a country farmhouse. It was like a bed-room and sitting-room combined. The + floor was covered with a carpet like green velvet. There were fine lace + curtains at the windows and beautiful pictures on the walls. There was a + little white bed, and a dressing-table, a bookcase full of books, a stand + with a work basket on it, and a rocking-chair. There was a woman’s picture + above the bookcase. Mrs. Griggs says she thinks it was a coloured + photograph, but she didn’t know who it was. Anyway, it was a very pretty + girl. But the most amazing thing of all was that A WOMAN’S DRESS was + hanging over a chair by the table. Mrs. Griggs says it NEVER belonged to + Jasper Dale’s mother, for she thought it a sin to wear anything but print + and drugget; and this dress was of PALE BLUE silk. Besides that, there was + a pair of blue satin slippers on the floor beside it—HIGH-HEELED + slippers. And on the fly-leaves of the books the name ‘Alice’ was written. + Now, there never was an Alice in the Dale connection and nobody ever heard + of the Awkward Man having a sweetheart. There, isn’t that a lovely + mystery?” + </p> + <p> + “It’s a pretty queer yarn,” said Felix. “I wonder if it is true—and + what it means.” + </p> + <p> + “I intend to find out what it means,” said the Story Girl. “I am going to + get acquainted with the Awkward Man sometime, and then I’ll find out his + Alice-secret.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t see how you’ll ever get acquainted with him,” said Felicity. “He + never goes anywhere except to church. He just stays home and reads books + when he isn’t working. Mother says he is a perfect hermit.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll manage it somehow,” said the Story Girl—and we had no doubt + that she would. “But I must wait until I’m a little older, for he wouldn’t + tell the secret of the west room to a little girl. And I mustn’t wait till + I’m TOO old, for he is frightened of grown-up girls, because he thinks + they laugh at his awkwardness. I know I will like him. He has such a nice + face, even if he is awkward. He looks like a man you could tell things + to.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I’d like a man who could move around without falling over his own + feet,” said Felicity. “And then the look of him! Uncle Roger says he is + long, lank, lean, narrow, and contracted.” + </p> + <p> + “Things always sound worse than they are when Uncle Roger says them,” said + the Story Girl. “Uncle Edward says Jasper Dale is a very clever man and + it’s a great pity he wasn’t able to finish his college course. He went to + college two years, you know. Then his father died, and he stayed home with + his mother because she was very delicate. I call him a hero. I wonder if + it is true that he writes poetry. Mrs. Griggs says it is. She says she has + seen him writing it in a brown book. She said she couldn’t get near enough + to read it, but she knew it was poetry by the shape of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Very likely. If that blue silk dress story is true, I’d believe ANYTHING + of him,” said Felicity. + </p> + <p> + We were near Golden Milestone now. The house was a big, weather-gray + structure, overgrown with vines and climbing roses. Something about the + three square windows in the second story gave it an appearance of winking + at us in a friendly fashion through its vines—at least, so the Story + Girl said; and, indeed, we could see it for ourselves after she had once + pointed it out to us. + </p> + <p> + We did not get into the house, however. We met the Awkward man in his + yard, and he gave us a quarter apiece for our library. He did not seem + awkward or shy; but then we were only children, and his foot was on his + native heath. + </p> + <p> + He was a tall, slender man, who did not look his forty years, so + unwrinkled was his high, white forehead, so clear and lustrous his large, + dark-blue eyes, so free from silver threads his rather long black hair. He + had large hands and feet, and walked with a slight stoop. I am afraid we + stared at him rather rudely while the Story Girl talked to him. But was + not an Awkward Man, who was also a hermit and kept blue silk dresses in a + locked room, and possibly wrote poetry, a legitimate object of curiosity? + I leave it to you. + </p> + <p> + When we got away we compared notes, and found that we all liked him—and + this, although he had said little and had appeared somewhat glad to get + rid of us. + </p> + <p> + “He gave us the money like a gentleman,” said the Story Girl. “I felt he + didn’t grudge it. And now for Mr. Campbell. It was on HIS account I put on + my red silk. I don’t suppose the Awkward Man noticed it at all, but Mr. + Campbell will, or I’m much mistaken.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII. HOW BETTY SHERMAN WON A HUSBAND + </h2> + <p> + The rest of us did not share the Story Girl’s enthusiasm regarding our + call on Mr. Campbell. We secretly dreaded it. If, as was said, he detested + children, who knew what sort of a reception we might meet? + </p> + <p> + Mr. Campbell was a rich, retired farmer, who took life easily. He had + visited New York and Boston, Toronto and Montreal; he had even been as far + as the Pacific coast. Therefore he was regarded in Carlisle as a much + travelled man; and he was known to be “well read” and intelligent. But it + was also known that Mr. Campbell was not always in a good humour. If he + liked you there was nothing he would not do for you; if he disliked you—well, + you were not left in ignorance of it. In short, we had the impression that + Mr. Campbell resembled the famous little girl with the curl in the middle + of her forehead. “When he was good, he was very, very good, and when he + was bad he was horrid.” What if this were one of his horrid days? + </p> + <p> + “He can’t DO anything to us, you know,” said the Story Girl. “He may be + rude, but that won’t hurt any one but himself.” + </p> + <p> + “Hard words break no bones,” observed Felicity philosophically. + </p> + <p> + “But they hurt your feelings. I am afraid of Mr. Campbell,” said Cecily + candidly. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps we’d better give up and go home,” suggested Dan. + </p> + <p> + “You can go home if you like,” said the Story Girl scornfully. “But I am + going to see Mr. Campbell. I know I can manage him. But if I have to go + alone, and he gives me anything, I’ll keep it all for my own collection, + mind you.” + </p> + <p> + That settled it. We were not going to let the Story Girl get ahead of us + in the manner of collecting. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Campbell’s housekeeper ushered us into his parlour and left us. + Presently Mr. Campbell himself was standing in the doorway, looking us + over. We took heart of grace. It seemed to be one of his good days, for + there was a quizzical smile on his broad, clean-shaven, strongly-featured + face. Mr. Campbell was a tall man, with a massive head, well thatched with + thick, black hair, gray-streaked. He had big, black eyes, with many + wrinkles around them, and a thin, firm, long-lipped mouth. We thought him + handsome, for an old man. + </p> + <p> + His gaze wandered over us with uncomplimentary indifference until it fell + on the Story Girl, leaning back in an arm-chair. She looked like a slender + red lily in the unstudied grace of her attitude. A spark flashed into Mr. + Campbell’s black eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Is this a Sunday School deputation?” he inquired rather ironically. + </p> + <p> + “No. We have come to ask a favour of you,” said the Story Girl. + </p> + <p> + The magic of her voice worked its will on Mr. Campbell, as on all others. + He came in, sat down, hooked his thumb into his vest pocket, and smiled at + her. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “We are collecting for our school library, and we have called to ask you + for a contribution,” she replied. + </p> + <p> + “Why should I contribute to your school library?” demanded Mr. Campbell. + </p> + <p> + This was a poser for us. Why should he, indeed? But the Story Girl was + quite equal to it. Leaning forward, and throwing an indescribable witchery + into tone and eyes and smile, she said, + </p> + <p> + “Because a lady asks you.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Campbell chuckled. + </p> + <p> + “The best of all reasons,” he said. “But see here, my dear young lady, I’m + an old miser and curmudgeon, as you may have heard. I HATE to part with my + money, even for a good reason. And I NEVER part with any of it, unless I + am to receive some benefit from the expenditure. Now, what earthly good + could I get from your three by six school library? None whatever. But I + shall make you a fair offer. I have heard from my housekeeper’s urchin of + a son that you are a ‘master hand’ to tell stories. Tell me one, here and + now. I shall pay you in proportion to the entertainment you afford me. + Come now, and do your prettiest.” + </p> + <p> + There was a fine mockery in his tone that put the Story Girl on her mettle + instantly. She sprang to her feet, an amazing change coming over her. Her + eyes flashed and burned; crimson spots glowed in her cheeks. + </p> + <p> + “I shall tell you the story of the Sherman girls, and how Betty Sherman + won a husband,” she said. + </p> + <p> + We gasped. Was the Story Girl crazy? Or had she forgotten that Betty + Sherman was Mr. Campbell’s own great-grandmother, and that her method of + winning a husband was not exactly in accordance with maidenly traditions. + </p> + <p> + But Mr. Campbell chuckled again. + </p> + <p> + “An excellent test,” he said. “If you can amuse ME with that story you + must be a wonder. I’ve heard it so often that it has no more interest for + me than the alphabet.” + </p> + <p> + “One cold winter day, eighty years ago,” began the Story Girl without + further parley, “Donald Fraser was sitting by the window of his new house, + playing his fiddle for company, and looking out over the white, frozen bay + before his door. It was bitter, bitter cold, and a storm was brewing. But, + storm, or no storm, Donald meant to go over the bay that evening to see + Nancy Sherman. He was thinking of her as he played ‘Annie Laurie,’ for + Nancy was more beautiful than the lady of the song. ‘Her face, it is the + fairest that e’er the sun shone on,’ hummed Donald—and oh, he + thought so, too! He did not know whether Nancy cared for him or not. He + had many rivals. But he knew that if she would not come to be the mistress + of his new house no one else ever should. So he sat there that afternoon + and dreamed of her, as he played sweet old songs and rollicking jigs on + his fiddle. + </p> + <p> + “While he was playing a sleigh drove up to the door, and Neil Campbell + came in. Donald was not overly glad to see him, for he suspected where he + was going. Neil Campbell, who was Highland Scotch and lived down at + Berwick, was courting Nancy Sherman, too; and, what was far worse, Nancy’s + father favoured him, because he was a richer man than Donald Fraser. But + Donald was not going to show all he thought—Scotch people never do—and + he pretended to be very glad to see Neil and made him heartily welcome. + </p> + <p> + “Neil sat down by the roaring fire, looking quite well satisfied with + himself. It was ten miles from Berwick to the bay shore, and a call at a + half way house was just the thing. Then Donald brought out the whisky. + They always did that eighty years ago, you know. If you were a woman, you + could give your visitors a dish of tea; but if you were a man and did not + offer them a ‘taste’ of whisky, you were thought either very mean or very + ignorant. + </p> + <p> + “‘You look cold,’ said Donald, in his great, hearty voice. ‘Sit nearer the + fire, man, and put a bit of warmth in your veins. It’s bitter cold the + day. And now tell me the Berwick news. Has Jean McLean made up with her + man yet? And is it true that Sandy McQuarrie is to marry Kate Ferguson? + ‘Twill be a match now! Sure, with her red hair, Sandy will not be like to + lose his bride past finding.’ + </p> + <p> + “Neil had plenty of news to tell. And the more whisky he drank the more he + told. He didn’t notice that Donald was not taking much. Neil talked on and + on, and of course he soon began to tell things it would have been much + wiser not to tell. Finally he told Donald that he was going over the bay + to ask Nancy Sherman that very night to marry him. And if she would have + him, then Donald and all the folks should see a wedding that WAS a + wedding. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, wasn’t Donald taken aback! This was more than he had expected. Neil + hadn’t been courting Nancy very long, and Donald never dreamed he would + propose to her QUITE so soon. + </p> + <p> + “At first Donald didn’t know what to do. He felt sure deep down in his + heart, that Nancy liked HIM. She was very shy and modest, but you know a + girl can let a man see she likes him without going out of her way. But + Donald knew that if Neil proposed first he would have the best chance. + Neil was rich and the Shermans were poor, and old Elias Sherman would have + the most to say in the matter. If he told Nancy she must take Neil + Campbell she would never dream of disobeying him. Old Elias Sherman was a + man who had to be obeyed. But if Nancy had only promised some one else + first her father would not make her break her word. + </p> + <p> + “Wasn’t it a hard plight for poor Donald? But he was a Scotchman, you + know, and it’s pretty hard to stick a Scotchman long. Presently a twinkle + came into his eyes, for he remembered that all was fair in love and war. + So he said to Neil, oh, so persuasively, + </p> + <p> + “‘Have some more, man, have some more. ‘Twill keep the heart in you in the + teeth of that wind. Help yourself. There’s plenty more where that came + from.’ + </p> + <p> + “Neil didn’t want MUCH persuasion. He took some more, and said slyly, + </p> + <p> + “‘Is it going over the bay the night that yourself will be doing?’ + </p> + <p> + “Donald shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “‘I had thought of it,’ he owned, ‘but it looks a wee like a storm, and my + sleigh is at the blacksmith’s to be shod. If I went it must be on Black + Dan’s back, and he likes a canter over the ice in a snow-storm as little + as I. His own fireside is the best place for a man to-night, Campbell. + Have another taste, man, have another taste.’ + </p> + <p> + “Neil went on ‘tasting,’ and that sly Donald sat there with a sober face, + but laughing eyes, and coaxed him on. At last Neil’s head fell forward on + his breast, and he was sound asleep. Donald got up, put on his overcoat + and cap, and went to the door. + </p> + <p> + “‘May your sleep be long and sweet, man,’ he said, laughing softly, ‘and + as for the waking, ‘twill be betwixt you and me.’ + </p> + <p> + “With that he untied Neil’s horse, climbed into Neil’s sleigh, and tucked + Neil’s buffalo robe about him. + </p> + <p> + “‘Now, Bess, old girl, do your bonniest,’ he said. ‘There’s more than you + know hangs on your speed. If the Campbell wakes too soon Black Dan could + show you a pair of clean heels for all your good start. On, my girl.’ + </p> + <p> + “Brown Bess went over the ice like a deer, and Donald kept thinking of + what he should say to Nancy—and more still of what she would say to + him. SUPPOSE he was mistaken. SUPPOSE she said ‘no!’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Neil would have the laugh on me then. Sure he’s sleeping well. And the + snow is coming soon. There’ll be a bonny swirl on the bay ere long. I hope + no harm will come to the lad if he starts to cross. When he wakes he’ll be + in such a fine Highland temper that he’ll never stop to think of danger. + Well, Bess, old girl, here we are. Now, Donald Fraser, pluck up heart and + play the man. Never flinch because a slip of a lass looks scornful at you + out of the bonniest dark-blue eyes on earth.’ + </p> + <p> + “But in spite of his bold words Donald’s heart was thumping as he drove + into the Sherman yard. Nancy was there milking a cow by the stable door, + but she stood up when she saw Donald coming. Oh, she was very beautiful! + Her hair was like a skein of golden silk, and her eyes were as blue as the + gulf water when the sun breaks out after a storm. Donald felt more nervous + than ever. But he knew he must make the most of his chance. He might not + see Nancy alone again before Neil came. He caught her hand and stammered + out, + </p> + <p> + “‘Nan, lass, I love you. You may think ‘tis a hasty wooing, but that’s a + story I can tell you later maybe. I know well I’m not worthy of you, but + if true love could make a man worthy there’d be none before me. Will you + have me, Nan?’ + </p> + <p> + “Nancy didn’t SAY she would have him. She just LOOKED it, and Donald + kissed her right there in the snow. + </p> + <p> + “The next morning the storm was over. Donald knew Neil must be soon on his + track. He did not want to make the Sherman house the scene of a quarrel, + so he resolved to get away before the Campbell came. He persuaded Nancy to + go with him to visit some friends in another settlement. As he brought + Neil’s sleigh up to the door he saw a black speck far out on the bay and + laughed. + </p> + <p> + “‘Black Dan goes well, but he’ll not be quick enough,’ he said. + </p> + <p> + “Half an hour later Neil Campbell rushed into the Sherman kitchen and oh, + how angry he was! There was nobody there but Betty Sherman, and Betty was + not afraid of him. She was never afraid of anybody. She was very handsome, + with hair as brown as October nuts and black eyes and crimson cheeks; and + she had always been in love with Neil Campbell herself. + </p> + <p> + “‘Good morning, Mr. Campbell,’ she said, with a toss of her head. ‘It’s + early abroad you are. And on Black Dan, no less! Was I mistaken in + thinking that Donald Fraser said once that his favourite horse should + never be backed by any man but him? But doubtless a fair exchange is no + robbery, and Brown Bess is a good mare in her way.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Where is Donald Fraser?’ said Neil, shaking his fist. ‘It’s him I’m + seeking, and it’s him I will be finding. Where is he, Betty Sherman?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Donald Fraser is far enough away by this time,’ mocked Betty. ‘He is a + prudent fellow, and has some quickness of wit under that sandy thatch of + his. He came here last night at sunset, with a horse and sleigh not his + own, or lately gotten, and he asked Nan in the stable yard to marry him. + Did a man ask ME to marry him at the cow’s side with a milking pail in my + hand, it’s a cold answer he’d get for his pains. But Nan thought + differently, and they sat late together last night, and ‘twas a bonny + story Nan wakened me to hear when she came to bed—the story of a + braw lover who let his secret out when the whisky was above the wit, and + then fell asleep while his rival was away to woo and win his lass. Did you + ever hear a like story, Mr. Campbell?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Oh, yes,’ said Neil fiercely. ‘It is laughing at me over the country + side and telling that story that Donald Fraser will be doing, is it? But + when I meet him it is not laughing he will be doing. Oh, no. There will be + another story to tell!’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Now, don’t meddle with the man,’ cried Betty. ‘What a state to be in + because one good-looking lass likes sandy hair and gray eyes better than + Highland black and blue! You have not the spirit of a wren, Neil Campbell. + Were I you, I would show Donald Fraser that I could woo and win a lass as + speedily as any Lowlander of them all; that I would! There’s many a girl + would gladly say ‘yes’ for your asking. And here stands one! Why not marry + ME, Neil Campbell? Folks say I’m as bonny as Nan—and I could love + you as well as Nan loves her Donald—ay, and ten times better!’ + </p> + <p> + “What do you suppose the Campbell did? Why, just the thing he ought to + have done. He took Betty at her word on the spot; and there was a double + wedding soon after. And it is said that Neil and Betty were the happiest + couple in the world—happier even than Donald and Nancy. So all was + well because it ended well!” + </p> + <p> + The Story Girl curtsied until her silken skirts swept the floor. Then she + flung herself in her chair and looked at Mr. Campbell, flushed, + triumphant, daring. + </p> + <p> + The story was old to us. It had once been published in a Charlottetown + paper, and we had read in Aunt Olivia’s scrapbook, where the Story Girl + had learned it. But we had listened entranced. I have written down the + bare words of the story, as she told it; but I can never reproduce the + charm and colour and spirit she infused into it. It LIVED for us. Donald + and Neil, Nancy and Betty, were there in that room with us. We saw the + flashes of expression on their faces, we heard their voices, angry or + tender, mocking or merry, in Lowland and Highland accent. We realized all + the mingled coquetry and feeling and defiance and archness in Betty + Sherman’s daring speech. We had even forgotten all about Mr. Campbell. + </p> + <p> + That gentleman, in silence, took out his wallet, extracted a note + therefrom, and handed it gravely to the Story Girl. + </p> + <p> + “There are five dollars for you,” he said, “and your story was well worth + it. You ARE a wonder. Some day you will make the world realize it. I’ve + been about a bit, and heard some good things, but I’ve never enjoyed + anything more than that threadbare old story I heard in my cradle. And + now, will you do me a favour?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” said the delighted Story Girl. + </p> + <p> + “Recite the multiplication table for me,” said Mr. Campbell. + </p> + <p> + We stared. Well might Mr. Campbell be called eccentric. What on earth did + he want the multiplication table recited for? Even the Story Girl was + surprised. But she began promptly, with twice one and went through it to + twelve times twelve. She repeated it simply, but her voice changed from + one tone to another as each in succession grew tired. We had never dreamed + that there was so much in the multiplication table. As she announced it, + the fact that three times three was nine was exquisitely ridiculous, five + times six almost brought tears to our eyes, eight times seven was the most + tragic and frightful thing ever heard of, and twelve times twelve rang + like a trumpet call to victory. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Campbell nodded his satisfaction. + </p> + <p> + “I thought you could do it,” he said. “The other day I found this + statement in a book. ‘Her voice would have made the multiplication table + charming!’ I thought of it when I heard yours. I didn’t believe it before, + but I do now.” + </p> + <p> + Then he let us go. + </p> + <p> + “You see,” said the Story Girl as we went home, “you need never be afraid + of people.” + </p> + <p> + “But we are not all Story Girls,” said Cecily. + </p> + <p> + That night we heard Felicity talking to Cecily in their room. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Campbell never noticed one of us except the Story Girl,” she said, + “but if I had put on MY best dress as she did maybe she wouldn’t have + taken all the attention.” + </p> + <p> + “Could you ever do what Betty Sherman did, do you suppose?” asked Cecily + absently. + </p> + <p> + “No; but I believe the Story Girl could,” answered Felicity rather + snappishly. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII. A TRAGEDY OF CHILDHOOD + </h2> + <p> + The Story Girl went to Charlottetown for a week in June to visit Aunt + Louisa. Life seemed very colourless without her, and even Felicity + admitted that it was lonesome. But three days after her departure Felix + told us something on the way home from school which lent some spice to + existence immediately. + </p> + <p> + “What do you think?” he said in a very solemn, yet excited, tone. “Jerry + Cowan told me at recess this afternoon that he HAD SEEN A PICTURE OF GOD—that + he has it at home in an old, red-covered history of the world, and has + looked at it OFTEN.” + </p> + <p> + To think that Jerry Cowan should have seen such a picture often! We were + as deeply impressed as Felix had meant us to be. + </p> + <p> + “Did he say what it was like?” asked Peter. + </p> + <p> + “No—only that it was a picture of God, walking in the garden of + Eden.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” whispered Felicity—we all spoke in low tones on the subject, + for, by instinct and training, we thought and uttered the Great Name with + reverence, in spite of our devouring curiosity—“oh, WOULD Jerry + Cowan bring it to school and let us see it?” + </p> + <p> + “I asked him that, soon as ever he told me,” said Felix. “He said he + might, but he couldn’t promise, for he’d have to ask his mother if he + could bring the book to school. If she’ll let him he’ll bring it + to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I’ll be almost afraid to look at it,” said Sara Ray tremulously. + </p> + <p> + I think we all shared her fear to some extent. Nevertheless, we went to + school the next day burning with curiosity. And we were disappointed. + Possibly night had brought counsel to Jerry Cowan; or perhaps his mother + had put him up to it. At all events, he announced to us that he couldn’t + bring the red-covered history to school, but if we wanted to buy the + picture outright he would tear it out of the book and sell it to us for + fifty cents. + </p> + <p> + We talked the matter over in serious conclave in the orchard that evening. + We were all rather short of hard cash, having devoted most of our spare + means to the school library fund. But the general consensus of opinion was + that we must have the picture, no matter what pecuniary sacrifices were + involved. If we could each give about seven cents we would have the + amount. Peter could only give four, but Dan gave eleven, which squared + matters. + </p> + <p> + “Fifty cents would be pretty dear for any other picture, but of course + this is different,” said Dan. + </p> + <p> + “And there’s a picture of Eden thrown in, too, you know,” added Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “Fancy selling God’s picture,” said Cecily in a shocked, awed tone. + </p> + <p> + “Nobody but a Cowan would do it, and that’s a fact,” said Dan. + </p> + <p> + “When we get it we’ll keep it in the family Bible,” said Felicity. “That’s + the only proper place.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I wonder what it will be like,” breathed Cecily. + </p> + <p> + We all wondered. Next day in school we agreed to Jerry Cowan’s terms, and + Jerry promised to bring the picture up to Uncle Alec’s the following + afternoon. + </p> + <p> + We were all intensely excited Saturday morning. To our dismay, it began to + rain just before dinner. + </p> + <p> + “What if Jerry doesn’t bring the picture to-day because of the rain?” I + suggested. + </p> + <p> + “Never you fear,” answered Felicity decidedly. “A Cowan would come through + ANYTHING for fifty cents.” + </p> + <p> + After dinner we all, without any verbal decision about it, washed our + faces and combed our hair. The girls put on their second best dresses, and + we boys donned white collars. We all had the unuttered feeling that we + must do such honour to that Picture as we could. Felicity and Dan began a + small spat over something, but stopped at once when Cecily said severely, + </p> + <p> + “How DARE you quarrel when you are going to look at a picture of God + to-day?” + </p> + <p> + Owing to the rain we could not foregather in the orchard, where we had + meant to transact the business with Jerry. We did not wish our grown-ups + around at our great moment, so we betook ourselves to the loft of the + granary in the spruce wood, from whose window we could see the main road + and hail Jerry. Sara Ray had joined us, very pale and nervous, having had, + so it appeared, a difference of opinion with her mother about coming up + the hill in the rain. + </p> + <p> + “I’m afraid I did very wrong to come against ma’s will,” she said + miserably, “but I COULDN’T wait. I wanted to see the picture as soon as + you did.” + </p> + <p> + We waited and watched at the window. The valley was full of mist, and the + rain was coming down in slanting lines over the tops of the spruces. But + as we waited the clouds broke away and the sun came out flashingly; the + drops on the spruce boughs glittered like diamonds. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t believe Jerry can be coming,” said Cecily in despair. “I suppose + his mother must have thought it was dreadful, after all, to sell such a + picture.” + </p> + <p> + “There he is now!” cried Dan, waving excitedly from the window. + </p> + <p> + “He’s carrying a fish-basket,” said Felicity. “You surely don’t suppose he + would bring THAT picture in a fish-basket!” + </p> + <p> + Jerry HAD brought it in a fish-basket, as appeared when he mounted the + granary stairs shortly afterwards. It was folded up in a newspaper packet + on top of the dried herring with which the basket was filled. We paid him + his money, but we would not open the packet until he had gone. + </p> + <p> + “Cecily,” said Felicity in a hushed tone. “You are the best of us all. YOU + open the parcel.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I’m no gooder than the rest of you,” breathed Cecily, “but I’ll open + it if you like.” + </p> + <p> + With trembling fingers Cecily opened the parcel. We stood around, hardly + breathing. She unfolded it and held it up. We saw it. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly Sara began to cry. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, oh, oh, does God look like THAT?” she wailed. + </p> + <p> + Felix and I spoke not. Disappointment, and something worse, sealed our + speech. DID God look like that—like that stern, angrily frowning old + man with the tossing hair and beard of the wood-cut Cecily held. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose He must, since that is His picture,” said Dan miserably. + </p> + <p> + “He looks awful cross,” said Peter simply. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I wish we’d never, never seen it,” cried Cecily. + </p> + <p> + We all wished that—too late. Our curiosity had led us into some Holy + of Holies, not to be profaned by human eyes, and this was our punishment. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve always had a feeling right along,” wept Sara, “that it wasn’t RIGHT + to buy—or LOOK AT—God’s picture.” + </p> + <p> + As we stood there wretchedly we heard flying feet below and a blithe voice + calling, + </p> + <p> + “Where are you, children?” + </p> + <p> + The Story Girl had returned! At any other moment we would have rushed to + meet her in wild joy. But now we were too crushed and miserable to move. + </p> + <p> + “Whatever is the matter with you all?” demanded the Story Girl, appearing + at the top of the stairs. “What is Sara crying about? What have you got + there?” + </p> + <p> + “A picture of God,” said Cecily with a sob in her voice, “and oh, it is so + dreadful and ugly. Look!” + </p> + <p> + The Story Girl looked. An expression of scorn came over her face. + </p> + <p> + “Surely you don’t believe God looks like that,” she said impatiently, + while her fine eyes flashed. “He doesn’t—He couldn’t. He is + wonderful and beautiful. I’m surprised at you. THAT is nothing but the + picture of a cross old man.” + </p> + <p> + Hope sprang up in our hearts, although we were not wholly convinced. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know,” said Dan dubiously. “It says under the picture ‘God in the + Garden of Eden.’ It’s PRINTED.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I suppose that’s what the man who drew it thought God was like,” + answered the Story Girl carelessly. “But HE couldn’t have known any more + than you do. HE had never seen Him.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s all very well for you to say so,” said Felicity, “but YOU don’t know + either. I wish I could believe that isn’t like God—but I don’t know + what to believe.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, if you won’t believe me, I suppose you’ll believe the minister,” + said the Story Girl. “Go and ask him. He’s in the house this very minute. + He came up with us in the buggy.” + </p> + <p> + At any other time we would never have dared catechize the minister about + anything. But desperate cases call for desperate measures. We drew straws + to see who should go and do the asking, and the lot fell to Felix. + </p> + <p> + “Better wait until Mr. Marwood leaves, and catch him in the lane,” advised + the Story Girl. “You’ll have a lot of grown-ups around you in the house.” + </p> + <p> + Felix took her advice. Mr. Marwood, presently walking benignantly along + the lane, was confronted by a fat, small boy with a pale face but resolute + eyes. + </p> + <p> + The rest of us remained in the background but within hearing. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Felix, what is it?” asked Mr. Marwood kindly. + </p> + <p> + “Please, sir, does God really look like this?” asked Felix, holding out + the picture. “We hope He doesn’t—but we want to know the truth, and + that is why I’m bothering you. Please excuse us and tell me.” + </p> + <p> + The minister looked at the picture. A stern expression came into his + gentle blue eyes and he got as near to frowning as it was possible for him + to get. + </p> + <p> + “Where did you get that thing?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + THING! We began to breathe easier. + </p> + <p> + “We bought it from Jerry Cowan. He found it in a red-covered history of + the world. It SAYS it’s God’s picture,” said Felix. + </p> + <p> + “It is nothing of the sort,” said Mr. Marwood indignantly. “There is no + such thing as a picture of God, Felix. No human being knows what he looks + like—no human being CAN know. We should not even try to think what + He looks like. But, Felix, you may be sure that God is infinitely more + beautiful and loving and tender and kind than anything we can imagine of + Him. Never believe anything else, my boy. As for this—this SACRILEGE—take + it and burn it.” + </p> + <p> + We did not know what a sacrilege meant, but we knew that Mr. Marwood had + declared that the picture was not like God. That was enough for us. We + felt as if a terrible weight had been lifted from our minds. + </p> + <p> + “I could hardly believe the Story Girl, but of course the minister KNOWS,” + said Dan happily. + </p> + <p> + “We’ve lost fifty cents because of it,” said Felicity gloomily. + </p> + <p> + We had lost something of infinitely more value than fifty cents, although + we did not realize it just then. The minister’s words had removed from our + minds the bitter belief that God was like that picture; but on something + deeper and more enduring than mind an impression had been made that was + never to be removed. The mischief was done. From that day to this the + thought or the mention of God brings up before us involuntarily the vision + of a stern, angry, old man. Such was the price we were to pay for the + indulgence of a curiosity which each of us, deep in our hearts, had, like + Sara Ray, felt ought not to be gratified. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Marwood told me to burn it,” said Felix. + </p> + <p> + “It doesn’t seem reverent to do that,” said Cecily. “Even if it isn’t + God’s picture, it has His name on it.” + </p> + <p> + “Bury it,” said the Story Girl. + </p> + <p> + We did bury it after tea, in the depths of the spruce grove; and then we + went into the orchard. It was so nice to have the Story Girl back again. + She had wreathed her hair with Canterbury Bells, and looked like the + incarnation of rhyme and story and dream. + </p> + <p> + “Canterbury Bells is a lovely name for a flower, isn’t it?” she said. “It + makes you think of cathedrals and chimes, doesn’t it? Let’s go over to + Uncle Stephen’s Walk, and sit on the branches of the big tree. It’s too + wet on the grass, and I know a story—a TRUE story, about an old lady + I saw in town at Aunt Louisa’s. Such a dear old lady, with lovely silvery + curls.” + </p> + <p> + After the rain the air seemed dripping with odours in the warm west wind—the + tang of fir balsam, the spice of mint, the wild woodsiness of ferns, the + aroma of grasses steeping in the sunshine,—and with it all a breath + of wild sweetness from far hill pastures. + </p> + <p> + Scattered through the grass in Uncle Stephen’s Walk, were blossoming pale, + aerial flowers which had no name that we could ever discover. Nobody + seemed to know anything about them. They had been there when + Great-grandfather King bought the place. I have never seen them elsewhere, + or found them described in any floral catalogue. We called them the White + Ladies. The Story Girl gave them the name. She said they looked like the + souls of good women who had had to suffer much and had been very patient. + They were wonderfully dainty, with a strange, faint, aromatic perfume + which was only to be detected at a little distance and vanished if you + bent over them. They faded soon after they were plucked; and, although + strangers, greatly admiring them, often carried away roots and seeds, they + could never be coaxed to grow elsewhere. + </p> + <p> + “My story is about Mrs. Dunbar and the Captain of the FANNY,” said the + Story Girl, settling herself comfortably on a bough, with her brown head + against a gnarled trunk. “It’s sad and beautiful—and true. I do love + to tell stories that I know really happened. Mrs. Dunbar lives next door + to Aunt Louisa in town. She is so sweet. You wouldn’t think to look at her + that she had a tragedy in her life, but she has. Aunt Louisa told me the + tale. It all happened long, long ago. Interesting things like this all did + happen long ago, it seems to me. They never seem to happen now. This was + in ‘49, when people were rushing to the gold fields in California. It was + just like a fever, Aunt Louisa says. People took it, right here on the + Island; and a number of young men determined they would go to California. + </p> + <p> + “It is easy to go to California now; but it was a very different matter + then. There were no railroads across the land, as there are now, and if + you wanted to go to California you had to go in a sailing vessel, all the + way around Cape Horn. It was a long and dangerous journey; and sometimes + it took over six months. When you got there you had no way of sending word + home again except by the same plan. It might be over a year before your + people at home heard a word about you—and fancy what their feelings + would be! + </p> + <p> + “But these young men didn’t think of these things; they were led on by a + golden vision. They made all their arrangements, and they chartered the + brig <i>Fanny</i> to take them to California. + </p> + <p> + “The captain of the <i>Fanny</i> is the hero of my story. His name was + Alan Dunbar, and he was young and handsome. Heroes always are, you know, + but Aunt Louisa says he really was. And he was in love—wildly in + love,—with Margaret Grant. Margaret was as beautiful as a dream, + with soft blue eyes and clouds of golden hair; and she loved Alan Dunbar + just as much as he loved her. But her parents were bitterly opposed to + him, and they had forbidden Margaret to see him or speak to him. They + hadn’t anything against him as a MAN, but they didn’t want her to throw + herself away on a sailor. + </p> + <p> + “Well, when Alan Dunbar knew that he must go to California in the <i>Fanny</i> + he was in despair. He felt that he could NEVER go so far away for so long + and leave his Margaret behind. And Margaret felt that she could never let + him go. I know EXACTLY how she felt.” + </p> + <p> + “How can you know?” interrupted Peter suddenly. “You ain’t old enough to + have a beau. How can you know?” + </p> + <p> + The Story Girl looked at Peter with a frown. She did not like to be + interrupted when telling a story. + </p> + <p> + “Those are not things one KNOWS about,” she said with dignity. “One FEELS + about them.” + </p> + <p> + Peter, crushed but not convinced, subsided, and the Story Girl went on. + </p> + <p> + “Finally, Margaret ran away with Alan, and they were married in + Charlottetown. Alan intended to take his wife with him to California in + the <i>Fanny</i>. If it was a hard journey for a man it was harder still + for a woman, but Margaret would have dared anything for Alan’s sake. They + had three days—ONLY three days—of happiness, and then the blow + fell. The crew and the passengers of the <i>Fanny</i> refused to let + Captain Dunbar take his wife with him. They told him he must leave her + behind. And all his prayers were of no avail. They say he stood on the + deck of the <i>Fanny</i> and pleaded with the men while the tears ran down + his face; but they would not yield, and he had to leave Margaret behind. + Oh, what a parting it was!” + </p> + <p> + There was heartbreak in the Story Girl’s voice and tears came into our + eyes. There, in the green bower of Uncle Stephen’s Walk, we cried over the + pathos of a parting whose anguish had been stilled for many years. + </p> + <p> + “When it was all over, Margaret’s father and mother forgave her, and she + went back home to wait—to WAIT. Oh, it is so dreadful just to WAIT, + and do nothing else. Margaret waited for nearly a year. How long it must + have seemed to her! And at last there came a letter—but not from + Alan. Alan was DEAD. He had died in California and had been buried there. + While Margaret had been thinking of him and longing for him and praying + for him he had been lying in his lonely, faraway grave.” + </p> + <p> + Cecily sprang up, shaking with sobs. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, don’t—don’t go on,” she implored. “I CAN’T bear any more.” + </p> + <p> + “There is no more,” said the Story Girl. “That was the end of it—the + end of everything for Margaret. It didn’t kill HER, but her heart died.” + </p> + <p> + “I just wish I’d hold of those fellows who wouldn’t let the Captain take + his wife,” said Peter savagely. + </p> + <p> + “Well, it was awful said,” said Felicity, wiping her eyes. “But it was + long ago and we can’t do any good by crying over it now. Let us go and get + something to eat. I made some nice little rhubarb tarts this morning.” + </p> + <p> + We went. In spite of new disappointments and old heartbreaks we had + appetites. And Felicity did make scrumptious rhubarb tarts! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX. MAGIC SEED + </h2> + <p> + When the time came to hand in our collections for the library fund Peter + had the largest—three dollars. Felicity was a good second with two + and a half. This was simply because the hens had laid so well. + </p> + <p> + “If you’d had to pay father for all the extra handfuls of wheat you’ve fed + to those hens, Miss Felicity, you wouldn’t have so much,” said Dan + spitefully. + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t,” said Felicity indignantly. “Look how Aunt Olivia’s hens laid, + too, and she fed them herself just the same as usual.” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind,” said Cecily, “we have all got something to give. If you were + like poor Sara Ray, and hadn’t been able to collect anything, you might + feel bad.” + </p> + <p> + But Sara Ray HAD something to give. She came up the hill after tea, all + radiant. When Sara Ray smiled—and she did not waste her smiles—she + was rather pretty in a plaintive, apologetic way. A dimple or two came + into sight, and she had very nice teeth—small and white, like the + traditional row of pearls. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, just look,” she said. “Here are three dollars—and I’m going to + give it all to the library fund. I had a letter to-day from Uncle Arthur + in Winnipeg, and he sent me three dollars. He said I was to use it ANY way + I liked, so ma couldn’t refuse to let me give it to the fund. She thinks + it’s an awful waste, but she always goes by what Uncle Arthur says. Oh, + I’ve prayed so hard that some money might come some way, and now it has. + See what praying does!” + </p> + <p> + I was very much afraid that we did not rejoice quite as unselfishly in + Sara’s good fortune as we should have done. WE had earned our + contributions by the sweat of our brow, or by the scarcely less + disagreeable method of “begging.” And Sara’s had as good as descended upon + her out of the skies, as much like a miracle as anything you could + imagine. + </p> + <p> + “She prayed for it, you know,” said Felix, after Sara had gone home. + </p> + <p> + “That’s too easy a way of earning money,” grumbled Peter resentfully. “If + the rest of us had just set down and done nothing, only prayed, how much + do you s’pose we’d have? It don’t seem fair to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well, it’s different with Sara,” said Dan. “We COULD earn money and + she COULDN’T. You see? But come on down to the orchard. The Story Girl had + a letter from her father to-day and she’s going to read it to us.” + </p> + <p> + We went promptly. A letter from the Story Girl’s father was always an + event; and to hear her read it was almost as good as hearing her tell a + story. + </p> + <p> + Before coming to Carlisle, Uncle Blair Stanley had been a mere name to us. + Now he was a personality. His letters to the Story Girl, the pictures and + sketches he sent her, her adoring and frequent mention of him, all + combined to make him very real to us. + </p> + <p> + We FELT then, what we did not understand till later years, that our + grown-up relatives did not altogether admire or approve of Uncle Blair. He + belonged to a different world from theirs. They had never known him very + intimately or understood him. I realize now that Uncle Blair was a bit of + a Bohemian—a respectable sort of tramp. Had he been a poor man he + might have been a more successful artist. But he had a small fortune of + his own and, lacking the spur of necessity, or of disquieting ambition, he + remained little more than a clever amateur. Once in a while he painted a + picture which showed what he could do; but for the rest, he was satisfied + to wander over the world, light-hearted and content. We knew that the + Story Girl was thought to resemble him strongly in appearance and + temperament, but she had far more fire and intensity and strength of will—her + inheritance from King and Ward. She would never be satisfied as a dabbler; + whatever her future career should be, into it she would throw all her + powers of mind and heart and soul. + </p> + <p> + But Uncle Blair could do at least one thing surpassingly well. He could + write letters. Such letters! By contrast, Felix and I were secretly + ashamed of father’s epistles. Father could talk well but, as Felix said, + he couldn’t write worth a cent. The letters we had received from him since + his arrival in Rio de Janeiro were mere scrawls, telling us to be good + boys and not trouble Aunt Janet, incidentally adding that he was well and + lonesome. Felix and I were always glad to get his letters, but we never + read them aloud to an admiring circle in the orchard. + </p> + <p> + Uncle Blair was spending the summer in Switzerland; and the letter the + Story Girl read to us, among the fair, frail White Ladies of the Walk, + where the west wind came now with a sigh, and again with a rush, and then + brushed our faces as softly as the down of a thistle, was full of the + glamour of mountain-rimmed lakes, and purple chalets, and “snowy summits + old in story.” We climbed Mount Blanc, saw the Jungfrau soaring into + cloudland, and walked among the gloomy pillars of Bonnivard’s prison. + Finally, the Story Girl told us the tale of the Prisoner of Chillon, in + words that were Byron’s, but in a voice that was all her own. + </p> + <p> + “It must be splendid to go to Europe,” sighed Cecily longingly. + </p> + <p> + “I am going some day,” said the Story Girl airily. + </p> + <p> + We looked at her with a slightly incredulous awe. To us, in those years, + Europe seemed almost as remote and unreachable as the moon. It was hard to + believe that one of US should ever go there. But Aunt Julia had gone—and + SHE had been brought up in Carlisle on this very farm. So it was possible + that the Story Girl might go too. + </p> + <p> + “What will you do there?” asked Peter practically. + </p> + <p> + “I shall learn how to tell stories to all the world,” said the Story Girl + dreamily. + </p> + <p> + It was a lovely, golden-brown evening; the orchard, and the farm-lands + beyond, were full of ruby lights and kissing shadows. Over in the east, + above the Awkward Man’s house, the Wedding Veil of the Proud Princess + floated across the sky, presently turning as rosy as if bedewed with her + heart’s blood. We sat there and talked until the first star lighted a + white taper over the beech hill. + </p> + <p> + Then I remembered that I had forgotten to take my dose of magic seed, and + I hastened to do it, although I was beginning to lose faith in it. I had + not grown a single bit, by the merciless testimony of the hall door. + </p> + <p> + I took the box of seed out of my trunk in the twilit room and swallowed + the decreed pinch. As I did so, Dan’s voice rang out behind me. + </p> + <p> + “Beverley King, what have you got there?” + </p> + <p> + I thrust the box hastily into my trunk and confronted Dan. + </p> + <p> + “None of your business,” I said defiantly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, ‘tis.” Dan was too much in earnest to resent my blunt speech. “Look + here, Bev, is that magic seed? And did you get it from Billy Robinson?” + </p> + <p> + Dan and I looked at each other, suspicion dawning in our eyes. + </p> + <p> + “What do you know about Billy Robinson and his magic seed?” I demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Just this. I bought a box from him for—for—something. He said + he wasn’t going to sell any of it to anybody else. Did he sell any to + you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he did,” I said in disgust—for I was beginning to understand + that Billy and his magic seed were arrant frauds. + </p> + <p> + “What for? YOUR mouth is a decent size,” said Dan. + </p> + <p> + “Mouth? It had nothing to do with my mouth! He said it would make me grow + tall. And it hasn’t—not an inch! I don’t see what you wanted it for! + You are tall enough.” + </p> + <p> + “I got it for my mouth,” said Dan with a shame-faced grin. “The girls in + school laugh at it so. Kate Marr says it’s like a gash in a pie. Billy + said that seed would shrink it for sure.” + </p> + <p> + Well, there it was! Billy had deceived us both. Nor were we the only + victims. We did not find the whole story out at once. Indeed, the summer + was almost over before, in one way or another, the full measure of that + shameless Billy Robinson’s iniquity was revealed to us. But I shall + anticipate the successive relations in this chapter. Every pupil of + Carlisle school, so it eventually appeared, had bought magic seed, under + solemn promise of secrecy. Felix had believed blissfully that it would + make him thin. Cecily’s hair was to become naturally curly, and Sara Ray + was not to be afraid of Peg Bowen any more. It was to make Felicity as + clever as the Story Girl and it was to make the Story Girl as good a cook + as Felicity. What Peter had bought magic seed for remained a secret longer + than any of the others. Finally—it was the night before what we + expected would be the Judgment Day—he confessed to me that he had + taken it to make Felicity fond of him. Skilfully indeed had that astute + Billy played on our respective weaknesses. + </p> + <p> + The keenest edge to our humiliation was given by the discovery that the + magic seed was nothing more or less than caraway, which grew in abundance + at Billy Robinson’s uncle’s in Markdale. Peg Bowen had had nothing to do + with it. + </p> + <p> + Well, we had all been badly hoaxed. But we did not trumpet our wrongs + abroad. We did not even call Billy to account. We thought that least said + was soonest mended in such a matter. We went very softly indeed, lest the + grown-ups, especially that terrible Uncle Roger, should hear of it. + </p> + <p> + “We should have known better than to trust Billy Robinson,” said Felicity, + summing up the case one evening when all had been made known. “After all, + what could you expect from a pig but a grunt?” + </p> + <p> + We were not surprised to find that Billy Robinson’s contribution to the + library fund was the largest handed in by any of the scholars. Cecily said + she didn’t envy him his conscience. But I am afraid she measured his + conscience by her own. I doubt very much if Billy’s troubled him at all. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X. A DAUGHTER OF EVE + </h2> + <p> + “I hate the thought of growing up,” said the Story Girl reflectively, + “because I can never go barefooted then, and nobody will ever see what + beautiful feet I have.” + </p> + <p> + She was sitting, the July sunlight, on the ledge of the open hayloft + window in Uncle Roger’s big barn; and the bare feet below her print skirt + WERE beautiful. They were slender and shapely and satin smooth with arched + insteps, the daintiest of toes, and nails like pink shells. + </p> + <p> + We were all in the hayloft. The Story Girl had been telling us a tale + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Of old, unhappy, far-off things, + And battles long ago.” + </pre> + <p> + Felicity and Cecily were curled up in a corner, and we boys sprawled idly + on the fragrant, sun-warm heaps. We had “stowed” the hay in the loft that + morning for Uncle Roger, so we felt that we had earned the right to loll + on our sweet-smelling couch. Haylofts are delicious places, with just + enough of shadow and soft, uncertain noises to give an agreeable tang of + mystery. The swallows flew in and out of their nest above our heads, and + whenever a sunbeam fell through a chink the air swarmed with golden dust. + Outside of the loft was a vast, sunshiny gulf of blue sky and mellow air, + wherein floated argosies of fluffy cloud, and airy tops of maple and + spruce. + </p> + <p> + Pat was with us, of course, prowling about stealthily, or making frantic, + bootless leaps at the swallows. A cat in a hayloft is a beautiful example + of the eternal fitness of things. We had not heard of this fitness then, + but we all felt that Paddy was in his own place in a hayloft. + </p> + <p> + “I think it is very vain to talk about anything you have yourself being + beautiful,” said Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “I am not a bit vain,” said the Story Girl, with entire truthfulness. “It + is not vanity to know your own good points. It would just be stupidity if + you didn’t. It’s only vanity when you get puffed up about them. I am not a + bit pretty. My only good points are my hair and eyes and feet. So I think + it’s real mean that one of them has to be covered up the most of the time. + I’m always glad when it gets warm enough to go barefooted. But, when I + grow up they’ll have to covered all the time. It IS mean.” + </p> + <p> + “You’ll have to put your shoes and stockings on when you go to the magic + lantern show to-night,” said Felicity in a tone of satisfaction. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know that. I’m thinking of going barefooted.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you wouldn’t! Sara Stanley, you’re not in earnest!” exclaimed + Felicity, her blue eyes filling with horror. + </p> + <p> + The Story Girl winked with the side of her face next to Felix and me, but + the side next the girls changed not a muscle. She dearly loved to “take a + rise” out of Felicity now and then. + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, I would if I just made up my mind to. Why not? Why not bare feet—if + they’re clean—as well as bare hands and face?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you wouldn’t! It would be such a disgrace!” said poor Felicity in + real distress. + </p> + <p> + “We went to school barefooted all June,” argued that wicked Story Girl. + “What is the difference between going to the schoolhouse barefooted in the + daytime and going in the evening?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, there’s EVERY difference. I can’t just explain it—but every one + KNOWS there is a difference. You know it yourself. Oh, PLEASE, don’t do + such a thing, Sara.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I won’t, just to oblige you,” said the Story Girl, who would have + died the death before she would have gone to a “public meeting” + barefooted. + </p> + <p> + We were all rather excited over the magic lantern show which an itinerant + lecturer was to give in the schoolhouse that evening. Even Felix and I, + who had seen such shows galore, were interested, and the rest were quite + wild. There had never been such a thing in Carlisle before. We were all + going, Peter included. Peter went everywhere with us now. He was a regular + attendant at church and Sunday School, where his behaviour was as + irreproachable as if he had been “raised” in the caste of Vere de Vere. It + was a feather in the Story Girl’s cap, for she took all the credit of + having started Peter on the right road. Felicity was resigned, although + the fatal patch on Peter’s best trousers was still an eyesore to her. She + declared she never got any good of the singing, because Peter stood up + then and every one could see the patch. Mrs. James Clark, whose pew was + behind ours, never took her eye off it—or so Felicity averred. + </p> + <p> + But Peter’s stockings were always darned. Aunt Olivia had seen to that, + ever since she heard of Peter’s singular device regarding them on his + first Sunday. She had also given Peter a Bible, of which he was so proud + that he hated to use it lest he should soil it. + </p> + <p> + “I think I’ll wrap it up and keep it in my box,” he said. “I’ve an old + Bible of Aunt Jane’s at home that I can use. I s’pose it’s just the same, + even if it is old, isn’t it?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes,” Cecily had assured him. “The Bible is always the same.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought maybe they’d got some new improvements on it since Aunt Jane’s + day,” said Peter, relieved. + </p> + <p> + “Sara Ray is coming along the lane, and she’s crying,” announced Dan, who + was peering out of a knot-hole on the opposite side of the loft. + </p> + <p> + “Sara Ray is crying half her time,” said Cecily impatiently. “I’m sure she + cries a quartful of tears a month. There are times when you can’t help + crying. But I hide then. Sara just goes and cries in public.” + </p> + <p> + The lachrymose Sara presently joined us and we discovered the cause of her + tears to be the doleful fact that her mother had forbidden her to go to + the magic lantern show that night. We all showed the sympathy we felt. + </p> + <p> + “She SAID yesterday you could go,” said the Story Girl indignantly. “Why + has she changed her mind?” + </p> + <p> + “Because of the measles in Markdale,” sobbed Sara. “She says Markdale is + full of them, and there’ll be sure to be some of the Markdale people at + the show. So I’m not to go. And I’ve never seen a magic lantern—I’ve + never seen ANYTHING.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t believe there’s any danger of catching measles,” said Felicity. + “If there was we wouldn’t be allowed to go.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish I COULD get the measles,” said Sara defiantly. “Maybe I’d be of + some importance to ma then.” + </p> + <p> + “Suppose Cecily goes down with you and coaxes your mother,” suggested the + Story Girl. “Perhaps she’d let you go then. She likes Cecily. She doesn’t + like either Felicity or me, so it would only make matters worse for us to + try.” + </p> + <p> + “Ma’s gone to town—pa and her went this afternoon—and they’re + not coming back till to-morrow. There’s nobody home but Judy Pineau and + me.” + </p> + <p> + “Then,” said the Story Girl, “why don’t you just go to the show anyhow? + Your mother won’t ever know, if you coax Judy to hold her tongue.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but that’s wrong,” said Felicity. “You shouldn’t put Sara up to + disobeying her mother.” + </p> + <p> + Now, Felicity for once was undoubtedly right. The Story Girl’s suggestion + WAS wrong; and if it had been Cecily who protested, the Story Girl would + probably have listened to her, and proceeded no further in the matter. But + Felicity was one of those unfortunate people whose protests against + wrong-doing serve only to drive the wrong-doer further on her sinful way. + </p> + <p> + The Story Girl resented Felicity’s superior tone, and proceeded to tempt + Sara in right good earnest. The rest of us held our tongues. It was, we + told ourselves, Sara’s own lookout. + </p> + <p> + “I have a good mind to do it,” said Sara, “but I can’t get my good + clothes; they’re in the spare room, and ma locked the door, for fear + somebody would get at the fruit cake. I haven’t a single thing to wear, + except my school gingham.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that’s new and pretty,” said the Story Girl. “We’ll lend you some + things. You can have my lace collar. That’ll make the gingham quite + elegant. And Cecily will lend you her second best hat.” + </p> + <p> + “But I’ve no shoes or stockings. They’re locked up too.” + </p> + <p> + “You can have a pair of mine,” said Felicity, who probably thought that + since Sara was certain to yield to temptation, she might as well be garbed + decently for her transgression. + </p> + <p> + Sara did yield. When the Story Girl’s voice entreated it was not easy to + resist its temptation, even if you wanted to. That evening, when we + started for the schoolhouse, Sara Ray was among us, decked out in borrowed + plumes. + </p> + <p> + “Suppose she DOES catch the measles?” Felicity said aside. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t believe there’ll be anybody there from Markdale. The lecturer is + going to Markdale next week. They’ll wait for that,” said the Story Girl + airily. + </p> + <p> + It was a cool, dewy evening, and we walked down the long, red hill in the + highest of spirits. Over a valley filled with beech and spruce was a + sunset afterglow—creamy yellow and a hue that was not so much red as + the dream of red, with a young moon swung low in it. The air was sweet + with the breath of mown hayfields where swaths of clover had been steeping + in the sun. Wild roses grew pinkly along the fences, and the roadsides + were star-dusted with buttercups. + </p> + <p> + Those of us who had nothing the matter with our consciences enjoyed our + walk to the little whitewashed schoolhouse in the valley. Felicity and + Cecily were void of offence towards all men. The Story Girl walked + uprightly like an incarnate flame in her crimson silk. Her pretty feet + were hidden in the tan-coloured, buttoned Paris boots which were the + secret envy of every school girl in Carlisle. + </p> + <p> + But Sara Ray was not happy. Her face was so melancholy that the Story Girl + lost patience with her. The Story Girl herself was not altogether at ease. + Probably her own conscience was troubling her. But admit it she would not. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Sara,” she said, “you just take my advice and go into this with all + your heart if you go at all. Never mind if it is bad. There’s no use being + naughty if you spoil your fun by wishing all the time you were good. You + can repent afterwards, but there is no use in mixing the two things + together.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m not repenting,” protested Sara. “I’m only scared of ma finding it + out.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” The Story Girl’s voice expressed her scorn. For remorse she had + understanding and sympathy; but fear of her fellow creatures was something + unknown to her. “Didn’t Judy Pineau promise you solemnly she wouldn’t + tell?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; but maybe some one who sees me there will mention it to ma.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, if you’re so scared you’d better not go. It isn’t too late. Here’s + your own gate,” said Cecily. + </p> + <p> + But Sara could not give up the delights of the show. So she walked on, a + small, miserable testimony that the way of the transgressor is never easy, + even when said transgressor is only a damsel of eleven. + </p> + <p> + The magic lantern show was a splendid one. The views were good and the + lecturer witty. We repeated his jokes to each other all the way home. + Sara, who had not enjoyed the exhibition at all, seemed to feel more + cheerful when it was over and she was going home. The Story Girl on the + contrary was gloomy. + </p> + <p> + “There WERE Markdale people there,” she confided to me, “and the + Williamsons live next door to the Cowans, who have measles. I wish I’d + never egged Sara on to going—but don’t tell Felicity I said so. If + Sara Ray had really enjoyed the show I wouldn’t mind. But she didn’t. I + could see that. So I’ve done wrong and made her do wrong—and there’s + nothing to show for it.” + </p> + <p> + The night was scented and mysterious. The wind was playing an eerie + fleshless melody in the reeds of the brook hollow. The sky was dark and + starry, and across it the Milky Way flung its shimmering misty ribbons. + </p> + <p> + “There’s four hundred million stars in the Milky Way,” quoth Peter, who + frequently astonished us by knowing more than any hired boy could be + expected to. He had a retentive memory, and never forgot anything he heard + or read. The few books left to him by his oft-referred-to Aunt Jane had + stocked his mind with a miscellaneous information which sometimes made + Felix and me doubt if we knew as much as Peter after all. Felicity was so + impressed by his knowledge of astronomy that she dropped back from the + other girls and walked beside him. She had not done so before because he + was barefooted. It was permissible for hired boys to go to public meetings—when + not held in the church—with bare feet, and no particular disgrace + attached to it. But Felicity would not walk with a barefooted companion. + It was dark now, so nobody would notice his feet. + </p> + <p> + “I know a story about the Milky Way,” said the Story Girl, brightening up. + “I read it in a book of Aunt Louisa’s in town, and I learned it off by + heart. Once there were two archangels in heaven, named Zerah and Zulamith—” + </p> + <p> + “Have angels names—same as people?” interrupted Peter. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, of course. They MUST have. They’d be all mixed up if they hadn’t.” + </p> + <p> + “And when I’m an angel—if I ever get to be one—will my name + still be Peter?” + </p> + <p> + “No. You’ll have a new name up there,” said Cecily gently. “It says so in + the Bible.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I’m glad of that. Peter would be such a funny name for an angel. + And what is the difference between angels and archangels?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, archangels are angels that have been angels so long that they’ve had + time to grow better and brighter and more beautiful than newer angels,” + said the Story Girl, who probably made that explanation up on the spur of + the moment, just to pacify Peter. + </p> + <p> + “How long does it take for an angel to grow into an archangel?” pursued + Peter. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don’t know. Millions of years likely. And even then I don’t suppose + ALL the angels do. A good many of them must just stay plain angels, I + expect.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall be satisfied just to be a plain angel,” said Felicity modestly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, see here, if you’re going to interrupt and argue over everything, + we’ll never get the story told,” said Felix. “Dry up, all of you, and let + the Story Girl go on.” + </p> + <p> + We dried up, and the Story Girl went on. + </p> + <p> + “Zerah and Zulamith loved each other, just as mortals love, and this is + forbidden by the laws of the Almighty. And because Zerah and Zulamith had + so broken God’s law they were banished from His presence to the uttermost + bounds of the universe. If they had been banished TOGETHER it would have + been no punishment; so Zerah was exiled to a star on one side of the + universe, and Zulamith was sent to a star on the other side of the + universe; and between them was a fathomless abyss which thought itself + could not cross. Only one thing could cross it—and that was love. + Zulamith yearned for Zerah with such fidelity and longing that he began to + build up a bridge of light from his star; and Zerah, not knowing this, but + loving and longing for him, began to build a similar bridge of light from + her star. For a thousand thousand years they both built the bridge of + light, and at last they met and sprang into each other’s arms. Their toil + and loneliness and suffering were all over and forgotten, and the bridge + they had built spanned the gulf between their stars of exile. + </p> + <p> + “Now, when the other archangels saw what had been done they flew in fear + and anger to God’s white throne, and cried to Him, + </p> + <p> + “‘See what these rebellious ones have done! They have built them a bridge + of light across the universe, and set Thy decree of separation at naught. + Do Thou, then, stretch forth Thine arm and destroy their impious work.’ + </p> + <p> + “They ceased—and all heaven was hushed. Through the silence sounded + the voice of the Almighty. + </p> + <p> + “‘Nay,’ He said, ‘whatsoever in my universe true love hath builded not + even the Almighty can destroy. The bridge must stand forever.’ + </p> + <p> + “And,” concluded the Story Girl, her face upturned to the sky and her big + eyes filled with starlight, “it stands still. That bridge is the Milky + Way.” + </p> + <p> + “What a lovely story,” sighed Sara Ray, who had been wooed to a temporary + forgetfulness of her woes by its charm. + </p> + <p> + The rest of us came back to earth, feeling that we had been wandering + among the hosts of heaven. We were not old enough to appreciate fully the + wonderful meaning of the legend; but we felt its beauty and its appeal. To + us forevermore the Milky Way would be, not Peter’s overwhelming garland of + suns, but the lucent bridge, love-created, on which the banished + archangels crossed from star to star. + </p> + <p> + We had to go up Sara Ray’s lane with her to her very door, for she was + afraid Peg Bowen would catch her if she went alone. Then the Story Girl + and I walked up the hill together. Peter and Felicity lagged behind. + Cecily and Dan and Felix were walking before us, hand in hand, singing a + hymn. Cecily had a very sweet voice, and I listened in delight. But the + Story Girl sighed. + </p> + <p> + “What if Sara does take the measles?” she asked miserably. + </p> + <p> + “Everyone has to have the measles sometime,” I said comfortingly, “and the + younger you are the better.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI. THE STORY GIRL DOES PENANCE + </h2> + <p> + Ten days later, Aunt Olivia and Uncle Roger went to town one evening, to + remain over night, and the next day. Peter and the Story Girl were to stay + at Uncle Alec’s during their absence. + </p> + <p> + We were in the orchard at sunset, listening to the story of King Cophetua + and the beggar maid—all of us, except Peter, who was hoeing turnips, + and Felicity, who had gone down the hill on an errand to Mrs. Ray. + </p> + <p> + The Story Girl impersonated the beggar maid so vividly, and with such an + illusion of beauty, that we did not wonder in the least at the king’s love + for her. I had read the story before, and it had been my opinion that it + was “rot.” No king, I felt certain, would ever marry a beggar maid when he + had princesses galore from whom to choose. But now I understood it all. + </p> + <p> + When Felicity returned we concluded from her expression that she had news. + And she had. + </p> + <p> + “Sara is real sick,” she said, with regret, and something that was not + regret mingled in her voice. “She has a cold and sore throat, and she is + feverish. Mrs. Ray says if she isn’t better by the morning she’s going to + send for the doctor. AND SHE IS AFRAID IT’S THE MEASLES.” + </p> + <p> + Felicity flung the last sentence at the Story Girl, who turned very pale. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, do you suppose she caught them at the magic lantern show?” she said + miserably. + </p> + <p> + “Where else could she have caught them?” said Felicity mercilessly. “I + didn’t see her, of course—Mrs. Ray met me at the door and told me + not to come in. But Mrs. Ray says the measles always go awful hard with + the Rays—if they don’t die completely of them it leaves them deaf or + half blind, or something like that. Of course,” added Felicity, her heart + melting at sight of the misery in the Story Girl’s piteous eyes, “Mrs. Ray + always looks on the dark side, and it may not be the measles Sara has + after all.” + </p> + <p> + But Felicity had done her work too thoroughly. The Story Girl was not to + be comforted. + </p> + <p> + “I’d give anything if I’d never put Sara up to going to that show,” she + said. “It’s all my fault—but the punishment falls on Sara, and that + isn’t fair. I’d go this minute and confess the whole thing to Mrs. Ray; + but if I did it might get Sara into more trouble, and I mustn’t do that. I + sha’n’t sleep a wink to-night.” + </p> + <p> + I don’t think she did. She looked very pale and woebegone when she came + down to breakfast. But, for all that, there was a certain exhilaration + about her. + </p> + <p> + “I’m going to do penance all day for coaxing Sara to disobey her mother,” + she announced with chastened triumph. + </p> + <p> + “Penance?” we murmured in bewilderment. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I’m going to deny myself everything I like, and do everything I can + think of that I don’t like, just to punish myself for being so wicked. And + if any of you think of anything I don’t, just mention it to me. I thought + it out last night. Maybe Sara won’t be so very sick if God sees I’m truly + sorry.” + </p> + <p> + “He can see it anyhow, without your doing anything,” said Cecily. + </p> + <p> + “Well, my conscience will feel better.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t believe Presbyterians ever do penance,” said Felicity dubiously. + “I never heard of one doing it.” + </p> + <p> + But the rest of us rather looked with favour on the Story Girl’s idea. We + felt sure that she would do penance as picturesquely and thoroughly as she + did everything else. + </p> + <p> + “You might put peas in your shoes, you know,” suggested Peter. + </p> + <p> + “The very thing! I never thought of that. I’ll get some after breakfast. + I’m not going to eat a single thing all day, except bread and water—and + not much of that!” + </p> + <p> + This, we felt, was a heroic measure indeed. To sit down to one of Aunt + Janet’s meals, in ordinary health and appetite, and eat nothing but bread + and water—that would be penance with a vengeance! We felt WE could + never do it. But the Story Girl did it. We admired and pitied her. But now + I do not think that she either needed our pity or deserved our admiration. + Her ascetic fare was really sweeter to her than honey of Hymettus. She + was, though quite unconsciously, acting a part, and tasting all the subtle + joy of the artist, which is so much more exquisite than any material + pleasure. + </p> + <p> + Aunt Janet, of course, noticed the Story Girl’s abstinence and asked if + she was sick. + </p> + <p> + “No. I am just doing penance, Aunt Janet, for a sin I committed. I can’t + confess it, because that would bring trouble on another person. So I’m + going to do penance all day. You don’t mind, do you?” + </p> + <p> + Aunt Janet was in a very good humour that morning, so she merely laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Not if you don’t go too far with your nonsense,” she said tolerantly. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you. And will you give me a handful of hard peas after breakfast, + Aunt Janet? I want to put them in my shoes.” + </p> + <p> + “There isn’t any; I used the last in the soup yesterday.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” The Story Girl was much disappointed. “Then I suppose I’ll have to + do without. The new peas wouldn’t hurt enough. They’re so soft they’d just + squash flat.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll tell you,” said Peter, “I’ll pick up a lot of those little round + pebbles on Mr. King’s front walk. They’ll be just as good as peas.” + </p> + <p> + “You’ll do nothing of the sort,” said Aunt Janet. “Sara must not do + penance in that way. She would wear holes in her stockings, and might + seriously bruise her feet.” + </p> + <p> + “What would you say if I took a whip and whipped my bare shoulders till + the blood came?” demanded the Story Girl aggrieved. + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn’t SAY anything,” retorted Aunt Janet. “I’d simply turn you over + my knee and give you a sound, solid spanking, Miss Sara. You’d find that + penance enough.” + </p> + <p> + The Story Girl was crimson with indignation. To have such a remark made to + you—when you were fourteen and a half—and before the boys, + too! Really, Aunt Janet could be very dreadful. + </p> + <p> + It was vacation, and there was not much to do that day; we were soon free + to seek the orchard. But the Story Girl would not come. She had seated + herself in the darkest, hottest corner of the kitchen, with a piece of old + cotton in her hand. + </p> + <p> + “I am not going to play to-day,” she said, “and I’m not going to tell a + single story. Aunt Janet won’t let me put pebbles in my shoes, but I’ve + put a thistle next my skin on my back and it sticks into me if I lean back + the least bit. And I’m going to work buttonholes all over this cotton. I + hate working buttonholes worse than anything in the world, so I’m going to + work them all day.” + </p> + <p> + “What’s the good of working buttonholes on an old rag?” asked Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “It isn’t any good. The beauty of penance is that it makes you feel + uncomfortable. So it doesn’t matter what you do, whether it’s useful or + not, so long as it’s nasty. Oh, I wonder how Sara is this morning.” + </p> + <p> + “Mother’s going down this afternoon,” said Felicity. “She says none of us + must go near the place till we know whether it is the measles or not.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve thought of a great penance,” said Cecily eagerly. “Don’t go to the + missionary meeting to-night.” + </p> + <p> + The Story Girl looked piteous. + </p> + <p> + “I thought of that myself—but I CAN’T stay home, Cecily. It would be + more than flesh and blood could endure. I MUST hear that missionary speak. + They say he was all but eaten by cannibals once. Just think how many new + stories I’d have to tell after I’d heard him! No, I must go, but I’ll tell + you what I’ll do. I’ll wear my school dress and hat. THAT will be penance. + Felicity, when you set the table for dinner, put the broken-handled knife + for me. I hate it so. And I’m going to take a dose of Mexican Tea every + two hours. It’s such dreadful tasting stuff—but it’s a good blood + purifier, so Aunt Janet can’t object to it.” + </p> + <p> + The Story Girl carried out her self-imposed penance fully. All day she sat + in the kitchen and worked buttonholes, subsisting on bread and water and + Mexican Tea. + </p> + <p> + Felicity did a mean thing. She went to work and made little raisin pies, + right there in the kitchen before the Story Girl. The smell of raisin pies + is something to tempt an anchorite; and the Story Girl was exceedingly + fond of them. Felicity ate two in her very presence, and then brought the + rest out to us in the orchard. The Story Girl could see us through the + window, carousing without stint on raisin pies and Uncle Edward’s + cherries. But she worked on at her buttonholes. She would not look at the + exciting serial in the new magazine Dan brought home from the post-office, + neither would she open a letter from her father. Pat came over, but his + most seductive purrs won no notice from his mistress, who refused herself + the pleasure of even patting him. + </p> + <p> + Aunt Janet could not go down the hill in the afternoon to find out how + Sara was because company came to tea—the Millwards from Markdale. + Mr. Millward was a doctor, and Mrs. Millward was a B.A. Aunt Janet was + very desirous that everything should be as nice as possible, and we were + all sent to our rooms before tea to wash and dress up. The Story Girl + slipped over home, and when she came back we gasped. She had combed her + hair out straight, and braided it in a tight, kinky, pudgy braid; and she + wore an old dress of faded print, with holes in the elbows and ragged + flounces, which was much too short for her. + </p> + <p> + “Sara Stanley, have you taken leave of your senses?” demanded Aunt Janet. + “What do you mean by putting on such a rig! Don’t you know I have company + to tea?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and that is just why I put it on, Aunt Janet. I want to mortify the + flesh—” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll ‘mortify’ you, if I catch you showing yourself to the Millwards like + that, my girl! Go right home and dress yourself decently—or eat your + supper in the kitchen.” + </p> + <p> + The Story Girl chose the latter alternative. She was highly indignant. I + verily believe that to sit at the dining-room table, in that shabby, + outgrown dress, conscious of looking her ugliest, and eating only bread + and water before the critical Millwards would have been positive bliss to + her. + </p> + <p> + When we went to the missionary meeting that evening, the Story Girl wore + her school dress and hat, while Felicity and Cecily were in their pretty + muslins. And she had tied her hair with a snuff-brown ribbon which was + very unbecoming to her. + </p> + <p> + The first person we saw in the church porch was Mrs. Ray. She told us that + Sara had nothing worse than a feverish cold. + </p> + <p> + The missionary had at least seven happy listeners that night. We were all + glad that Sara did not have measles, and the Story Girl was radiant. + </p> + <p> + “Now you see all your penance was wasted,” said Felicity, as we walked + home, keeping close together because of the rumour that Peg Bowen was + abroad. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don’t know. I feel better since I punished myself. But I’m going to + make up for it to-morrow,” said the Story Girl energetically. “In fact, + I’ll begin to-night. I’m going to the pantry as soon as I get home, and + I’ll read father’s letter before I go to bed. Wasn’t the missionary + splendid? That cannibal story was simply grand. I tried to remember every + word, so that I can tell it just as he told it. Missionaries are such + noble people.” + </p> + <p> + “I’d like to be a missionary and have adventures like that,” said Felix. + </p> + <p> + “It would be all right if you could be sure the cannibals would be + interrupted in the nick of time as his were,” said Dan. “But sposen they + weren’t?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing would prevent cannibals from eating Felix if they once caught + him,” giggled Felicity. “He’s so nice and fat.” + </p> + <p> + I am sure Felix felt very unlike a missionary at that precise moment. + </p> + <p> + “I’m going to put two cents more a week in my missionary box than I’ve + been doing,” said Cecily determinedly. + </p> + <p> + Two cents more a week out of Cecily’s egg money, meant something of a + sacrifice. It inspired the rest of us. We all decided to increase our + weekly contribution by a cent or so. And Peter, who had had no missionary + box at all, up to this time, determined to start one. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t seem to be able to feel as int’rested in missionaries as you + folks do,” he said, “but maybe if I begin to give something I’ll get + int’rested. I’ll want to know how my money’s being spent. I won’t be able + to give much. When your father’s run away, and your mother goes out + washing, and you’re only old enough to get fifty cents a week, you can’t + give much to the heathen. But I’ll do the best I can. My Aunt Jane was + fond of missions. Are there any Methodist heathen? I s’pose I ought to + give my box to them, rather than to Presbyterian heathen.” + </p> + <p> + “No, it’s only after they’re converted that they’re anything in + particular,” said Felicity. “Before that, they’re just plain heathen. But + if you want your money to go to a Methodist missionary you can give it to + the Methodist minister at Markdale. I guess the Presbyterians can get + along without it, and look after their own heathen.” + </p> + <p> + “Just smell Mrs. Sampson’s flowers,” said Cecily, as we passed a trim + white paling close to the road, over which blew odours sweeter than the + perfume of Araby’s shore. “Her roses are all out and that bed of Sweet + William is a sight by daylight.” + </p> + <p> + “Sweet William is a dreadful name for a flower,” said the Story Girl. + “William is a man’s name, and men are NEVER sweet. They are a great many + nice things, but they are NOT sweet and shouldn’t be. That is for women. + Oh, look at the moonshine on the road in that gap between the spruces! I’d + like a dress of moonshine, with stars for buttons.” + </p> + <p> + “It wouldn’t do,” said Felicity decidedly. “You could see through it.” + </p> + <p> + Which seemed to settle the question of moonshine dresses effectually. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII. THE BLUE CHEST OF RACHEL WARD + </h2> + <p> + “It’s utterly out of the question,” said Aunt Janet seriously. When Aunt + Janet said seriously that anything was out of the question it meant that + she was thinking about it, and would probably end up by doing it. If a + thing really was out of the question she merely laughed and refused to + discuss it at all. + </p> + <p> + The particular matter in or out of the question that opening day of August + was a project which Uncle Edward had recently mooted. Uncle Edward’s + youngest daughter was to be married; and Uncle Edward had written over, + urging Uncle Alec, Aunt Janet and Aunt Olivia to go down to Halifax for + the wedding and spend a week there. + </p> + <p> + Uncle Alec and Aunt Olivia were eager to go; but Aunt Janet at first + declared it was impossible. + </p> + <p> + “How could we go away and leave the place to the mercy of all those young + ones?” she demanded. “We’d come home and find them all sick, and the house + burned down.” + </p> + <p> + “Not a bit of fear of it,” scoffed Uncle Roger. “Felicity is as good a + housekeeper as you are; and I shall be here to look after them all, and + keep them from burning the house down. You’ve been promising Edward for + years to visit him, and you’ll never have a better chance. The haying is + over and harvest isn’t on, and Alec needs a change. He isn’t looking well + at all.” + </p> + <p> + I think it was Uncle Roger’s last argument which convinced Aunt Janet. In + the end she decided to go. Uncle Roger’s house was to be closed, and he + and Peter and the Story Girl were to take up their abode with us. + </p> + <p> + We were all delighted. Felicity, in especial, seemed to be in seventh + heaven. To be left in sole charge of a big house, with three meals a day + to plan and prepare, with poultry and cows and dairy and garden to + superintend, apparently furnished forth Felicity’s conception of Paradise. + Of course, we were all to help; but Felicity was to “run things,” and she + gloried in it. + </p> + <p> + The Story Girl was pleased, too. + </p> + <p> + “Felicity is going to give me cooking lessons,” she confided to me, as we + walked in the orchard. “Isn’t that fine? It will be easier when there are + no grown-ups around to make me nervous, and laugh if I make mistakes.” + </p> + <p> + Uncle Alec and aunts left on Monday morning. Poor Aunt Janet was full of + dismal forebodings, and gave us so many charges and warnings that we did + not try to remember any of them; Uncle Alec merely told us to be good and + mind what Uncle Roger said. Aunt Olivia laughed at us out of her + pansy-blue eyes, and told us she knew exactly what we felt like and hoped + we’d have a gorgeous time. + </p> + <p> + “Mind they go to bed at a decent hour,” Aunt Janet called back to Uncle + Roger as she drove out of the gate. “And if anything dreadful happens + telegraph us.” + </p> + <p> + Then they were really gone and we were all left “to keep house.” + </p> + <p> + Uncle Roger and Peter went away to their work. Felicity at once set the + preparations for dinner a-going, and allotted to each of us his portion of + service. The Story Girl was to prepare the potatoes; Felix and Dan were to + pick and shell the peas; Cecily was to attend the fire; I was to peel the + turnips. Felicity made our mouths water by announcing that she was going + to make a roly-poly jam pudding for dinner. + </p> + <p> + I peeled my turnips on the back porch, put them in their pot, and set them + on the stove. Then I was at liberty to watch the others, who had longer + jobs. The kitchen was a scene of happy activity. The Story Girl peeled her + potatoes, somewhat slowly and awkwardly—for she was not deft at + household tasks; Dan and Felix shelled peas and tormented Pat by attaching + pods to his ears and tail; Felicity, flushed and serious, measured and + stirred skilfully. + </p> + <p> + “I am sitting on a tragedy,” said the Story Girl suddenly. + </p> + <p> + Felix and I stared. We were not quite sure what a “tragedy” was, but we + did not think it was an old blue wooden chest, such as the Story Girl was + undoubtedly sitting on, if eyesight counted for anything. + </p> + <p> + The old chest filled up the corner between the table and the wall. Neither + Felix nor I had ever thought about it particularly. It was very large and + heavy, and Felicity generally said hard things of it when she swept the + kitchen. + </p> + <p> + “This old blue chest holds a tragedy,” explained the Story Girl. “I know a + story about it.” + </p> + <p> + “Cousin Rachel Ward’s wedding things are all in that old chest,” said + Felicity. + </p> + <p> + Who was Cousin Rachel Ward? And why were her wedding things shut up in an + old blue chest in Uncle Alec’s kitchen? We demanded the tale instantly. + The Story Girl told it to us as she peeled her potatoes. Perhaps the + potatoes suffered—Felicity declared the eyes were not properly done + at all—but the story did not. + </p> + <p> + “It is a sad story,” said the Story Girl, “and it happened fifty years + ago, when Grandfather and Grandmother King were quite young. Grandmother’s + cousin Rachel Ward came to spend a winter with them. She belonged to + Montreal and she was an orphan too, just like the Family Ghost. I have + never heard what she looked like, but she MUST have been beautiful, of + course.” + </p> + <p> + “Mother says she was awful sentimental and romantic,” interjected + Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “Well, anyway, she met Will Montague that winter. He was handsome—everybody + says so”— + </p> + <p> + “And an awful flirt,” said Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “Felicity, I WISH you wouldn’t interrupt. It spoils the effect. What would + you feel like if I went and kept stirring things that didn’t belong to it + into that pudding? I feel just the same way. Well, Will Montague fell in + love with Rachel Ward, and she with him, and it was all arranged that they + were to be married from here in the spring. Poor Rachel was so happy that + winter; she made all her wedding things with her own hands. Girls did, + then, you know, for there was no such thing as a sewing-machine. Well, at + last in April the wedding day came, and all the guests were here, and + Rachel was dressed in her wedding robes, waiting for her bridegroom. And”—the + Story Girl laid down her knife and potato and clasped her wet hands—“WILL + MONTAGUE NEVER CAME!” + </p> + <p> + We felt as much of a shock as if we had been one of the expectant guests + ourselves. + </p> + <p> + “What happened to him? Was HE killed too?” asked Felix. + </p> + <p> + The Story Girl sighed and resumed her work. + </p> + <p> + “No, indeed. I wish he had been. THAT would have been suitable and + romantic. No, it was just something horrid. He had to run away for debt! + Fancy! He acted mean right through, Aunt Janet says. He never sent even a + word to Rachel, and she never heard from him again.” + </p> + <p> + “Pig!” said Felix forcibly. + </p> + <p> + “She was broken-hearted of course. When she found out what had happened, + she took all her wedding things, and her supply of linen, and some + presents that had been given her, and packed them all away in this old + blue chest. Then she went away back to Montreal, and took the key with + her. She never came back to the Island again—I suppose she couldn’t + bear to. And she has lived in Montreal ever since and never married. She + is an old woman now—nearly seventy-five. And this chest has never + been opened since.” + </p> + <p> + “Mother wrote to Cousin Rachel ten years ago,” said Cecily, “and asked her + if she might open the chest to see if the moths had got into it. There’s a + crack in the back as big as your finger. Cousin Rachel wrote back that if + it wasn’t for one thing that was in the trunk she would ask mother to open + the chest and dispose of the things as she liked. But she could not bear + that any one but herself should see or touch that one thing. So she wanted + it left as it was. Ma said she washed her hands of it, moths or no moths. + She said if Cousin Rachel had to move that chest every time the floor had + to be scrubbed it would cure her of her sentimental nonsense. But I + think,” concluded Cecily, “that I would feel just like Cousin Rachel in + her place.” + </p> + <p> + “What was the thing she couldn’t bear any one to see?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Ma thinks it was her wedding dress. But father says he believes it was + Will Montague’s picture,” said Felicity. “He saw her put it in. Father + knows some of the things that are in the chest. He was ten years old, and + he saw her pack it. There’s a white muslin wedding dress and a veil—and—and—a—a”—Felicity + dropped her eyes and blushed painfully. + </p> + <p> + “A petticoat, embroidered by hand from hem to belt,” said the Story Girl + calmly. + </p> + <p> + “And a china fruit basket with an apple on the handle,” went on Felicity, + much relieved. “And a tea set, and a blue candle-stick.” + </p> + <p> + “I’d dearly love to see all the things that are in it,” said the Story + Girl. + </p> + <p> + “Pa says it must never be opened without Cousin Rachel’s permission,” said + Cecily. + </p> + <p> + Felix and I looked at the chest reverently. It had taken on a new + significance in our eyes, and seemed like a tomb wherein lay buried some + dead romance of the vanished years. + </p> + <p> + “What happened to Will Montague?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing!” said the Story Girl viciously. “He just went on living and + flourishing. He patched up matters with his creditors after awhile, and + came back to the Island; and in the end he married a real nice girl, with + money, and was very happy. Did you ever HEAR of anything so unjust?” + </p> + <p> + “Beverley King,” suddenly cried Felicity, who had been peering into a pot, + “YOU’VE GONE AND PUT THE TURNIPS ON TO BOIL WHOLE JUST LIKE POTATOES!” + </p> + <p> + “Wasn’t that right?” I cried, in an agony of shame. + </p> + <p> + “Right!” but Felicity had already whisked the turnips out, and was slicing + them, while all the others were laughing at me. I had added a tradition on + my own account to the family archives. + </p> + <p> + Uncle Roger roared when he heard it; and he roared again at night over + Peter’s account of Felix attempting to milk a cow. Felix had previously + acquired the knack of extracting milk from the udder. But he had never + before tried to “milk a whole cow.” He did not get on well; the cow + tramped on his foot, and finally upset the bucket. + </p> + <p> + “What are you to do when a cow won’t stand straight?” spluttered Felix + angrily. + </p> + <p> + “That’s the question,” said Uncle Roger, shaking his head gravely. + </p> + <p> + Uncle Roger’s laughter was hard to bear, but his gravity was harder. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile, in the pantry the Story Girl, apron-enshrouded, was being + initiated into the mysteries of bread-making. Under Felicity’s eyes she + set the bread, and on the morrow she was to bake it. + </p> + <p> + “The first thing you must do in the morning is knead it well,” said + Felicity, “and the earlier it’s done the better—because it’s such a + warm night.” + </p> + <p> + With that we went to bed, and slept as soundly as if tragedies of blue + chests and turnips and crooked cows had no place in the scheme of things + at all. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII. AN OLD PROVERB WITH A NEW MEANING + </h2> + <p> + It was half-past five when we boys got up the next morning. We were joined + on the stairs by Felicity, yawning and rosy. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, dear me, I overslept myself. Uncle Roger wanted breakfast at six. + Well, I suppose the fire is on anyhow, for the Story Girl is up. I guess + she got up early to knead the bread. She couldn’t sleep all night for + worrying over it.” + </p> + <p> + The fire was on, and a flushed and triumphant Story Girl was taking a loaf + of bread from the oven. + </p> + <p> + “Just look,” she said proudly. “I have every bit of the bread baked. I got + up at three, and it was lovely and light, so I just gave it a right good + kneading and popped it into the oven. And it’s all done and out of the + way. But the loaves don’t seem quite as big as they should be,” she added + doubtfully. + </p> + <p> + “Sara Stanley!” Felicity flew across the kitchen. “Do you mean that you + put the bread right into the oven after you kneaded it without leaving it + to rise a second time?” + </p> + <p> + The Story Girl turned quite pale. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I did,” she faltered. “Oh, Felicity, wasn’t it right?” + </p> + <p> + “You’ve ruined the bread,” said Felicity flatly. “It’s as heavy as a + stone. I declare, Sara Stanley, I’d rather have a little common sense than + be a great story teller.” + </p> + <p> + Bitter indeed was the poor Story Girl’s mortification. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t tell Uncle Roger,” she implored humbly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I won’t tell him,” promised Felicity amiably. “It’s lucky there’s + enough old bread to do to-day. This will go to the hens. But it’s an awful + waste of good flour.” + </p> + <p> + The Story Girl crept out with Felix and me to the morning orchard, while + Dan and Peter went to do the barn work. + </p> + <p> + “It isn’t ANY use for me to try to learn to cook,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Never mind,” I said consolingly. “You can tell splendid stories.” + </p> + <p> + “But what good would that do a hungry boy?” wailed the Story Girl. + </p> + <p> + “Boys ain’t ALWAYS hungry,” said Felix gravely. “There’s times when they + ain’t.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t believe it,” said the Story Girl drearily. + </p> + <p> + “Besides,” added Felix in the tone of one who says while there is life + there is yet hope, “you may learn to cook yet if you keep on trying.” + </p> + <p> + “But Aunt Olivia won’t let me waste the stuff. My only hope was to learn + this week. But I suppose Felicity is so disgusted with me now that she + won’t give me any more lessons.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t care,” said Felix. “I like you better than Felicity, even if you + can’t cook. There’s lots of folks can make bread. But there isn’t many who + can tell a story like you.” + </p> + <p> + “But it’s better to be useful than just interesting,” sighed the Story + Girl bitterly. + </p> + <p> + And Felicity, who was useful, would, in her secret soul, have given + anything to be interesting. Which is the way of human nature. + </p> + <p> + Company descended on us that afternoon. First came Aunt Janet’s sister, + Mrs. Patterson, with a daughter of sixteen years and a son of two. They + were followed by a buggy-load of Markdale people; and finally, Mrs. Elder + Frewen and her sister from Vancouver, with two small daughters of the + latter, arrived. + </p> + <p> + “It never rains but it pours,” said Uncle Roger, as he went out to take + their horse. But Felicity’s foot was on her native heath. She had been + baking all the afternoon, and, with a pantry well stocked with biscuits, + cookies, cakes, and pies, she cared not if all Carlisle came to tea. + Cecily set the table, and the Story Girl waited on it and washed all the + dishes afterwards. But all the blushing honours fell to Felicity, who + received so many compliments that her airs were quite unbearable for the + rest of the week. She presided at the head of the table with as much grace + and dignity as if she had been five times twelve years old, and seemed to + know by instinct just who took sugar and who took it not. She was flushed + with excitement and pleasure, and was so pretty that I could hardly eat + for looking at her—which is the highest compliment in a boy’s power + to pay. + </p> + <p> + The Story Girl, on the contrary, was under eclipse. She was pale and + lustreless from her disturbed night and early rising; and no opportunity + offered to tell a melting tale. Nobody took any notice of her. It was + Felicity’s day. + </p> + <p> + After tea Mrs. Frewen and her sister wished to visit their father’s grave + in the Carlisle churchyard. It appeared that everybody wanted to go with + them; but it was evident that somebody must stay home with Jimmy + Patterson, who had just fallen sound asleep on the kitchen sofa. Dan + finally volunteered to look after him. He had a new Henty book which he + wanted to finish, and that, he said, was better fun than a walk to the + graveyard. + </p> + <p> + “I think we’ll be back before he wakes,” said Mrs. Patterson, “and anyhow + he is very good and won’t be any trouble. Don’t let him go outside, + though. He has a cold now.” + </p> + <p> + We went away, leaving Dan sitting on the door-sill reading his book, and + Jimmy P. snoozing blissfully on the sofa. When we returned—Felix and + the girls and I were ahead of the others—Dan was still sitting in + precisely the same place and attitude; but there was no Jimmy in sight. + </p> + <p> + “Dan, where’s the baby?” cried Felicity. + </p> + <p> + Dan looked around. His jaw fell in blank amazement. I never saw any one + look as foolish as Dan at that moment. + </p> + <p> + “Good gracious, I don’t know,” he said helplessly. + </p> + <p> + “You’ve been so deep in that wretched book that he’s got out, and dear + knows where he is,” cried Felicity distractedly. + </p> + <p> + “I wasn’t,” cried Dan. “He MUST be in the house. I’ve been sitting right + across the door ever since you left, and he couldn’t have got out unless + he crawled right over me. He must be in the house.” + </p> + <p> + “He isn’t in the kitchen,” said Felicity rushing about wildly, “and he + couldn’t get into the other part of the house, for I shut the hall door + tight, and no baby could open it—and it’s shut tight yet. So are all + the windows. He MUST have gone out of that door, Dan King, and it’s your + fault.” + </p> + <p> + “He DIDN’T go out of this door,” reiterated Dan stubbornly. “I know that.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, where is he, then? He isn’t here. Did he melt into air?” demanded + Felicity. “Oh, come and look for him, all of you. Don’t stand round like + ninnies. We MUST find him before his mother gets here. Dan King, you’re an + idiot!” + </p> + <p> + Dan was too frightened to resent this, at the time. However and wherever + Jimmy had gone, he WAS gone, so much was certain. We tore about the house + and yard like maniacs; we looked into every likely and unlikely place. But + Jimmy we could not find, anymore than if he had indeed melted into air. + Mrs. Patterson came, and we had not found him. Things were getting + serious. Uncle Roger and Peter were summoned from the field. Mrs. + Patterson became hysterical, and was taken into the spare room with such + remedies as could be suggested. Everybody blamed poor Dan. Cecily asked + him what he would feel like if Jimmy was never, never found. The Story + Girl had a gruesome recollection of some baby at Markdale who had wandered + away like that— + </p> + <p> + “And they never found him till the next spring, and all they found was—HIS + SKELETON, with the grass growing through it,” she whispered. + </p> + <p> + “This beats me,” said Uncle Roger, when a fruitless hour had elapsed. “I + do hope that baby hasn’t wandered down to the swamp. It seems impossible + he could walk so far; but I must go and see. Felicity, hand me my high + boots out from under the sofa, there’s a girl.” + </p> + <p> + Felicity, pale and tearful, dropped on her knees and lifted the cretonne + frill of the sofa. There, his head pillowed hardly on Uncle Roger’s boots, + lay Jimmy Patterson, still sound asleep! + </p> + <p> + “Well, I’ll be—jiggered!” said Uncle Roger. + </p> + <p> + “I KNEW he never went out of the door,” cried Dan triumphantly. + </p> + <p> + When the last buggy had driven away, Felicity set a batch of bread, and + the rest of us sat around the back porch steps in the cat’s light and ate + cherries, shooting the stones at each other. Cecily was in quest of + information. + </p> + <p> + “What does ‘it never rains but it pours’ mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it means if anything happens something else is sure to happen,” said + the Story Girl. “I’ll illustrate. There’s Mrs. Murphy. She never had a + proposal in her life till she was forty, and then she had three in the one + week, and she was so flustered she took the wrong one and has been sorry + ever since. Do you see what it means now?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I guess so,” said Cecily somewhat doubtfully. Later on we heard her + imparting her newly acquired knowledge to Felicity in the pantry. + </p> + <p> + “‘It never rains but it pours’ means that nobody wants to marry you for + ever so long, and then lots of people do.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIV. FORBIDDEN FRUIT + </h2> + <p> + We were all, with the exception of Uncle Roger, more or less grumpy in the + household of King next day. Perhaps our nerves had been upset by the + excitement attendant on Jimmy Patterson’s disappearance. But it is more + likely that our crankiness was the result of the supper we had eaten the + previous night. Even children cannot devour mince pie, and cold fried pork + ham, and fruit cake before going to bed with entire impunity. Aunt Janet + had forgotten to warn Uncle Roger to keep an eye on our bedtime snacks, + and we ate what seemed good unto us. + </p> + <p> + Some of us had frightful dreams, and all of us carried chips on our + shoulders at breakfast. Felicity and Dan began a bickering which they kept + up the entire day. Felicity had a natural aptitude for what we called + “bossing,” and in her mother’s absence she deemed that she had a right to + rule supreme. She knew better than to make any attempt to assert authority + over the Story Girl, and Felix and I were allowed some length of tether; + but Cecily, Dan, and Peter were expected to submit dutifully to her + decrees. In the main they did; but on this particular morning Dan was + plainly inclined to rebel. He had had time to grow sore over the things + that Felicity had said to him when Jimmy Patterson was thought lost, and + he began the day with a flatly expressed determination that he was not + going to let Felicity rule the roost. + </p> + <p> + It was not a pleasant day, and to make matters worse it rained until late + in the afternoon. The Story Girl had not recovered from the mortifications + of the previous day; she would not talk, and she would not tell a single + story; she sat on Rachel Ward’s chest and ate her breakfast with the air + of a martyr. After breakfast she washed the dishes and did the bed-room + work in grim silence; then, with a book under one arm and Pat under the + other, she betook herself to the window-seat in the upstairs hall, and + would not be lured from that retreat, charmed we never so wisely. She + stroked the purring Paddy, and read steadily on, with maddening + indifference to all our pleadings. + </p> + <p> + Even Cecily, the meek and mild, was snappish, and complained of headache. + Peter had gone home to see his mother, and Uncle Roger had gone to + Markdale on business. Sara Ray came up, but was so snubbed by Felicity + that she went home, crying. Felicity got the dinner by herself, disdaining + to ask or command assistance. She banged things about and rattled the + stove covers until even Cecily protested from her sofa. Dan sat on the + floor and whittled, his sole aim and object being to make a mess and annoy + Felicity, in which noble ambition he succeeded perfectly. + </p> + <p> + “I wish Aunt Janet and Uncle Alec were home,” said Felix. “It’s not half + so much fun having the grown-ups away as I thought it would be.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish I was back in Toronto,” I said sulkily. The mince pie was to blame + for THAT wish. + </p> + <p> + “I wish you were, I’m sure,” said Felicity, riddling the fire noisily. + </p> + <p> + “Any one who lives with you, Felicity King, will always be wishing he was + somewhere else,” said Dan. + </p> + <p> + “I wasn’t talking to you, Dan King,” retorted Felicity, “‘Speak when + you’re spoken to, come when you’re called.’” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, oh, oh,” wailed Cecily on the sofa. “I WISH it would stop raining. I + WISH my head would stop aching. I WISH ma had never gone away. I WISH + you’d leave Felicity alone, Dan.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish girls had some sense,” said Dan—which brought the orgy of + wishing to an end for the time. A wishing fairy might have had the time of + her life in the King kitchen that morning—particularly if she were a + cynically inclined fairy. + </p> + <p> + But even the effects of unholy snacks wear away at length. By tea-time + things had brightened up. The rain had ceased, and the old, low-raftered + room was full of sunshine which danced on the shining dishes of the + dresser, made mosaics on the floor, and flickered over the table whereon a + delicious meal was spread. Felicity had put on her blue muslin, and looked + so beautiful in it that her good humour was quite restored. Cecily’s + headache was better, and the Story Girl, refreshed by an afternoon siesta, + came down with smiles and sparkling eyes. Dan alone continued to nurse his + grievances, and would not even laugh when the Story Girl told us a tale + brought to mind by some of the “Rev. Mr. Scott’s plums” which were on the + table. + </p> + <p> + “The Rev. Mr. Scott was the man who thought the pulpit door must be made + for speerits, you know,” she said. “I heard Uncle Edward telling ever so + many stories about him. He was called to this congregation, and he + laboured here long and faithfully, and was much beloved, though he was + very eccentric.” + </p> + <p> + “What does that mean?” asked Peter. + </p> + <p> + “Hush! It just means queer,” said Cecily, nudging him with her elbow. “A + common man would be queer, but when it’s a minister, it’s eccentric.” + </p> + <p> + “When he gets very old,” continued the Story Girl, “the Presbytery thought + it was time he was retired. HE didn’t think so; but the Presbytery had + their way, because there were so many of them to one of him. He was + retired, and a young man was called to Carlisle. Mr. Scott went to live in + town, but he came out to Carlisle very often, and visited all the people + regularly, just the same as when he was their minister. The young minister + was a very good young man, and tried to do his duty; but he was dreadfully + afraid of meeting old Mr. Scott, because he had been told that the old + minister was very angry at being set aside, and would likely give him a + sound drubbing, if he ever met him. One day the young minister was + visiting the Crawfords in Markdale, when they suddenly heard old Mr. + Scott’s voice in the kitchen. The young minister turned pale as the dead, + and implored Mrs. Crawford to hid him. But she couldn’t get him out of the + room, and all she could do was to hide him in the china closet. The young + minister slipped into the china closet, and old Mr. Scott came into the + room. He talked very nicely, and read, and prayed. They made very long + prayers in those days, you know; and at the end of his prayer he said, ‘Oh + Lord, bless the poor young man hiding in the closet. Give him courage not + to fear the face of man. Make him a burning and a shining light to this + sadly abused congregation.’ Just imagine the feelings of the young + minister in the china closet! But he came right out like a man, though his + face was very red, as soon as Mr. Scott had done praying. And Mr. Scott + was lovely to him, and shook hands, and never mentioned the china closet. + And they were the best of friends ever afterwards.” + </p> + <p> + “How did old Mr. Scott find out the young minister was in the closet?” + asked Felix. + </p> + <p> + “Nobody ever knew. They supposed he had seen him through the window before + he came into the house, and guessed he must be in the closet—because + there was no way for him to get out of the room.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Scott planted the yellow plum tree in Grandfather’s time,” said + Cecily, peeling one of the plums, “and when he did it he said it was as + Christian an act as he ever did. I wonder what he meant. I don’t see + anything very Christian about planting a tree.” + </p> + <p> + “I do,” said the Story Girl sagely. + </p> + <p> + When next we assembled ourselves together, it was after milking, and the + cares of the day were done with. We foregathered in the balsam-fragrant + aisles of the fir wood, and ate early August apples to such an extent that + the Story Girl said we made her think of the Irishman’s pig. + </p> + <p> + “An Irishman who lived at Markdale had a little pig,” she said, “and he + gave it a pailful of mush. The pig ate the whole pailful, and then the + Irishman put the pig IN the pail, and it didn’t fill more than half the + pail. Now, how was that, when it held a whole pailful of mush?” + </p> + <p> + This seemed to be a rather unanswerable kind of conundrum. We discussed + the problem as we roamed the wood, and Dan and Peter almost quarrelled + over it, Dan maintaining that the thing was impossible, and Peter being of + the opinion that the mush was somehow “made thicker” in the process of + being eaten, and so took up less room. During the discussion we came out + to the fence of the hill pasture where grew the “bad berry” bushes. + </p> + <p> + Just what these “bad berries” were I cannot tell. We never knew their real + name. They were small, red-clustered berries of a glossy, seductive + appearance, and we were forbidden to eat them, because it was thought they + might be poisonous. Dan picked a cluster and held it up. + </p> + <p> + “Dan King, don’t you DARE eat those berries,” said Felicity in her + “bossiest” tone. “They’re poison. Drop them right away.” + </p> + <p> + Now, Dan had not had the slightest intention of eating the berries. But at + Felicity’s prohibition the rebellion which had smouldered in him all day + broke into sudden flame. He would show her! + </p> + <p> + “I’ll eat them if I please, Felicity King,” he said in a fury: “I don’t + believe they’re poison. Look here!” + </p> + <p> + Dan crammed the whole bunch into his capacious mouth and chewed it up. + </p> + <p> + “They taste great,” he said, smacking; and he ate two more clusters, + regardless of our horror-stricken protestations and Felicity’s pleadings. + </p> + <p> + We feared that Dan would drop dead on the spot. But nothing occurred + immediately. When an hour had passed we concluded that the bad berries + were not poison after all, and we looked upon Dan as quite a hero for + daring to eat them. + </p> + <p> + “I knew they wouldn’t hurt me,” he said loftily. “Felicity’s so fond of + making a fuss over everything.” + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless, when it grew dark and we returned to the house, I noticed + that Dan was rather pale and quiet. He lay down on the kitchen sofa. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you feel all right, Dan?” I whispered anxiously. + </p> + <p> + “Shut up,” he said. + </p> + <p> + I shut up. + </p> + <p> + Felicity and Cecily were setting out a lunch in the pantry when we were + all startled by a loud groan from the sofa. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I’m sick—I’m awful sick,” said Dan abjectly, all the defiance + and bravado gone out of him. + </p> + <p> + We all went to pieces, except Cecily, who alone retained her presence of + mind. + </p> + <p> + “Have you got a pain in your stomach?” she demanded. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve got an awful pain here, if that’s where my stomach is,” moaned Dan, + putting his hand on a portion of his anatomy considerably below his + stomach. “Oh—oh—oh!” + </p> + <p> + “Go for Uncle Roger,” commanded Cecily, pale but composed. “Felicity, put + on the kettle. Dan, I’m going to give you mustard and warm water.” + </p> + <p> + The mustard and warm water produced its proper effect promptly, but gave + Dan no relief. He continued to writhe and groan. Uncle Roger, who had been + summoned from his own place, went at once for the doctor, telling Peter to + go down the hill for Mrs. Ray. Peter went, but returned accompanied by + Sara only. Mrs. Ray and Judy Pineau were both away. Sara might better have + stayed home; she was of no use, and could only add to the general + confusion, wandering aimlessly about, crying and asking if Dan was going + to die. + </p> + <p> + Cecily took charge of things. Felicity might charm the palate, and the + Story Girl bind captive the soul; but when pain and sickness wrung the + brow it was Cecily who was the ministering angel. She made the writhing + Dan go to bed. She made him swallow every available antidote which was + recommended in “the doctor’s book;” and she applied hot cloths to him + until her faithful little hands were half scalded off. + </p> + <p> + There was no doubt Dan was suffering intense pain. He moaned and writhed, + and cried for his mother. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, isn’t it dreadful!” said Felicity, wringing her hands as she walked + the kitchen floor. “Oh, why doesn’t the doctor come? I TOLD Dan the bad + berries were poison. But surely they can’t kill people ALTOGETHER.” + </p> + <p> + “Pa’s cousin died of eating something forty years ago,” sobbed Sara Ray. + </p> + <p> + “Hold your tongue,” said Peter in a fierce whisper. “You oughter have more + sense than to say such things to the girls. They don’t want to be any + worse scared than they are.” + </p> + <p> + “But Pa’s cousin DID die,” reiterated Sara. + </p> + <p> + “My Aunt Jane used to rub whisky on for a pain,” suggested Peter. + </p> + <p> + “We haven’t any whisky,” said Felicity disapprovingly. “This is a + temperance house.” + </p> + <p> + “But rubbing whisky on the OUTSIDE isn’t any harm,” argued Peter. “It’s + only when you take it inside it is bad for you.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, we haven’t any, anyhow,” said Felicity. “I suppose blueberry wine + wouldn’t do in its place?” + </p> + <p> + Peter did not think blueberry wine would be any good. + </p> + <p> + It was ten o’clock before Dan began to get better; but from that time he + improved rapidly. When the doctor, who had been away from home when Uncle + Roger reached Markdale, came at half past ten, he found his patient very + weak and white, but free from pain. + </p> + <p> + Dr. Grier patted Cecily on the head, told her she was a little brick, and + had done just the right thing, examined some of the fatal berries and gave + it as his opinion that they were probably poisonous, administered some + powders to Dan and advised him not to tamper with forbidden fruit in + future, and went away. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Ray now appeared, looking for Sara, and said she would stay all night + with us. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll be much obliged to you if you will,” said Uncle Roger. “I feel a bit + shook. I urged Janet and Alec to go to Halifax, and took the + responsibility of the children while they were away, but I didn’t know + what I was letting myself in for. If anything had happened I could never + have forgiven myself—though I believe it’s beyond the power of + mortal man to keep watch over the things children WILL eat. Now, you young + fry, get straight off to your beds. Dan is out of danger, and you can’t do + any more good. Not that any of you have done much, except Cecily. She’s + got a head of her shoulders.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s been a horrid day all through,” said Felicity drearily, as we + climbed the stairs. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose we made it horrid ourselves,” said the Story Girl candidly. + “But it’ll be a good story to tell sometime,” she added. + </p> + <p> + “I’m awful tired and thankful,” sighed Cecily. + </p> + <p> + We all felt that way. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XV. A DISOBEDIENT BROTHER + </h2> + <p> + Dan was his own man again in the morning, though rather pale and weak; he + wanted to get up, but Cecily ordered him to stay in bed. Fortunately + Felicity forgot to repeat the command, so Dan did stay in bed. Cecily + carried his meals to him, and read a Henty book to him all her spare time. + The Story Girl went up and told him wondrous tales; and Sara Ray brought + him a pudding she had made herself. Sara’s intentions were good, but the + pudding—well, Dan fed most of it to Paddy, who had curled himself up + at the foot of the bed, giving the world assurance of a cat by his + mellifluous purring. + </p> + <p> + “Ain’t he just a great old fellow?” said Dan. “He knows I’m kind of sick, + just as well as a human. He never pays no attention to me when I’m well.” + </p> + <p> + Felix and Peter and I were required to help Uncle Roger in some + carpentering work that day, and Felicity indulged in one of the + house-cleaning orgies so dear to her soul; so that it was evening before + we were all free to meet in the orchard and loll on the grasses of Uncle + Stephen’s Walk. In August it was a place of shady sweetness, fragrant with + the odour of ripening apples, full of dear, delicate shadows. Through its + openings we looked afar to the blue rims of the hills and over green, old, + tranquil fields, lying the sunset glow. Overhead the lacing leaves made a + green, murmurous roof. There was no such thing as hurry in the world, + while we lingered there and talked of “cabbages and kings.” A tale of the + Story Girl’s, wherein princes were thicker than blackberries, and queens + as common as buttercups, led to our discussion of kings. We wondered what + it would be like to be a king. Peter thought it would be fine, only kind + of inconvenient, wearing a crown all the time. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but they don’t,” said the Story Girl. “Maybe they used to once, but + now they wear hats. The crowns are just for special occasions. They look + very much like other people, if you can go by their photographs.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t believe it would be much fun as a steady thing,” said Cecily. + “I’d like to SEE a queen though. That is one thing I have against the + Island—you never have a chance to see things like that here.” + </p> + <p> + “The Prince of Wales was in Charlottetown once,” said Peter. “My Aunt Jane + saw him quite close by.” + </p> + <p> + “That was before we were born, and such a thing won’t happen again until + after we’re dead,” said Cecily, with very unusual pessimism. + </p> + <p> + “I think queens and kings were thicker long ago,” said the Story Girl. + “They do seem dreadfully scarce now. There isn’t one in this country + anywhere. Perhaps I’ll get a glimpse of some when I go to Europe.” + </p> + <p> + Well, the Story Girl was destined to stand before kings herself, and she + was to be one whom they delighted to honour. But we did not know that, as + we sat in the old orchard. We thought it quite sufficiently marvellous + that she should expect to have the chance of just seeing them. + </p> + <p> + “Can a queen do exactly as she pleases?” Sara Ray wanted to know. + </p> + <p> + “Not nowadays,” explained the Story Girl. + </p> + <p> + “Then I don’t see any use in being one,” Sara decided. + </p> + <p> + “A king can’t do as he pleases now, either,” said Felix. “If he tries to, + and if it isn’t what pleases other people, the Parliament or something + squelches him.” + </p> + <p> + “Isn’t ‘squelch’ a lovely word?” said the Story Girl irrelevantly. “It’s + so expressive. Squ-u-e-l-ch!” + </p> + <p> + Certainly it was a lovely word, as the Story Girl said it. Even a king + would not have minded being squelched, if it were done to music like that. + </p> + <p> + “Uncle Roger says that Martin Forbes’ wife has squelched HIM,” said + Felicity. “He says Martin can’t call his soul his own since he was + married.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m glad of it,” said Cecily vindictively. + </p> + <p> + We all stared. This was so very unlike Cecily. + </p> + <p> + “Martin Forbes is the brother of a horrid man in Summerside who called me + Johnny, that’s why,” she explained. “He was visiting here with his wife + two years ago, and he called me Johnny every time he spoke to me. Just you + fancy! I’ll NEVER forgive him.” + </p> + <p> + “That isn’t a Christian spirit,” said Felicity rebukingly. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t care. Would YOU forgive James Forbes if he had called YOU + Johnny?” demanded Cecily. + </p> + <p> + “I know a story about Martin Forbes’ grandfather,” said the Story Girl. + “Long ago they didn’t have any choir in the Carlisle church—just a + precentor you know. But at last they got a choir, and Andrew McPherson was + to sing bass in it. Old Mr. Forbes hadn’t gone to church for years, + because he was so rheumatic, but he went the first Sunday the choir sang, + because he had never heard any one sing bass, and wanted to hear what it + was like. Grandfather King asked him what he thought of the choir. Mr. + Forbes said it was ‘verra guid,’ but as for Andrew’s bass, ‘there was nae + bass aboot it—it was just a bur-r-r-r the hale time.’” + </p> + <p> + If you could have heard the Story Girl’s “bur-r-r-r!” Not old Mr. Forbes + himself could have invested it with more of Doric scorn. We rolled over in + the cool grass and screamed with laughter. + </p> + <p> + “Poor Dan,” said Cecily compassionately. “He’s up there all alone in his + room, missing all the fun. I suppose it’s mean of us to be having such a + good time here, when he has to stay in bed.” + </p> + <p> + “If Dan hadn’t done wrong eating the bad berries when he was told not to, + he wouldn’t be sick,” said Felicity. “You’re bound to catch it when you do + wrong. It was just a Providence he didn’t die.” + </p> + <p> + “That makes me think of another story about old Mr. Scott,” said the Story + Girl. “You know, I told you he was very angry because the Presbytery made + him retire. There were two ministers in particular he blamed for being at + the bottom of it. One time a friend of his was trying to console him, and + said to him, + </p> + <p> + “‘You should be resigned to the will of Providence.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Providence had nothing to do with it,’ said old Mr. Scott. ‘’Twas the + McCloskeys and the devil.’” + </p> + <p> + “You shouldn’t speak of the—the—DEVIL,” said Felicity, rather + shocked. + </p> + <p> + “Well, that’s just what Mr. Scott said.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it’s all right for a MINISTER to speak of him. But it isn’t nice for + little girls. If you HAVE to speak of—of—him—you might + say the Old Scratch. That is what mother calls him.” + </p> + <p> + “‘’Twas the McCloskeys and the Old Scratch,’” said the Story Girl + reflectively, as if she were trying to see which version was the more + effective. “It wouldn’t do,” she decided. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think it’s any harm to mention the—the—that person, + when you’re telling a story,” said Cecily. “It’s only in plain talking it + doesn’t do. It sounds too much like swearing then.” + </p> + <p> + “I know another story about Mr. Scott,” said the Story Girl. “Not long + after he was married his wife wasn’t quite ready for church one morning + when it was time to go. So, just to teach her a lesson, he drove off + alone, and left her to walk all the way—it was nearly two miles—in + the heat and dust. She took it very quietly. It’s the best way, I guess, + when you’re married to a man like old Mr. Scott. But just a few Sundays + after wasn’t he late himself! I suppose Mrs. Scott thought that what was + sauce for the goose was sauce for the gander, for she slipped out and + drove off to church as he had done. Old Mr. Scott finally arrived at the + church, pretty hot and dusty, and in none too good a temper. He went into + the pulpit, leaned over it and looked at his wife, sitting calmly in her + pew at the side. + </p> + <p> + “‘It was cleverly done,’ he said, right out loud, ‘BUT DINNA TRY IT + AGAIN!’” + </p> + <p> + In the midst of our laughter Pat came down the Walk, his stately tail + waving over the grasses. He proved to be the precursor of Dan, clothed and + in his right mind. + </p> + <p> + “Do you think you should have got up, Dan?” said Cecily anxiously. + </p> + <p> + “I had to,” said Dan. “The window was open, and it was more’n I could + stand to hear you fellows laughing down here and me missing it all. + ‘Sides, I’m all right again. I feel fine.” + </p> + <p> + “I guess this will be a lesson to you, Dan King,” said Felicity, in her + most maddening tone. “I guess you won’t forget it in a hurry. You won’t go + eating the bad berries another time when you’re told not to.” + </p> + <p> + Dan had picked out a soft spot in the grass for himself, and was in the + act of sitting down, when Felicity’s tactful speech arrested him midway. + He straightened up and turned a wrathful face on his provoking sister. + Then, red with indignation, but without a word, he stalked up the walk. + </p> + <p> + “Now he’s gone off mad,” said Cecily reproachfully. “Oh, Felicity, why + couldn’t you have held your tongue?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, what did I say to make him mad?” asked Felicity in honest + perplexity. + </p> + <p> + “I think it’s awful for brothers and sisters to be always quarrelling,” + sighed Cecily. “The Cowans fight all the time; and you and Dan will soon + be as bad.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, talk sense,” said Felicity. “Dan’s got so touchy it isn’t safe to + speak to him. I should think he’d be sorry for all the trouble he made + last night. But you just back him up in everything, Cecily.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t!” + </p> + <p> + “You do! And you’ve no business to, specially when mother’s away. She left + ME in charge.” + </p> + <p> + “You didn’t take much charge last night when Dan got sick,” said Felix + maliciously. Felicity had told him at tea that night he was getting fatter + than ever. This was his tit-for-tat. “You were pretty glad to leave it all + to Cecily then.” + </p> + <p> + “Who’s talking to you?” said Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “Now, look here,” said the Story Girl, “the first thing we know we’ll all + be quarrelling, and then some of us will sulk all day to-morrow. It’s + dreadful to spoil a whole day. Just let’s all sit still and count a + hundred before we say another word.” + </p> + <p> + We sat still and counted the hundred. When Cecily finished she got up and + went in search of Dan, resolved to soothe his wounded feelings. Felicity + called after her to tell Dan there was a jam turnover she had put away in + the pantry specially for him. Felix held out to Felicity a remarkably fine + apple which he had been saving for his own consumption; and the Story Girl + began a tale of an enchanted maiden in a castle by the sea; but we never + heard the end of it. For, just as the evening star was looking whitely + through the rosy window of the west, Cecily came flying through the + orchard, wringing her hands. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, come, come quick,” she gasped. “Dan’s eating the bad berries again—he’s + et a whole bunch of them—he says he’ll show Felicity. I can’t stop + him. Come you and try.” + </p> + <p> + We rose in a body and rushed towards the house. In the yard we encountered + Dan, emerging from the fir wood and champing the fatal berries with + unrepentant relish. + </p> + <p> + “Dan King, do you want to commit suicide?” demanded the Story Girl. + </p> + <p> + “Look here, Dan,” I expostulated. “You shouldn’t do this. Think how sick + you were last night and all the trouble you made for everybody. Don’t eat + any more, there’s a good chap.” + </p> + <p> + “All right,” said Dan. “I’ve et all I want. They taste fine. I don’t + believe it was them made me sick.” + </p> + <p> + But now that his anger was over he looked a little frightened. Felicity + was not there. We found her in the kitchen, lighting up the fire. + </p> + <p> + “Bev, fill the kettle with water and put it on to heat,” she said in a + resigned tone. “If Dan’s going to be sick again we’ve got to be ready for + it. I wish mother was home, that’s all. I hope she’ll never go away again. + Dan King, you just wait till I tell her of the way you’ve acted.” + </p> + <p> + “Fudge! I ain’t going to be sick,” said Dan. “And if YOU begin telling + tales, Felicity King, I’LL tell some too. I know how many eggs mother said + you could use while she was away—and I know how many you HAVE used. + I counted. So you’d better mind your own business, Miss.” + </p> + <p> + “A nice way to talk to your sister when you may be dead in an hour’s + time!” retorted Felicity, in tears between her anger and her real alarm + about Dan. + </p> + <p> + But in an hour’s time Dan was still in good health, and announced his + intention of going to bed. He went, and was soon sleeping as peacefully as + if he had nothing on either conscience or stomach. But Felicity declared + she meant to keep the water hot until all danger was past; and we sat up + to keep her company. We were sitting there when Uncle Roger walked in at + eleven o’clock. + </p> + <p> + “What on earth are you young fry doing up at this time of night?” he asked + angrily. “You should have been in your beds two hours ago. And with a + roaring fire on a night that’s hot enough to melt a brass monkey! Have you + taken leave of your senses?” + </p> + <p> + “It’s because of Dan,” explained Felicity wearily. “He went and et more of + the bad berries—a whole lot of them—and we were sure he’d be + sick again. But he hasn’t been yet, and now he’s asleep.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that boy stark, staring mad?” said Uncle Roger. + </p> + <p> + “It was Felicity’s fault,” cried Cecily, who always took Dan’s part + through evil report and good report. “She told him she guessed he’d + learned a lesson and wouldn’t do what she’d told him not to again. So he + went and et them because she vexed him so.” + </p> + <p> + “Felicity King, if you don’t watch out you’ll grow up into the sort of + woman who drives her husband to drink,” said Uncle Roger gravely. + </p> + <p> + “How could I tell Dan would act so like a mule!” cried Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “Get off to bed, every one of you. It’s a thankful man I’ll be when your + father and mother come home. The wretched bachelor who undertakes to look + after a houseful of children like you is to be pitied. Nobody will ever + catch me doing it again. Felicity, is there anything fit to eat in the + pantry?” + </p> + <p> + That last question was the most unkindest cut of all. Felicity could have + forgiven Uncle Roger anything but that. It really was unpardonable. She + confided to me as we climbed the stairs that she hated Uncle Roger. Her + red lips quivered and the tears of wounded pride brimmed over in her + beautiful blue eyes. In the dim candle-light she looked unbelievably + pretty and appealing. I put my arm about her and gave her a cousinly + salute. + </p> + <p> + “Never you mind him, Felicity,” I said. “He’s only a grown-up.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVI. THE GHOSTLY BELL + </h2> + <p> + Friday was a comfortable day in the household of King. Everybody was in + good humour. The Story Girl sparkled through several tales that ranged + from the afrites and jinns of Eastern myth, through the piping days of + chivalry, down to the homely anecdotes of Carlisle workaday folks. She was + in turn an Oriental princess behind a silken veil, the bride who followed + her bridegroom to the wars of Palestine disguised as a page, the gallant + lady who ransomed her diamond necklace by dancing a coranto with a + highwayman on a moonlit heath, and “Buskirk’s girl” who joined the Sons + and Daughters of Temperance “just to see what was into it;” and in each + impersonation she was so thoroughly the thing impersonated that it was a + matter of surprise to us when she emerged from each our own familiar Story + Girl again. + </p> + <p> + Cecily and Sara Ray found a “sweet” new knitted lace pattern in an old + magazine and spent a happy afternoon learning it and “talking secrets.” + Chancing—accidentally, I vow—to overhear certain of these + secrets, I learned that Sara Ray had named an apple for Johnny Price—“and, + Cecily, true’s you live, there was eight seeds in it, and you know eight + means ‘they both love’ “—while Cecily admitted that Willy Fraser had + written on his slate and showed it to her, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “If you love me as I love you, + No knife can cut our love in two”— +</pre> + <p> + “but, Sara Ray, NEVER you breathe this to a living soul.” + </p> + <p> + Felix also averred that he heard Sara ask Cecily very seriously, + </p> + <p> + “Cecily, how old must we be before we can have a REAL beau?” + </p> + <p> + But Sara always denied it; so I am inclined to believe Felix simply made + it up himself. + </p> + <p> + Paddy distinguished himself by catching a rat, and being intolerably + conceited about it—until Sara Ray cured him by calling him a “dear, + sweet cat,” and kissing him between the ears. Then Pat sneaked abjectly + off, his tail drooping. He resented being called a sweet cat. He had a + sense of humour, had Pat. Very few cats have; and most of them have such + an inordinate appetite for flattery that they will swallow any amount of + it and thrive thereon. Paddy had a finer taste. The Story Girl and I were + the only ones who could pay him compliments to his liking. The Story Girl + would box his ears with her fist and say, “Bless your gray heart, Paddy, + you’re a good sort of old rascal,” and Pat would purr his satisfaction; I + used to take a handful of the skin on his back, shake him gently and say, + “Pat, you’ve forgotten more than any human being ever knew,” and I vow + Paddy would lick his chops with delight. But to be called “a sweet cat!” + Oh, Sara, Sara! + </p> + <p> + Felicity tried—and had the most gratifying luck with—a new and + complicated cake recipe—a gorgeous compound of a plumminess to make + your mouth water. The number of eggs she used in it would have shocked + Aunt Janet’s thrifty soul, but that cake, like beauty, was its own excuse. + Uncle Roger ate three slices of it at tea-time and told Felicity she was + an artist. The poor man meant it as a compliment; but Felicity, who knew + Uncle Blair was an artist and had a poor opinion of such fry, looked + indignant and retorted, indeed she wasn’t! + </p> + <p> + “Peter says there’s any amount of raspberries back in the maple clearing,” + said Dan. “S’posen we all go after tea and pick some?” + </p> + <p> + “I’d like to,” sighed Felicity, “but we’d come home tired and with all the + milking to do. You boys better go alone.” + </p> + <p> + “Peter and I will attend to the milking for one evening,” said Uncle + Roger. “You can all go. I have an idea that a raspberry pie for to-morrow + night, when the folks come home, would hit the right spot.” + </p> + <p> + Accordingly, after tea we all set off, armed with jugs and cups. Felicity, + thoughtful creature, also took a small basketful of jelly cookies along + with her. We had to go back through the maple woods to the extreme end of + Uncle Roger’s farm—a pretty walk, through a world of green, + whispering boughs and spice-sweet ferns, and shifting patches of sunlight. + The raspberries were plentiful, and we were not long in filling our + receptacles. Then we foregathered around a tiny wood spring, cold and + pellucid under its young maples, and ate the jelly cookies; and the Story + Girl told us a tale of a haunted spring in a mountain glen where a fair + white lady dwelt, who pledged all comers in a golden cup with jewels + bright. + </p> + <p> + “And if you drank of the cup with her,” said the Story Girl, her eyes + glowing through the emerald dusk about us, “you were never seen in the + world again; you were whisked straightway to fairyland, and lived there + with a fairy bride. And you never WANTED to come back to earth, because + when you drank of the magic cup you forgot all your past life, except for + one day in every year when you were allowed to remember it.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish there was such a place as fairyland—and a way to get to it,” + said Cecily. + </p> + <p> + “I think there IS such a place—in spite of Uncle Edward,” said the + Story Girl dreamily, “and I think there is a way of getting there too, if + we could only find it.” + </p> + <p> + Well, the Story Girl was right. There is such a place as fairyland—but + only children can find the way to it. And they do not know that it is + fairyland until they have grown so old that they forget the way. One + bitter day, when they seek it and cannot find it, they realize what they + have lost; and that is the tragedy of life. On that day the gates of Eden + are shut behind them and the age of gold is over. Henceforth they must + dwell in the common light of common day. Only a few, who remain children + at heart, can ever find that fair, lost path again; and blessed are they + above mortals. They, and only they, can bring us tidings from that dear + country where we once sojourned and from which we must evermore be exiles. + The world calls them its singers and poets and artists and story-tellers; + but they are just people who have never forgotten the way to fairyland. + </p> + <p> + As we sat there the Awkward Man passed by, with his gun over his shoulder + and his dog at his side. He did not look like an awkward man, there in the + heart of the maple woods. He strode along right masterfully and lifted his + head with the air of one who was monarch of all he surveyed. + </p> + <p> + The Story Girl kissed her fingertips to him with the delightful audacity + which was a part of her; and the Awkward Man plucked off his hat and swept + her a stately and graceful bow. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t understand why they call him the awkward man,” said Cecily, when + he was out of earshot. + </p> + <p> + “You’d understand why if you ever saw him at a party or a picnic,” said + Felicity, “trying to pass plates and dropping them whenever a woman looked + at him. They say it’s pitiful to see him.” + </p> + <p> + “I must get well acquainted with that man next summer,” said the Story + Girl. “If I put it off any longer it will be too late. I’m growing so + fast, Aunt Olivia says I’ll have to wear ankle skirts next summer. If I + begin to look grown-up he’ll get frightened of me, and then I’ll never + find out the Golden Milestone mystery.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think he’ll ever tell you who Alice is?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “I have a notion who Alice is already,” said the mysterious creature. But + she would tell us nothing more. + </p> + <p> + When the jelly cookies were all eaten it was high time to be moving + homeward, for when the dark comes down there are more comfortable places + than a rustling maple wood and the precincts of a possibly enchanted + spring. When we reached the foot of the orchard and entered it through a + gap in the hedge it was the magical, mystical time of “between lights.” + Off to the west was a daffodil glow hanging over the valley of lost + sunsets, and Grandfather King’s huge willow rose up against it like a + rounded mountain of foliage. In the east, above the maple woods, was a + silvery sheen that hinted the moonrise. But the orchard was a place of + shadows and mysterious sounds. Midway up the open space in its heart we + met Peter; and if ever a boy was given over to sheer terror that boy was + Peter. His face was as white as a sunburned face could be, and his eyes + were brimmed with panic. + </p> + <p> + “Peter, what is the matter?” cried Cecily. + </p> + <p> + “There’s—SOMETHING—in the house, RINGING A BELL,” said Peter, + in a shaking voice. Not the Story Girl herself could have invested that + “something” with more of creepy horror. We all drew close together. I felt + a crinkly feeling along my back which I had never known before. If Peter + had not been so manifestly frightened we might have thought he was trying + to “pass a joke” on us. But such abject terror as his could not be + counterfeited. + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense!” said Felicity, but her voice shook. “There isn’t a bell in the + house to ring. You must have imagined it, Peter. Or else Uncle Roger is + trying to fool us.” + </p> + <p> + “Your Uncle Roger went to Markdale right after milking,” said Peter. “He + locked up the house and gave me the key. There wasn’t a soul in it then, + that I’m sure of. I druv the cows to the pasture, and I got back about + fifteen minutes ago. I set down on the front door steps for a moment, and + all at once I heard a bell ring in the house eight times. I tell you I was + skeered. I made a bolt for the orchard—and you won’t catch me going + near that house till your Uncle Roger comes home.” + </p> + <p> + You wouldn’t catch any of us doing it. We were almost as badly scared as + Peter. There we stood in a huddled demoralized group. Oh, what an eerie + place that orchard was! What shadows! What noises! What spooky swooping of + bats! You COULDN’T look every way at once, and goodness only knew what + might be behind you! + </p> + <p> + “There CAN’T be anybody in the house,” said Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “Well, here’s the key—go and see for yourself,” said Peter. + </p> + <p> + Felicity had no intention of going and seeing. + </p> + <p> + “I think you boys ought to go,” she said, retreating behind the defence of + sex. “You ought to be braver than girls.” + </p> + <p> + “But we ain’t,” said Felix candidly. “I wouldn’t be much scared of + anything REAL. But a haunted house is a different thing.” + </p> + <p> + “I always thought something had to be done in a place before it could be + haunted,” said Cecily. “Somebody killed or something like that, you know. + Nothing like that ever happened in our family. The Kings have always been + respectable.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps it is Emily King’s ghost,” whispered Felix. + </p> + <p> + “She never appeared anywhere but in the orchard,” said the Story Girl. + “Oh, oh, children, isn’t there something under Uncle Alec’s tree?” + </p> + <p> + We peered fearfully through the gloom. There WAS something—something + that wavered and fluttered—advanced—retreated— + </p> + <p> + “That’s only my old apron,” said Felicity. “I hung it there to-day when I + was looking for the white hen’s nest. Oh, what shall we do? Uncle Roger + may not be back for hours. I CAN’T believe there’s anything in the house.” + </p> + <p> + “Maybe it’s only Peg Bowen,” suggested Dan. + </p> + <p> + There was not a great deal of comfort in this. We were almost as much + afraid of Peg Bowen as we would be of any spectral visitant. + </p> + <p> + Peter scoffed at the idea. + </p> + <p> + “Peg Bowen wasn’t in the house before your Uncle Roger locked it up, and + how could she get in afterwards?” he said. “No, it isn’t Peg Bowen. It’s + SOMETHING that WALKS.” + </p> + <p> + “I know a story about a ghost,” said the Story Girl, the ruling passion + strong even in extremity. “It is about a ghost with eyeholes but no eyes—” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t,” cried Cecily hysterically. “Don’t you go on! Don’t you say + another word! I can’t bear it! Don’t you!” + </p> + <p> + The Story Girl didn’t. But she had said enough. There was something in the + quality of a ghost with eyeholes but no eyes that froze our young blood. + </p> + <p> + There never were in all the world six more badly scared children than + those who huddled in the old King orchard that August night. + </p> + <p> + All at once—something—leaped from the bough of a tree and + alighted before us. We split the air with a simultaneous shriek. We would + have run, one and all, if there had been anywhere to run to. But there + wasn’t—all around us were only those shadowy arcades. Then we saw + with shame that it was only our Paddy. + </p> + <p> + “Pat, Pat,” I said, picking him up, feeling a certain comfort in his soft, + solid body. “Stay with us, old fellow.” + </p> + <p> + But Pat would none of us. He struggled out of my clasp and disappeared + over the long grasses with soundless leaps. He was no longer our tame, + domestic, well acquainted Paddy. He was a strange, furtive animal—a + “questing beast.” + </p> + <p> + Presently the moon rose; but this only made matters worse. The shadows had + been still before; now they moved and danced, as the night wind tossed the + boughs. The old house, with its dreadful secret, was white and clear + against the dark background of spruces. We were woefully tired, but we + could not sit down because the grass was reeking with dew. + </p> + <p> + “The Family Ghost only appears in daylight,” said the Story Girl. “I + wouldn’t mind seeing a ghost in daylight. But after dark is another + thing.” + </p> + <p> + “There’s no such thing as a ghost,” I said contemptuously. Oh, how I + wished I could believe it! + </p> + <p> + “Then what rung that bell?” said Peter. “Bells don’t ring of themselves, I + s’pose, specially when there ain’t any in the house to ring.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, will Uncle Roger never come home!” sobbed Felicity. “I know he’ll + laugh at us awful, but it’s better to be laughed at than scared like + this.” + </p> + <p> + Uncle Roger did not come until nearly ten. Never was there a more welcome + sound than the rumble of his wheels in the lane. We ran to the orchard + gate and swarmed across the yard, just as Uncle Roger alighted at the + front door. He stared at us in the moonlight. + </p> + <p> + “Have you tormented any one into eating more bad berries, Felicity?” he + demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Uncle Roger, don’t go in,” implored Felicity seriously. “There’s + something dreadful in there—something that rings a bell. Peter heard + it. Don’t go in.” + </p> + <p> + “There’s no use asking the meaning of this, I suppose,” said Uncle Roger + with the calm of despair. “I’ve gave up trying to fathom you young ones. + Peter, where’s the key? What yarn have you been telling?” + </p> + <p> + “I DID hear a bell ring,” said Peter stubbornly. + </p> + <p> + Uncle Roger unlocked and flung open the front door. As he did so, clear + and sweet, rang out ten bell-like chimes. + </p> + <p> + “That’s what I heard,” cried Peter. “There’s the bell!” + </p> + <p> + We had to wait until Uncle Roger stopped laughing before we heard the + explanation. We thought he never WOULD stop. + </p> + <p> + “That’s Grandfather King’s old clock striking,” he said, as soon as he was + able to speak. “Sammy Prott came along after tea, when you were away to + the forge, Peter, and I gave him permission to clean the old clock. He had + it going merrily in no time. And now it has almost frightened you poor + little monkeys to death.” + </p> + <p> + We heard Uncle Roger chuckling all the way to the barn. + </p> + <p> + “Uncle Roger can laugh,” said Cecily, with a quiver in her voice, “but + it’s no laughing matter to be so scared. I just feel sick, I was so + frightened.” + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn’t mind if he’d laugh once and have it done with it,” said + Felicity bitterly. “But he’ll laugh at us for a year, and tell the story + to every soul that comes to the place.” + </p> + <p> + “You can’t blame him for that,” said the Story Girl. “I shall tell it, + too. I don’t care if the joke is as much on myself as any one. A story is + a story, no matter who it’s on. But it IS hateful to be laughed at—and + grown-ups always do it. I never will when I’m grown up. I’ll remember + better.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s all Peter’s fault,” said Felicity. “I do think he might have had + more sense than to take a clock striking for a bell ringing.” + </p> + <p> + “I never heard that kind of a strike before,” protested Peter. “It don’t + sound a bit like other clocks. And the door was shut and the sound kind o’ + muffled. It’s all very fine to say you would have known what it was, but I + don’t believe you would.” + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn’t have,” said the Story Girl honestly. “I thought it WAS a bell + when I heard it, and the door open, too. Let us be fair, Felicity.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m dreadful tired,” sighed Cecily. + </p> + <p> + We were all “dreadful tired,” for this was the third night of late hours + and nerve racking strain. But it was over two hours since we had eaten the + cookies, and Felicity suggested that a saucerful apiece of raspberries and + cream would not be hard to take. It was not, for any one but Cecily, who + couldn’t swallow a mouthful. + </p> + <p> + “I’m glad father and mother will be back to-morrow night,” she said. “It’s + too exciting when they’re away. That’s my opinion.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVII. THE PROOF OF THE PUDDING + </h2> + <p> + Felicity was cumbered with many cares the next morning. For one thing, the + whole house must be put in apple pie order; and for another, an elaborate + supper must be prepared for the expected return of the travellers that + night. Felicity devoted her whole attention to this, and left the + secondary preparation of the regular meals to Cecily and the Story Girl. + It was agreed that the latter was to make a cornmeal pudding for dinner. + </p> + <p> + In spite of her disaster with the bread, the Story Girl had been taking + cooking lessons from Felicity all the week, and getting on tolerably well, + although, mindful of her former mistake, she never ventured on anything + without Felicity’s approval. But Felicity had no time to oversee her this + morning. + </p> + <p> + “You must attend to the pudding yourself,” she said. “The recipe’s so + plain and simple even you can’t go astray, and if there’s anything you + don’t understand you can ask me. But don’t bother me if you can help it.” + </p> + <p> + The Story Girl did not bother her once. The pudding was concocted and + baked, as the Story Girl proudly informed us when we came to the + dinner-table, all on her own hook. She was very proud of it; and certainly + as far as appearance went it justified her triumph. The slices were smooth + and golden; and, smothered in the luscious maple sugar sauce which Cecily + had compounded, were very fair to view. Nevertheless, although none of us, + not even Uncle Roger or Felicity, said a word at the time, for fear of + hurting the Story Girl’s feelings, the pudding did not taste exactly as it + should. It was tough—decidedly tough—and lacked the richness + of flavour which was customary in Aunt Janet’s cornmeal puddings. If it + had not been for the abundant supply of sauce it would have been very dry + eating indeed. Eaten it was, however, to the last crumb. If it were not + just what a cornmeal pudding might be, the rest of the bill of fare had + been extra good and our appetites matched it. + </p> + <p> + “I wish I was twins so’s I could eat more,” said Dan, when he simply had + to stop. + </p> + <p> + “What good would being twins do you?” asked Peter. “People who squint + can’t eat any more than people who don’t squint, can they?” + </p> + <p> + We could not see any connection between Peter’s two questions. + </p> + <p> + “What has squinting got to do with twins?” asked Dan. + </p> + <p> + “Why, twins are just people that squint, aren’t they?” said Peter. + </p> + <p> + We thought he was trying to be funny, until we found out that he was quite + in earnest. Then we laughed until Peter got sulky. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t care,” he said. “How’s a fellow to know? Tommy and Adam Cowan, + over at Markdale, are twins; and they’re both cross-eyed. So I s’posed + that was what being twins meant. It’s all very fine for you fellows to + laugh. I never went to school half as much as you did; and you was brought + up in Toronto, too. If you’d worked out ever since you was seven, and just + got to school in the winter, there’d be lots of things you wouldn’t know, + either.” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind, Peter,” said Cecily. “You know lots of things they don’t.” + </p> + <p> + But Peter was not to be conciliated, and took himself off in high dudgeon. + To be laughed at before Felicity—to be laughed at BY Felicity—was + something he could not endure. Let Cecily and the Story Girl cackle all + they wanted to, and let those stuck-up Toronto boys grin like chessy-cats; + but when Felicity laughed at him the iron entered into Peter’s soul. + </p> + <p> + If the Story Girl laughed at Peter the mills of the gods ground out his + revenge for him in mid-afternoon. Felicity, having used up all the + available cooking materials in the house, had to stop perforce; and she + now determined to stuff two new pincushions she had been making for her + room. We heard her rummaging in the pantry as we sat on the cool, + spruce-shadowed cellar door outside, where Uncle Roger was showing us how + to make elderberry pop-guns. Presently she came out, frowning. + </p> + <p> + “Cecily, do you know where mother put the sawdust she emptied out of that + old beaded pincushion of Grandmother King’s, after she had sifted the + needles out of it? I thought it was in the tin box.” + </p> + <p> + “So it is,” said Cecily. + </p> + <p> + “It isn’t. There isn’t a speck of sawdust in that box.” + </p> + <p> + The Story Girl’s face wore a quite indescribable expression, compound of + horror and shame. She need not have confessed. If she had but held her + tongue the mystery of the sawdust’s disappearance might have forever + remained a mystery. She WOULD have held her tongue, as she afterwards + confided to me, if it had not been for a horrible fear which flashed into + her mind that possibly sawdust puddings were not healthy for people to eat—especially + if there might be needles in them—and that if any mischief had been + done in that direction it was her duty to undo it if possible at any cost + of ridicule to herself. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Felicity,” she said, her voice expressing a very anguish of + humiliation, “I—I—thought that stuff in the box was cornmeal + and used it to make the pudding.” + </p> + <p> + Felicity and Cecily stared blankly at the Story Girl. We boys began to + laugh, but were checked midway by Uncle Roger. He was rocking himself back + and forth, with his hand pressed against his stomach. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” he groaned, “I’ve been wondering what these sharp pains I’ve been + feeling ever since dinner meant. I know now. I must have swallowed a + needle—several needles, perhaps. I’m done for!” + </p> + <p> + The poor Story Girl went very white. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Uncle Roger, could it be possible? You COULDN’T have swallowed a + needle without knowing it. It would have stuck in your tongue or teeth.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t chew the pudding,” groaned Uncle Roger. “It was too tough—I + just swallowed the chunks whole.” + </p> + <p> + He groaned and twisted and doubled himself up. But he overdid it. He was + not as good an actor as the Story Girl. Felicity looked scornfully at him. + </p> + <p> + “Uncle Roger, you are not one bit sick,” she said deliberately. “You are + just putting on.” + </p> + <p> + “Felicity, if I die from the effects of eating sawdust pudding, flavoured + with needles, you’ll be sorry you ever said such a thing to your poor old + uncle,” said Uncle Roger reproachfully. “Even if there were no needles in + it, sixty-year-old sawdust can’t be good for my tummy. I daresay it wasn’t + even clean.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you know every one has to eat a peck of dirt in his life,” giggled + Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “But nobody has to eat it all at once,” retorted Uncle Roger, with another + groan. “Oh, Sara Stanley, it’s a thankful man I am that your Aunt Olivia + is to be home to-night. You’d have me kilt entirely by another day. I + believe you did it on purpose to have a story to tell.” + </p> + <p> + Uncle Roger hobbled off to the barn, still holding on to his stomach. + </p> + <p> + “Do you think he really feels sick?” asked the Story Girl anxiously. + </p> + <p> + “No, I don’t,” said Felicity. “You needn’t worry over him. There’s nothing + the matter with him. I don’t believe there were any needles in that + sawdust. Mother sifted it very carefully.” + </p> + <p> + “I know a story about a man whose son swallowed a mouse,” said the Story + Girl, who would probably have known a story and tried to tell it if she + were being led to the stake. “And he ran and wakened up a very tired + doctor just as he had got to sleep. + </p> + <p> + “‘Oh, doctor, my son has swallowed a mouse,’ he cried. ‘What shall I do?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Tell him to swallow a cat,’ roared the poor doctor, and slammed his + door. + </p> + <p> + “Now, if Uncle Roger has swallowed any needles, maybe it would make it all + right if he swallowed a pincushion.” + </p> + <p> + We all laughed. But Felicity soon grew sober. + </p> + <p> + “It seems awful to think of eating a sawdust pudding. How on earth did you + make such a mistake?” + </p> + <p> + “It looked just like cornmeal,” said the Story Girl, going from white to + red in her shame. “Well, I’m going to give up trying to cook, and stick to + things I can do. And if ever one of you mentions sawdust pudding to me + I’ll never tell you another story as long as I live.” + </p> + <p> + The threat was effectual. Never did we mention that unholy pudding. But + the Story Girl could not so impose silence on the grown-ups, especially + Uncle Roger. He tormented her for the rest of the summer. Never a + breakfast did he sit down to, without gravely inquiring if they were sure + there was no sawdust in the porridge. Not a tweak of rheumatism did he + feel but he vowed it was due to a needle, travelling about his body. And + Aunt Olivia was warned to label all the pincushions in the house. + “Contents, sawdust; not intended for puddings.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVIII. HOW KISSING WAS DISCOVERED + </h2> + <p> + An August evening, calm, golden, dewless, can be very lovely. At sunset, + Felicity, Cecily, and Sara Ray, Dan, Felix, and I were in the orchard, + sitting on the cool grasses at the base of the Pulpit Stone. In the west + was a field of crocus sky over which pale cloud blossoms were scattered. + </p> + <p> + Uncle Roger had gone to the station to meet the travellers, and the + dining-room table was spread with a feast of fat things. + </p> + <p> + “It’s been a jolly week, take it all round,” said Felix, “but I’m glad the + grown-ups are coming back to-night, especially Uncle Alec.” + </p> + <p> + “I wonder if they’ll bring us anything,” said Dan. + </p> + <p> + “I’m thinking long to hear all about the wedding,” said Felicity, who was + braiding timothy stalks into a collar for Pat. + </p> + <p> + “You girls are always thinking about weddings and getting married,” said + Dan contemptuously. + </p> + <p> + “We ain’t,” said Felicity indignantly. “I am NEVER going to get married. I + think it is just horrid, so there!” + </p> + <p> + “I guess you think it would be a good deal horrider not to be,” said Dan. + </p> + <p> + “It depends on who you’re married to,” said Cecily gravely, seeing that + Felicity disdained reply. “If you got a man like father it would be all + right. But S’POSEN you got one like Andrew Ward? He’s so mean and cross to + his wife that she tells him every day she wishes she’d never set eyes on + him.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps that’s WHY he’s mean and cross,” said Felix. + </p> + <p> + “I tell you it isn’t always the man’s fault,” said Dan darkly. “When I get + married I’ll be good to my wife, but I mean to be boss. When I open my + mouth my word will be law.” + </p> + <p> + “If your word is as big as your mouth I guess it will be,” said Felicity + cruelly. + </p> + <p> + “I pity the man who gets you, Felicity King, that’s all,” retorted Dan. + </p> + <p> + “Now, don’t fight,” implored Cecily. + </p> + <p> + “Who’s fighting?” demanded Dan. “Felicity thinks she can say anything she + likes to me, but I’ll show her different.” + </p> + <p> + Probably, in spite of Cecily’s efforts, a bitter spat would have resulted + between Dan and Felicity, had not a diversion been effected at that moment + by the Story Girl, who came slowly down Uncle Stephen’s Walk. + </p> + <p> + “Just look how the Story Girl has got herself up!” said Felicity. “Why, + she’s no more than decent!” + </p> + <p> + The Story Girl was barefooted and barearmed, having rolled the sleeves of + her pink gingham up to her shoulders. Around her waist was twisted a + girdle of the blood-red roses that bloomed in Aunt Olivia’s garden; on her + sleek curls she wore a chaplet of them; and her hands were full of them. + </p> + <p> + She paused under the outmost tree, in a golden-green gloom, and laughed at + us over a big branch. Her wild, subtle, nameless charm clothed her as with + a garment. We always remembered the picture she made there; and in later + days when we read Tennyson’s poems at a college desk, we knew exactly how + an oread, peering through the green leaves on some haunted knoll of many + fountained Ida, must look. + </p> + <p> + “Felicity,” said the Story Girl reproachfully, “what have you been doing + to Peter? He’s up there sulking in the granary, and he won’t come down, + and he says it’s your fault. You must have hurt his feelings dreadfully.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know about his feelings,” said Felicity, with an angry toss of + her shining head, “but I guess I made his ears tingle all right. I boxed + them both good and hard.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Felicity! What for?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, he tried to kiss me, that’s what for!” said Felicity, turning very + red. “As if I would let a hired boy kiss me! I guess Master Peter won’t + try anything like that again in a hurry.” + </p> + <p> + The Story Girl came out of her shadows and sat down beside us on the + grass. + </p> + <p> + “Well, in that case,” she said gravely, “I think you did right to slap his + ears—not because he is a hired boy, but because it would be + impertinent in ANY boy. But talking of kissing makes me think of a story I + found in Aunt Olivia’s scrapbook the other day. Wouldn’t you like to hear + it? It is called, ‘How Kissing Was Discovered.’” + </p> + <p> + “Wasn’t kissing always discovered?” asked Dan. + </p> + <p> + “Not according to this story. It was just discovered accidentally.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, let’s hear about it,” said Felix, “although I think kissing’s awful + silly, and it wouldn’t have mattered much if it hadn’t ever been + discovered.” + </p> + <p> + The Story Girl scattered her roses around her on the grass, and clasped + her slim hands over her knees. Gazing dreamily afar at the tinted sky + between the apple trees, as if she were looking back to the merry days of + the world’s gay youth, she began, her voice giving to the words and + fancies of the old tale the delicacy of hoar frost and the crystal sparkle + of dew. + </p> + <p> + “It happened long, long ago in Greece—where so many other beautiful + things happened. Before that, nobody had ever heard of kissing. And then + it was just discovered in the twinkling of an eye. And a man wrote it down + and the account has been preserved ever since. + </p> + <p> + “There was a young shepherd named Glaucon—a very handsome young + shepherd—who lived in a little village called Thebes. It became a + very great and famous city afterwards, but at this time it was only a + little village, very quiet and simple. Too quiet for Glaucon’s liking. He + grew tired of it, and he thought he would like to go away from home and + see something of the world. So he took his knapsack and his shepherd’s + crook, and wandered away until he came to Thessaly. That is the land of + the gods’ hill, you know. The name of the hill was Olympus. But it has + nothing to do with this story. This happened on another mountain—Mount + Pelion. + </p> + <p> + “Glaucon hired himself to a wealthy man who had a great many sheep. And + every day Glaucon had to lead the sheep up to pasture on Mount Pelion, and + watch them while they ate. There was nothing else to do, and he would have + found the time very long, if he had not been able to play on a flute. So + he played very often and very beautifully, as he sat under the trees and + watched the wonderful blue sea afar off, and thought about Aglaia. + </p> + <p> + “Aglaia was his master’s daughter. She was so sweet and beautiful that + Glaucon fell in love with her the very moment he first saw her; and when + he was not playing his flute on the mountain he was thinking about Aglaia, + and dreaming that some day he might have flocks of his own, and a dear + little cottage down in the valley where he and Aglaia might live. + </p> + <p> + “Aglaia had fallen in love with Glaucon just as he had with her. But she + never let him suspect it for ever so long. He did not know how often she + would steal up the mountain and hide behind the rocks near where the sheep + pastured, to listen to Glaucon’s beautiful music. It was very lovely + music, because he was always thinking of Aglaia while he played, though he + little dreamed how near him she often was. + </p> + <p> + “But after awhile Glaucon found out that Aglaia loved him, and everything + was well. Nowadays I suppose a wealthy man like Aglaia’s father wouldn’t + be willing to let his daughter marry a hired man; but this was in the + Golden Age, you know, when nothing like that mattered at all. + </p> + <p> + “After that, almost every day Aglaia would go up the mountain and sit + beside Glaucon, as he watched the flocks and played on his flute. But he + did not play as much as he used to, because he liked better to talk with + Aglaia. And in the evening they would lead the sheep home together. + </p> + <p> + “One day Aglaia went up the mountain by a new way, and she came to a + little brook. Something was sparkling very brightly among its pebbles. + Aglaia picked it up, and it was the most beautiful little stone that she + had ever seen. It was only as large as a pea, but it glittered and flashed + in the sunlight with every colour of the rainbow. Aglaia was so delighted + with it that she resolved to take it as a present to Glaucon. + </p> + <p> + “But all at once she heard a stamping of hoofs behind her, and when she + turned she almost died from fright. For there was the great god, Pan, and + he was a very terrible object, looking quite as much like a goat as a man. + The gods were not all beautiful, you know. And, beautiful or not, nobody + ever wanted to meet them face to face. + </p> + <p> + “‘Give that stone to me,’ said Pan, holding out his hand. + </p> + <p> + “But Aglaia, though she was frightened, would not give him the stone. + </p> + <p> + “‘I want it for Glaucon,’ she said. + </p> + <p> + “‘I want it for one of my wood nymphs,’ said Pan, ‘and I must have it.’ + </p> + <p> + “He advanced threateningly, but Aglaia ran as hard as she could up the + mountain. If she could only reach Glaucon he would protect her. Pan + followed her, clattering and bellowing terribly, but in a few minutes she + rushed into Glaucon’s arms. + </p> + <p> + “The dreadful sight of Pan and the still more dreadful noise he made, so + frightened the sheep that they fled in all directions. But Glaucon was not + afraid at all, because Pan was the god of shepherds, and was bound to + grant any prayer a good shepherd, who always did his duty, might make. If + Glaucon had NOT been a good shepherd dear knows what would have happened + to him and Aglaia. But he was; and when he begged Pan to go away and not + frighten Aglaia any more, Pan had to go, grumbling a good deal—and + Pan’s grumblings had a very ugly sound. But still he WENT, and that was + the main thing. + </p> + <p> + “‘Now, dearest, what is all this trouble about?’ asked Glaucon; and Aglaia + told him the story. + </p> + <p> + “‘But where is the beautiful stone?’ he asked, when she had finished. + ‘Didst thou drop it in thy alarm?’ + </p> + <p> + “No, indeed! Aglaia had done nothing of the sort. When she began to run, + she had popped it into her mouth, and there it was still, quite safe. Now + she poked it out between her red lips, where it glittered in the sunlight. + </p> + <p> + “‘Take it,’ she whispered. + </p> + <p> + “The question was—how was he to take it? Both of Aglaia’s arms were + held fast to her sides by Glaucon’s arms; and if he loosened his clasp + ever so little he was afraid she would fall, so weak and trembling was she + from her dreadful fright. Then Glaucon had a brilliant idea. He would take + the beautiful stone from Aglaia’s lips with his own lips. + </p> + <p> + “He bent over until his lips touched hers—and THEN, he forgot all + about the beautiful pebble and so did Aglaia. Kissing was discovered! + </p> + <p> + “What a yarn!” said Dan, drawing a long breath, when we had come to + ourselves and discovered that we were really sitting in a dewy Prince + Edward Island orchard instead of watching two lovers on a mountain in + Thessaly in the Golden Age. “I don’t believe a word of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course, we know it wasn’t really true,” said Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don’t know,” said the Story Girl thoughtfully. “I think there are + two kinds of true things—true things that ARE, and true things that + are NOT, but MIGHT be.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t believe there’s any but the one kind of trueness,” said Felicity. + “And anyway, this story couldn’t be true. You know there was no such thing + as a god Pan.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you know what there might have been in the Golden Age?” asked the + Story Girl. + </p> + <p> + Which was, indeed, an unanswerable question for Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder what became of the beautiful stone?” said Cecily. + </p> + <p> + “Likely Aglaia swallowed it,” said Felix practically. + </p> + <p> + “Did Glaucon and Aglaia ever get married?” asked Sara Ray. + </p> + <p> + “The story doesn’t say. It stops just there,” said the Story Girl. “But of + course they did. I will tell you what I think. I don’t think Aglaia + swallowed the stone. I think it just fell to the ground; and after awhile + they found it, and it turned out to be of such value that Glaucon could + buy all the flocks and herds in the valley, and the sweetest cottage; and + he and Aglaia were married right away.” + </p> + <p> + “But you only THINK that,” said Sara Ray. “I’d like to be really sure that + was what happened.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, bother, none of it happened,” said Dan. “I believed it while the + Story Girl was telling it, but I don’t now. Isn’t that wheels?” + </p> + <p> + Wheels it was. Two wagons were driving up the lane. We rushed to the house—and + there were Uncle Alec and Aunt Janet and Aunt Olivia! The excitement was + quite tremendous. Every body talked and laughed at once, and it was not + until we were all seated around the supper table that conversation grew + coherent. What laughter and questioning and telling of tales followed, + what smiles and bright eyes and glad voices. And through it all, the + blissful purrs of Paddy, who sat on the window sill behind the Story Girl, + resounded through the din like Andrew McPherson’s bass—“just a + bur-r-r-r the hale time.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I’m thankful to be home again,” said Aunt Janet, beaming on us. “We + had a real nice time, and Edward’s folks were as kind as could be. But + give me home for a steady thing. How has everything gone? How did the + children behave, Roger?” + </p> + <p> + “Like models,” said Uncle Roger. “They were as good as gold most of the + days.” + </p> + <p> + There were times when one couldn’t help liking Uncle Roger. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIX. A DREAD PROPHECY + </h2> + <p> + “I’ve got to go and begin stumping out the elderberry pasture this + afternoon,” said Peter dolefully. “I tell you it’s a tough job. Mr. Roger + might wait for cool weather before he sets people to stumping out + elderberries, and that’s a fact.” + </p> + <p> + “Why don’t you tell him so?” asked Dan. + </p> + <p> + “It ain’t my business to tell him things,” retorted Peter. “I’m hired to + do what I’m told, and I do it. But I can have my own opinion all the same. + It’s going to be a broiling hot day.” + </p> + <p> + We were all in the orchard, except Felix, who had gone to the post-office. + It was the forenoon of an August Saturday. Cecily and Sara Ray, who had + come up to spend the day with us—her mother having gone to town—were + eating timothy roots. Bertha Lawrence, a Charlottetown girl, who had + visited Kitty Marr in June, and had gone to school one day with her, had + eaten timothy roots, affecting to consider them great delicacies. The fad + was at once taken up by the Carlisle schoolgirls. Timothy roots quite + ousted “sours” and young raspberry sprouts, both of which had the real + merit of being quite toothsome, while timothy roots were tough and + tasteless. But timothy roots were fashionable, therefore timothy roots + must be eaten. Pecks of them must have been devoured in Carlisle that + summer. + </p> + <p> + Pat was there also, padding about from one to the other on his black paws, + giving us friendly pokes and rubs. We all made much of him except + Felicity, who would not take any notice of him because he was the Story + Girl’s cat. + </p> + <p> + We boys were sprawling on the grass. Our morning chores were done and the + day was before us. We should have been feeling very comfortable and happy, + but, as a matter of fact, we were not particularly so. + </p> + <p> + The Story Girl was sitting on the mint beside the well-house, weaving + herself a wreath of buttercups. Felicity was sipping from the cup of + clouded blue with an overdone air of unconcern. Each was acutely and + miserably conscious of the other’s presence, and each was desirous of + convincing the rest of us that the other was less than nothing to her. + Felicity could not succeed. The Story Girl managed it better. If it had + not been for the fact that in all our foregatherings she was careful to + sit as far from Felicity as possible, we might have been deceived. + </p> + <p> + We had not passed a very pleasant week. Felicity and the Story Girl had + not been “speaking” to each other, and consequently there had been + something rotten in the state of Denmark. An air of restraint was over all + our games and conversations. + </p> + <p> + On the preceding Monday Felicity and the Story Girl had quarrelled over + something. What the cause of the quarrel was I cannot tell because I never + knew. It remained a “dead secret” between the parties of the first and + second part forever. But it was more bitter than the general run of their + tiffs, and the consequences were apparent to all. They had not spoken to + each other since. + </p> + <p> + This was not because the rancour of either lasted so long. On the contrary + it passed speedily away, not even one low descending sun going down on + their wrath. But dignity remained to be considered. Neither would “speak + first,” and each obstinately declared that she would not speak first, no, + not in a hundred years. Neither argument, entreaty, nor expostulation had + any effect on those two stubborn girls, nor yet the tears of sweet Cecily, + who cried every night about it, and mingled in her pure little prayers + fervent petitions that Felicity and the Story Girl might make up. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know where you expect to go when you die, Felicity,” she said + tearfully, “if you don’t forgive people.” + </p> + <p> + “I have forgiven her,” was Felicity’s answer, “but I am not going to speak + first for all that.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s very wrong, and, more than that, it’s so uncomfortable,” complained + Cecily. “It spoils everything.” + </p> + <p> + “Were they ever like this before?” I asked Cecily, as we talked the matter + over privately in Uncle Stephen’s Walk. + </p> + <p> + “Never for so long,” said Cecily. “They had a spell like this last summer, + and one the summer before, but they only lasted a couple of days.” + </p> + <p> + “And who spoke first?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, the Story Girl. She got excited about something and spoke to Felicity + before she thought, and then it was all right. But I’m afraid it isn’t + going to be like that this time. Don’t you notice how careful the Story + Girl is not to get excited? That is such a bad sign.” + </p> + <p> + “We’ve just got to think up something that will excite her, that’s all,” I + said. + </p> + <p> + “I’m—I’m praying about it,” said Cecily in a low voice, her tear-wet + lashes trembling against her pale, round cheeks. “Do you suppose it will + do any good, Bev?” + </p> + <p> + “Very likely,” I assured her. “Remember Sara Ray and the money. That came + from praying.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m glad you think so,” said Cecily tremulously. “Dan said it was no use + for me to bother praying about it. He said if they COULDN’T speak God + might do something, but when they just WOULDN’T it wasn’t likely He would + interfere. Dan does say such queer things. I’m so afraid he’s going to + grow up just like Uncle Robert Ward, who never goes to church, and doesn’t + believe more than half the Bible is true.” + </p> + <p> + “Which half does he believe is true?” I inquired with unholy curiosity. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, just the nice parts. He says there’s a heaven all right, but no—no—HELL. + I don’t want Dan to grow up like that. It isn’t respectable. And you + wouldn’t want all kinds of people crowding heaven, now, would you?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, no, I suppose not,” I agreed, thinking of Billy Robinson. + </p> + <p> + “Of course, I can’t help feeling sorry for those who have to go to THE + OTHER PLACE,” said Cecily compassionately. “But I suppose they wouldn’t be + very comfortable in heaven either. They wouldn’t feel at home. Andrew Marr + said a simply dreadful thing about THE OTHER PLACE one night last fall, + when Felicity and I were down to see Kitty, and they were burning the + potato stalks. He said he believed THE OTHER PLACE must be lots more + interesting than heaven because fires were such jolly things. Now, did you + ever hear the like?” + </p> + <p> + “I guess it depends a good deal on whether you’re inside or outside the + fires,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Andrew didn’t really mean it, of course. He just said it to sound + smart and make us stare. The Marrs are all like that. But anyhow, I’m + going to keep on praying that something will happen to excite the Story + Girl. I don’t believe there is any use in praying that Felicity will speak + first, because I am sure she won’t.” + </p> + <p> + “But don’t you suppose God could make her?” I said, feeling that it wasn’t + quite fair that the Story Girl should always have to speak first. If she + had spoken first the other times it was surely Felicity’s turn this time. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I believe it would puzzle Him,” said Cecily, out of the depths of + her experience with Felicity. + </p> + <p> + Peter, as was to be expected, took Felicity’s part, and said the Story + Girl ought to speak first because she was the oldest. That, he said, had + always been his Aunt Jane’s rule. + </p> + <p> + Sara Ray thought Felicity should speak first, because the Story Girl was + half an orphan. + </p> + <p> + Felix tried to make peace between them, and met the usual fate of all + peacemakers. The Story Girl loftily told him that he was too young to + understand, and Felicity said that fat boys should mind their own + business. After that, Felix declared it would serve Felicity right if the + Story Girl never spoke to her again. + </p> + <p> + Dan had no patience with either of the girls, especially Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “What they both want is a right good spanking,” he said. + </p> + <p> + If only a spanking would mend the matter it was not likely it would ever + be mended. Both Felicity and the Story Girl were rather too old to be + spanked, and, if they had not been, none of the grown-ups would have + thought it worth while to administer so desperate a remedy for what they + considered so insignificant a trouble. With the usual levity of grown-ups, + they regarded the coldness between the girls as a subject of mirth and + jest, and recked not that it was freezing the genial current of our + youthful souls, and blighting hours that should have been fair pages in + our book of days. + </p> + <p> + The Story Girl finished her wreath and put it on. The buttercups drooped + over her high, white brow and played peep with her glowing eyes. A dreamy + smile hovered around her poppy-red mouth—a significant smile which, + to those of us skilled in its interpretation, betokened the sentence which + soon came. + </p> + <p> + “I know a story about a man who always had his own opinion—” + </p> + <p> + The Story Girl got no further. We never heard the story of the man who + always had his own opinion. Felix came tearing up the lane, with a + newspaper in his hand. When a boy as fat as Felix runs at full speed on a + broiling August forenoon, he has something to run for—as Felicity + remarked. + </p> + <p> + “He must have got some bad news at the office,” said Sara Ray. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I hope nothing has happened to father,” I exclaimed, springing + anxiously to my feet, a sick, horrible feeling of fear running over me + like a cool, rippling wave. + </p> + <p> + “It’s just as likely to be good news he is running for as bad,” said the + Story Girl, who was no believer in meeting trouble half way. + </p> + <p> + “He wouldn’t be running so fast for good news,” said Dan cynically. + </p> + <p> + We were not left long in doubt. The orchard gate flew open and Felix was + among us. One glimpse of his face told us that he was no bearer of glad + tidings. He had been running hard and should have been rubicund. Instead, + he was “as pale as are the dead.” I could not have asked him what was the + matter had my life depended on it. It was Felicity who demanded + impatiently of my shaking, voiceless brother: + </p> + <p> + “Felix King, what has scared you?” + </p> + <p> + Felix held out the newspaper—it was the Charlottetown <i>Daily + Enterprise</i>. + </p> + <p> + “It’s there,” he gasped. “Look—read—oh, do you—think + it’s—true? The—end of—the world—is coming + to-morrow—at two—o’clock—in the afternoon!” + </p> + <p> + Crash! Felicity had dropped the cup of clouded blue, which had passed + unscathed through so many changing years, and now at last lay shattered on + the stone of the well curb. At any other time we should all have been + aghast over such a catastrophe, but it passed unnoticed now. What mattered + it that all the cups in the world be broken to-day if the crack o’ doom + must sound to-morrow? + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Sara Stanley, do you believe it? DO you?” gasped Felicity, clutching + the Story Girl’s hand. Cecily’s prayer had been answered. Excitement had + come with a vengeance, and under its stress Felicity had spoken first. But + this, like the breaking of the cup, had no significance for us at the + moment. + </p> + <p> + The Story Girl snatched the paper and read the announcement to a group on + which sudden, tense silence had fallen. Under a sensational headline, “The + Last Trump will sound at Two O’clock To-morrow,” was a paragraph to the + effect that the leader of a certain noted sect in the United States had + predicted that August twelfth would be the Judgment Day, and that all his + numerous followers were preparing for the dread event by prayer, fasting, + and the making of appropriate white garments for ascension robes. + </p> + <p> + I laugh at the remembrance now—until I recall the real horror of + fear that enwrapped us in that sunny orchard that August morning of long + ago; and then I laugh no more. We were only children, be it remembered, + with a very firm and simple faith that grown people knew much more than we + did, and a rooted conviction that whatever you read in a newspaper must be + true. If the <i>Daily Enterprise</i> said that August twelfth was to be + the Judgment Day how were you going to get around it? + </p> + <p> + “Do you believe it, Sara Stanley?” persisted Felicity. “DO you?” + </p> + <p> + “No—no, I don’t believe a word of it,” said the Story Girl. + </p> + <p> + But for once her voice failed to carry conviction—or, rather, it + carried conviction of the very opposite kind. It was borne in upon our + miserable minds that if the Story Girl did not altogether believe it was + true she believed it might be true; and the possibility was almost as + dreadful as the certainty. + </p> + <p> + “It CAN’T be true,” said Sara Ray, seeking refuge, as usual, in tears. + “Why, everything looks just the same. Things COULDN’T look the same if the + Judgment Day was going to be to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “But that’s just the way it’s to come,” I said uncomfortably. “It tells + you in the Bible. It’s to come just like a thief in the night.” + </p> + <p> + “But it tells you another thing in the Bible, too,” said Cecily eagerly. + “It says nobody knows when the Judgment Day is to come—not even the + angels in heaven. Now, if the angels in heaven don’t know it, do you + suppose the editor of the <i>Enterprise</i> can know it—and him a + Grit, too?” + </p> + <p> + “I guess he knows as much about it as a Tory would,” retorted the Story + Girl. Uncle Roger was a Liberal and Uncle Alec a Conservative, and the + girls held fast to the political traditions of their respective + households. “But it isn’t really the <i>Enterprise</i> editor at all who + is saying it—it’s a man in the States who claims to be a prophet. If + he IS a prophet perhaps he has found out somehow.” + </p> + <p> + “And it’s in the paper, too, and that’s printed as well as the Bible,” + said Dan. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I’m going to depend on the Bible,” said Cecily. “I don’t believe + it’s the Judgment Day to-morrow—but I’m scared, for all that,” she + added piteously. + </p> + <p> + That was exactly the position of us all. As in the case of the + bell-ringing ghost, we did not believe but we trembled. + </p> + <p> + “Nobody might have known when the Bible was written,” said Dan, “but maybe + somebody knows now. Why, the Bible was written thousands of years ago, and + that paper was printed this very morning. There’s been time to find out + ever so much more.” + </p> + <p> + “I want to do so many things,” said the Story Girl, plucking off her crown + of buttercup gold with a tragic gesture, “but if it’s the Judgment Day + to-morrow I won’t have time to do any of them.” + </p> + <p> + “It can’t be much worse than dying, I s’pose,” said Felix, grasping at any + straw of comfort. + </p> + <p> + “I’m awful glad I’ve got into the habit of going to church and Sunday + School this summer,” said Peter very soberly. “I wish I’d made up my mind + before this whether to be a Presbyterian or a Methodist. Do you s’pose + it’s too late now?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that doesn’t matter,” said Cecily earnestly. “If—if you’re a + Christian, Peter, that is all that’s necessary.” + </p> + <p> + “But it’s too late for that,” said Peter miserably. “I can’t turn into a + Christian between this and two o’clock to-morrow. I’ll just have to be + satisfied with making up my mind to be a Presbyterian or a Methodist. I + wanted to wait till I got old enough to make out what was the difference + between them, but I’ll have to chance it now. I guess I’ll be a + Presbyterian, ‘cause I want to be like the rest of you. Yes, I’ll be a + Presbyterian.” + </p> + <p> + “I know a story about Judy Pineau and the word Presbyterian,” said the + Story Girl, “but I can’t tell it now. If to-morrow isn’t the Judgment Day + I’ll tell it Monday.” + </p> + <p> + “If I had known that to-morrow might be the Judgment Day I wouldn’t have + quarrelled with you last Monday, Sara Stanley, or been so horrid and sulky + all the week. Indeed I wouldn’t,” said Felicity, with very unusual + humility. + </p> + <p> + Ah, Felicity! We were all, in the depths of our pitiful little souls, + reviewing the innumerable things we would or would not have done “if we + had known.” What a black and endless list they made—those sins of + omission and commission that rushed accusingly across our young memories! + For us the leaves of the Book of Judgment were already opened; and we + stood at the bar of our own consciences, than which for youth or eld, + there can be no more dread tribunal. I thought of all the evil deeds of my + short life—of pinching Felix to make him cry out at family prayers, + of playing truant from Sunday School and going fishing one day, of a + certain fib—no, no away from this awful hour with all such + euphonious evasions—of a LIE I had once told, of many a selfish and + unkind word and thought and action. And to-morrow might be the great and + terrible day of the last accounting! Oh, if I had only been a better boy! + </p> + <p> + “The quarrel was as much my fault as yours, Felicity,” said the Story + Girl, putting her arm around Felicity. “We can’t undo it now. But if + to-morrow isn’t the Judgment Day we must be careful never to quarrel + again. Oh, I wish father was here.” + </p> + <p> + “He will be,” said Cecily. “If it’s the Judgment Day for Prince Edward + Island it will be for Europe, too.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish we could just KNOW whether what the paper says is true or not,” + said Felix desperately. “It seems to me I could brace up if I just KNEW.” + </p> + <p> + But to whom could we appeal? Uncle Alec was away and would not be back + until late that night. Neither Aunt Janet nor Uncle Roger were people to + whom we cared to apply in such a crisis. We were afraid of the Judgment + Day; but we were almost equally afraid of being laughed at. How about Aunt + Olivia? + </p> + <p> + “No, Aunt Olivia has gone to bed with a sick headache and mustn’t be + disturbed,” said the Story Girl. “She said I must get dinner ready, + because there was plenty of cold meat, and nothing to do but boil the + potatoes and peas, and set the table. I don’t know how I can put my + thoughts into it when the Judgment Day may be to-morrow. Besides, what is + the good of asking the grown-ups? They don’t know anything more about this + than we do.” + </p> + <p> + “But if they’d just SAY they didn’t believe it, it would be a sort of + comfort,” said Cecily. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose the minister would know, but he’s away on his vacation” said + Felicity. “Anyhow, I’ll go and ask mother what she thinks of it.” + </p> + <p> + Felicity picked up the <i>Enterprise</i> and betook herself to the house. + We awaited her return in dire suspense. + </p> + <p> + “Well, what does she say?” asked Cecily tremulously. + </p> + <p> + “She said, ‘Run away and don’t bother me. I haven’t any time for your + nonsense.’” responded Felicity in an injured tone. “And I said, ‘But, ma, + the paper SAYS to-morrow is the Judgment Day,’ and ma just said ‘Judgment + Fiddlesticks!’” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that’s kind of comforting,” said Peter. “She can’t put any faith in + it, or she’d be more worked up.” + </p> + <p> + “If it only wasn’t PRINTED!” said Dan gloomily. + </p> + <p> + “Let’s all go over and ask Uncle Roger,” said Felix desperately. + </p> + <p> + That we should make Uncle Roger a court of last resort indicated all too + clearly the state of our minds. But we went. Uncle Roger was in his + barn-yard, hitching his black mare into the buggy. His copy of the <i>Enterprise</i> + was sticking out of his pocket. He looked, as we saw with sinking hearts, + unusually grave and preoccupied. There was not a glimmer of a smile about + his face. + </p> + <p> + “You ask him,” said Felicity, nudging the Story Girl. + </p> + <p> + “Uncle Roger,” said the Story Girl, the golden notes of her voice threaded + with fear and appeal, “the <i>Enterprise</i> says that to-morrow is the + Judgment Day? IS it? Do YOU think it is?” + </p> + <p> + “I’m afraid so,” said Uncle Roger gravely. “The <i>Enterprise</i> is + always very careful to print only reliable news.” + </p> + <p> + “But mother doesn’t believe it,” cried Felicity. + </p> + <p> + Uncle Roger shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “That is just the trouble,” he said. “People won’t believe it till it’s + too late. I’m going straight to Markdale to pay a man there some money I + owe him, and after dinner I’m going to Summerside to buy me a new suit. My + old one is too shabby for the Judgment Day.” + </p> + <p> + He got into his buggy and drove away, leaving eight distracted mortals + behind him. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I suppose that settles it,” said Peter, in despairing tone. + </p> + <p> + “Is there anything we can do to PREPARE?” asked Cecily. + </p> + <p> + “I wish I had a white dress like you girls,” sobbed Sara Ray. “But I + haven’t, and it’s too late to get one. Oh, I wish I had minded what ma + said better. I wouldn’t have disobeyed her so often if I’d thought the + Judgment Day was so near. When I go home I’m going to tell her about going + to the magic lantern show.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m not sure that Uncle Roger meant what he said,” remarked the Story + Girl. “I couldn’t get a look into his eyes. If he was trying to hoax us + there would have been a twinkle in them. He can never help that. You know + he would think it a great joke to frighten us like this. It’s really + dreadful to have no grown-ups you can depend on.” + </p> + <p> + “We could depend on father if he was here,” said Dan stoutly. “HE’D tell + us the truth.” + </p> + <p> + “He would tell us what he THOUGHT was true, Dan, but he couldn’t KNOW. + He’s not such a well-educated man as the editor of the <i>Enterprise</i>. + No, there’s nothing to do but wait and see.” + </p> + <p> + “Let us go into the house and read just what the Bible does say about it,” + suggested Cecily. + </p> + <p> + We crept in carefully, lest we disturb Aunt Olivia, and Cecily found and + read the significant portion of Holy Writ. There was little comfort for us + in that vivid and terrible picture. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said the Story Girl finally. “I must go and get the potatoes + ready. I suppose they must be boiled even if it is the Judgment Day + to-morrow. But I don’t believe it is.” + </p> + <p> + “And I’ve got to go and stump elderberries,” said Peter. “I don’t see how + I can do it—go away back there alone. I’ll feel scared to death the + whole time.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell Uncle Roger that, and say if to-morrow is the end of the world that + there is no good in stumping any more fields,” I suggested. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and if he lets you off then we’ll know he was in earnest,” chimed in + Cecily. “But if he still says you must go that’ll be a sign he doesn’t + believe it.” + </p> + <p> + Leaving the Story Girl and Peter to peel their potatoes, the rest of us + went home, where Aunt Janet, who had gone to the well and found the + fragments of the old blue cup, gave poor Felicity a bitter scolding about + it. But Felicity bore it very patiently—nay, more, she seemed to + delight in it. + </p> + <p> + “Ma can’t believe to-morrow is the last day, or she wouldn’t scold like + that,” she told us; and this comforted us until after dinner, when the + Story Girl and Peter came over and told us that Uncle Roger had really + gone to Summerside. Then we plunged down into fear and wretchedness again. + </p> + <p> + “But he said I must go and stump elderberries just the same” said Peter. + “He said it might NOT be the Judgment Day to-morrow, though he believed it + was, and it would keep me out of mischief. But I just can’t stand it back + there alone. Some of you fellows must come with me. I don’t want you to + work, but just for company.” + </p> + <p> + It was finally decided that Dan and Felix should go. I wanted to go also, + but the girls protested. + </p> + <p> + “YOU must stay and keep us cheered up,” implored Felicity. “I just don’t + know how I’m ever going to put in the afternoon. I promised Kitty Marr + that I’d go down and spend it with her, but I can’t now. And I can’t knit + any at my lace. I’d just keep thinking, ‘What is the use? Perhaps it’ll + all be burned up to-morrow.’” + </p> + <p> + So I stayed with the girls, and a miserable afternoon we had of it. The + Story Girl again and again declared that she “didn’t believe it,” but when + we asked her to tell a story, she evaded it with a flimsy excuse. Cecily + pestered Aunt Janet’s life out, asking repeatedly, “Ma, will you be + washing Monday?” “Ma, will you be going to prayer meeting Tuesday night?” + “Ma, will you be preserving raspberries next week?” and various similar + questions. It was a huge comfort to her that Aunt Janet always said, + “Yes,” or “Of course,” as if there could be no question about it. + </p> + <p> + Sara Ray cried until I wondered how one small head could contain all the + tears she shed. But I do not believe she was half as much frightened as + disappointed that she had no white dress. In mid-afternoon Cecily came + downstairs with her forget-me-not jug in her hand—a dainty bit of + china, wreathed with dark blue forget-me-nots, which Cecily prized highly, + and in which she always kept her toothbrush. + </p> + <p> + “Sara, I am going to give you this jug,” she said solemnly. + </p> + <p> + Now, Sara had always coveted this particular jug. She stopped crying long + enough to clutch it delightedly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Cecily, thank you. But are you sure you won’t want it back if + to-morrow isn’t the Judgment Day?” + </p> + <p> + “No, it’s yours for good,” said Cecily, with the high, remote air of one + to whom forget-me-not jugs and all such pomps and vanities of the world + were as a tale that is told. + </p> + <p> + “Are you going to give any one your cherry vase?” asked Felicity, trying + to speak indifferently. Felicity had never admired the forget-me-not jug, + but she had always hankered after the cherry vase—an affair of white + glass, with a cluster of red glass cherries and golden-green glass leaves + on its side, which Aunt Olivia had given Cecily one Christmas. + </p> + <p> + “No, I’m not,” answered Cecily, with a change of tone. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well, I don’t care,” said Felicity quickly. “Only, if to-morrow is + the last day, the cherry vase won’t be much use to you.” + </p> + <p> + “I guess it will be as much use to me as to any one else,” said Cecily + indignantly. She had sacrificed her dear forget-me-not jug to satisfy some + pang of conscience, or propitiate some threatening fate, but surrender her + precious cherry vase she could not and would not. Felicity needn’t be + giving any hints! + </p> + <p> + With the gathering shades of night our plight became pitiful. In the + daylight, surrounded by homely, familiar sights and sounds, it was not so + difficult to fortify our souls with a cheering incredulity. But now, in + this time of shadows, dread belief clutched us and wrung us with terror. + If there had been one wise older friend to tell us, in serious fashion, + that we need not be afraid, that the <i>Enterprise</i> paragraph was + naught save the idle report of a deluded fanatic, it would have been well + for us. But there was not. Our grown-ups, instead, considered our terror + an exquisite jest. At that very moment, Aunt Olivia, who had recovered + from her headache, and Aunt Janet were laughing in the kitchen over the + state the children were in because they were afraid the end of the world + was close at hand. Aunt Janet’s throaty gurgle and Aunt Olivia’s trilling + mirth floated out through the open window. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps they’ll laugh on the other side of their faces to-morrow,” said + Dan, with gloomy satisfaction. + </p> + <p> + We were sitting on the cellar hatch, watching what might be our last + sunset o’er the dark hills of time. Peter was with us. It was his last + Sunday to go home, but he had elected to remain. + </p> + <p> + “If to-morrow is the Judgment Day I want to be with you fellows,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Sara Ray had also yearned to stay, but could not because her mother had + told her she must be home before dark. + </p> + <p> + “Never mind, Sara,” comforted Cecily. “It’s not to be till two o’clock + to-morrow, so you’ll have plenty of time to get up here before anything + happens.” + </p> + <p> + “But there might be a mistake,” sobbed Sara. “It might be two o’clock + to-night instead of to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + It might, indeed. This was a new horror, which had not occurred to us. + </p> + <p> + “I’m sure I won’t sleep a wink to-night,” said Felix. + </p> + <p> + “The paper SAYS two o’clock to-morrow,” said Dan. “You needn’t worry, + Sara.” + </p> + <p> + But Sara departed, weeping. She did not, however, forget to carry the + forget-me-not jug with her. All things considered, her departure was a + relief. Such a constantly tearful damsel was not a pleasant companion. + Cecily and Felicity and the Story Girl did not cry. They were made of + finer, firmer stuff. Dry-eyed, with such courage as they might, they faced + whatever might be in store for them. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder where we’ll all be this time to-morrow night,” said Felix + mournfully, as we watched the sunset between the dark fir boughs. It was + an ominous sunset. The sun dropped down amid dark, livid clouds, that + turned sullen shades of purple and fiery red behind him. + </p> + <p> + “I hope we’ll be all together, wherever we are,” said Cecily gently. + “Nothing can be so very bad then.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m going to read the Bible all to-morrow forenoon,” said Peter. + </p> + <p> + When Aunt Olivia came out to go home the Story Girl asked her permission + to stay all night with Felicity and Cecily. Aunt Olivia assented lightly, + swinging her hat on her arm and including us all in a friendly smile. She + looked very pretty, with her big blue eyes and warm-hued golden hair. We + loved Aunt Olivia; but just now we resented her having laughed at us with + Aunt Janet, and we refused to smile back. + </p> + <p> + “What a sulky, sulky lot of little people,” said Aunt Olivia, going away + across the yard, holding her pretty dress up from the dewy grass. + </p> + <p> + Peter resolved to stay all night with us, too, not troubling himself about + anybody’s permission. When we went to bed it was settling down for a + stormy night, and the rain was streaming wetly on the roof, as if the + world, like Sara Ray, were weeping because its end was so near. Nobody + forgot or hurried over his prayers that night. We would dearly have loved + to leave the candle burning, but Aunt Janet’s decree regarding this was as + inexorable as any of Mede and Persia. Out the candle must go; and we lay + there, quaking, with the wild rain streaming down on the roof above us, + and the voices of the storm wailing through the writhing spruce trees. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XX. THE JUDGMENT SUNDAY + </h2> + <p> + Sunday morning broke, dull and gray. The rain had ceased, but the clouds + hung dark and brooding above a world which, in its windless calm, + following the spent storm-throe, seemed to us to be waiting “till judgment + spoke the doom of fate.” We were all up early. None of us, it appeared, + had slept well, and some of us not at all. The Story Girl had been among + the latter, and she looked very pale and wan, with black shadows under her + deep-set eyes. Peter, however, had slept soundly enough after twelve + o’clock. + </p> + <p> + “When you’ve been stumping out elderberries all the afternoon it’ll take + more than the Judgment Day to keep you awake all night,” he said. “But + when I woke up this morning it was just awful. I’d forgot it for a moment, + and then it all came back with a rush, and I was worse scared than + before.” + </p> + <p> + Cecily was pale but brave. For the first time in years she had not put her + hair up in curlers on Saturday night. It was brushed and braided with + Puritan simplicity. + </p> + <p> + “If it’s the Judgment Day I don’t care whether my hair is curly or not,” + she said. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Aunt Janet, when we all descended to the kitchen, “this is + the first time you young ones have ever all got up without being called, + and that’s a fact.” + </p> + <p> + At breakfast our appetites were poor. How could the grown-ups eat as they + did? After breakfast and the necessary chores there was the forenoon to be + lived through. Peter, true to his word, got out his Bible and began to + read from the first chapter in Genesis. + </p> + <p> + “I won’t have time to read it all through, I s’pose,” he said, “but I’ll + get along as far as I can.” + </p> + <p> + There was no preaching in Carlisle that day, and Sunday School was not + till the evening. Cecily got out her Lesson Slip and studied the lesson + conscientiously. The rest of us did not see how she could do it. We could + not, that was very certain. + </p> + <p> + “If it isn’t the Judgment Day, I want to have the lesson learned,” she + said, “and if it is I’ll feel I’ve done what was right. But I never found + it so hard to remember the Golden Text before.” + </p> + <p> + The long dragging hours were hard to endure. We roamed restlessly about, + and went to and fro—all save Peter, who still steadily read away at + his Bible. He was through Genesis by eleven and beginning on Exodus. + </p> + <p> + “There’s a good deal of it I don’t understand,” he said, “but I read every + word, and that’s the main thing. That story about Joseph and his brother + was so int’resting I almost forgot about the Judgment Day.” + </p> + <p> + But the long drawn out dread was beginning to get on Dan’s nerves. + </p> + <p> + “If it is the Judgment Day,” he growled, as we went in to dinner, “I wish + it’d hurry up and have it over.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Dan!” cried Felicity and Cecily together, in a chorus of horror. But + the Story Girl looked as if she rather sympathized with Dan. + </p> + <p> + If we had eaten little at breakfast we could eat still less at dinner. + After dinner the clouds rolled away, and the sun came joyously and + gloriously out. This, we thought, was a good omen. Felicity opined that it + wouldn’t have cleared up if it was the Judgment Day. Nevertheless, we + dressed ourselves carefully, and the girls put on their white dresses. + </p> + <p> + Sara Ray came up, still crying, of course. She increased our uneasiness by + saying that her mother believed the <i>Enterprise</i> paragraph, and was + afraid that the end of the world was really at hand. + </p> + <p> + “That’s why she let me come up,” she sobbed. “If she hadn’t been afraid I + don’t believe she would have let me come up. But I’d have died if I + couldn’t have come. And she wasn’t a bit cross when I told her I had gone + to the magic lantern show. That’s an awful bad sign. I hadn’t a white + dress, but I put on my white muslin apron with the frills.” + </p> + <p> + “That seems kind of queer,” said Felicity doubtfully. “You wouldn’t put on + an apron to go to church, and so it doesn’t seem as if it was proper to + put it on for Judgment Day either.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it’s the best I could do,” said Sara disconsolately. “I wanted to + have something white on. It’s just like a dress only it hasn’t sleeves.” + </p> + <p> + “Let’s go into the orchard and wait,” said the Story Girl. “It’s one + o’clock now, so in another hour we’ll know the worst. We’ll leave the + front door open, and we’ll hear the big clock when it strikes two.” + </p> + <p> + No better plan being suggested, we betook ourselves to the orchard, and + sat on the boughs of Uncle Alec’s tree because the grass was wet. The + world was beautiful and peaceful and green. Overhead was a dazzling blue + sky, spotted with heaps of white cloud. + </p> + <p> + “Pshaw, I don’t believe there’s any fear of it being the last day,” said + Dan, beginning a whistle out of sheer bravado. + </p> + <p> + “Well, don’t whistle on Sunday anyhow,” said Felicity severely. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t see a thing about Methodists or Presbyterians, as far as I’ve + gone, and I’m most through Exodus,” said Peter suddenly. “When does it + begin to tell about them?” + </p> + <p> + “There’s nothing about Methodists or Presbyterians in the Bible,” said + Felicity scornfully. + </p> + <p> + Peter looked amazed. + </p> + <p> + “Well, how did they happen then?” he asked. “When did they begin to be?” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve often thought it such a strange thing that there isn’t a word about + either of them in the Bible,” said Cecily. “Especially when it mentions + Baptists—or at least one Baptist.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, anyhow,” said Peter, “even if it isn’t the Judgment Day I’m going + to keep on reading the Bible until I’ve got clean through. I never thought + it was such an int’resting book.” + </p> + <p> + “It sounds simply dreadful to hear you call the Bible an interesting + book,” said Felicity, with a shudder at the sacrilege. “Why, you might be + talking about ANY common book.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t mean any harm,” said Peter, crestfallen. + </p> + <p> + “The Bible IS an interesting book,” said the Story Girl, coming to Peter’s + rescue. “And there are magnificent stories in it—yes, Felicity, + MAGNIFICENT. If the world doesn’t come to an end I’ll tell you the story + of Ruth next Sunday—or look here! I’ll tell it anyhow. That’s a + promise. Wherever we are next Sunday I’ll tell you about Ruth.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, you wouldn’t tell stories in heaven,” said Cecily, in a very timid + voice. + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” said the Story Girl, with a flash of her eyes. “Indeed I shall. + I’ll tell stories as long as I’ve a tongue to talk with, or any one to + listen.” + </p> + <p> + Ay, doubtless. That dauntless spirit would soar triumphantly above the + wreck of matter and the crash of worlds, taking with it all its own wild + sweetness and daring. Even the young-eyed cherubim, choiring on meadows of + asphodel, might cease their harping for a time to listen to a tale of the + vanished earth, told by that golden tongue. Some vague thought of this was + in our minds as we looked at her; and somehow it comforted us. Not even + the Judgment was so greatly to be feared if after it we were the SAME, our + own precious little identities unchanged. + </p> + <p> + “It must be getting handy two,” said Cecily. “It seems as if we’d been + waiting here for ever so much longer than an hour.” + </p> + <p> + Conversation languished. We watched and waited nervously. The moments + dragged by, each seeming an hour. Would two o’clock never come and end the + suspense? We all became very tense. Even Peter had to stop reading. Any + unaccustomed sound or sight in the world about us struck on our taut + senses like the trump of doom. A cloud passed over the sun and as the + sudden shadow swept across the orchard we turned pale and trembled. A + wagon rumbling over a plank bridge in the hollow made Sara Ray start up + with a shriek. The slamming of a barn door over at Uncle Roger’s caused + the cold perspiration to break out on our faces. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t believe it’s the Judgment Day,” said Felix, “and I never have + believed it. But oh, I wish that clock would strike two.” + </p> + <p> + “Can’t you tell us a story to pass the time?” I entreated the Story Girl. + </p> + <p> + She shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “No, it would be no use to try. But if this isn’t the Judgment Day I’ll + have a great one to tell of us being so scared.” + </p> + <p> + Pat presently came galloping up the orchard, carrying in his mouth a big + field mouse, which, sitting down before us, he proceeded to devour, body + and bones, afterwards licking his chops with great satisfaction. + </p> + <p> + “It can’t be the Judgment Day,” said Sara Ray, brightening up. “Paddy + would never be eating mice if it was.” + </p> + <p> + “If that clock doesn’t soon strike two I shall go out of my seven senses,” + declared Cecily with unusual vehemence. + </p> + <p> + “Time always seems long when you’re waiting,” said the Story Girl. “But it + does seem as if we had been here more than an hour.” + </p> + <p> + “Maybe the clock struck and we didn’t hear it,” suggested Dan. “Somebody’d + better go and see.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll go,” said Cecily. “I suppose, even if anything happens, I’ll have + time to get back to you.” + </p> + <p> + We watched her white-clad figure pass through the gate and enter the front + door. A few minutes passed—or a few years—we could not have + told which. Then Cecily came running at full speed back to us. But when + she reached us she trembled so much that at first she could not speak. + </p> + <p> + “What is it? Is it past two?” implored the Story Girl. + </p> + <p> + “It’s—it’s four,” said Cecily with a gasp. “The old clock isn’t + going. Mother forgot to wind it up last night and it stopped. But it’s + four by the kitchen clock—so it isn’t the Judgment Day—and tea + is ready—and mother says to come in.” + </p> + <p> + We looked at each other, realizing what our dread had been, now that it + was lifted. It was not the Judgment Day. The world and life were still + before us, with all their potent lure of years unknown. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll never believe anything I read in the papers again,” said Dan, + rushing to the opposite extreme. + </p> + <p> + “I told you the Bible was more to be depended on than the newspapers,” + said Cecily triumphantly. + </p> + <p> + Sara Ray and Peter and the Story Girl went home, and we went in to tea + with royal appetites. Afterwards, as we dressed for Sunday School + upstairs, our spirits carried us away to such an extent that Aunt Janet + had to come twice to the foot of the stairs and inquire severely, + “Children, have you forgotten what day this is?” + </p> + <p> + “Isn’t it nice that we’re going to live a spell longer in this nice + world?” said Felix, as we walked down the hill. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and Felicity and the Story Girl are speaking again,” said Cecily + happily. + </p> + <p> + “And Felicity DID speak first,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but it took the Judgment Day to make her. I wish,” added Cecily with + a sigh, “that I hadn’t been in quite such a hurry giving away my + forget-me-not jug.” + </p> + <p> + “And I wish I hadn’t been in such a hurry deciding I’d be a Presbyterian,” + said Peter. + </p> + <p> + “Well, it’s not too late for that,” said Dan. “You can change your mind + now.” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir,” said Peter with a flash of spirit, “I ain’t one of the kind + that says they’ll be something just because they’re scared, and when the + scare is over go back on it. I said I’d be Presbyterian and I mean to + stick to it.” + </p> + <p> + “You said you knew a story that had something to do with Presbyterians,” I + said to the Story Girl. “Tell us it now.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, it isn’t the right kind of story to tell on Sunday,” she replied. + “But I’ll tell it to-morrow morning.” + </p> + <p> + Accordingly, we heard it the next morning in the orchard. + </p> + <p> + “Long ago, when Judy Pineau was young,” said the Story Girl, “she was + hired with Mrs. Elder Frewen—the first Mrs. Elder Frewen. Mrs. + Frewen had been a school-teacher, and she was very particular as to how + people talked, and the grammar they used. And she didn’t like anything but + refined words. One very hot day she heard Judy Pineau say she was ‘all in + a sweat.’ Mrs. Frewen was greatly shocked, and said, ‘Judy, you shouldn’t + say that. It’s horses that sweat. You should say you are in a + perspiration.’ Well, Judy promised she’d remember, because she liked Mrs. + Frewen and was anxious to please her. Not long afterwards Judy was + scrubbing the kitchen floor one morning, and when Mrs. Frewen came in Judy + looked up and said, quite proud over using the right word, ‘Oh, Mees + Frewen, ain’t it awful hot? I declare I’m all in a Presbyterian.’” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXI. DREAMERS OF DREAMS + </h2> + <p> + August went out and September came in. Harvest was ended; and though + summer was not yet gone, her face was turned westering. The asters + lettered her retreating footsteps in a purple script, and over the hills + and valleys hung a faint blue smoke, as if Nature were worshipping at her + woodland altar. The apples began to burn red on the bending boughs; + crickets sang day and night; squirrels chattered secrets of Polichinelle + in the spruces; the sunshine was as thick and yellow as molten gold; + school opened, and we small denizens of the hill farms lived happy days of + harmless work and necessary play, closing in nights of peaceful, + undisturbed slumber under a roof watched over by autumnal stars. + </p> + <p> + At least, our slumbers were peaceful and undisturbed until our orgy of + dreaming began. + </p> + <p> + “I would really like to know what especial kind of deviltry you young fry + are up to this time,” said Uncle Roger one evening, as he passed through + the orchard with his gun on his shoulder, bound for the swamp. + </p> + <p> + We were sitting in a circle before the Pulpit Stone, each writing + diligently in an exercise book, and eating the Rev. Mr. Scott’s plums, + which always reached their prime of juicy, golden-green flesh and bloomy + blue skin in September. The Rev. Mr. Scott was dead and gone, but those + plums certainly kept his memory green, as his forgotten sermons could + never have done. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” said Felicity in a shocked tone, when Uncle Roger had passed by, + “Uncle Roger SWORE.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, he didn’t,” said the Story Girl quickly. “‘Deviltry’ isn’t + swearing at all. It only means extra bad mischief.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it’s not a very nice word, anyhow,” said Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “No, it isn’t,” agreed the Story Girl with a regretful sigh. “It’s very + expressive, but it isn’t nice. That is the way with so many words. They’re + expressive, but they’re not nice, and so a girl can’t use them.” + </p> + <p> + The Story Girl sighed again. She loved expressive words, and treasured + them as some girls might have treasured jewels. To her, they were as + lustrous pearls, threaded on the crimson cord of a vivid fancy. When she + met with a new one she uttered it over and over to herself in solitude, + weighing it, caressing it, infusing it with the radiance of her voice, + making it her own in all its possibilities for ever. + </p> + <p> + “Well, anyhow, it isn’t a suitable word in this case,” insisted Felicity. + “We are not up to any dev—any extra bad mischief. Writing down one’s + dreams isn’t mischief at all.” + </p> + <p> + Certainly it wasn’t. Surely not even the straitest sect of the grown-ups + could call it so. If writing down your dreams, with agonizing care as to + composition and spelling—for who knew that the eyes of generations + unborn might not read the record?—were not a harmless amusement, + could anything be called so? I trow not. + </p> + <p> + We had been at it for a fortnight, and during that time we only lived to + have dreams and write them down. The Story Girl had originated the idea + one evening in the rustling, rain-wet ways of the spruce wood, where we + were picking gum after a day of showers. When we had picked enough, we sat + down on the moss-grown stones at the end of a long arcade, where it opened + out on the harvest-golden valley below us, our jaws exercising themselves + vigorously on the spoil of our climbings. We were never allowed to chew + gum in school or in company, but in wood and field, orchard and hayloft, + such rules were in abeyance. + </p> + <p> + “My Aunt Jane used to say it wasn’t polite to chew gum anywhere,” said + Peter rather ruefully. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t suppose your Aunt Jane knew all the rules of etiquette,” said + Felicity, designing to crush Peter with a big word, borrowed from the <i>Family + Guide</i>. But Peter was not to be so crushed. He had in him a certain + toughness of fibre, that would have been proof against a whole dictionary. + </p> + <p> + “She did, too,” he retorted. “My Aunt Jane was a real lady, even if she + was only a Craig. She knew all those rules and she kept them when there + was nobody round to see her, just the same as when any one was. And she + was smart. If father had had half her git-up-and-git I wouldn’t be a hired + boy to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you any idea where your father is?” asked Dan. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Peter indifferently. “The last we heard of him he was in the + Maine lumber woods. But that was three years ago. I don’t know where he is + now, and,” added Peter deliberately, taking his gum from his mouth to make + his statement more impressive, “I don’t care.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Peter, that sounds dreadful,” said Cecily. “Your own father!” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Peter defiantly, “if your own father had run away when you + was a baby, and left your mother to earn her living by washing and working + out, I guess you wouldn’t care much about him either.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps your father may come home some of these days with a huge + fortune,” suggested the Story Girl. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps pigs may whistle, but they’ve poor mouths for it,” was all the + answer Peter deigned to this charming suggestion. + </p> + <p> + “There goes Mr. Campbell down the road,” said Dan. “That’s his new mare. + Isn’t she a dandy? She’s got a skin like black satin. He calls her Betty + Sherman.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think it’s very nice to call a horse after your own grandmother,” + said Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “Betty Sherman would have thought it a compliment,” said the Story Girl. + </p> + <p> + “Maybe she would. She couldn’t have been very nice herself, or she would + never have gone and asked a man to marry her,” said Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” + </p> + <p> + “Goodness me, it was dreadful! Would YOU do such a thing yourself?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don’t know,” said the Story Girl, her eyes gleaming with impish + laughter. “If I wanted him DREADFULLY, and HE wouldn’t do the asking, + perhaps I would.” + </p> + <p> + “I’d rather die an old maid forty times over,” exclaimed Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “Nobody as pretty as you will ever be an old maid, Felicity,” said Peter, + who never put too fine an edge on his compliments. + </p> + <p> + Felicity tossed her golden tressed head and tried to look angry, but made + a dismal failure of it. + </p> + <p> + “It wouldn’t be ladylike to ask any one to marry you, you know,” argued + Cecily. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t suppose the <i>Family Guide</i> would think so,” agreed the Story + Girl lazily, with some sarcasm in her voice. The Story Girl never held the + <i>Family Guide</i> in such reverence as did Felicity and Cecily. They + pored over the “etiquette column” every week, and could have told you on + demand, just exactly what kind of gloves should be worn at a wedding, what + you should say when introducing or being introduced, and how you ought to + look when your best young man came to see you. + </p> + <p> + “They say Mrs. Richard Cook asked HER husband to marry her,” said Dan. + </p> + <p> + “Uncle Roger says she didn’t exactly ask him, but she helped the lame dog + over the stile so slick that Richard was engaged to her before he knew + what had happened to him,” said the Story Girl. “I know a story about Mrs. + Richard Cook’s grandmother. She was one of those women who are always + saying ‘I told you so—‘” + </p> + <p> + “Take notice, Felicity,” said Dan aside. + </p> + <p> + “—And she was very stubborn. Soon after she was married she and her + husband quarrelled about an apple tree they had planted in their orchard. + The label was lost. He said it was a Fameuse and she declared it was a + Yellow Transparent. They fought over it till the neighbours came out to + listen. Finally he got so angry that he told her to shut up. They didn’t + have any <i>Family Guide</i> in those days, so he didn’t know it wasn’t + polite to say shut up to your wife. I suppose she thought she would teach + him manners, for would you believe it? That woman did shut up, and never + spoke one single word to her husband for five years. And then, in five + years’ time, the tree bore apples, and they WERE Yellow Transparents. And + then she spoke at last. She said, ‘I told you so.’” + </p> + <p> + “And did she talk to him after that as usual?” asked Sara Ray. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, she was just the same as she used to be,” said the Story Girl + wearily. “But that doesn’t belong to the story. It stops when she spoke at + last. You’re never satisfied to leave a story where it should stop, Sara + Ray.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I always like to know what happens afterwards,” said Sara Ray. + </p> + <p> + “Uncle Roger says he wouldn’t want a wife he could never quarrel with,” + remarked Dan. “He says it would be too tame a life for him.” + </p> + <p> + “I wonder if Uncle Roger will always stay a bachelor,” said Cecily. + </p> + <p> + “He seems real happy,” observed Peter. + </p> + <p> + “Ma says that it’s all right as long as he is a bachelor because he won’t + take any one,” said Felicity, “but if he wakes up some day and finds he is + an old bachelor because he can’t get any one it’ll have a very different + flavour.” + </p> + <p> + “If your Aunt Olivia was to up and get married what would your Uncle Roger + do for a housekeeper?” asked Peter. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but Aunt Olivia will never be married now,” said Felicity. “Why, + she’ll be twenty-nine next January.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, o’ course, that’s pretty old,” admitted Peter, “but she might find + some one who wouldn’t mind that, seeing she’s so pretty.” + </p> + <p> + “It would be awful splendid and exciting to have a wedding in the family, + wouldn’t it?” said Cecily. “I’ve never seen any one married, and I’d just + love to. I’ve been to four funerals, but not to one single wedding.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve never even got to a funeral,” said Sara Ray gloomily. + </p> + <p> + “There’s the wedding veil of the proud princess,” said Cecily, pointing to + a long drift of filmy vapour in the southwestern sky. + </p> + <p> + “And look at that sweet pink cloud below it,” added Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “Maybe that little pink cloud is a dream, getting all ready to float down + into somebody’s sleep,” suggested the Story Girl. + </p> + <p> + “I had a perfectly awful dream last night,” said Cecily, with a shudder of + remembrance. “I dreamed I was on a desert island inhabited by tigers and + natives with two heads.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” the Story Girl looked at Cecily half reproachfully. “Why couldn’t + you tell it better than that? If I had such a dream I could tell it so + that everybody else would feel as if they had dreamed it, too.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I’m not you,” countered Cecily, “and I wouldn’t want to frighten + any one as I was frightened. It was an awful dream—but it was kind + of interesting, too.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve had some real int’resting dreams,” said Peter, “but I can’t remember + them long. I wish I could.” + </p> + <p> + “Why don’t you write them down?” suggested the Story Girl. “Oh—” she + turned upon us a face illuminated with a sudden inspiration. “I’ve an + idea. Let us each get an exercise book and write down all our dreams, just + as we dream them. We’ll see who’ll have the most interesting collection. + And we’ll have them to read and laugh over when we’re old and gray.” + </p> + <p> + Instantly we all saw ourselves and each other by inner vision, old and + gray—all but the Story Girl. We could not picture her as old. + Always, as long as she lived, so it seemed to us, must she have sleek + brown curls, a voice like the sound of a harpstring in the wind, and eyes + that were stars of eternal youth. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXII. THE DREAM BOOKS + </h2> + <p> + The next day the Story Girl coaxed Uncle Roger to take her to Markdale, + and there she bought our dream books. They were ten cents apiece, with + ruled pages and mottled green covers. My own lies open beside me as I + write, its yellowed pages inscribed with the visions that haunted my + childish slumbers on those nights of long ago. + </p> + <p> + On the cover is pasted a lady’s visiting card, on which is written, “The + Dream Book of Beverley King.” Cecily had a packet of visiting cards which + she was hoarding against the day when she would be grown up and could put + the calling etiquette of the <i>Family Guide</i> into practice; but she + generously gave us all one apiece for the covers of our dream books. + </p> + <p> + As I turn the pages and glance over the (——) records, each one + beginning, “Last night I dreamed,” the past comes very vividly back to me. + I see that bowery orchard, shining in memory with a soft glow of beauty—“the + light that never was on land or sea,”—where we sat on those + September evenings and wrote down our dreams, when the cares of the day + were over and there was nothing to interfere with the pleasing throes of + composition. Peter—Dan—Felix—Cecily—Felicity—Sara + Ray—the Story Girl—they are all around me once more, in the + sweet-scented, fading grasses, each with open dream books and pencil in + hand, now writing busily, now staring fixedly into space in search of some + elusive word or phrase which might best describe the indescribable. I hear + their laughing voices, I see their bright, unclouded eyes. In this little, + old book, filled with cramped, boyish writing, there is a spell of white + magic that sets the years at naught. Beverley King is a boy once more, + writing down his dreams in the old King orchard on the homestead hill, + blown over by musky winds. + </p> + <p> + Opposite to him sits the Story Girl, with her scarlet rosetted head, her + beautiful bare feet crossed before her, one slender hand propping her + high, white brow, on either side of which fall her glossy curls. + </p> + <p> + There, to the right, is sweet Cecily of the dear, brown eyes, with a + little bloated dictionary beside her—for you dream of so many things + you can’t spell, or be expected to spell, when you are only eleven. Next + to her sits Felicity, beautiful, and conscious that she is beautiful, with + hair of spun sunshine, and sea-blue eyes, and all the roses of that + vanished summer abloom in her cheeks. + </p> + <p> + Peter is beside her, of course, sprawled flat on his stomach among the + grasses, one hand clutching his black curls, with his dream book on a + small, round stone before him—for only so can Peter compose at all, + and even then he finds it hard work. He can handle a hoe more deftly than + a pencil, and his spelling, even with all his frequent appeals to Cecily, + is a fearful and wonderful thing. As for punctuation, he never attempts + it, beyond an occasion period, jotted down whenever he happens to think of + it, whether in the right place or not. The Story Girl goes over his dreams + after he has written them out, and puts in the commas and semicolons, and + straightens out the sentences. + </p> + <p> + Felix sits on the right of the Story Girl, fat and stodgy, grimly in + earnest even over dreams. He writes with his knees stuck up to form a + writing-desk, and he always frowns fiercely the whole time. + </p> + <p> + Dan, like Peter, writes lying down flat, but with his back towards us; and + he has a dismal habit of groaning aloud, writhing his whole body, and + digging his toes into the grass, when he cannot turn a sentence to suit + him. + </p> + <p> + Sara Ray is at his left. There is seldom anything to be said of Sara + except to tell where she is. Like Tennyson’s Maud, in one respect at + least, Sara is splendidly null. + </p> + <p> + Well, there we sit and write in our dream books, and Uncle Roger passes by + and accuses us of being up to dev—to very bad mischief. + </p> + <p> + Each of us was very anxious to possess the most exciting record; but we + were an honourable little crew, and I do not think anything was ever + written down in those dream books which had not really been dreamed. We + had expected that the Story Girl would eclipse us all in the matter of + dreams; but, at least in the beginning, her dreams were no more remarkable + than those of the rest of us. In dreamland we were all equal. Cecily, + indeed, seemed to have the most decided talent for dramatic dreams. That + meekest and mildest of girls was in the habit of dreaming truly terrible + things. Almost every night battle, murder, or sudden death played some + part in her visions. On the other hand, Dan, who was a somewhat truculent + fellow, addicted to the perusal of lurid dime novels which he borrowed + from the other boys in school, dreamed dreams of such a peaceful and + pastoral character that he was quite disgusted with the resulting tame + pages of his dream book. + </p> + <p> + But if the Story Girl could not dream anything more wonderful than the + rest of us, she scored when it came to the telling. To hear her tell a + dream was as good—or as bad—as dreaming it yourself. + </p> + <p> + As far as writing them down was concerned, I believe that I, Beverley + King, carried off the palm. I was considered to possess a pretty knack of + composition. But the Story Girl went me one better even there, because, + having inherited something of her father’s talent for drawing, she + illustrated her dreams with sketches that certainly caught the spirit of + them, whatever might be said of their technical excellence. She had an + especial knack for drawing monstrosities; and I vividly recall the picture + of an enormous and hideous lizard, looking like a reptile of the + pterodactyl period, which she had dreamed of seeing crawl across the roof + of the house. On another occasion she had a frightful dream—at + least, it seemed frightful while she told us and described the dreadful + feeling it had given her—of being chased around the parlour by the + ottoman, which made faces at her. She drew a picture of the grimacing + ottoman on the margin of her dream book which so scared Sara Ray when she + beheld it that she cried all the way home, and insisted on sleeping that + night with Judy Pineau lest the furniture take to pursuing her also. + </p> + <p> + Sara Ray’s own dreams never amounted to much. She was always in trouble of + some sort—couldn’t get her hair braided, or her shoes on the right + feet. Consequently, her dream book was very monotonous. The only thing + worth mentioning in the way of dreams that Sara Ray ever achieved was when + she dreamed that she went up in a balloon and fell out. + </p> + <p> + “I expected to come down with an awful thud,” she said shuddering, “but I + lit as light as a feather and woke right up.” + </p> + <p> + “If you hadn’t woke up you’d have died,” said Peter with a dark + significance. “If you dream of falling and DON’T wake you DO land with a + thud and it kills you. That’s what happens to people who die in their + sleep.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you know?” asked Dan skeptically. “Nobody who died in his sleep + could ever tell it.” + </p> + <p> + “My Aunt Jane told me so,” said Peter. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose that settles it,” said Felicity disagreeably. + </p> + <p> + “You always say something nasty when I mention my Aunt Jane,” said Peter + reproachfully. + </p> + <p> + “What did I say that was nasty?” cried Felicity. “I didn’t say a single + thing.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it sounded nasty,” said Peter, who knew that it is the tone that + makes the music. + </p> + <p> + “What did your Aunt Jane look like?” asked Cecily sympathetically. “Was + she pretty?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” conceded Peter reluctantly, “she wasn’t pretty—but she looked + like the woman in that picture the Story Girl’s father sent her last week—the + one with the shiny ring round her head and the baby in her lap. I’ve seen + Aunt Jane look at me just like that woman looks at her baby. Ma never + looks so. Poor ma is too busy washing. I wish I could dream of my Aunt + Jane. I never do.” + </p> + <p> + “‘Dream of the dead, you’ll hear of the living,’” quoted Felix oracularly. + </p> + <p> + “I dreamed last night that I threw a lighted match into that keg of + gunpowder in Mr. Cook’s store at Markdale,” said Peter. “It blew up—and + everything blew up—and they fished me out of the mess—but I + woke up before I’d time to find out if I was killed or not.” + </p> + <p> + “One is so apt to wake up just as things get interesting,” remarked the + Story Girl discontentedly. + </p> + <p> + “I dreamed last night that I had really truly curly hair,” said Cecily + mournfully. “And oh, I was so happy! It was dreadful to wake up and find + it as straight as ever.” + </p> + <p> + Felix, that sober, solid fellow, dreamed constantly of flying through the + air. His descriptions of his aerial flights over the tree-tops of + dreamland always filled us with envy. None of the rest of us could ever + compass such a dream, not even the Story Girl, who might have been + expected to dream of flying if anybody did. Felix had a knack of dreaming + anyhow, and his dream book, while suffering somewhat in comparison of + literary style, was about the best of the lot when it came to subject + matter. Cecily’s might be more dramatic, but Felix’s was more amusing. The + dream which we all counted his masterpiece was the one in which a + menagerie had camped in the orchard and the rhinoceros chased Aunt Janet + around and around the Pulpit Stone, but turned into an inoffensive pig + when it was on the point of catching her. + </p> + <p> + Felix had a sick spell soon after we began our dream books, and Aunt Janet + essayed to cure him by administering a dose of liver pills which Elder + Frewen had assured her were a cure-all for every disease the flesh is heir + to. But Felix flatly refused to take liver pills; Mexican Tea he would + drink, but liver pills he would not take, in spite of his own suffering + and Aunt Janet’s commands and entreaties. I could not understand his + antipathy to the insignificant little white pellets, which were so easy to + swallow; but he explained the matter to us in the orchard when he had + recovered his usual health and spirits. + </p> + <p> + “I was afraid to take the liver pills for fear they’d prevent me from + dreaming,” he said. “Don’t you remember old Miss Baxter in Toronto, Bev? + And how she told Mrs. McLaren that she was subject to terrible dreams, and + finally she took two liver pills and never had any more dreams after that. + I’d rather have died than risk it,” concluded Felix solemnly. + </p> + <p> + “I’d an exciting dream last night for once,” said Dan triumphantly. “I + dreamt old Peg Bowen chased me. I thought I was up to her house and she + took after me. You bet I scooted. And she caught me—yes, sir! I felt + her skinny hand reach out and clutch my shoulder. I let out a screech—and + woke up.” + </p> + <p> + “I should think you did screech,” said Felicity. “We heard you clean over + into our room.” + </p> + <p> + “I hate to dream of being chased because I can never run,” said Sara Ray + with a shiver. “I just stand rooted to the ground—and see it coming—and + can’t stir. It don’t sound much written out, but it’s awful to go through. + I’m sure I hope I’ll never dream Peg Bowen chases me. I’ll die if I do.” + </p> + <p> + “I wonder what Peg Bowen would really do to a fellow if she caught him,” + speculated Dan. + </p> + <p> + “Peg Bowen doesn’t need to catch you to do things to you,” said Peter + ominously. “She can put ill-luck on you just by looking at you—and + she will if you offend her.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t believe that,” said the Story Girl airily. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you? All right, then! Last summer she called at Lem Hill’s in + Markdale, and he told her to clear out or he’d set the dog on her. Peg + cleared out, and she went across his pasture, muttering to herself and + throwing her arms round. And next day his very best cow took sick and + died. How do you account for that?” + </p> + <p> + “It might have happened anyhow,” said the Story Girl—somewhat less + assuredly, though. + </p> + <p> + “It might. But I’d just as soon Peg Bowen didn’t look at MY cows,” said + Peter. + </p> + <p> + “As if you had any cows!” giggled Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “I’m going to have cows some day,” said Peter, flushing. “I don’t mean to + be a hired boy all my life. I’ll have a farm of my own and cows and + everything. You’ll see if I won’t.” + </p> + <p> + “I dreamed last night that we opened the blue chest,” said the Story Girl, + “and all the things were there—the blue china candlestick—only + it was brass in the dream—and the fruit basket with the apple on it, + and the wedding dress, and the embroidered petticoat. And we were + laughing, and trying the things on, and having such fun. And Rachel Ward + herself came and looked at us—so sad and reproachful—and we + all felt ashamed, and I began to cry, and woke up crying.” + </p> + <p> + “I dreamed last night that Felix was thin,” said Peter, laughing. “He did + look so queer. His clothes just hung loose, and he was going round trying + to hold them on.” + </p> + <p> + Everybody thought this was funny, except Felix. He would not speak to + Peter for two days because of it. Felicity also got into trouble because + of her dreams. One night she woke up, having just had a very exciting + dream; but she went to sleep again, and in the morning she could not + remember the dream at all. Felicity determined she would never let another + dream get away from her in such a fashion; and the next time she wakened + in the night—having dreamed that she was dead and buried—she + promptly arose, lighted a candle, and proceeded to write the dream down + then and there. While so employed she contrived to upset the candle and + set fire to her nightgown—a brand-new one, trimmed with any quantity + of crocheted lace. A huge hole was burned in it, and when Aunt Janet + discovered it she lifted up her voice with no uncertain sound. Felicity + had never received a sharper scolding. But she took it very + philosophically. She was used to her mother’s bitter tongue, and she was + not unduly sensitive. + </p> + <p> + “Anyhow, I saved my dream,” she said placidly. + </p> + <p> + And that, of course, was all that really mattered. Grown people were so + strangely oblivious to the truly important things of life. Material for + new garments, of night or day, could be bought in any shop for a trifling + sum and made up out of hand. But if a dream escape you, in what + market-place the wide world over can you hope to regain it? What coin of + earthly minting will ever buy back for you that lost and lovely vision? + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIII. SUCH STUFF AS DREAMS ARE MADE ON + </h2> + <p> + Peter took Dan and me aside one evening, as we were on our way to the + orchard with our dream books, saying significantly that he wanted our + advice. Accordingly, we went round to the spruce wood, where the girls + would not see us to the rousing of their curiosity, and then Peter told us + of his dilemma. + </p> + <p> + “Last night I dreamed I was in church,” he said. “I thought it was full of + people, and I walked up the aisle to your pew and set down, as unconcerned + as a pig on ice. And then I found that I hadn’t a stitch of clothes on—NOT + ONE BLESSED STITCH. Now”—Peter dropped his voice—“what is + bothering me is this—would it be proper to tell a dream like that + before the girls?” + </p> + <p> + I was of the opinion that it would be rather questionable; but Dan vowed + he didn’t see why. HE’D tell it quick as any other dream. There was + nothing bad in it. + </p> + <p> + “But they’re your own relations,” said Peter. “They’re no relation to me, + and that makes a difference. Besides, they’re all such ladylike girls. I + guess I’d better not risk it. I’m pretty sure Aunt Jane wouldn’t think it + was proper to tell such a dream. And I don’t want to offend Fel—any + of them.” + </p> + <p> + So Peter never told that dream, nor did he write it down. Instead, I + remember seeing in his dream book, under the date of September fifteenth, + an entry to this effect:— + </p> + <p> + “Last nite i dremed a drem. it wasent a polit drem so i won’t rite it + down.” + </p> + <p> + The girls saw this entry but, to their credit be it told, they never tried + to find out what the “drem” was. As Peter said, they were “ladies” in the + best and truest sense of that much abused appellation. Full of fun and + frolic and mischief they were, with all the defects of their qualities and + all the wayward faults of youth. But no indelicate thought or vulgar word + could have been shaped or uttered in their presence. Had any of us boys + ever been guilty of such, Cecily’s pale face would have coloured with the + blush of outraged purity, Felicity’s golden head would have lifted itself + in the haughty indignation of insulted womanhood, and the Story Girl’s + splendid eyes would have flashed with such anger and scorn as would have + shrivelled the very soul of the wretched culprit. + </p> + <p> + Dan was once guilty of swearing. Uncle Alec whipped him for it—the + only time he ever so punished any of his children. But it was because + Cecily cried all night that Dan was filled with saving remorse and + repentance. He vowed next day to Cecily that he would never swear again, + and he kept his word. + </p> + <p> + All at once the Story Girl and Peter began to forge ahead in the matter of + dreaming. Their dreams suddenly became so lurid and dreadful and + picturesque that it was hard for the rest of us to believe that they were + not painting the lily rather freely in their accounts of them. But the + Story Girl was the soul of honour; and Peter, early in life, had had his + feet set in the path of truthfulness by his Aunt Jane and had never been + known to stray from it. When they assured us solemnly that their dreams + all happened exactly as they described them we were compelled to believe + them. But there was something up, we felt sure of that. Peter and the + Story Girl certainly had a secret between them, which they kept for a + whole fortnight. There was no finding it out from the Story Girl. She had + a knack of keeping secrets, anyhow; and, moreover, all that fortnight she + was strangely cranky and petulant, and we found it was not wise to tease + her. She was not well, so Aunt Olivia told Aunt Janet. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know what is the matter with the child,” said the former + anxiously. “She hasn’t seemed like herself the past two weeks. She + complains of headache, and she has no appetite, and she is a dreadful + colour. I’ll have to see a doctor about her if she doesn’t get better + soon.” + </p> + <p> + “Give her a good dose of Mexican Tea and try that first,” said Aunt Janet. + “I’ve saved many a doctor’s bill in my family by using Mexican Tea.” + </p> + <p> + The Mexican Tea was duly administered, but produced no improvement in the + condition of the Story Girl, who, however, went on dreaming after a + fashion which soon made her dream book a veritable curiosity of + literature. + </p> + <p> + “If we can’t soon find out what makes Peter and the Story Girl dream like + that, the rest of us might as well give up trying to write dream books,” + said Felix discontentedly. + </p> + <p> + Finally, we did find out. Felicity wormed the secret out of Peter by the + employment of Delilah wiles, such as have been the undoing of many a + miserable male creature since Samson’s day. She first threatened that she + would never speak to him again if he didn’t tell her; and then she + promised him that, if he did, she would let him walk beside her to and + from Sunday School all the rest of the summer, and carry her books for + her. Peter was not proof against this double attack. He yielded and told + the secret. + </p> + <p> + I expected the Story Girl would overwhelm him with scorn and indignation. + But she took it very coolly. + </p> + <p> + “I knew Felicity would get it out of him sometime,” she said. “I think he + has done well to hold out this long.” + </p> + <p> + Peter and the Story Girl, so it appeared, had wooed wild dreams to their + pillows by the simple device of eating rich, indigestible things before + they went to bed. Aunt Olivia knew nothing about it, of course. She + permitted them only a plain, wholesome lunch at bed-time. But during the + day the Story Girl would smuggle upstairs various tidbits from the pantry, + putting half in Peter’s room and half in her own; and the result was these + visions which had been our despair. + </p> + <p> + “Last night I ate a piece of mince pie,” she said, “and a lot of pickles, + and two grape jelly tarts. But I guess I overdid it, because I got real + sick and couldn’t sleep at all, so of course I didn’t have any dreams. I + should have stopped with the pie and pickles and left the tarts alone. + Peter did, and he had an elegant dream that Peg Bowen caught him and put + him on to boil alive in that big black pot that hangs outside her door. He + woke up before the water got hot, though. Well, Miss Felicity, you’re + pretty smart. But how will you like to walk to Sunday School with a boy + who wears patched trousers?” + </p> + <p> + “I won’t have to,” said Felicity triumphantly. “Peter is having a new suit + made. It’s to be ready by Saturday. I knew that before I promised.” + </p> + <p> + Having discovered how to produce exciting dreams, we all promptly followed + the example of Peter and the Story Girl. + </p> + <p> + “There is no chance for me to have any horrid dreams,” lamented Sara Ray, + “because ma won’t let me having anything at all to eat before I go to bed. + I don’t think it’s fair.” + </p> + <p> + “Can’t you hide something away through the day as we do?” asked Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “No.” Sara shook her fawn-coloured head mournfully. “Ma always keeps the + pantry locked, for fear Judy Pineau will treat her friends.” + </p> + <p> + For a week we ate unlawful lunches and dreamed dreams after our own hearts—and, + I regret to say, bickered and squabbled incessantly throughout the + daytime, for our digestions went out of order and our tempers followed + suit. Even the Story Girl and I had a fight—something that had never + happened before. Peter was the only one who kept his normal poise. Nothing + could upset that boy’s stomach. + </p> + <p> + One night Cecily came into the pantry with a large cucumber, and proceeded + to devour the greater part of it. The grown-ups were away that evening, + attending a lecture at Markdale, so we ate our snacks openly, without any + recourse to ways that were dark. I remember I supped that night off a + solid hunk of fat pork, topped off with a slab of cold plum pudding. + </p> + <p> + “I thought you didn’t like cucumber, Cecily,” Dan remarked. + </p> + <p> + “Neither I do,” said Cecily with a grimace. “But Peter says they’re + splendid for dreaming. He et one that night he had the dream about being + caught by cannibals. I’d eat three cucumbers if I could have a dream like + that.” + </p> + <p> + Cecily finished her cucumber, and then drank a glass of milk, just as we + heard the wheels of Uncle Alec’s buggy rambling over the bridge in the + hollow. Felicity quickly restored pork and pudding to their own places, + and by the time Aunt Janet came in we were all in our respective beds. + Soon the house was dark and silent. I was just dropping into an uneasy + slumber when I heard a commotion in the girls’ room across the hall. + </p> + <p> + Their door opened and through our own open door I saw Felicity’s + white-clad figure flit down the stairs to Aunt Janet’s room. From the room + she had left came moans and cries. + </p> + <p> + “Cecily’s sick,” said Dan, springing out of bed. “That cucumber must have + disagreed with her.” + </p> + <p> + In a few minutes the whole house was astir. Cecily was sick—very, + very sick, there was no doubt of that. She was even worse than Dan had + been when he had eaten the bad berries. Uncle Alec, tired as he was from + his hard day’s work and evening outing, was despatched for the doctor. + Aunt Janet and Felicity administered all the homely remedies they could + think of, but to no effect. Felicity told Aunt Janet of the cucumber, but + Aunt Janet did not think the cucumber alone could be responsible for + Cecily’s alarming condition. + </p> + <p> + “Cucumbers are indigestible, but I never knew of them making any one as + sick as this,” she said anxiously. “What made the child eat a cucumber + before going to bed? I didn’t think she liked them.” + </p> + <p> + “It was that wretched Peter,” sobbed Felicity indignantly. “He told her it + would make her dream something extra.” + </p> + <p> + “What on earth did she want to dream for?” demanded Aunt Janet in + bewilderment. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, to have something worth while to write in her dream book, ma. We all + have dream books, you know, and every one wants their own to be the most + exciting—and we’ve been eating rich things to make us dream—and + it does—but if Cecily—oh, I’ll never forgive myself,” said + Felicity, incoherently, letting all kinds of cats out of the bag in her + excitement and alarm. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I wonder what on earth you young ones will do next,” said Aunt + Janet in the helpless tone of a woman who gives it up. + </p> + <p> + Cecily was no better when the doctor came. Like Aunt Janet, he declared + that cucumbers alone would not have made her so ill; but when he found out + that she had drunk a glass of milk also the mystery was solved. + </p> + <p> + “Why, milk and cucumbers together make a rank poison,” he said. “No wonder + the child is sick. There—there now—” seeing the alarmed faces + around him, “don’t be frightened. As old Mrs. Fraser says, ‘It’s no + deidly.’ It won’t kill her, but she’ll probably be a pretty miserable girl + for two or three days.” + </p> + <p> + She was. And we were all miserable in company. Aunt Janet investigated the + whole affair and the matter of our dream books was aired in family + conclave. I do not know which hurt our feelings most—the scolding we + got from Aunt Janet, or the ridicule which the other grown-ups, especially + Uncle Roger, showered on us. Peter received an extra “setting down,” which + he considered rank injustice. + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t tell Cecily to drink the milk, and the cucumber alone wouldn’t + have hurt her,” he grumbled. Cecily was able to be out with us again that + day, so Peter felt that he might venture on a grumble. “‘Sides, she coaxed + me to tell her what would be good for dreams. I just told her as a favour. + And now your Aunt Janet blames me for the whole trouble.” + </p> + <p> + “And Aunt Janet says we are never to have anything to eat before we go to + bed after this except plain bread and milk,” said Felix sadly. + </p> + <p> + “They’d like to stop us from dreaming altogether if they could,” said the + Story Girl wrathfully. + </p> + <p> + “Well, anyway, they can’t prevent us from growing up,” consoled Dan. + </p> + <p> + “We needn’t worry about the bread and milk rule,” added Felicity. “Ma made + a rule like that once before, and kept it for a week, and then we just + slipped back to the old way. That will be what will happen this time, too. + But of course we won’t be able to get any more rich things for supper, and + our dreams will be pretty flat after this.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, let’s go down to the Pulpit Stone and I’ll tell you a story I + know,” said the Story Girl. + </p> + <p> + We went—and straightway drank of the waters of forgetfulness. In a + brief space we were laughing right merrily, no longer remembering our + wrongs at the hands of those cruel grown-ups. Our laughter echoed back + from the barns and the spruce grove, as if elfin denizens of upper air + were sharing in our mirth. + </p> + <p> + Presently, also, the laughter of the grown-ups mingled with ours. Aunt + Olivia and Uncle Roger, Aunt Janet and Uncle Alec, came strolling through + the orchard and joined our circle, as they sometimes did when the toil of + the day was over, and the magic time ‘twixt light and dark brought truce + of care and labour. ‘Twas then we liked our grown-ups best, for then they + seemed half children again. Uncle Roger and Uncle Alec lolled in the grass + like boys; Aunt Olivia, looking more like a pansy than ever in the + prettiest dress of pale purple print, with a knot of yellow ribbon at her + throat, sat with her arm about Cecily and smiled on us all; and Aunt + Janet’s motherly face lost its every-day look of anxious care. + </p> + <p> + The Story Girl was in great fettle that night. Never had her tales + sparkled with such wit and archness. + </p> + <p> + “Sara Stanley,” said Aunt Olivia, shaking her finger at her after a + side-splitting yarn, “if you don’t watch out you’ll be famous some day.” + </p> + <p> + “These funny stories are all right,” said Uncle Roger, “but for real + enjoyment give me something with a creep in it. Sara, tell us that story + of the Serpent Woman I heard you tell one day last summer.” + </p> + <p> + The Story Girl began it glibly. But before she had gone far with it, I, + who was sitting beside her, felt an unaccountable repulsion creeping over + me. For the first time since I had known her I wanted to draw away from + the Story Girl. Looking around on the faces of the group, I saw that they + all shared my feeling. Cecily had put her hands over her eyes. Peter was + staring at the Story Girl with a fascinated, horror-strickened gaze. Aunt + Olivia was pale and troubled. All looked as if they were held prisoners in + the bonds of a fearsome spell which they would gladly break but could not. + </p> + <p> + It was not our Story Girl who sat there, telling that weird tale in a + sibilant, curdling voice. She had put on a new personality like a garment, + and that personality was a venomous, evil, loathly thing. I would rather + have died than have touched the slim, brown wrist on which she supported + herself. The light in her narrowed orbs was the cold, merciless gleam of + the serpent’s eye. I felt frightened of this unholy creature who had + suddenly come in our dear Story Girl’s place. + </p> + <p> + When the tale ended there was a brief silence. Then Aunt Janet said + severely, but with a sigh of relief, + </p> + <p> + “Little girls shouldn’t tell such horrible stories.” + </p> + <p> + This truly Aunt Janetian remark broke the spell. The grown-ups laughed, + rather shakily, and the Story Girl—our own dear Story Girl once + more, and no Serpent Woman—said protestingly, + </p> + <p> + “Well, Uncle Roger asked me to tell it. I don’t like telling such stories + either. They make me feel dreadful. Do you know, for just a little while, + I felt exactly like a snake.” + </p> + <p> + “You looked like one,” said Uncle Roger. “How on earth do you do it?” + </p> + <p> + “I can’t explain how I do it,” said the Story Girl perplexedly. “It just + does itself.” + </p> + <p> + Genius can never explain how it does it. It would not be genius if it + could. And the Story Girl had genius. + </p> + <p> + As we left the orchard I walked along behind Uncle Roger and Aunt Olivia. + </p> + <p> + “That was an uncanny exhibition for a girl of fourteen, you know, Roger,” + said Aunt Olivia musingly. “What is in store for that child?” + </p> + <p> + “Fame,” said Uncle Roger. “If she ever has a chance, that is, and I + suppose her father will see to that. At least, I hope he will. You and I, + Olivia, never had our chance. I hope Sara will have hers.” + </p> + <p> + This was my first inkling of what I was to understand more fully in later + years. Uncle Roger and Aunt Olivia had both cherished certain dreams and + ambitions in youth, but circumstances had denied them their “chance” and + those dreams had never been fulfilled. + </p> + <p> + “Some day, Olivia,” went on Uncle Roger, “you and I may find ourselves the + aunt and uncle of the foremost actress of her day. If a girl of fourteen + can make a couple of practical farmers and a pair of matter-of-fact + housewives half believe for ten minutes that she really is a snake, what + won’t she be able to do when she is thirty? Here, you,” added Uncle Roger, + perceiving me, “cut along and get off to your bed. And mind you don’t eat + cucumbers and milk before you go.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIV. THE BEWITCHMENT OF PAT + </h2> + <p> + We were all in the doleful dumps—at least, all we “young fry” were, + and even the grown-ups were sorry and condescended to take an interest in + our troubles. Pat, our own, dear, frolicsome Paddy, was sick again—very, + very sick. + </p> + <p> + On Friday he moped and refused his saucer of new milk at milking time. The + next morning he stretched himself down on the platform by Uncle Roger’s + back door, laid his head on his black paws, and refused to take any notice + of anything or anybody. In vain we stroked and entreated and brought him + tidbits. Only when the Story Girl caressed him did he give one plaintive + little mew, as if to ask piteously why she could not do something for him. + At that Cecily and Felicity and Sara Ray all began crying, and we boys + felt choky. Indeed, I caught Peter behind Aunt Olivia’s dairy later in the + day, and if ever a boy had been crying I vow that boy was Peter. Nor did + he deny it when I taxed him with it, but he would not give in that he was + crying about Paddy. Nonsense! + </p> + <p> + “What were you crying for, then?” I said. + </p> + <p> + “I’m crying because—because my Aunt Jane is dead,” said Peter + defiantly. + </p> + <p> + “But your Aunt Jane died two years ago,” I said skeptically. + </p> + <p> + “Well, ain’t that all the more reason for crying?” retorted Peter. “I’ve + had to do without her for two years, and that’s worse than if it had just + been a few days.” + </p> + <p> + “I believe you were crying because Pat is so sick,” I said firmly. + </p> + <p> + “As if I’d cry about a cat!” scoffed Peter. And he marched off whistling. + </p> + <p> + Of course we had tried the lard and powder treatment again, smearing Pat’s + paws and sides liberally. But to our dismay, Pat made no effort to lick it + off. + </p> + <p> + “I tell you he’s a mighty sick cat,” said Peter darkly. “When a cat don’t + care what he looks like he’s pretty far gone.” + </p> + <p> + “If we only knew what was the matter with him we might do something,” + sobbed the Story Girl, stroking her poor pet’s unresponsive head. + </p> + <p> + “I could tell you what’s the matter with him, but you’d only laugh at me,” + said Peter. + </p> + <p> + We all looked at him. + </p> + <p> + “Peter Craig, what do you mean?” asked Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “‘Zackly what I say.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, if you know what is the matter with Paddy, tell us,” commanded the + Story Girl, standing up. She said it quietly; but Peter obeyed. I think he + would have obeyed if she, in that tone and with those eyes, had ordered + him to cast himself into the depths of the sea. I know I should. + </p> + <p> + “He’s BEWITCHED—that’s what’s the matter with him,” said Peter, half + defiantly, half shamefacedly. + </p> + <p> + “Bewitched? Nonsense!” + </p> + <p> + “There now, what did I tell you?” complained Peter. + </p> + <p> + The Story Girl looked at Peter, at the rest of us, and then at poor Pat. + </p> + <p> + “How could he be bewitched?” she asked irresolutely, “and who could + bewitch him?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know HOW he was bewitched,” said Peter. “I’d have to be a witch + myself to know that. But Peg Bowen bewitched him.” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense!” said the Story Girl again. + </p> + <p> + “All right,” said Peter. “You don’t have to believe me.” + </p> + <p> + “If Peg Bowen could bewitch anything—and I don’t believe she could—why + should she bewitch Pat?” asked the Story Girl. “Everybody here and at + Uncle Alec’s is always kind to her.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll tell you why,” said Peter. “Thursday afternoon, when you fellows + were all in school, Peg Bowen came here. Your Aunt Olivia gave her a lunch—a + good one. You may laugh at the notion of Peg being a witch, but I notice + your folks are always awful good to her when she comes, and awful careful + never to offend her.” + </p> + <p> + “Aunt Olivia would be good to any poor creature, and so would mother,” + said Felicity. “And of course nobody wants to offend Peg, because she is + spiteful, and she once set fire to a man’s barn in Markdale when he + offended her. But she isn’t a witch—that’s ridiculous.” + </p> + <p> + “All right. But wait till I tell you. When Peg Bowen was leaving Pat + stretched out on the steps. She tramped on his tail. You know Pat doesn’t + like to have his tail meddled with. He slewed himself round and clawed her + bare foot. If you’d just seen the look she gave him you’d know whether she + was a witch or not. And she went off down the lane, muttering and throwing + her hands round, just like she did in Lem Hill’s cow pasture. She put a + spell on Pat, that’s what she did. He was sick the next morning.” + </p> + <p> + We looked at each other in miserable, perplexed silence. We were only + children—and we believed that there had been such things as witches + once upon a time—and Peg Bowen WAS an eerie creature. + </p> + <p> + “If that’s so—though I can’t believe it—we can’t do anything,” + said the Story Girl drearily. “Pat must die.” + </p> + <p> + Cecily began to weep afresh. + </p> + <p> + “I’d do anything to save Pat’s life,” she said. “I’d BELIEVE anything.” + </p> + <p> + “There’s nothing we can do,” said Felicity impatiently. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose,” sobbed Cecily, “we might go to Peg Bowen and ask her to + forgive Pat and take the spell off him. She might, if we apologized real + humble.” + </p> + <p> + At first we were appalled by the suggestion. We didn’t believe that Peg + Bowen was a witch. But to go to her—to seek her out in that + mysterious woodland retreat of hers which was invested with all the + terrors of the unknown! And that this suggestion should come from timid + Cecily, of all people! But then, there was poor Pat! + </p> + <p> + “Would it do any good?” said the Story Girl desperately. “Even if she did + make Pat sick I suppose it would only make her crosser if we went and + accused her of bewitching him. Besides, she didn’t do anything of the + sort.” + </p> + <p> + But there was some uncertainty in the Story Girl’s voice. + </p> + <p> + “It wouldn’t do any harm to try,” said Cecily. “If she didn’t make him + sick it won’t matter if she is cross.” + </p> + <p> + “It won’t matter to Pat, but it might to the one who goes to her,” said + Felicity. “She isn’t a witch, but she’s a spiteful old woman, and goodness + knows what she’d do to us if she caught us. I’m scared of Peg Bowen, and I + don’t care who knows it. Ever since I can mind ma’s been saying, ‘If + you’re not good Peg Bowen will catch you.’” + </p> + <p> + “If I thought she really made Pat sick and could make him better, I’d try + to pacify her somehow,” said the Story Girl decidedly. “I’m frightened of + her, too—but just look at poor, darling Paddy.” + </p> + <p> + We looked at Paddy who continued to stare fixedly before him with + unwinking eyes. Uncle Roger came out and looked at him also, with what + seemed to us positively brutal unconcern. + </p> + <p> + “I’m afraid it’s all up with Pat,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Uncle Roger,” said Cecily imploringly, “Peter says Peg Bowen has + bewitched Pat for scratching her. Do you think it can be so?” + </p> + <p> + “Did Pat scratch Peg?” asked Uncle Roger, with a horror-stricken face. + “Dear me! Dear me! That mystery is solved. Poor Pat!” + </p> + <p> + Uncle Roger nodded his head, as if resigning himself and Pat to the worst. + </p> + <p> + “Do you really think Peg Bowen is a witch, Uncle Roger?” demanded the + Story Girl incredulously. + </p> + <p> + “Do I think Peg Bowen is a witch? My dear Sara, what do YOU think of a + woman who can turn herself into a black cat whenever she likes? Is she a + witch? Or is she not? I leave it to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Can Peg Bowen turn herself into a black cat?” asked Felix, staring. + </p> + <p> + “It’s my belief that that is the least of Peg Bowen’s accomplishments,” + answered Uncle Roger. “It’s the easiest thing in the world for a witch to + turn herself into any animal you choose to mention. Yes, Pat is bewitched—no + doubt of that—not the least in the world.” + </p> + <p> + “What are you telling those children such stuff for?” asked Aunt Olivia, + passing on her way to the well. + </p> + <p> + “It’s an irresistible temptation,” answered Uncle Roger, strolling over to + carry her pail. + </p> + <p> + “You can see your Uncle Roger believes Peg is a witch,” said Peter. + </p> + <p> + “And you can see Aunt Olivia doesn’t,” I said, “and I don’t either.” + </p> + <p> + “See here,” said the Story Girl resolutely, “I don’t believe it, but there + MAY be something in it. Suppose there is. The question is, what can we + do?” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll tell you what I’D do,” said Peter. “I’d take a present for Peg, and + ask her to make Pat well. I wouldn’t let on I thought she’d made him sick. + Then she couldn’t be offended—and maybe she’d take the spell off.” + </p> + <p> + “I think we’d better all give her something,” said Felicity. “I’m willing + to do that. But who’s going to take the presents to her?” + </p> + <p> + “We must all go together,” said the Story Girl. + </p> + <p> + “I won’t,” cried Sara Ray in terror. “I wouldn’t go near Peg Bowen’s house + for the world, no matter who was with me.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve thought of a plan,” said the Story Girl. “Let’s all give her + something, as Felicity says. And let us all go up to her place this + evening, and if we see her outside we’ll just go quietly and set the + things down before her with the letter, and say nothing but come + respectfully away.” + </p> + <p> + “If she’ll let us,” said Dan significantly. + </p> + <p> + “Can Peg read a letter?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes. Aunt Olivia says she is a good scholar. She went to school and + was a smart girl until she became crazy. We’ll write it very plain.” + </p> + <p> + “What if we don’t see her?” asked Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “We’ll put the things on her doorstep then and leave them.” + </p> + <p> + “She may be miles away over the country by this time,” sighed Cecily, “and + never find them until it’s too late for Pat. But it’s the only thing to + do. What can we give her?” + </p> + <p> + “We mustn’t offer her any money,” said the Story Girl. “She’s very + indignant when any one does that. She says she isn’t a beggar. But she’ll + take anything else. I shall give her my string of blue beads. She’s fond + of finery.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll give her that sponge cake I made this morning,” said Felicity. “I + guess she doesn’t get sponge cake very often.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve nothing but the rheumatism ring I got as a premium for selling + needles last winter,” said Peter. “I’ll give her that. Even if she hasn’t + got rheumatism it’s a real handsome ring. It looks like solid gold.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll give her a roll of peppermint candy,” said Felix. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll give one of those little jars of cherry preserve I made,” said + Cecily. + </p> + <p> + “I won’t go near her,” quavered Sara Ray, “but I want to do something for + Pat, and I’ll send that piece of apple leaf lace I knit last week.” + </p> + <p> + I decided to give the redoubtable Peg some apples from my birthday tree, + and Dan declared he would give her a plug of tobacco. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, won’t she be insulted?” exclaimed Felix, rather horrified. + </p> + <p> + “Naw,” grinned Dan. “Peg chews tobacco like a man. She’d rather have it + than your rubbishy peppermints, I can tell you. I’ll run down to old Mrs. + Sampson’s and get a plug.” + </p> + <p> + “Now, we must write the letter and take it and the presents to her right + away, before it gets dark,” said the Story Girl. + </p> + <p> + We adjourned to the granary to indite the important document, which the + Story Girl was to compose. + </p> + <p> + “How shall I begin it?” she asked in perplexity. “It would never do to + say, ‘Dear Peg,’ and ‘Dear Miss Bowen’ sounds too ridiculous.” + </p> + <p> + “Besides, nobody knows whether she is Miss Bowen or not,” said Felicity. + “She went to Boston when she grew up, and some say she was married there + and her husband deserted her, and that’s why she went crazy. If she’s + married, she won’t like being called Miss.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, how am I to address her?” asked the Story Girl in despair. + </p> + <p> + Peter again came to the rescue with a practical suggestion. + </p> + <p> + “Begin it, ‘Respected Madam,’” he said. “Ma has a letter a school trustee + once writ to my Aunt Jane and that’s how it begins.” + </p> + <p> + “Respected Madam,” wrote the Story Girl. “We want to ask a very great + favour of you and we hope you will kindly grant it if you can. Our + favourite cat, Paddy, is very sick, and we are afraid he is going to die. + Do you think you could cure him? And will you please try? We are all so + fond of him, and he is such a good cat, and has no bad habits. Of course, + if any of us tramps on his tail he will scratch us, but you know a cat + can’t bear to have his tail tramped on. It’s a very tender part of him, + and it’s his only way of preventing it, and he doesn’t mean any harm. If + you can cure Paddy for us we will always be very, very grateful to you. + The accompanying small offerings are a testimonial of our respect and + gratitude, and we entreat you to honour us by accepting them. + </p> + <p> + “Very respectfully yours, + </p> + <h3> + “SARA STANLEY.” + </h3> + <p> + “I tell you that last sentence has a fine sound,” said Peter admiringly. + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t make that up,” admitted the Story Girl honestly. “I read it + somewhere and remembered it.” + </p> + <p> + “I think it’s TOO fine,” criticized Felicity. “Peg Bowen won’t know the + meaning of such big words.” + </p> + <p> + But it was decided to leave them in and we all signed the letter. + </p> + <p> + Then we got our “testimonials,” and started on our reluctant journey to + the domains of the witch. Sara Ray would not go, of course, but she + volunteered to stay with Pat while we were away. We did not think it + necessary to inform the grown-ups of our errand, or its nature. Grown-ups + had such peculiar views. They might forbid our going at all—and they + would certainly laugh at us. + </p> + <p> + Peg Bowen’s house was nearly a mile away, even by the short cut past the + swamp and up the wooded hill. We went down through the brook field and + over the little plank bridge in the hollow, half lost in its surrounding + sea of farewell summers. When we reached the green gloom of the woods + beyond we began to feel frightened, but nobody would admit it. We walked + very closely together, and we did not talk. When you are near the retreat + of witches and folk of that ilk the less you say the better, for their + feelings are so notoriously touchy. Of course, Peg wasn’t a witch, but it + was best to be on the safe side. + </p> + <p> + Finally we came to the lane which led directly to her abode. We were all + very pale now, and our hearts were beating. The red September sun hung low + between the tall spruces to the west. It did not look to me just right for + a sun. In fact, everything looked uncanny. I wished our errand were well + over. + </p> + <p> + A sudden bend in the lane brought us out to the little clearing where + Peg’s house was before we were half ready to see it. In spite of my fear I + looked at it with some curiosity. It was a small, shaky building with a + sagging roof, set amid a perfect jungle of weeds. To our eyes, the odd + thing about it was that there was no entrance on the ground floor, as + there should be in any respectable house. The only door was in the upper + story, and was reached by a flight of rickety steps. There was no sign of + life about the place except—sight of ill omen—a large black + cat, sitting on the topmost step. We thought of Uncle Roger’s gruesome + hints. Could that black cat be Peg? Nonsense! But still—it didn’t + look like an ordinary cat. It was so large—and had such green, + malicious eyes! Plainly, there was something out of the common about the + beastie! + </p> + <p> + In a tense, breathless silence the Story Girl placed our parcels on the + lowest step, and laid her letter on the top of the pile. Her brown fingers + trembled and her face was very pale. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly the door above us opened, and Peg Bowen herself appeared on the + threshold. She was a tall, sinewy old woman, wearing a short, ragged, + drugget skirt which reached scantly below her knees, a scarlet print + blouse, and a man’s hat. Her feet, arms, and neck were bare, and she had a + battered old clay pipe in her mouth. Her brown face was seamed with a + hundred wrinkles, and her tangled, grizzled hair fell unkemptly over her + shoulders. She was scowling, and her flashing black eyes held no friendly + light. + </p> + <p> + We had borne up bravely enough hitherto, in spite of our inward, + unconfessed quakings. But now our strained nerves gave way, and sheer + panic seized us. Peter gave a little yelp of pure terror. We turned and + fled across the clearing and into the woods. Down the long hill we tore, + like mad, hunted creatures, firmly convinced that Peg Bowen was after us. + Wild was that scamper, as nightmare-like as any recorded in our dream + books. The Story Girl was in front of me, and I can recall the tremendous + leaps she made over fallen logs and little spruce bushes, with her long + brown curls streaming out behind her from their scarlet fillet. Cecily, + behind me, kept gasping out the contradictory sentences, “Oh, Bev, wait + for me,” and “Oh, Bev, hurry, hurry!” More by blind instinct than anything + else we kept together and found our way out of the woods. Presently we + were in the field beyond the brook. Over us was a dainty sky of shell + pink, placid cows were pasturing around us; the farewell summers nodded to + us in the friendly breezes. We halted, with a glad realization that we + were back in our own haunts and that Peg Bowen had not caught us. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, wasn’t that an awful experience?” gasped Cecily, shuddering. “I + wouldn’t go through it again—I couldn’t, not even for Pat.” + </p> + <p> + “It come on a fellow so suddent,” said Peter shamefacedly. “I think I + could a-stood my ground if I’d known she was going to come out. But when + she popped out like that I thought I was done for.” + </p> + <p> + “We shouldn’t have run,” said Felicity gloomily. “It showed we were afraid + of her, and that always makes her awful cross. She won’t do a thing for + Pat now.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t believe she could do anything, anyway,” said the Story Girl. “I + think we’ve just been a lot of geese.” + </p> + <p> + We were all, except Peter, more or less inclined to agree with her. And + the conviction of our folly deepened when we reached the granary and found + that Pat, watched over by the faithful Sara Ray, was no better. The Story + Girl announced that she would take him into the kitchen and sit up all + night with him. + </p> + <p> + “He sha’n’t die alone, anyway,” she said miserably, gathering his limp + body up in her arms. + </p> + <p> + We did not think Aunt Olivia would give her permission to stay up; but + Aunt Olivia did. Aunt Olivia really was a duck. We wanted to stay with her + also, but Aunt Janet wouldn’t hear of such a thing. She ordered us off to + bed, saying that it was positively sinful in us to be so worked up over a + cat. Five heart-broken children, who knew that there are many worse + friends than dumb, furry folk, climbed Uncle Alec’s stairs to bed that + night. + </p> + <p> + “There’s nothing we can do now, except pray God to make Pat better,” said + Cecily. + </p> + <p> + I must candidly say that her tone savoured strongly of a last resort; but + this was owing more to early training than to any lack of faith on + Cecily’s part. She knew and we knew, that prayer was a solemn rite, not to + be lightly held, nor degraded to common uses. Felicity voiced this + conviction when she said, + </p> + <p> + “I don’t believe it would be right to pray about a cat.” + </p> + <p> + “I’d like to know why not,” retorted Cecily, “God made Paddy just as much + as He made you, Felicity King, though perhaps He didn’t go to so much + trouble. And I’m sure He’s abler to help him than Peg Bowen. Anyhow, I’m + going to pray for Pat with all my might and main, and I’d like to see you + try to stop me. Of course I won’t mix it up with more important things. + I’ll just tack it on after I’ve finished asking the blessings, but before + I say amen.” + </p> + <p> + More petitions than Cecily’s were offered up that night on behalf of + Paddy. I distinctly heard Felix—who always said his prayers in a + loud whisper, owing to some lasting conviction of early life that God + could not hear him if he did not pray audibly—mutter pleadingly, + after the “important” part of his devotions was over, “Oh, God, please + make Pat better by the morning. PLEASE do.” + </p> + <p> + And I, even in these late years of irreverence for the dreams of youth, am + not in the least ashamed to confess that when I knelt down to say my + boyish prayer, I thought of our little furry comrade in his extremity, and + prayed as reverently as I knew how for his healing. Then I went to sleep, + comforted by the simple hope that the Great Father would, after “important + things” were all attended to, remember poor Pat. + </p> + <p> + As soon as we were up the next morning we rushed off to Uncle Roger’s. But + we met Peter and the Story Girl in the lane, and their faces were as the + faces of those who bring glad tidings upon the mountains. + </p> + <p> + “Pat’s better,” cried the Story Girl, blithe, triumphant. “Last night, + just at twelve, he began to lick his paws. Then he licked himself all over + and went to sleep, too, on the sofa. When I woke Pat was washing his face, + and he has taken a whole saucerful of milk. Oh, isn’t it splendid?” + </p> + <p> + “You see Peg Bowen did put a spell on him,” said Peter, “and then she took + it off.” + </p> + <p> + “I guess Cecily’s prayer had more to do with Pat’s getting better than Peg + Bowen,” said Felicity. “She prayed for Pat over and over again. That is + why he’s better.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, all right,” said Peter, “but I’d advise Pat not to scratch Peg Bowen + again, that’s all.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish I knew whether it was the praying or Peg Bowen that cured Pat,” + said Felix in perplexity. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t believe it was either of them,” said Dan. “Pat just got sick and + got better again of his own accord.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m going to believe that it was the praying,” said Cecily decidedly. + “It’s so much nicer to believe that God cured Pat than that Peg Bowen + did.” + </p> + <p> + “But you oughtn’t to believe a thing just ‘cause it would be more + comfortable,” objected Peter. “Mind you, I ain’t saying God couldn’t cure + Pat. But nothing and nobody can’t ever make me believe that Peg Bowen + wasn’t at the bottom of it all.” + </p> + <p> + Thus faith, superstition, and incredulity strove together amongst us, as + in all history. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXV. A CUP OF FAILURE + </h2> + <p> + One warm Sunday evening in the moon of golden-rod, we all, grown-ups and + children, were sitting in the orchard by the Pulpit Stone singing sweet + old gospel hymns. We could all sing more or less, except poor Sara Ray, + who had once despairingly confided to me that she didn’t know what she’d + ever do when she went to heaven, because she couldn’t sing a note. + </p> + <p> + That whole scene comes out clearly for me in memory—the arc of + primrose sky over the trees behind the old house, the fruit-laden boughs + of the orchard, the bank of golden-rod, like a wave of sunshine, behind + the Pulpit Stone, the nameless colour seen on a fir wood in a ruddy + sunset. I can see Uncle Alec’s tired, brilliant, blue eyes, Aunt Janet’s + wholesome, matronly face, Uncle Roger’s sweeping blond beard and red + cheeks, and Aunt Olivia’s full-blown beauty. Two voices ring out for me + above all others in the music that echoes through the halls of + recollection. Cecily’s sweet and silvery, and Uncle Alec’s fine tenor. “If + you’re a King, you sing,” was a Carlisle proverb in those days. Aunt Julia + had been the flower of the flock in that respect and had become a noted + concert singer. The world had never heard of the rest. Their music echoed + only along the hidden ways of life, and served but to lighten the cares of + the trivial round and common task. + </p> + <p> + That evening, after they tired of singing, our grown-ups began talking of + their youthful days and doings. + </p> + <p> + This was always a keen delight to us small fry. We listened avidly to the + tales of our uncles and aunts in the days when they, too—hard fact + to realize—had been children. Good and proper as they were now, + once, so it seemed, they had gotten into mischief and even had their + quarrels and disagreements. On this particular evening Uncle Roger told + many stories of Uncle Edward, and one in which the said Edward had + preached sermons at the mature age of ten from the Pulpit Stone fired, as + the sequel will show, the Story Girl’s imagination. + </p> + <p> + “Can’t I just see him at it now,” said Uncle Roger, “leaning over that old + boulder, his cheeks red and his eyes burning with excitement, banging the + top of it as he had seen the ministers do in church. It wasn’t cushioned, + however, and he always bruised his hands in his self-forgetful + earnestness. We thought him a regular wonder. We loved to hear him preach, + but we didn’t like to hear him pray, because he always insisted on praying + for each of us by name, and it made us feel wretchedly uncomfortable, + somehow. Alec, do you remember how furious Julia was because Edward prayed + one day that she might be preserved from vanity and conceit over her + singing?” + </p> + <p> + “I should think I do,” laughed Uncle Alec. “She was sitting right there + where Cecily is now, and she got up at once and marched right out of the + orchard, but at the gate she turned to call back indignantly, ‘I guess + you’d better wait till you’ve prayed the conceit out of yourself before + you begin on me, Ned King. I never heard such stuck-up sermons as you + preach.’ Ned went on praying and never let on he heard her, but at the end + of his prayer he wound up with ‘Oh, God, I pray you to keep an eye on us + all, but I pray you to pay particular attention to my sister Julia, for I + think she needs it even more than the rest of us, world without end, + Amen.’” + </p> + <p> + Our uncles roared with laughter over the recollection. We all laughed, + indeed, especially over another tale in which Uncle Edward, leaning too + far over the “pulpit” in his earnestness, lost his balance altogether and + tumbled ingloriously into the grass below. + </p> + <p> + “He lit on a big Scotch thistle,” said Uncle Roger, chuckling, “and + besides that, he skinned his forehead on a stone. But he was determined to + finish his sermon, and finish it he did. He climbed back into the pulpit, + with the tears rolling over his cheeks, and preached for ten minutes + longer, with sobs in his voice and drops of blood on his forehead. He was + a plucky little beggar. No wonder he succeeded in life.” + </p> + <p> + “And his sermons and prayers were always just about as outspoken as those + Julia objected to,” said Uncle Alec. “Well, we’re all getting on in life + and Edward is gray; but when I think of him I always see him a little, + rosy, curly-headed chap, laying down the law to us from the Pulpit Stone. + It seems like the other day that we were all here together, just as these + children are, and now we are scattered everywhere. Julia in California, + Edward in Halifax, Alan in South America, Felix and Felicity and Stephen + gone to the land that is very far off.” + </p> + <p> + There was a little space of silence; and then Uncle Alec began, in a low, + impressive voice, to repeat the wonderful verses of the ninetieth Psalm—verses + which were thenceforth bound up for us with the beauty of that night and + the memories of our kindred. Very reverently we all listened to the + majestic words. + </p> + <p> + “Lord, thou hast been our dwelling place in all generations. Before the + mountains were brought forth, or ever thou hadst formed the earth and the + world, even from everlasting to everlasting thou art God.... For a + thousand years in thy sight are but as yesterday when it is past, and as a + watch in the night.... For all our days are passed away in thy wrath; we + spend our years as a tale that is told. The days of our years are + threescore and ten; and if by reason of strength they be fourscore years + yet is their strength, labour and sorrow; for it is soon cut off and we + fly away.... So teach us to number our days that we may apply our hearts + unto wisdom.... Oh, satisfy us early with thy mercy; that we may rejoice + and be glad all our days.... And let the beauty of the Lord our God be + upon us; and establish thou the work of our hands upon us; yea, the work + of our hands establish thou it.” + </p> + <p> + The dusk crept into the orchard like a dim, bewitching personality. You + could see her—feel her—hear her. She tiptoed softly from tree + to tree, ever drawing nearer. Presently her filmy wings hovered over us + and through them gleamed the early stars of the autumn night. + </p> + <p> + The grown-ups rose reluctantly and strolled away; but we children lingered + for a moment to talk over an idea the Story Girl broached—a good + idea, we thought enthusiastically, and one that promised to add + considerable spice to life. + </p> + <p> + We were on the lookout for some new amusement. Dream books had begun to + pall. We no longer wrote in them very regularly, and our dreams were not + what they used to be before the mischance of the cucumber. So the Story + Girl’s suggestion came pat to the psychological moment. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve thought of a splendid plan,” she said. “It just flashed into my mind + when the uncles were talking about Uncle Edward. And the beauty of it is + we can play it on Sundays, and you know there are so few things it is + proper to play on Sundays. But this is a Christian game, so it will be all + right.” + </p> + <p> + “It isn’t like the religious fruit basket game, is it?” asked Cecily + anxiously. + </p> + <p> + We had good reason to hope that it wasn’t. One desperate Sunday afternoon, + when we had nothing to read and the time seemed endless, Felix had + suggested that we have a game of fruit-basket; only instead of taking the + names of fruits, we were to take the names of Bible characters. This, he + argued, would make it quite lawful and proper to play on Sunday. We, too + desirous of being convinced, also thought so; and for a merry hour Lazarus + and Martha and Moses and Aaron and sundry other worthies of Holy Writ had + a lively time of it in the King orchard. Peter having a Scriptural name of + his own, did not want to take another; but we would not allow this, + because it would give him an unfair advantage over the rest of us. It + would be so much easier to call out your own name than fit your tongue to + an unfamiliar one. So Peter retaliated by choosing Nebuchadnezzar, which + no one could ever utter three times before Peter shrieked it out once. + </p> + <p> + In the midst of our hilarity, however, Uncle Alec and Aunt Janet came down + upon us. It is best to draw a veil over what followed. Suffice it to say + that the recollection gave point to Cecily’s question. + </p> + <p> + “No, it isn’t that sort of game at all,” said the Story Girl. “It is this; + each of you boys must preach a sermon, as Uncle Edward used to do. One of + you next Sunday, and another the next, and so on. And whoever preaches the + best sermon is to get a prize.” + </p> + <p> + Dan promptly declared he wouldn’t try to preach a sermon; but Peter, Felix + and I thought the suggestion a very good one. Secretly, I believed I could + cut quite a fine figure preaching a sermon. + </p> + <p> + “Who’ll give the prize?” asked Felix. + </p> + <p> + “I will,” said the Story Girl. “I’ll give that picture father sent me last + week.” + </p> + <p> + As the said picture was an excellent copy of one of Landseer’s stags, + Felix and I were well pleased; but Peter averred that he would rather have + the Madonna that looked like his Aunt Jane, and the Story Girl agreed that + if his sermon was the best she would give him that. + </p> + <p> + “But who’s to be the judge?” I said, “and what kind of a sermon would you + call the best?” + </p> + <p> + “The one that makes the most impression,” answered the Story Girl + promptly. “And we girls must be the judges, because there’s nobody else. + Now, who is to preach next Sunday?” + </p> + <p> + It was decided that I should lead off, and I lay awake for an extra hour + that night thinking what text I should take for the following Sunday. The + next day I bought two sheets of foolscap from the schoolmaster, and after + tea I betook myself to the granary, barred the door, and fell to writing + my sermon. I did not find it as easy a task as I had anticipated; but I + pegged grimly away at it, and by dint of severe labour for two evenings I + eventually got my four pages of foolscap filled, although I had to pad the + subject-matter not a little with verses of quotable hymns. I had decided + to preach on missions, as being a topic more within my grasp than abstruse + theological doctrines or evangelical discourses; and, mindful of the need + of making an impression, I drew a harrowing picture of the miserable + plight of the heathen who in their darkness bowed down to wood and stone. + Then I urged our responsibility concerning them, and meant to wind up by + reciting, in a very solemn and earnest voice, the verse beginning, “Can we + whose souls are lighted.” When I had completed my sermon I went over it + very carefully again and wrote with red ink—Cecily made it for me + out of an aniline dye—the word “thump” wherever I deemed it + advisable to chastise the pulpit. + </p> + <p> + I have that sermon still, all its red thumps unfaded, lying beside my + dream book; but I am not going to inflict it on my readers. I am not so + proud of it as I once was. I was really puffed up with earthly vanity over + it at that time. Felix, I thought, would be hard put to it to beat it. As + for Peter, I did not consider him a rival to be feared. It was + unsupposable that a hired boy, with little education and less experience + of church-going, should be able to preach better than could I, in whose + family there was a real minister. + </p> + <p> + The sermon written, the next thing was to learn it off by heart and then + practise it, thumps included, until I was letter and gesture perfect. I + preached it over several times in the granary with only Paddy, sitting + immovably on a puncheon, for audience. Paddy stood the test fairly well. + At least, he made an adorable listener, save at such times as imaginary + rats distracted his attention. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Marwood had at least three absorbed listeners the next Sunday morning. + Felix, Peter and I were all among the chiels who were taking mental notes + on the art of preaching a sermon. Not a motion, or glance, or intonation + escaped us. To be sure, none of us could remember the text when we got + home; but we knew just how you should throw back your head and clutch the + edge of the pulpit with both hands when you announced it. + </p> + <p> + In the afternoon we all repaired to the orchard, Bibles and hymn books in + hand. We did not think it necessary to inform the grown-ups of what was in + the wind. You could never tell what kink a grown-up would take. They might + not think it proper to play any sort of a game on Sunday, not even a + Christian game. Least said was soonest mended where grown-ups were + concerned. + </p> + <p> + I mounted the pulpit steps, feeling rather nervous, and my audience sat + gravely down on the grass before me. Our opening exercises consisted + solely of singing and reading. We had agreed to omit prayer. Neither + Felix, Peter nor I felt equal to praying in public. But we took up a + collection. The proceeds were to go to missions. Dan passed the plate—Felicity’s + rosebud plate—looking as preternaturally solemn as Elder Frewen + himself. Every one put a cent on it. + </p> + <p> + Well, I preached my sermon. And it fell horribly flat. I realized that, + before I was half way through it. I think I preached it very well; and + never a thump did I forget or misplace. But my audience was plainly bored. + When I stepped down from the pulpit, after demanding passionately if we + whose souls were lighted and so forth, I felt with secret humiliation that + my sermon was a failure. It had made no impression at all. Felix would be + sure to get the prize. + </p> + <p> + “That was a very good sermon for a first attempt,” said the Story Girl + graciously. “It sounded just like real sermons I have heard.” + </p> + <p> + For a moment the charm of her voice made me feel that I had not done so + badly after all; but the other girls, thinking it their duty to pay me + some sort of a compliment also, quickly dispelled that pleasing delusion. + </p> + <p> + “Every word of it was true,” said Cecily, her tone unconsciously implying + that this was its sole merit. + </p> + <p> + “I often feel,” said Felicity primly, “that we don’t think enough about + the heathens. We ought to think a great deal more.” + </p> + <p> + Sara Ray put the finishing touch to my mortification. + </p> + <p> + “It was so nice and short,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “What was the matter with my sermon?” I asked Dan that night. Since he was + neither judge nor competitor I could discuss the matter with him. + </p> + <p> + “It was too much like a reg’lar sermon to be interesting,” said Dan + frankly. + </p> + <p> + “I should think the more like a regular sermon it was, the better,” I + said. + </p> + <p> + “Not if you want to make an impression,” said Dan seriously. “You must + have something sort of different for that. Peter, now, HE’LL have + something different.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Peter! I don’t believe he can preach a sermon,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Maybe not, but you’ll see he’ll make an impression,” said Dan. + </p> + <p> + Dan was neither the prophet nor the son of a prophet, but he had the + second sight for once; Peter DID make an impression. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVI. PETER MAKES AN IMPRESSION + </h2> + <p> + Peter’s turn came next. He did not write his sermon out. That, he averred, + was too hard work. Nor did he mean to take a text. + </p> + <p> + “Why, who ever heard of a sermon without a text?” asked Felix blankly. + </p> + <p> + “I am going to take a SUBJECT instead of a text,” said Peter loftily. “I + ain’t going to tie myself down to a text. And I’m going to have heads in + it—three heads. You hadn’t a single head in yours,” he added to me. + </p> + <p> + “Uncle Alec says that Uncle Edward says that heads are beginning to go out + of fashion,” I said defiantly—all the more defiantly that I felt I + should have had heads in my sermon. It would doubtless have made a much + deeper impression. But the truth was I had forgotten all about such + things. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I’m going to have them, and I don’t care if they are + unfashionable,” said Peter. “They’re good things. Aunt Jane used to say if + a man didn’t have heads and stick to them he’d go wandering all over the + Bible and never get anywhere in particular.” + </p> + <p> + “What are you going to preach on?” asked Felix. + </p> + <p> + “You’ll find out next Sunday,” said Peter significantly. + </p> + <p> + The next Sunday was in October, and a lovely day it was, warm and bland as + June. There was something in the fine, elusive air, that recalled + beautiful, forgotten things and suggested delicate future hopes. The woods + had wrapped fine-woven gossamers about them and the westering hill was + crimson and gold. + </p> + <p> + We sat around the Pulpit Stone and waited for Peter and Sara Ray. It was + the former’s Sunday off and he had gone home the night before, but he + assured us he would be back in time to preach his sermon. Presently he + arrived and mounted the granite boulder as if to the manor born. He was + dressed in his new suit and I, perceiving this, felt that he had the + advantage of me. When I preached I had to wear my second best suit, for it + was one of Aunt Janet’s laws that we should take our good suits off when + we came home from church. There were, I saw, compensations for being a + hired boy. + </p> + <p> + Peter made quite a handsome little minister, in his navy blue coat, white + collar, and neatly bowed tie. His black eyes shone, and his black curls + were brushed up in quite a ministerial pompadour, but threatened to tumble + over at the top in graceless ringlets. + </p> + <p> + It was decided that there was no use in waiting for Sara Ray, who might or + might not come, according to the humour in which her mother was. Therefore + Peter proceeded with the service. + </p> + <p> + He read the chapter and gave out the hymn with as much SANG FROID as if he + had been doing it all his life. Mr. Marwood himself could not have + bettered the way in which Peter said, + </p> + <p> + “We will sing the whole hymn, omitting the fourth stanza.” + </p> + <p> + That was a fine touch which I had not thought of. I began to think that, + after all, Peter might be a foeman worthy of my steel. + </p> + <p> + When Peter was ready to begin he thrust his hands into his pockets—a + totally unorthodox thing. Then he plunged in without further ado, speaking + in his ordinary conversational tone—another unorthodox thing. There + was no shorthand reporter present to take that sermon down; but, if + necessary, I could preach it over verbatim, and so, I doubt not, could + everyone that heard it. It was not a forgettable kind of sermon. + </p> + <p> + “Dearly beloved,” said Peter, “my sermon is about the bad place—in + short, about hell.” + </p> + <p> + An electric shock seemed to run through the audience. Everybody looked + suddenly alert. Peter had, in one sentence, done what my whole sermon had + failed to do. He had made an impression. + </p> + <p> + “I shall divide my sermon into three heads,” pursued Peter. “The first + head is, what you must not do if you don’t want to go to the bad place. + The second head is, what the bad place is like”—sensation in the + audience—“and the third head is, how to escape going there. + </p> + <p> + “Now, there’s a great many things you must not do, and it’s very important + to know what they are. You ought not to lose no time in finding out. In + the first place you mustn’t ever forget to mind what grown-up people tell + you—that is, GOOD grown-up people.” + </p> + <p> + “But how are you going to tell who are the good grown-up people?” asked + Felix suddenly, forgetting that he was in church. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that is easy,” said Peter. “You can always just FEEL who is good and + who isn’t. And you mustn’t tell lies and you mustn’t murder any one. You + must be specially careful not to murder any one. You might be forgiven for + telling lies, if you was real sorry for them, but if you murdered any one + it would be pretty hard to get forgiven, so you’d better be on the safe + side. And you mustn’t commit suicide, because if you did that you wouldn’t + have any chance of repenting it; and you mustn’t forget to say your + prayers and you mustn’t quarrel with your sister.” + </p> + <p> + At this point Felicity gave Dan a significant poke with her elbow, and Dan + was up in arms at once. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you be preaching at me, Peter Craig,” he cried out. “I won’t stand + it. I don’t quarrel with my sister any oftener than she quarrels with me. + You can just leave me alone.” + </p> + <p> + “Who’s touching you?” demanded Peter. “I didn’t mention no names. A + minister can say anything he likes in the pulpit, as long as he doesn’t + mention any names, and nobody can answer back.” + </p> + <p> + “All right, but just you wait till to-morrow,” growled Dan, subsiding + reluctantly into silence under the reproachful looks of the girls. + </p> + <p> + “You must not play any games on Sunday,” went on Peter, “that is, any + week-day games—or whisper in church, or laugh in church—I did + that once but I was awful sorry—and you mustn’t take any notice of + Paddy—I mean of the family cat at family prayers, not even if he + climbs up on your back. And you mustn’t call names or make faces.” + </p> + <p> + “Amen,” cried Felix, who had suffered many things because Felicity so + often made faces at him. + </p> + <p> + Peter stopped and glared at him over the edge of the Pulpit Stone. + </p> + <p> + “You haven’t any business to call out a thing like that right in the + middle of a sermon,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “They do it in the Methodist church at Markdale,” protested Felix, + somewhat abashed. “I heard them.” + </p> + <p> + “I know they do. That’s the Methodist way and it is all right for them. I + haven’t a word to say against Methodists. My Aunt Jane was one, and I + might have been one myself if I hadn’t been so scared of the Judgment Day. + But you ain’t a Methodist. You’re a Presbyterian, ain’t you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, of course. I was born that way.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well then, you’ve got to do things the Presbyterian way. Don’t let + me hear any more of your amens or I’ll amen you.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, don’t anybody interrupt again,” implored the Story Girl. “It isn’t + fair. How can any one preach a good sermon if he is always being + interrupted? Nobody interrupted Beverley.” + </p> + <p> + “Bev didn’t get up there and pitch into us like that,” muttered Dan. + </p> + <p> + “You mustn’t fight,” resumed Peter undauntedly. “That is, you mustn’t + fight for the fun of fighting, nor out of bad temper. You must not say bad + words or swear. You mustn’t get drunk—although of course you + wouldn’t be likely to do that before you grow up, and the girls never. + There’s prob’ly a good many other things you mustn’t do, but these I’ve + named are the most important. Of course, I’m not saying you’ll go to the + bad place for sure if you do them. I only say you’re running a risk. The + devil is looking out for the people who do these things and he’ll be more + likely to get after them than to waste time over the people who don’t do + them. And that’s all about the first head of my sermon.” + </p> + <p> + At this point Sara Ray arrived, somewhat out of breath. Peter looked at + her reproachfully. + </p> + <p> + “You’ve missed my whole first head, Sara,” he said, “that isn’t fair, when + you’re to be one of the judges. I think I ought to preach it over again + for you.” + </p> + <p> + “That was really done once. I know a story about it,” said the Story Girl. + </p> + <p> + “Who’s interrupting now?” aid Dan slyly. + </p> + <p> + “Never mind, tell us the story,” said the preacher himself, eagerly + leaning over the pulpit. + </p> + <p> + “It was Mr. Scott who did it,” said the Story Girl. “He was preaching + somewhere in Nova Scotia, and when he was more than half way through his + sermon—and you know sermons were VERY long in those days—a man + walked in. Mr. Scott stopped until he had taken his seat. Then he said, + ‘My friend, you are very late for this service. I hope you won’t be late + for heaven. The congregation will excuse me if I recapitulate the sermon + for our friend’s benefit.’ And then he just preached the sermon over again + from the beginning. It is said that that particular man was never known to + be late for church again.” + </p> + <p> + “It served him right,” said Dan, “but it was pretty hard lines on the rest + of the congregation.” + </p> + <p> + “Now, let’s be quiet so Peter can go on with his sermon,” said Cecily. + </p> + <p> + Peter squared his shoulders and took hold of the edge of the pulpit. Never + a thump had he thumped, but I realized that his way of leaning forward and + fixing this one or that one of his hearers with his eye was much more + effective. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve come now to the second head of my sermon—what the bad place is + like.” + </p> + <p> + He proceeded to describe the bad place. Later on we discovered that he had + found his material in an illustrated translation of Dante’s <i>Inferno</i> + which had once been given to his Aunt Jane as a school prize. But at the + time we supposed he must be drawing from Biblical sources. Peter had been + reading the Bible steadily ever since what we always referred to as “the + Judgment Sunday,” and he was by now almost through it. None of the rest of + us had ever read the Bible completely through, and we thought Peter must + have found his description of the world of the lost in some portion with + which we were not acquainted. Therefore, his utterances carried all the + weight of inspiration, and we sat appalled before his lurid phrases. He + used his own words to clothe the ideas he had found, and the result was a + force and simplicity that struck home to our imaginations. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly Sara Ray sprang to her feet with a scream—a scream that + changed into strange laughter. We all, preacher included, looked at her + aghast. Cecily and Felicity sprang up and caught hold of her. Sara Ray was + really in a bad fit of hysterics, but we knew nothing of such a thing in + our experience, and we thought she had gone mad. She shrieked, cried, + laughed, and flung herself about. + </p> + <p> + “She’s gone clean crazy,” said Peter, coming down out of his pulpit with a + very pale face. + </p> + <p> + “You’ve frightened her crazy with your dreadful sermon,” said Felicity + indignantly. + </p> + <p> + She and Cecily each took Sara by an arm and, half leading, half carrying, + got her out of the orchard and up to the house. The rest of us looked at + each other in terrified questioning. + </p> + <p> + “You’ve made rather too much of an impression, Peter,” said the Story Girl + miserably. + </p> + <p> + “She needn’t have got so scared. If she’d only waited for the third head + I’d have showed her how easy it was to get clear of going to the bad place + and go to heaven instead. But you girls are always in such a hurry,” said + Peter bitterly. + </p> + <p> + “Do you s’pose they’ll have to take her to the asylum?” said Dan in a + whisper. + </p> + <p> + “Hush, here’s your father,” said Felix. + </p> + <p> + Uncle Alec came striding down the orchard. We had never before seen Uncle + Alec angry. But there was no doubt that he was very angry. His blue eyes + fairly blazed at us as he said, + </p> + <p> + “What have you been doing to frighten Sara Ray into such a condition?” + </p> + <p> + “We—we were just having a sermon contest,” explained the Story Girl + tremulously. “And Peter preached about the bad place, and it frightened + Sara. That is all, Uncle Alec.” + </p> + <p> + “All! I don’t know what the result will be to that nervous delicate child. + She is shrieking in there and nothing will quiet her. What do you mean by + playing such a game on Sunday, and making a jest of sacred things? No, not + a word—” for the Story Girl had attempted to speak. “You and Peter + march off home. And the next time I find you up to such doings on Sunday + or any other day I’ll give you cause to remember it to your latest hour.” + </p> + <p> + The Story Girl and Peter went humbly home and we went with them. + </p> + <p> + “I CAN’T understand grown-up people,” said Felix despairingly. “When Uncle + Edward preached sermons it was all right, but when we do it it is ‘making + a jest of sacred things.’ And I heard Uncle Alec tell a story once about + being nearly frightened to death when he was a little boy, by a minister + preaching on the end of the world; and he said, ‘That was something like a + sermon. You don’t hear such sermons nowadays.’ But when Peter preaches + just such a sermon, it’s a very different story.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s no wonder we can’t understand the grown-ups,” said the Story Girl + indignantly, “because we’ve never been grown-up ourselves. But THEY have + been children, and I don’t see why they can’t understand us. Of course, + perhaps we shouldn’t have had the contest on Sundays. But all the same I + think it’s mean of Uncle Alec to be so cross. Oh, I do hope poor Sara + won’t have to be taken to the asylum.” + </p> + <p> + Poor Sara did not have to be. She was eventually quieted down, and was as + well as usual the next day; and she humbly begged Peter’s pardon for + spoiling his sermon. Peter granted it rather grumpily, and I fear that he + never really quite forgave Sara for her untimely outburst. Felix, too, + felt resentment against her, because he had lost the chance of preaching + his sermon. + </p> + <p> + “Of course I know I wouldn’t have got the prize, for I couldn’t have made + such an impression as Peter,” he said to us mournfully, “but I’d like to + have had a chance to show what I could do. That’s what comes of having + those cry-baby girls mixed up in things. Cecily was just as scared as Sara + Ray, but she’d more sense than to show it like that.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Sara couldn’t help it,” said the Story Girl charitably, “but it + does seem as if we’d had dreadful luck in everything we’ve tried lately. I + thought of a new game this morning, but I’m almost afraid to mention it, + for I suppose something dreadful will come of it, too.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, tell us, what is it?” everybody entreated. + </p> + <p> + “Well, it’s a trial by ordeal, and we’re to see which of us can pass it. + The ordeal is to eat one of the bitter apples in big mouthfuls without + making a single face.” + </p> + <p> + Dan made a face to begin with. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t believe any of us can do that,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “YOU can’t, if you take bites big enough to fill your mouth,” giggled + Felicity, with cruelty and without provocation. + </p> + <p> + “Well, maybe you could,” retorted Dan sarcastically. “You’d be so afraid + of spoiling your looks that you’d rather die than make a face, I s’pose, + no matter what you et.” + </p> + <p> + “Felicity makes enough faces when there’s nothing to make faces at,” said + Felix, who had been grimaced at over the breakfast table that morning and + hadn’t liked it. + </p> + <p> + “I think the bitter apples would be real good for Felix,” said Felicity. + “They say sour things make people thin.” + </p> + <p> + “Let’s go and get the bitter apples,” said Cecily hastily, seeing that + Felix, Felicity and Dan were on the verge of a quarrel more bitter than + the apples. + </p> + <p> + We went to the seedling tree and got an apple apiece. The game was that + every one must take a bite in turn, chew it up, and swallow it, without + making a face. Peter again distinguished himself. He, and he alone, passed + the ordeal, munching those dreadful mouthfuls without so much as a change + of expression on his countenance, while the facial contortions the rest of + us went through baffled description. In every subsequent trial it was the + same. Peter never made a face, and no one else could help making them. It + sent him up fifty per cent in Felicity’s estimation. + </p> + <p> + “Peter is a real smart boy,” she said to me. “It’s such a pity he is a + hired boy.” + </p> + <p> + But, if we could not pass the ordeal, we got any amount of fun out of it, + at least. Evening after evening the orchard re-echoed to our peals of + laughter. + </p> + <p> + “Bless the children,” said Uncle Alec, as he carried the milk pails across + the yard. “Nothing can quench their spirits for long.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVII. THE ORDEAL OF BITTER APPLES + </h2> + <p> + I could never understand why Felix took Peter’s success in the Ordeal of + Bitter Apples so much to heart. He had not felt very keenly over the + matter of the sermons, and certainly the mere fact that Peter could eat + sour apples without making faces did not cast any reflection on the honour + or ability of the other competitors. But to Felix everything suddenly + became flat, stale, and unprofitable, because Peter continued to hold the + championship of bitter apples. It haunted his waking hours and obsessed + his nights. I heard him talking in his sleep about it. If anything could + have made him thin the way he worried over this matter would have done it. + </p> + <p> + For myself, I cared not a groat. I had wished to be successful in the + sermon contest, and felt sore whenever I thought of my failure. But I had + no burning desire to eat sour apples without grimacing, and I did not + sympathize over and above with my brother. When, however, he took to + praying about it, I realized how deeply he felt on the subject, and hoped + he would be successful. + </p> + <p> + Felix prayed earnestly that he might be enabled to eat a bitter apple + without making a face. And when he had prayed three nights after this + manner, he contrived to eat a bitter apple without a grimace until he came + to the last bite, which proved too much for him. But Felix was vastly + encouraged. + </p> + <p> + “Another prayer or two, and I’ll be able to eat a whole one,” he said + jubilantly. + </p> + <p> + But this devoutly desired consummation did not come to pass. In spite of + prayers and heroic attempts, Felix could never get beyond that last bite. + Not even faith and works in combination could avail. For a time he could + not understand this. But he thought the mystery was solved when Cecily + came to him one day and told him that Peter was praying against him. + </p> + <p> + “He’s praying that you’ll never be able to eat a bitter apple without + making a face,” she said. “He told Felicity and Felicity told me. She said + she thought it was real cute of him. I think that is a dreadful way to + talk about praying and I told her so. She wanted me to promise not to tell + you, but I wouldn’t promise, because I think it’s fair for you to know + what is going on.” + </p> + <p> + Felix was very indignant—and aggrieved as well. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t see why God should answer Peter’s prayers instead of mine,” he + said bitterly. “I’ve gone to church and Sunday School all my life, and + Peter never went till this summer. It isn’t fair.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Felix, don’t talk like that,” said Cecily, shocked. “God MUST be + fair. I’ll tell you what I believe is the reason. Peter prays three times + a day regular—in the morning and at dinner time and at night—and + besides that, any time through the day when he happens to think of it, he + just prays, standing up. Did you ever hear of such goings-on?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, he’s got to stop praying against me, anyhow,” said Felix + resolutely. “I won’t put up with it, and I’ll go and tell him so right + off.” + </p> + <p> + Felix marched over to Uncle Roger’s, and we trailed after, scenting a + scene. We found Peter shelling beans in the granary, and whistling + cheerily, as with a conscience void of offence towards all men. + </p> + <p> + “Look here, Peter,” said Felix ominously, “they tell me that you’ve been + praying right along that I couldn’t eat a bitter apple. Now, I tell you—” + </p> + <p> + “I never did!” exclaimed Peter indignantly. “I never mentioned your name. + I never prayed that you couldn’t eat a bitter apple. I just prayed that + I’d be the only one that could.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that’s the same thing,” cried Felix. “You’ve just been praying for + the opposite to me out of spite. And you’ve got to stop it, Peter Craig.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I just guess I won’t,” said Peter angrily. “I’ve just as good a + right to pray for what I want as you, Felix King, even if you was brought + up in Toronto. I s’pose you think a hired boy hasn’t any business to pray + for particular things, but I’ll show you. I’ll just pray for what I + please, and I’d like to see you try and stop me.” + </p> + <p> + “You’ll have to fight me, if you keep on praying against me,” said Felix. + </p> + <p> + The girls gasped; but Dan and I were jubilant, snuffing battle afar off. + </p> + <p> + “All right. I can fight as well as pray.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, don’t fight,” implored Cecily. “I think it would be dreadful. Surely + you can arrange it some other way. Let’s all give up the Ordeal, anyway. + There isn’t much fun in it. And then neither of you need pray about it.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t want to give up the Ordeal,” said Felix, “and I won’t.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well, surely you can settle it some way without fighting,” persisted + Cecily. + </p> + <p> + “I’m not wanting to fight,” said Peter. “It’s Felix. If he don’t interfere + with my prayers there’s no need of fighting. But if he does there’s no + other way to settle it.” + </p> + <p> + “But how will that settle it?” asked Cecily. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, whoever’s licked will have to give in about the praying,” said Peter. + “That’s fair enough. If I’m licked I won’t pray for that particular thing + any more.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s dreadful to fight about anything so religious as praying,” sighed + poor Cecily. + </p> + <p> + “Why, they were always fighting about religion in old times,” said Felix. + “The more religious anything was the more fighting there was about it.” + </p> + <p> + “A fellow’s got a right to pray as he pleases,” said Peter, “and if + anybody tries to stop him he’s bound to fight. That’s my way of looking at + it.” + </p> + <p> + “What would Miss Marwood say if she knew you were going to fight?” asked + Felicity. + </p> + <p> + Miss Marwood was Felix’ Sunday School teacher and he was very fond of her. + But by this time Felix was quite reckless. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t care what she would say,” he retorted. + </p> + <p> + Felicity tried another tack. + </p> + <p> + “You’ll be sure to get whipped if you fight with Peter,” she said. “You’re + too fat to fight.” + </p> + <p> + After that, no moral force on earth could have prevented Felix from + fighting. He would have faced an army with banners. + </p> + <p> + “You might settle it by drawing lots,” said Cecily desperately. + </p> + <p> + “Drawing lots is wickeder that fighting,” said Dan. “It’s a kind of + gambling.” + </p> + <p> + “What would Aunt Jane say if she knew you were going to fight?” Cecily + demanded of Peter. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you drag my Aunt Jane into this affair,” said Peter darkly. + </p> + <p> + “You said you were going to be a Presbyterian,” persisted Cecily. “Good + Presbyterians don’t fight.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, don’t they! I heard your Uncle Roger say that Presbyterians were the + best for fighting in the world—or the worst, I forget which he said, + but it means the same thing.” + </p> + <p> + Cecily had but one more shot in her locker. + </p> + <p> + “I thought you said in your sermon, Master Peter, that people shouldn’t + fight.” + </p> + <p> + “I said they oughtn’t to fight for fun, or for bad temper,” retorted + Peter. “This is different. I know what I’m fighting for but I can’t think + of the word.” + </p> + <p> + “I guess you mean principle,” I suggested. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that’s it,” agreed Peter. “It’s all right to fight for principle. + It’s kind of praying with your fists.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, can’t you do something to prevent them from fighting, Sara?” pleaded + Cecily, turning to the Story Girl, who was sitting on a bin, swinging her + shapely bare feet to and fro. + </p> + <p> + “It doesn’t do to meddle in an affair of this kind between boys,” said the + Story Girl sagely. + </p> + <p> + I may be mistaken, but I do not believe the Story Girl wanted that fight + stopped. And I am far from being sure that Felicity did either. + </p> + <p> + It was ultimately arranged that the combat should take place in the fir + wood behind Uncle Roger’s granary. It was a nice, remote, bosky place + where no prowling grown-up would be likely to intrude. And thither we all + resorted at sunset. + </p> + <p> + “I hope Felix will beat,” said the Story Girl to me, “not only for the + family honour, but because that was a mean, mean prayer of Peter’s. Do you + think he will?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know,” I confessed dubiously. “Felix is too fat. He’ll get out of + breath in no time. And Peter is such a cool customer, and he’s a year + older than Felix. But then Felix has had some practice. He has fought boys + in Toronto. And this is Peter’s first fight.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you ever fight?” asked the Story Girl. + </p> + <p> + “Once,” I said briefly, dreading the next question, which promptly came. + </p> + <p> + “Who beat?” + </p> + <p> + It is sometimes a bitter thing to tell the truth, especially to a young + lady for whom you have a great admiration. I had a struggle with + temptation in which I frankly confess I might have been worsted had it not + been for a saving and timely remembrance of a certain resolution made on + the day preceding Judgment Sunday. + </p> + <p> + “The other fellow,” I said with reluctant honesty. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said the Story Girl, “I think it doesn’t matter whether you get + whipped or not so long as you fight a good, square fight.” + </p> + <p> + Her potent voice made me feel that I was quite a hero after all, and the + sting went out of my recollection of that old fight. + </p> + <p> + When we arrived behind the granary the others were all there. Cecily was + very pale, and Felix and Peter were taking off their coats. There was a + pure yellow sunset that evening, and the aisles of the fir wood were + flooded with its radiance. A cool, autumnal wind was whistling among the + dark boughs and scattering blood red leaves from the maple at the end of + the granary. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” said Dan, “I’ll count, and when I say three you pitch in, and + hammer each other until one of you has had enough. Cecily, keep quiet. + Now, one—two—three!” + </p> + <p> + Peter and Felix “pitched in,” with more zeal than discretion on both + sides. As a result, Peter got what later developed into a black eye, and + Felix’s nose began to bleed. Cecily gave a shriek and ran out of the wood. + We thought she had fled because she could not endure the sight of blood, + and we were not sorry, for her manifest disapproval and anxiety were + damping the excitement of the occasion. + </p> + <p> + Felix and Peter drew apart after that first onset, and circled about one + another warily. Then, just as they had come to grips again, Uncle Alec + walked around the corner of the granary, with Cecily behind him. + </p> + <p> + He was not angry. There was a quizzical look in his eyes. But he took the + combatants by their shirt collars and dragged them apart. + </p> + <p> + “This stops right here, boys,” he said. “You know I don’t allow fighting.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but Uncle Alec, it was this way,” began Felix eagerly. “Peter—” + </p> + <p> + “No, I don’t want to hear about it,” said Uncle Alec sternly. “I don’t + care what you were fighting about, but you must settle your quarrels in a + different fashion. Remember my commands, Felix. Peter, Roger is looking + for you to wash his buggy. Be off.” + </p> + <p> + Peter went off rather sullenly, and Felix, also sullenly, sat down and + began to nurse his nose. He turned his back on Cecily. + </p> + <p> + Cecily “caught it” after Uncle Alec had gone. Dan called her a tell-tale + and a baby, and sneered at her until Cecily began to cry. + </p> + <p> + “I couldn’t stand by and watch Felix and Peter pound each other all to + pieces,” she sobbed. “They’ve been such friends, and it was dreadful to + see them fighting.” + </p> + <p> + “Uncle Roger would have let them fight it out,” said the Story Girl + discontentedly. “Uncle Roger believes in boys fighting. He says it’s as + harmless a way as any of working off their original sin. Peter and Felix + wouldn’t have been any worse friends after it. They’d have been better + friends because the praying question would have been settled. And now it + can’t be—unless Felicity can coax Peter to give up praying against + Felix.” + </p> + <p> + For once in her life the Story Girl was not as tactful as her wont. Or—is + it possible that she said it out of malice prepense? At all events, + Felicity resented the imputation that she had more influence with Peter + than any one else. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t meddle with hired boys’ prayers,” she said haughtily. + </p> + <p> + “It was all nonsense fighting about such prayers, anyhow,” said Dan, who + probably thought that since all chance of a fight was over, he might as + well avow his real sentiments as to its folly. “Just as much nonsense as + praying about the bitter apples in the first place.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Dan, don’t you believe there is some good in praying?” said Cecily + reproachfully. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I believe there’s some good in some kinds of praying, but not in + that kind,” said Dan sturdily. “I don’t believe God cares whether anybody + can eat an apple without making a face or not.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t believe it’s right to talk of God as if you were well acquainted + with Him,” said Felicity, who felt that it was a good chance to snub Dan. + </p> + <p> + “There’s something wrong somewhere,” said Cecily perplexedly. “We ought to + pray for what we want, of that I’m sure—and Peter wanted to be the + only one who could pass the Ordeal. It seems as if he must be right—and + yet it doesn’t seem so. I wish I could understand it.” + </p> + <p> + “Peter’s prayer was wrong because it was a selfish prayer, I guess,” said + the Story Girl thoughtfully. “Felix’s prayer was all right, because it + wouldn’t have hurt any one else; but it was selfish of Peter to want to be + the only one. We mustn’t pray selfish prayers.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I see through it now,” said Cecily joyfully. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but,” said Dan triumphantly, “if you believe God answers prayers + about particular things, it was Peter’s prayer He answered. What do you + make of that?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” the Story Girl shook her head impatiently. “There’s no use trying to + make such things out. We only get more mixed up all the time. Let’s leave + it alone and I’ll tell you a story. Aunt Olivia had a letter today from a + friend in Nova Scotia, who lives in Shubenacadie. When I said I thought it + a funny name, she told me to go and look in her scrap book, and I would + find a story about the origin of the name. And I did. Don’t you want to + hear it?” + </p> + <p> + Of course we did. We all sat down at the roots of the firs. Felix, having + finally squared matters with his nose, turned around and listened also. He + would not look at Cecily, but every one else had forgiven her. + </p> + <p> + The Story Girl leaned that brown head of hers against the fir trunk behind + her, and looked up at the apple-green sky through the dark boughs above + us. She wore, I remember, a dress of warm crimson, and she had wound + around her head a string of waxberries, that looked like a fillet of + pearls. Her cheeks were still flushed with the excitement of the evening. + In the dim light she was beautiful, with a wild, mystic loveliness, a + compelling charm that would not be denied. + </p> + <p> + “Many, many moons ago, an Indian tribe lived on the banks of a river in + Nova Scotia. One of the young braves was named Accadee. He was the tallest + and bravest and handsomest young man in the tribe—” + </p> + <p> + “Why is it they’re always so handsome in stories?” asked Dan. “Why are + there never no stories about ugly people?” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps ugly people never have stories happen to them,” suggested + Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “I think they’re just as interesting as the handsome people,” retorted + Dan. + </p> + <p> + “Well, maybe they are in real life,” said Cecily, “but in stories it’s + just as easy to make them handsome as not. I like them best that way. I + just love to read a story where the heroine is beautiful as a dream.” + </p> + <p> + “Pretty people are always conceited,” said Felix, who was getting tired of + holding his tongue. + </p> + <p> + “The heroes in stories are always nice,” said Felicity, with apparent + irrelevance. “They’re always so tall and slender. Wouldn’t it be awful + funny if any one wrote a story about a fat hero—or about one with + too big a mouth?” + </p> + <p> + “It doesn’t matter what a man LOOKS like,” I said, feeling that Felix and + Dan were catching it rather too hotly. “He must be a good sort of chap and + DO heaps of things. That’s all that’s necessary.” + </p> + <p> + “Do any of you happen to want to hear the rest of my story?” asked the + Story Girl in an ominously polite voice that recalled us to a sense of our + bad manners. We apologized and promised to behave better; she went on, + appeased: + </p> + <p> + “Accadee was all these things that I have mentioned, and he was the best + hunter in the tribe besides. Never an arrow of his that did not go + straight to the mark. Many and many a snow white moose he shot, and gave + the beautiful skin to his sweetheart. Her name was Shuben and she was as + lovely as the moon when it rises from the sea, and as pleasant as a summer + twilight. Her eyes were dark and soft, her foot was as light as a breeze, + and her voice sounded like a brook in the woods, or the wind that comes + over the hills at night. She and Accadee were very much in love with each + other, and often they hunted together, for Shuben was almost as skilful + with her bow and arrow as Accadee himself. They had loved each other ever + since they were small pappooses, and they had vowed to love each other as + long as the river ran. + </p> + <p> + “One twilight, when Accadee was out hunting in the woods, he shot a snow + white moose; and he took off its skin and wrapped it around him. Then he + went on through the woods in the starlight; and he felt so happy and light + of heart that he sometimes frisked and capered about just as a real moose + would do. And he was doing this when Shuben, who was also out hunting, saw + him from afar and thought he was a real moose. She stole cautiously + through the woods until she came to the brink of a little valley. Below + her stood the snow white moose. She drew her arrow to her eye—alas, + she knew the art only too well!—and took careful aim. The next + moment Accadee fell dead with her arrow in his heart.” + </p> + <p> + The Story Girl paused—a dramatic pause. It was quite dark in the fir + wood. We could see her face and eyes but dimly through the gloom. A + silvery moon was looking down on us over the granary. The stars twinkled + through the softly waving boughs. Beyond the wood we caught a glimpse of a + moonlit world lying in the sharp frost of the October evening. The sky + above it was chill and ethereal and mystical. + </p> + <p> + But all about us were shadows; and the weird little tale, told in a voice + fraught with mystery and pathos, had peopled them for us with furtive folk + in belt and wampum, and dark-tressed Indian maidens. + </p> + <p> + “What did Shuben do when she found out she had killed Accadee?” asked + Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “She died of a broken heart before the spring, and she and Accadee were + buried side by side on the bank of the river which has ever since borne + their names—the river Shubenacadie,” said the Story Girl. + </p> + <p> + The sharp wind blew around the granary and Cecily shivered. We heard Aunt + Janet’s voice calling “Children, children.” Shaking off the spell of firs + and moonlight and romantic tale, we scrambled to our feet and went + homeward. + </p> + <p> + “I kind of wish I’d been born an Injun,” said Dan. “It must have been a + jolly life—nothing to do but hunt and fight.” + </p> + <p> + “It wouldn’t be so nice if they caught you and tortured you at the stake,” + said Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Dan reluctantly. “I suppose there’d be some drawback to + everything, even being an Injun.” + </p> + <p> + “Isn’t it cold?” said Cecily, shivering again. “It will soon be winter. I + wish summer could last forever. Felicity likes the winter, and so does the + Story Girl, but I don’t. It always seems so long till spring.” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind, we’ve had a splendid summer,” I said, slipping my arm about + her to comfort some childish sorrow that breathed in her plaintive voice. + </p> + <p> + Truly, we had had a delectable summer; and, having had it, it was ours + forever. “The gods themselves cannot recall their gifts.” They may rob us + of our future and embitter our present, but our past they may not touch. + With all its laughter and delight and glamour it is our eternal + possession. + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless, we all felt a little of the sadness of the waning year. + There was a distinct weight on our spirits until Felicity took us into the + pantry and stayed us with apple tarts and comforted us with cream. Then we + brightened up. It was really a very decent world after all. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVIII. THE TALE OF THE RAINBOW BRIDGE + </h2> + <p> + Felix, so far as my remembrance goes, never attained to success in the + Ordeal of Bitter Apples. He gave up trying after awhile; and he also gave + up praying about it, saying in bitterness of spirit that there was no use + in praying when other fellows prayed against you out of spite. He and + Peter remained on bad terms for some time, however. + </p> + <p> + We were all of us too tired those nights to do any special praying. + Sometimes I fear our “regular” prayers were slurred over, or mumbled in + anything but reverent haste. October was a busy month on the hill farms. + The apples had to be picked, and this work fell mainly to us children. We + stayed home from school to do it. It was pleasant work and there was a + great deal of fun in it; but it was hard, too, and our arms and backs + ached roundly at night. In the mornings it was very delightful; in the + afternoons tolerable; but in the evenings we lagged, and the laughter and + zest of fresher hours were lacking. + </p> + <p> + Some of the apples had to be picked very carefully. But with others it did + not matter; we boys would climb the trees and shake the apples down until + the girls shrieked for mercy. The days were crisp and mellow, with warm + sunshine and a tang of frost in the air, mingled with the woodsy odours of + the withering grasses. The hens and turkeys prowled about, pecking at + windfalls, and Pat made mad rushes at them amid the fallen leaves. The + world beyond the orchard was in a royal magnificence of colouring, under + the vivid blue autumn sky. The big willow by the gate was a splendid + golden dome, and the maples that were scattered through the spruce grove + waved blood-red banners over the sombre cone-bearers. The Story Girl + generally had her head garlanded with their leaves. They became her + vastly. Neither Felicity nor Cecily could have worn them. Those two girls + were of a domestic type that assorted ill with the wildfire in Nature’s + veins. But when the Story Girl wreathed her nut brown tresses with crimson + leaves it seemed, as Peter said, that they grew on her—as if the + gold and flame of her spirit had broken out in a coronal, as much a part + of her as the pale halo seems a part of the Madonna it encircles. + </p> + <p> + What tales she told us on those far-away autumn days, peopling the russet + arcades with folk of an elder world. Many a princess rode by us on her + palfrey, many a swaggering gallant ruffled it bravely in velvet and plume + adown Uncle Stephen’s Walk, many a stately lady, silken clad, walked in + that opulent orchard! + </p> + <p> + When we had filled our baskets they had to be carried to the granary loft, + and the contents stored in bins or spread on the floor to ripen further. + We ate a good many, of course, feeling that the labourer was worthy of his + hire. The apples from our own birthday trees were stored in separate + barrels inscribed with our names. We might dispose of them as we willed. + Felicity sold hers to Uncle Alec’s hired man—and was badly cheated + to boot, for he levanted shortly afterwards, taking the apples with him, + having paid her only half her rightful due. Felicity has not gotten over + that to this day. + </p> + <p> + Cecily, dear heart, sent most of hers to the hospital in town, and no + doubt gathered in therefrom dividends of gratitude and satisfaction of + soul, such as can never be purchased by any mere process of bargain and + sale. The rest of us ate our apples, or carried them to school where we + bartered them for such treasures as our schoolmates possessed and we + coveted. + </p> + <p> + There was a dusky, little, pear-shaped apple—from one of Uncle + Stephen’s trees—which was our favourite; and next to it a delicious, + juicy yellow apple from Aunt Louisa’s tree. We were also fond of the big + sweet apples; we used to throw them up in the air and let them fall on the + ground until they were bruised and battered to the bursting point. Then we + sucked on the juice; sweeter was it than the nectar drunk by blissful gods + on the Thessalian hill. + </p> + <p> + Sometimes we worked until the cold yellow sunsets faded out over the + darkening distances, and the hunter’s moon looked down on us through the + sparkling air. The constellations of autumn scintillated above us. Peter + and the Story Girl knew all about them, and imparted their knowledge to us + generously. I recall Peter standing on the Pulpit Stone, one night ere + moonrise, and pointing them out to us, occasionally having a difference of + opinion with the Story Girl over the name of some particular star. Job’s + Coffin and the Northern Cross were to the west of us; south of us flamed + Fomalhaut. The Great Square of Pegasus was over our heads. Cassiopeia sat + enthroned in her beautiful chair in the north-east; and north of us the + Dippers swung untiringly around the Pole Star. Cecily and Felix were the + only ones who could distinguish the double star in the handle of the Big + Dipper, and greatly did they plume themselves thereon. The Story Girl told + us the myths and legends woven around these immemorial clusters, her very + voice taking on a clear, remote, starry sound as she talked of them. When + she ceased, we came back to earth, feeling as if we had been millions of + miles away in the blue ether, and that all our old familiar surroundings + were momentarily forgotten and strange. + </p> + <p> + That night when he pointed out the stars to us from the Pulpit Stone was + the last time for several weeks that Peter shared our toil and pastime. + The next day he complained of headache and sore throat, and seemed to + prefer lying on Aunt Olivia’s kitchen sofa to doing any work. As it was + not in Peter to be a malingerer he was left in peace, while we picked + apples. Felix alone, must unjustly and spitefully, declared that Peter was + simply shirking. + </p> + <p> + “He’s just lazy, that’s what’s the matter with him,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Why don’t you talk sense, if you must talk?” said Felicity. “There’s no + sense in calling Peter lazy. You might as well say I had black hair. Of + course, Peter, being a Craig, has his faults, but he’s a smart boy. His + father was lazy but his mother hasn’t a lazy bone in her body, and Peter + takes after her.” + </p> + <p> + “Uncle Roger says Peter’s father wasn’t exactly lazy,” said the Story + Girl. “The trouble was, there were so many other things he liked better + than work.” + </p> + <p> + “I wonder if he’ll ever come back to his family,” said Cecily. “Just think + how dreadful it would be if OUR father had left us like that!” + </p> + <p> + “Our father is a King,” said Felicity loftily, “and Peter’s father was + only a Craig. A member of our family COULDN’T behave like that.” + </p> + <p> + “They say there must be a black sheep in every family,” said the Story + Girl. + </p> + <p> + “There isn’t any in ours,” said Cecily loyally. + </p> + <p> + “Why do white sheep eat more than black?” asked Felix. + </p> + <p> + “Is that a conundrum?” asked Cecily cautiously. “If it is I won’t try to + guess the reason. I never can guess conundrums.” + </p> + <p> + “It isn’t a conundrum,” said Felix. “It’s a fact. They do—and + there’s a good reason for it.” + </p> + <p> + We stopped picking apples, sat down on the grass, and tried to reason it + out—with the exception of Dan, who declared that he knew there was a + catch somewhere and he wasn’t going to be caught. The rest of us could not + see where any catch could exist, since Felix solemnly vowed, ‘cross his + heart, white sheep did eat more than black. We argued over it seriously, + but finally had to give it up. + </p> + <p> + “Well, what is the reason?” asked Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “Because there’s more of them,” said Felix, grinning. + </p> + <p> + I forget what we did to Felix. + </p> + <p> + A shower came up in the evening and we had to stop picking. After the + shower there was a magnificent double rainbow. We watched it from the + granary window, and the Story Girl told us an old legend, culled from one + of Aunt Olivia’s many scrapbooks. + </p> + <p> + “Long, long ago, in the Golden Age, when the gods used to visit the earth + so often that it was nothing uncommon to see them, Odin made a pilgrimage + over the world. Odin was the great god of the northland, you know. And + wherever he went among men he taught them love and brotherhood, and + skilful arts; and great cities sprang up where he had trodden, and every + land through which he passed was blessed because one of the gods had come + down to men. But many men and women followed Odin himself, giving up all + their worldly possessions and ambitions; and to these he promised the gift + of eternal life. All these people were good and noble and unselfish and + kind; but the best and noblest of them all was a youth named Ving; and + this youth was beloved by Odin above all others, for his beauty and + strength and goodness. Always he walked on Odin’s right hand, and always + the first light of Odin’s smile fell on him. Tall and straight was he as a + young pine, and his long hair was the colour of ripe wheat in the sun; and + his blue eyes were like the northland heavens on a starry night. + </p> + <p> + “In Odin’s band was a beautiful maiden named Alin. She was as fair and + delicate as a young birch tree in spring among the dark old pines and + firs, and Ving loved her with all his heart. His soul thrilled with + rapture at the thought that he and she together should drink from the + fountain of immortality, as Odin had promised, and be one thereafter in + eternal youth. + </p> + <p> + “At last they came to the very place where the rainbow touched the earth. + And the rainbow was a great bridge, built of living colours, so dazzling + and wonderful that beyond it the eye could see nothing, only far away a + great, blinding, sparkling glory, where the fountain of life sprang up in + a shower of diamond fire. But under the Rainbow Bridge rolled a terrible + flood, deep and wide and violent, full of rocks and rapids and whirlpools. + </p> + <p> + “There was a Warder of the bridge, a god, dark and stern and sorrowful. + And to him Odin gave command that he should open the gate and allow his + followers to cross the Rainbow Bridge, that they might drink of the + fountain of life beyond. And the Warder set open the gate. + </p> + <p> + “‘Pass on and drink of the fountain,’ he said. ‘To all who taste of it + shall immortality be given. But only to that one who shall drink of it + first shall be permitted to walk at Odin’s right hand forever.’ + </p> + <p> + “Then the company passed through in great haste, all fired with a desire + to be the first to drink of the fountain and win so marvellous a boon. + Last of all came Ving. He had lingered behind to pluck a thorn from the + foot of a beggar child he had met on the highway, and he had not heard the + Warder’s words. But when, eager, joyous, radiant, he set his foot on the + rainbow, the stern, sorrowful Warder took him by the arm and drew him + back. + </p> + <p> + “‘Ving, strong, noble, and valiant,’ he said, ‘Rainbow Bridge is not for + thee.’ + </p> + <p> + “Very dark grew Ving’s face. Hot rebellion rose in his heart and rushed + over his pale lips. + </p> + <p> + “‘Why dost thou keep back the draught of immortality from me?’ he demanded + passionately. + </p> + <p> + “The Warder pointed to the dark flood that rolled under the bridge. + </p> + <p> + “‘The path of the rainbow is not for thee,’ he said, ‘but yonder way is + open. Ford that flood. On the furthest bank is the fountain of life.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Thou mockest me,’ muttered Ving sullenly. ‘No mortal could cross that + flood. Oh, Master,’ he prayed, turning beseechingly to Odin, ‘thou didst + promise to me eternal life as to the others. Wilt thou not keep that + promise? Command the Warder to let me pass. He must obey thee.’ + </p> + <p> + “But Odin stood silent, with his face turned from his beloved, and Ving’s + heart was filled with unspeakable bitterness and despair. + </p> + <p> + “‘Thou mayest return to earth if thou fearest to essay the flood,’ said + the Warder. + </p> + <p> + “‘Nay,’ said Ving wildly, ‘earthly life without Alin is more dreadful than + the death which awaits me in yon dark river.’ + </p> + <p> + “And he plunged fiercely in. He swam, and struggled, he buffetted the + turmoil. The waves went over his head again and again, the whirlpools + caught him and flung him on the cruel rocks. The wild, cold spray beat on + his eyes and blinded him, so that he could see nothing, and the roar of + the river deafened him so that he could hear nothing; but he felt keenly + the wounds and bruises of the cruel rocks, and many a time he would have + given up the struggle had not the thought of sweet Alin’s loving eyes + brought him the strength and desire to struggle as long as it was + possible. Long, long, long, to him seemed that bitter and perilous + passage; but at last he won through to the furthest side. Breathless and + reeling, his vesture torn, his great wounds bleeding, he found himself on + the shore where the fountain of immortality sprang up. He staggered to its + brink and drank of its clear stream. Then all pain and weariness fell away + from him, and he rose up, a god, beautiful with immortality. And as he did + there came rushing over the Rainbow Bridge a great company—the band + of fellow travellers. But all were too late to win the double boon. Ving + had won to it through the danger and suffering of the dark river.” + </p> + <p> + The rainbow had faded out, and the darkness of the October dusk was + falling. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder,” said Dan meditatively, as we went away from that redolent + spot, “what it would be like to live for ever in this world.” + </p> + <p> + “I expect we’d get tired of it after awhile,” said the Story Girl. “But,” + she added, “I think it would be a goodly while before I would.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0029" id="link2HCH0029"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIX. THE SHADOW FEARED OF MAN + </h2> + <p> + We were all up early the next morning, dressing by candlelight. But early + as it was we found the Story Girl in the kitchen when we went down, + sitting on Rachel Ward’s blue chest and looking important. + </p> + <p> + “What do you think?” she exclaimed. “Peter has the measles! He was + dreadfully sick all night, and Uncle Roger had to go for the doctor. He + was quite light-headed, and didn’t know any one. Of course he’s far too + sick to be taken home, so his mother has come up to wait on him, and I’m + to live over here until he is better.” + </p> + <p> + This was mingled bitter and sweet. We were sorry to hear that Peter had + the measles; but it would be jolly to have the Story Girl living with us + all the time. What orgies of story telling we should have! + </p> + <p> + “I suppose we’ll all have the measles now,” grumbled Felicity. “And + October is such an inconvenient time for measles—there’s so much to + do.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t believe any time is very convenient to have the measles,” Cecily + said. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, perhaps we won’t have them,” said the Story Girl cheerfully. “Peter + caught them at Markdale, the last time he was home, his mother says.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t want to catch the measles from Peter,” said Felicity decidedly. + “Fancy catching them from a hired boy!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Felicity, don’t call Peter a hired boy when he’s sick,” protested + Cecily. + </p> + <p> + During the next two days we were very busy—too busy to tell tales or + listen to them. Only in the frosty dusk did we have time to wander afar in + realms of gold with the Story Girl. She had recently been digging into a + couple of old volumes of classic myths and northland folklore which she + had found in Aunt Olivia’s attic; and for us, god and goddess, laughing + nymph and mocking satyr, norn and valkyrie, elf and troll, and “green + folk” generally, were real creatures once again, inhabiting the orchards + and woods and meadows around us, until it seemed as if the Golden Age had + returned to earth. + </p> + <p> + Then, on the third day, the Story Girl came to us with a very white face. + She had been over to Uncle Roger’s yard to hear the latest bulletin from + the sick room. Hitherto they had been of a non-committal nature; but now + it was only too evident that she had bad news. + </p> + <p> + “Peter is very, very sick,” she said miserably. “He has caught cold + someway—and the measles have struck in—and—and—” + the Story Girl wrung her brown hands together—“the doctor is afraid + he—he—won’t get better.” + </p> + <p> + We all stood around, stricken, incredulous. + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean,” said Felix, finding voice at length, “that Peter is going + to die?” + </p> + <p> + The Story Girl nodded miserably. + </p> + <p> + “They’re afraid so.” + </p> + <p> + Cecily sat down by her half filled basket and began to cry. Felicity said + violently that she didn’t believe it. + </p> + <p> + “I can’t pick another apple to-day and I ain’t going to try,” said Dan. + </p> + <p> + None of us could. We went to the grown-ups and told them so; and the + grown-ups, with unaccustomed understanding and sympathy, told us that we + need not. Then we roamed about in our wretchedness and tried to comfort + one another. We avoided the orchard; it was for us too full of happy + memories to accord with our bitterness of soul. Instead, we resorted to + the spruce wood, where the hush and the sombre shadows and the soft, + melancholy sighing of the wind in the branches over us did not jar harshly + on our new sorrow. + </p> + <p> + We could not really believe that Peter was going to die—to DIE. Old + people died. Grown-up people died. Even children of whom we had heard + died. But that one of US—of our merry little band—should die + was unbelievable. We could not believe it. And yet the possibility struck + us in the face like a blow. We sat on the mossy stones under the dark old + evergreens and gave ourselves up to wretchedness. We all, even Dan, cried, + except the Story Girl. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t see how you can be so unfeeling, Sara Stanley,” said Felicity + reproachfully. “You’ve always been such friends with Peter—and made + out you thought so much of him—and now you ain’t shedding a tear for + him.” + </p> + <p> + I looked at the Story Girl’s dry, piteous eyes, and suddenly remembered + that I had never seen her cry. When she told us sad tales, in a voice + laden with all the tears that had ever been shed, she had never shed one + of her own. + </p> + <p> + “I can’t cry,” she said drearily. “I wish I could. I’ve a dreadful feeling + here—” she touched her slender throat—“and if I could cry I + think it would make it better. But I can’t.” + </p> + <p> + “Maybe Peter will get better after all,” said Dan, swallowing a sob. “I’ve + heard of lots of people who went and got better after the doctor said they + were going to die.” + </p> + <p> + “While there’s life there’s hope, you know,” said Felix. “We shouldn’t + cross bridges till we come to them.” + </p> + <p> + “Those are only proverbs,” said the Story Girl bitterly. “Proverbs are all + very fine when there’s nothing to worry you, but when you’re in real + trouble they’re not a bit of help.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I wish I’d never said Peter wasn’t fit to associate with,” moaned + Felicity. “If he ever gets better I’ll never say such a thing again—I’ll + never THINK it. He’s just a lovely boy and twice as smart as lots that + aren’t hired out.” + </p> + <p> + “He was always so polite and good-natured and obliging,” sighed Cecily. + </p> + <p> + “He was just a real gentleman,” said the Story Girl. + </p> + <p> + “There ain’t many fellows as fair and square as Peter,” said Dan. + </p> + <p> + “And such a worker,” said Felix. + </p> + <p> + “Uncle Roger says he never had a boy he could depend on like Peter,” I + said. + </p> + <p> + “It’s too late to be saying all these nice things about him now,” said the + Story Girl. “He won’t ever know how much we thought of him. It’s too + late.” + </p> + <p> + “If he gets better I’ll tell him,” said Cecily resolutely. + </p> + <p> + “I wish I hadn’t boxed his ears that day he tried to kiss me,” went on + Felicity, who was evidently raking her conscience for past offences in + regard to Peter. “Of course I couldn’t be expected to let a hir—to + let a boy kiss me. But I needn’t have been so cross about it. I might have + been more dignified. And I told him I just hated him. That wasn’t true, + but I s’pose he’ll die thinking it is. Oh, dear me, what makes people say + things they’ve got to be so sorry for afterwards?” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose if Peter d-d-dies he’ll go to heaven anyhow,” sobbed Cecily. + “He’s been real good all this summer, but he isn’t a church member.” + </p> + <p> + “He’s a Presbyterian, you know,” said Felicity reassuringly. Her tone + expressed her conviction that that would carry Peter through if anything + would. “We’re none of us church members. But of course Peter couldn’t be + sent to the bad place. That would be ridiculous. What would they do with + him there, when he’s so good and polite and honest and kind?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I think he’ll be all right, too,” sighed Cecily, “but you know he + never did go to church and Sunday School before this summer.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, his father run away, and his mother was too busy earning a living + to bring him up right,” argued Felicity. “Don’t you suppose that anybody, + even God, would make allowances for that?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course Peter will go to heaven,” said the Story Girl. “He’s not grown + up enough to go anywhere else. Children always go to heaven. But I don’t + want him to go there or anywhere else. I want him to stay right here. I + know heaven must be a splendid place, but I’m sure Peter would rather be + here, having fun with us.” + </p> + <p> + “Sara Stanley,” rebuked Felicity. “I should think you wouldn’t say such + things at such a solemn time. You’re such a queer girl.” + </p> + <p> + “Wouldn’t you rather be here yourself than in heaven?” said the Story Girl + bluntly. “Wouldn’t you now, Felicity King? Tell the truth, ‘cross your + heart.” + </p> + <p> + But Felicity took refuge from this inconvenient question in tears. + </p> + <p> + “If we could only DO something to help Peter!” I said desperately. “It + seems dreadful not to be able to do a single thing.” + </p> + <p> + “There’s one thing we can do,” said Cecily gently. “We can pray for him.” + </p> + <p> + “So we can,” I agreed. + </p> + <p> + “I’m going to pray like sixty,” said Felix energetically. + </p> + <p> + “We’ll have to be awful good, you know,” warned Cecily. “There’s no use + praying if you’re not good.” + </p> + <p> + “That will be easy,” sighed Felicity. “I don’t feel a bit like being bad. + If anything happens to Peter I feel sure I’ll never be naughty again. I + won’t have the heart.” + </p> + <p> + We did, indeed, pray most sincerely for Peter’s recovery. We did not, as + in the case of Paddy, “tack it on after more important things,” but put it + in the very forefront of our petitions. Even skeptical Dan prayed, his + skepticism falling away from him like a discarded garment in this valley + of the shadow, which sifts out hearts and tries souls, until we all, + grown-up or children, realize our weakness, and, finding that our own puny + strength is as a reed shaken in the wind, creep back humbly to the God we + have vainly dreamed we could do without. + </p> + <p> + Peter was no better the next day. Aunt Olivia reported that his mother was + broken-hearted. We did not again ask to be released from work. Instead, we + went at it with feverish zeal. If we worked hard there was less time for + grief and grievious thoughts. We picked apples and dragged them to the + granary doggedly. In the afternoon Aunt Janet brought us a lunch of apple + turnovers; but we could not eat them. Peter, as Felicity reminded us with + a burst of tears, had been so fond of apple turnovers. + </p> + <p> + And, oh, how good we were! How angelically and unnaturally good! Never was + there such a band of kind, sweet-tempered, unselfish children in any + orchard. Even Felicity and Dan, for once in their lives, got through the + day without any exchange of left-handed compliments. Cecily confided to me + that she never meant to put her hair up in curlers on Saturday nights + again, because it was pretending. She was so anxious to repent of + something, sweet girl, and this was all she could think of. + </p> + <p> + During the afternoon Judy Pineau brought up a tear-blotted note from Sara + Ray. Sara had not been allowed to visit the hill farm since Peter had + developed measles. She was an unhappy little exile, and could only relieve + her anguish of soul by daily letters to Cecily, which the faithful and + obliging Judy Pineau brought up for her. These epistles were as gushingly + underlined as if Sara had been a correspondent of early Victorian days. + </p> + <p> + Cecily did not write back, because Mrs. Ray had decreed that no letters + must be taken down from the hill farm lest they carry infection. Cecily + had offered to bake every epistle thoroughly in the oven before sending + it; but Mrs. Ray was inexorable, and Cecily had to content herself by + sending long verbal messages with Judy Pineau. + </p> + <p> + “My OWN DEAREST Cecily,” ran Sara’s letter. “I have just heard the sad + news about POOR DEAR PETER. I can’t describe MY FEELINGS. They are + DREADFUL. I have been crying ALL THE AFTERNOON. I wish I could FLY to you, + but ma will not let me. She is afraid I will catch the measles, but I + would rather have the measles A DOZEN TIMES OVER than be sepparated from + you all like this. But I have felt, ever since the Judgment Sunday that I + MUST OBEY MA BETTER than I used to do. If ANYTHING HAPPENS to Peter and + you are let see him BEFORE IT HAPPENS give him MY LOVE and tell him HOW + SORRY I AM, and that I hope we will ALL meet in A BETTER WORLD Everything + in school is about the same. The master is awful cross by spells. Jimmy + Frewen walked home with Nellie Bowan last night from prayer-meeting and + HER ONLY FOURTEEN. Don’t you think it horrid BEGINNING SO YOUNG? YOU AND + ME would NEVER do anything like that till we were GROWN UP, would we? + Willy Fraser looks SO LONESOME in school these days. I must stop for ma + says I waste FAR TOO MUCH TIME writing letters. Tell Judy ALL THE NEWS for + me. + </p> + <p> + “Your OWN TRUE FRIEND, + </p> + <h3> + “SARA RAY. + </h3> + <p> + “P.S. Oh I DO hope Peter will get better. Ma is going to get me a new + brown dress for the winter. + </p> + <h3> + “S. R.” + </h3> + <p> + When evening came we went to our seats under the whispering, sighing fir + trees. It was a beautiful night—clear, windless, frosty. Some one + galloped down the road on horseback, lustily singing a comic song. How + dared he? We felt that it was an insult to our wretchedness. If Peter were + going to—going to—well, if anything happened to Peter, we felt + so miserably sure that the music of life would be stilled for us for ever. + How could any one in the world be happy when we were so unhappy? + </p> + <p> + Presently Aunt Olivia came down the long twilight arcade. Her bright hair + was uncovered and she looked slim and queen-like in her light dress. We + thought Aunt Olivia very pretty then. Looking back from a mature + standpoint I realize that she must have been an unusually beautiful woman; + and she looked her prettiest as she stood under the swaying boughs in the + last faint light of the autumn dusk and smiled down at our woebegone + faces. + </p> + <p> + “Dear, sorrowful little people, I bring you glad tidings of great joy,” + she said. “The doctor has just been here, and he finds Peter much better, + and thinks he will pull through after all.” + </p> + <p> + We gazed up at her in silence for a few moments. When we had heard the + news of Paddy’s recovery we had been noisy and jubilant; but we were very + quiet now. We had been too near something dark and terrible and menacing; + and though it was thus suddenly removed the chill and shadow of it were + about us still. Presently the Story Girl, who had been standing up, + leaning against a tall fir, slipped down to the ground in a huddled + fashion and broke into a very passion of weeping. I had never heard any + one cry so, with dreadful, rending sobs. I was used to hearing girls cry. + It was as much Sara Ray’s normal state as any other, and even Felicity and + Cecily availed themselves occasionally of the privilege of sex. But I had + never heard any girl cry like this. It gave me the same unpleasant + sensation which I had felt one time when I had seen my father cry. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, don’t, Sara, don’t,” I said gently, patting her convulsed shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “You ARE a queer girl,” said Felicity—more tolerantly than usual + however—“you never cried a speck when you thought Peter was going to + die—and now when he is going to get better you cry like that.” + </p> + <p> + “Sara, child, come with me,” said Aunt Olivia, bending over her. The Story + Girl got up and went away, with Aunt Olivia’s arms around her. The sound + of her crying died away under the firs, and with it seemed to go the dread + and grief that had been our portion for hours. In the reaction our spirits + rose with a bound. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, ain’t it great that Peter’s going to be all right?” said Dan, + springing up. + </p> + <p> + “I never was so glad of anything in my whole life,” declared Felicity in + shameless rapture. + </p> + <p> + “Can’t we send word somehow to Sara Ray to-night?” asked Cecily, the + ever-thoughtful. “She’s feeling so bad—and she’ll have to feel that + way till to-morrow if we can’t.” + </p> + <p> + “Let’s all go down to the Ray gate and holler to Judy Pineau till she + comes out,” suggested Felix. + </p> + <p> + Accordingly, we went and “hollered,” with a right good will. We were much + taken aback to find that Mrs. Ray came to the gate instead of Judy, and + rather sourly demanded what we were yelling about. When she heard our + news, however, she had the decency to say she was glad, and to promise she + would convey the good tidings to Sara—“who is already in bed, where + all children of her age should be,” added Mrs. Ray severely. + </p> + <p> + WE had no intention of going to bed for a good two hours yet. Instead, + after devoutly thanking goodness that our grown-ups, in spite of some + imperfections, were not of the Mrs. Ray type, we betook ourselves to the + granary, lighted a huge lantern which Dan had made out of a turnip, and + proceeded to devour all the apples we might have eaten through the day but + had not. We were a blithe little crew, sitting there in the light of our + goblin lantern. We had in very truth been given beauty for ashes and the + oil of joy for mourning. Life was as a red rose once more. + </p> + <p> + “I’m going to make a big batch of patty-pans, first thing in the morning,” + said Felicity jubilantly. “Isn’t it queer? Last night I felt just like + praying, and tonight I feel just like cooking.” + </p> + <p> + “We mustn’t forget to thank God for making Peter better,” said Cecily, as + we finally went to the house. + </p> + <p> + “Do you s’pose Peter wouldn’t have got better anyway?” said Dan. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Dan, what makes you ask such questions?” exclaimed Cecily in real + distress. + </p> + <p> + “I dunno,” said Dan. “They just kind of come into my head, like. But of + course I mean to thank God when I say my prayers to-night. That’s only + decent.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0030" id="link2HCH0030"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXX. A COMPOUND LETTER + </h2> + <p> + Once Peter was out of danger he recovered rapidly, but he found his + convalescence rather tedious; and Aunt Olivia suggested to us one day that + we write a “compound letter” to amuse him, until he could come to the + window and talk to us from a safe distance. The idea appealed to us; and, + the day being Saturday and the apples all picked, we betook ourselves to + the orchard to compose our epistles, Cecily having first sent word by a + convenient caller to Sara Ray, that she, too, might have a letter ready. + Later, I, having at that time a mania for preserving all documents + relating to our life in Carlisle, copied those letters in the blank pages + at the back of my dream book. Hence I can reproduce them verbatim, with + the bouquet they have retained through all the long years since they were + penned in that autumnal orchard on the hill, with its fading leaves and + frosted grasses, and the “mild, delightsome melancholy” of the late + October day enfolding. + </p> + <h3> + CECILY’S LETTER + </h3> + <p> + “DEAR PETER:—I am so very glad and thankful that you are going to + get better. We were so afraid you would not last Tuesday, and we felt + dreadful, even Felicity. We all prayed for you. I think the others have + stopped now, but I keep it up every night still, for fear you might have a + relaps. (I don’t know if that is spelled right. I haven’t the dixonary + handy, and if I ask the others Felicity will laugh at me, though she + cannot spell lots of words herself.) I am saving some of the Honourable + Mr. Whalen’s pears for you. I’ve got them hid where nobody can find them. + There’s only a dozen because Dan et all the rest, but I guess you will + like them. We have got all the apples picked, and are all ready to take + the measles now, if we have to, but I hope we won’t. If we have to, + though, I’d rather catch them from you than from any one else, because we + are acquainted with you. If I do take the measles and anything happens to + me Felicity is to have my cherry vase. I’d rather give it to the Story + Girl, but Dan says it ought to be kept in the family, even if Felicity is + a crank. I haven’t anything else valuable, since I gave Sara Ray my + forget-me-not jug, but if you would like anything I’ve got let me know and + I’ll leave instructions for you to have it. The Story Girl has told us + some splendid stories lately. I wish I was clever like her. Ma says it + doesn’t matter if you’re not clever as long as you are good, but I am not + even very good. + </p> + <p> + “I think this is all my news, except that I want to tell you how much we + all think of you, Peter. When we heard you were sick we all said nice + things about you, but we were afraid it was too late, and I said if you + got better I’d tell you. It is easier to write it than to tell it out to + your face. We think you are smart and polite and obliging and a great + worker and a gentleman. + </p> + <p> + “Your true friend, + </p> + <h3> + “CECILY KING. + </h3> + <p> + “P.S. If you answer my letter don’t say anything about the pears, because + I don’t want Dan to find out there’s any left. C. K.” + </p> + <h3> + FELICITY’S LETTER + </h3> + <p> + “DEAR PETER:—Aunt Olivia says for us all to write a compound letter + to cheer you up. We are all awful glad you are getting better. It gave us + an awful scare when we heard you were going to die. But you will soon be + all right and able to get out again. Be careful you don’t catch cold. I am + going to bake some nice things for you and send them over, now that the + doctor says you can eat them. And I’ll send you my rosebud plate to eat + off of. I’m only lending it, you know, not giving it. I let very few + people use it because it is my greatest treasure. Mind you don’t break it. + Aunt Olivia must always wash it, not your mother. + </p> + <p> + “I do hope the rest of us won’t catch the measles. It must look horrid to + have red spots all over your face. We all feel pretty well yet. The Story + Girl says as many queer things as ever. Felix thinks he is getting thin, + but he is fatter than ever, and no wonder, with all the apples he eats. He + has give up trying to eat the bitter apples at last. Beverley has grown + half an inch since July, by the mark on the hall door, and he is awful + pleased about it. I told him I guessed the magic seed was taking effect at + last, and he got mad. He never gets mad at anything the Story Girl says, + and yet she is so sarkastic by times. Dan is pretty hard to get along with + as usul, but I try to bear pashently with him. Cecily is well and says she + isn’t going to curl her hair any more. She is so conscienshus. I am glad + my hair curls of itself, ain’t you? + </p> + <p> + “We haven’t seen Sara Ray since you got sick. She is awful lonesome, and + Judy says she cries nearly all the time but that is nothing new. I’m awful + sorry for Sara but I’m glad I’m not her. She is going to write you a + letter too. You’ll let me see what she puts in it, won’t you? You’d better + take some Mexican Tea now. It’s a great blood purifyer. + </p> + <p> + “I am going to get a lovely dark blue dress for the winter. It is ever so + much prettier than Sara Ray’s brown one. Sara Ray’s mother has no taste. + The Story Girl’s father is sending her a new red dress, and a red velvet + cap from Paris. She is so fond of red. I can’t bear it, it looks so + common. Mother says I can get a velvet hood too. Cecily says she doesn’t + believe it’s right to wear velvet when it’s so expensive and the heathen + are crying for the gospel. She got that idea from a Sunday School paper + but I am going to get my hood all the same. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Peter, I have no more news so I will close for this time. + </p> + <p> + “hoping you will soon be quite well, I remain + </p> + <p> + “yours sincerely, + </p> + <h3> + “FELICITY KING. + </h3> + <p> + “P.S. The Story Girl peeked over my shoulder and says I ought to have + signed it ‘yours affeckshunately,’ but I know better, because the <i>Family + Guide</i> has told lots of times how you should sign yourself when you are + writing to a young man who is only a friend. F. K.” + </p> + <h3> + FELIX’ LETTER + </h3> + <p> + “DEAR PETER:—I am awful glad you are getting better. We all felt bad + when we thought you wouldn’t, but I felt worse than the others because we + hadn’t been on very good terms lately and I had said mean things about + you. I’m sorry and, Peter, you can pray for anything you like and I won’t + ever object again. I’m glad Uncle Alec interfered and stopped the fight. + If I had licked you and you had died of the measles it would have been a + dreadful thing. + </p> + <p> + “We have all the apples in and haven’t much to do just now and we are + having lots of fun but we wish you were here to join in. I’m a lot thinner + than I was. I guess working so hard picking apples is a good thing to make + you thin. The girls are all well. Felicity puts on as many airs as ever, + but she makes great things to eat. I have had some splendid dreams since + we gave up writing them down. That is always the way. We ain’t going to + school till we’re sure we are not going to have the measles. This is all I + can think of, so I will draw to a close. Remember, you can pray for + anything you like. FELIX KING.” + </p> + <h3> + SARA RAY’S LETTER + </h3> + <p> + “DEAR PETER:—I never wrote to A BOY before, so PLEASE excuse ALL + mistakes. I am SO glad you are getting better. We were SO afraid you were + GOING TO DIE. I CRIED ALL NIGHT about it. But now that you are OUT OF + DANGER will you tell me WHAT IT REALLY FEELS LIKE to think you are going + to die? Does it FEEL QUEER? Were you VERY badly frightened? + </p> + <p> + “Ma won’t let me go up the hill AT ALL now. I would DIE if it was not for + Judy Pinno. (The French names are SO HARD TO SPELL.) JUDY IS VERY OBLIGING + and I feel that she SIMPATHISES WITH ME. In my LONELY HOURS I read my + dream book and Cecily’s old letters and they are SUCH A COMFORT to me. I + have been reading one of the school library books too. I is PRETTY GOOD + but I wish they had got more LOVE STORIES because they are so exciting. + But the master would not let them. + </p> + <p> + “If you had DIED, Peter, and YOUR FATHER had heard it wouldn’t he have + FELT DREADFUL? We are having BEAUTIFUL WEATHER and the seenary is fine + since the leaves turned. I think there is nothing so pretty as Nature + after all. + </p> + <p> + “I hope ALL DANGER from the measles will soon be over and we can ALL MEET + AGAIN AT THE HOME ON THE HILL. Till then FAREWELL. + </p> + <p> + “Your true friend, + </p> + <h3> + “SARA RAY. + </h3> + <p> + “P. S. Don’t let Felicity see this letter. S. R.” + </p> + <h3> + DAN’S LETTER + </h3> + <p> + “DEAR OLD PETE:—Awful glad you cheated the doctor. I thought you + weren’t the kind to turn up your toes so easy. You should of heard the + girls crying. + </p> + <p> + “They’re all getting their winter finery now and the talk about it would + make you sick. The Story Girl is getting hers from Paris and Felicity is + awful jealous though she pretends she isn’t. I can see through her. + </p> + <p> + “Kitt Mar was up here Thursday to see the girls. She’s had the measles so + she isn’t scared. She’s a great girl to laugh. I like a girl that laughs, + don’t you? + </p> + <p> + “We had a call from Peg Bowen yesterday. You should of seen the Story Girl + hustling Pat out of the way, for all she says she don’t believe he was + bewitched. Peg had your rheumatism ring on and the Story Girl’s blue beads + and Sara Ray’s lace soed across the front of her dress. She wanted some + tobacco and some pickles. Ma gave her some pickles but said we didn’t have + no tobacco and Peg went off mad but I guess she wouldn’t bewitch anything + on account of the pickles. + </p> + <p> + “I ain’t any hand to write letters so I guess I’ll stop. Hope you’ll be + out soon. DAN.” + </p> + <h3> + THE STORY GIRL’S LETTER + </h3> + <p> + “DEAR PETER:—Oh, how glad I am that you are getting better! Those + days when we thought you wouldn’t were the hardest of my whole life. It + seemed too dreadful to be true that perhaps you would die. And then when + we heard you were going to get better that seemed too good to be true. Oh, + Peter, hurry up and get well, for we are having such good times and we + miss you so much. I have coaxed Uncle Alec not to burn his potato stalks + till you are well, because I remember how you always liked to see the + potato stalks burn. Uncle Alec consented, though Aunt Janet said it was + high time they were burned. Uncle Roger burned his last night and it was + such fun. + </p> + <p> + “Pat is splendid. He has never had a sick spell since that bad one. I + would send him over to be company for you, but Aunt Janet says no, because + he might carry the measles back. I don’t see how he could, but we must + obey Aunt Janet. She is very good to us all, but I know she does not + approve of me. She says I’m my father’s own child. I know that doesn’t + mean anything complimentary because she looked so queer when she saw that + I had heard her, but I don’t care. I’m glad I’m like father. I had a + splendid letter from him this week, with the darlingest pictures in it. He + is painting a new picture which is going to make him famous. I wonder what + Aunt Janet will say then. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know, Peter, yesterday I thought I saw the Family Ghost at last. I + was coming through the gap in the hedge, and I saw somebody in blue + standing under Uncle Alec’s tree. How my heart beat! My hair should have + stood up on end with terror but it didn’t. I felt to see, and it was lying + down quite flat. But it was only a visitor after all. I don’t know whether + I was glad or disappointed. I don’t think it would be a pleasant + experience to see the ghost. But after I had seen it think what a heroine + I would be! + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Peter, what do you think? I have got acquainted with the Awkward Man + at last. I never thought it would be so easy. Yesterday Aunt Olivia wanted + some ferns, so I went back to the maple woods to get them for her, and I + found some lovely ones by the spring. And while I was sitting there, + looking into the spring who should come along but the Awkward Man himself. + He sat right down beside me and began to talk. I never was so surprised in + my life. We had a very interesting talk, and I told him two of my best + stories, and a great many of my secrets into the bargain. They may say + what they like, but he was not one bit shy or awkward, and he has + beautiful eyes. He did not tell me any of his secrets, but I believe he + will some day. Of course I never said a word about his Alice-room. But I + gave him a hint about his little brown book. I said I loved poetry and + often felt like writing it, and then I said, ‘Do you ever feel like that, + Mr. Dale?’ He said, yes, he sometimes felt that way, but he did not + mention the brown book. I thought he might have. But after all I don’t + like people who tell you everything the first time you meet them, like + Sara Ray. When he went away he said, ‘I hope I shall have the pleasure of + meeting you again,’ just as seriously and politely as if I was a grown-up + young lady. I am sure he could never have said it if I had been really + grown up. I told him it was likely he would and that he wasn’t to mind if + I had a longer skirt on next time, because I’d be just the same person. + </p> + <p> + “I told the children a beautiful new fairy story to-day. I made them go to + the spruce wood to hear it. A spruce wood is the proper place to tell + fairy stories in. Felicity says she can’t see that it makes any difference + where you tell them, but oh, it does. I wish you had been there to hear it + too, but when you are well I will tell it over again for you. + </p> + <p> + “I am going to call the southernwood ‘appleringie’ after this. Beverley + says that is what they call it in Scotland, and I think it sounds so much + more poetical than southernwood. Felicity says the right name is ‘Boy’s + Love,’ but I think that sounds silly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Peter, shadows are such pretty things. The orchard is full of them + this very minute. Sometimes they are so still you would think them asleep. + Then they go laughing and skipping. Outside, in the oat field, they are + always chasing each other. They are the wild shadows. The shadows in the + orchard are the tame shadows. + </p> + <p> + “Everything seems to be rather tired growing except the spruces and + chrysanthemums in Aunt Olivia’s garden. The sunshine is so thick and + yellow and lazy, and the crickets sing all day long. The birds are nearly + all gone and most of the maple leaves have fallen. + </p> + <p> + “Just to make you laugh I’ll write you a little story I heard Uncle Alec + telling last night. It was about Elder Frewen’s grandfather taking a pair + of rope reins to lead a piano home. Everybody laughed except Aunt Janet. + Old Mr. Frewen was HER grandfather too, and she wouldn’t laugh. One day + when old Mr. Frewen was a young man of eighteen his father came home and + said, ‘Sandy, I bought a piano at Simon Ward’s sale to-day. You’re to go + to-morrow and bring it home.’ So next day Sandy started off on horseback + with a pair of rope reins to lead the piano home. He thought it was some + kind of livestock. + </p> + <p> + “And then Uncle Roger told about old Mark Ward who got up to make a speech + at a church missionary social when he was drunk. (Of course he didn’t get + drunk at the social. He went there that way.) And this was his speech. + </p> + <p> + “‘Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Chairman, I can’t express my thoughts on this + grand subject of missions. It’s in this poor human critter’—patting + himself on the breast—‘but he can’t git it out.’ + </p> + <p> + “I’ll tell you these stories when you get well. I can tell them ever so + much better than I can write them. + </p> + <p> + “I know Felicity is wondering why I’m writing such a long letter, so + perhaps I’d better stop. If your mother reads it to you there is a good + deal of it she may not understand, but I think your Aunt Jane would. + </p> + <p> + “I remain + </p> + <p> + “your very affectionate friend, + </p> + <h3> + “SARA STANLEY.” + </h3> + <p> + I did not keep a copy of my own letter, and I have forgotten everything + that was in it, except the first sentence, in which I told Peter I was + awful glad he was getting better. + </p> + <p> + Peter’s delight on receiving our letters knew no bounds. He insisted on + answering them and his letter, painstakingly disinfected, was duly + delivered to us. Aunt Olivia had written it at his dictation, which was a + gain, as far as spelling and punctuation went. But Peter’s individuality + seemed merged and lost in Aunt Olivia’s big, dashing script. Not until the + Story Girl read the letter to us in the granary by jack-o-lantern light, + in a mimicry of Peter’s very voice, did we savour the real bouquet of it. + </p> + <h3> + PETER’S LETTER + </h3> + <p> + “DEAR EVERYBODY, BUT ESPECIALLY FELICITY:—I was awful glad to get + your letters. It makes you real important to be sick, but the time seems + awful long when you’re getting better. Your letters were all great, but I + liked Felicity’s best, and next to hers the Story Girl’s. Felicity, it + will be awful good of you to send me things to eat and the rosebud plate. + I’ll be awful careful of it. I hope you won’t catch the measles, for they + are not nice, especially when they strike in, but you would look all + right, even if you did have red spots on your face. I would like to try + the Mexican Tea, because you want me to, but mother says no, she doesn’t + believe in it, and Burtons Bitters are a great deal healthier. If I was + you I would get the velvet hood all right. The heathen live in warm + countries so they don’t want hoods. + </p> + <p> + “I’m glad you are still praying for me, Cecily, for you can’t trust the + measles. And I’m glad you’re keeping you know what for me. I don’t believe + anything will happen to you if you do take the measles; but if anything + does I’d like that little red book of yours, <i>The Safe Compass</i>, just + to remember you by. It’s such a good book to read on Sundays. It is + interesting and religious, too. So is the Bible. I hadn’t quite finished + the Bible before I took the measles, but ma is reading the last chapters + to me. There’s an awful lot in that book. I can’t understand the whole of + it, since I’m only a hired boy, but some parts are real easy. + </p> + <p> + “I’m awful glad you have such a good opinion of me. I don’t deserve it, + but after this I’ll try to. I can’t tell you how I feel about all your + kindness. I’m like the fellow the Story Girl wrote about who couldn’t get + it out. I have the picture the Story Girl gave me for my sermon on the + wall at the foot of my bed. I like to look at it, it looks so much like + Aunt Jane. + </p> + <p> + “Felix, I’ve given up praying that I’d be the only one to eat the bitter + apples, and I’ll never pray for anything like that again. It was a horrid + mean prayer. I didn’t know it then, but after the measles struck in I + found out it was. Aunt Jane wouldn’t have liked it. After this I’m going + to pray prayers I needn’t be ashamed of. + </p> + <p> + “Sara Ray, I don’t know what it feels like to be going to die because I + didn’t know I was going to die till I got better. Mother says I was luny + most of the time after they struck in. It was just because they struck in + I was luny. I ain’t luny naturally, Felicity. I will do what you asked in + your postscript, Sara, although it will be hard. + </p> + <p> + “I’m glad Peg Bowen didn’t catch you, Dan. Maybe she bewitched me that + night we were at her place, and that is why the measles struck in. I’m + awful glad Mr. King is going to leave the potato stalks until I get well, + and I’m obliged to the Story Girl for coaxing him. I guess she will find + out about Alice yet. There were some parts of her letter I couldn’t see + through, but when the measles strike in, they leave you stupid for a + spell. Anyhow, it was a fine letter, and they were all fine, and I’m awful + glad I have so many nice friends, even if I am only a hired boy. Perhaps + I’d never have found it out if the measles hadn’t struck in. So I’m glad + they did but I hope they never will again. + </p> + <p> + “Your obedient servant, + </p> + <h3> + “PETER CRAIG.” + </h3> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0031" id="link2HCH0031"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXI. ON THE EDGE OF LIGHT AND DARK + </h2> + <p> + We celebrated the November day when Peter was permitted to rejoin us by a + picnic in the orchard. Sara Ray was also allowed to come, under protest; + and her joy over being among us once more was almost pathetic. She and + Cecily cried in one another’s arms as if they had been parted for years. + </p> + <p> + We had a beautiful day for our picnic. November dreamed that it was May. + The air was soft and mellow, with pale, aerial mists in the valleys and + over the leafless beeches on the western hill. The sere stubble fields + brooded in glamour, and the sky was pearly blue. The leaves were still + thick on the apple trees, though they were russet hued, and the + after-growth of grass was richly green, unharmed as yet by the nipping + frosts of previous nights. The wind made a sweet, drowsy murmur in the + boughs, as of bees among apple blossoms. + </p> + <p> + “It’s just like spring, isn’t it?” asked Felicity. + </p> + <p> + The Story Girl shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “No, not quite. It looks like spring, but it isn’t spring. It’s as if + everything was resting—getting ready to sleep. In spring they’re + getting ready to grow. Can’t you FEEL the difference?” + </p> + <p> + “I think it’s just like spring,” insisted Felicity. + </p> + <p> + In the sun-sweet place before the Pulpit Stone we boys had put up a board + table. Aunt Janet allowed us to cover it with an old tablecloth, the worn + places in which the girls artfully concealed with frost-whitened ferns. We + had the kitchen dishes, and the table was gaily decorated with Cecily’s + three scarlet geraniums and maple leaves in the cherry vase. As for the + viands, they were fit for the gods on high Olympus. Felicity had spent the + whole previous day and the forenoon of the picnic day in concocting them. + Her crowning achievement was a rich little plum cake, on the white + frosting of which the words “Welcome Back” were lettered in pink candies. + This was put before Peter’s place, and almost overcame him. + </p> + <p> + “To think that you’d go to so much trouble for me!” he said, with a glance + of adoring gratitude at Felicity. Felicity got all the gratitude, although + the Story Girl had originated the idea and seeded the raisins and beaten + the eggs, while Cecily had trudged all the way to Mrs. Jameson’s little + shop below the church to buy the pink candies. But that is the way of the + world. + </p> + <p> + “We ought to have grace,” said Felicity, as we sat down at the festal + board. “Will any one say it?” + </p> + <p> + She looked at me, but I blushed to the roots of my hair and shook my head + sheepishly. An awkward pause ensued; it looked as if we would have to + proceed without grace, when Felix suddenly shut his eyes, bent his head, + and said a very good grace without any appearance of embarrassment. We + looked at him when it was over with an increase of respect. + </p> + <p> + “Where on earth did you learn that, Felix?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “It’s the grace Uncle Alec says at every meal,” answered Felix. + </p> + <p> + We felt rather ashamed of ourselves. Was it possible that we had paid so + little attention to Uncle Alec’s grace that we did not recognize it when + we heard it on other lips? + </p> + <p> + “Now,” said Felicity jubilantly, “let’s eat everything up.” + </p> + <p> + In truth, it was a merry little feast. We had gone without our dinners, in + order to “save our appetites,” and we did ample justice to Felicity’s good + things. Paddy sat on the Pulpit Stone and watched us with great yellow + eyes, knowing that tidbits would come his way later on. Many witty things + were said—or at least we thought them witty—and uproarious was + the laughter. Never had the old King orchard known a blither merrymaking + or lighter hearts. + </p> + <p> + The picnic over, we played games until the early falling dusk, and then we + went with Uncle Alec to the back field to burn the potato stalks—the + crowning delight of the day. + </p> + <p> + The stalks were in heaps all over the field, and we were allowed the + privilege of setting fire to them. ‘Twas glorious! In a few minutes the + field was alight with blazing bonfires, over which rolled great, pungent + clouds of smoke. From pile to pile we ran, shrieking with delight, to poke + each up with a long stick and watch the gush of rose-red sparks stream off + into the night. In what a whirl of smoke and firelight and wild, + fantastic, hurtling shadows we were! + </p> + <p> + When we grew tired of our sport we went to the windward side of the field + and perched ourselves on the high pole fence that skirted a dark spruce + wood, full of strange, furtive sounds. Over us was a great, dark sky, + blossoming with silver stars, and all around lay dusky, mysterious reaches + of meadow and wood in the soft, empurpled night. Away to the east a + shimmering silveryness beneath a palace of aerial cloud foretokened + moonrise. But directly before us the potato field, with its wreathing + smoke and sullen flames, the gigantic shadow of Uncle Alec crossing and + recrossing it, reminded us of Peter’s famous description of the bad place, + and probably suggested the Story Girl’s remark. + </p> + <p> + “I know a story,” she said, infusing just the right shade of weirdness + into her voice, “about a man who saw the devil. Now, what’s the matter, + Felicity?” + </p> + <p> + “I can never get used to the way you mention the—the—that + name,” complained Felicity. “To hear you speak of the Old Scratch any one + would think he was just a common person.” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind. Tell us the story,” I said curiously. + </p> + <p> + “It is about Mrs. John Martin’s uncle at Markdale,” said the Story Girl. + “I heard Uncle Roger telling it the other night. He didn’t know I was + sitting on the cellar hatch outside the window, or I don’t suppose he + would have told it. Mrs. Martin’s uncle’s name was William Cowan, and he + has been dead for twenty years; but sixty years ago he was a young man, + and a very wild, wicked young man. He did everything bad he could think + of, and never went to church, and he laughed at everything religious, even + the devil. He didn’t believe there was a devil at all. One beautiful + summer Sunday evening his mother pleaded with him to go to church with + her, but he would not. He told her that he was going fishing instead, and + when church time came he swaggered past the church, with his fishing rod + over his shoulder, singing a godless song. Half way between the church and + the harbour there was a thick spruce wood, and the path ran through it. + When William Cowan was half way through it SOMETHING came out of the wood + and walked beside him.” + </p> + <p> + I have never heard anything more horribly suggestive than that innocent + word “something,” as enunciated by the Story Girl. I felt Cecily’s hand, + icy cold, clutching mine. + </p> + <p> + “What—what—was IT like?” whispered Felix, curiosity getting + the better of his terror. + </p> + <p> + “IT was tall, and black, and hairy,” said the Story Girl, her eyes glowing + with uncanny intensity in the red glare of the fires, “and IT lifted one + great, hairy hand, with claws on the end of it, and clapped William Cowan, + first on one shoulder and then on the other, and said, ‘Good sport to you, + brother.’ William Cowan gave a horrible scream and fell on his face right + there in the wood. Some of the men around the church door heard the + scream, and they rushed down to the wood. They saw nothing but William + Cowan, lying like a dead man on the path. They took him up and carried him + home; and when they undressed him to put him to bed, there, on each + shoulder, was the mark of a big hand, BURNED INTO THE FLESH. It was weeks + before the burns healed, and the scars never went away. Always, as long as + William Cowan lived, he carried on his shoulders the prints of the devil’s + hand.” + </p> + <p> + I really do not know how we should ever have got home, had we been left to + our own devices. We were cold with fright. How could we turn our backs on + the eerie spruce wood, out of which SOMETHING might pop at any moment? How + cross those long, shadowy fields between us and our rooftree? How venture + through the darkly mysterious bracken hollow? + </p> + <p> + Fortunately, Uncle Alec came along at this crisis and said he thought we’d + better come home now, since the fires were nearly out. We slid down from + the fence and started, taking care to keep close together and in front of + Uncle Alec. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t believe a word of that yarn,” said Dan, trying to speak with his + usual incredulity. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t see how you can help believing it,” said Cecily. “It isn’t as if + it was something we’d read of, or that happened far away. It happened just + down at Markdale, and I’ve seen that very spruce wood myself.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I suppose William Cowan got a fright of some kind,” conceded Dan, + “but I don’t believe he saw the devil.” + </p> + <p> + “Old Mr. Morrison at Lower Markdale was one of the men who undressed him, + and he remembers seeing the marks,” said the Story Girl triumphantly. + </p> + <p> + “How did William Cowan behave afterwards?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “He was a changed man,” said the Story Girl solemnly. “Too much changed. + He never was known to laugh again, or even smile. He became a very + religious man, which was a good thing, but he was dreadfully gloomy and + thought everything pleasant sinful. He wouldn’t even eat any more than was + actually necessary to keep him alive. Uncle Roger says that if he had been + a Roman Catholic he would have become a monk, but, as he was a + Presbyterian, all he could do was to turn into a crank.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but your Uncle Roger was never clapped on the shoulder and called + brother by the devil,” said Peter. “If he had, he mightn’t have been so + precious jolly afterwards himself.” + </p> + <p> + “I do wish to goodness,” said Felicity in exasperation, “that you’d stop + talking of the—the—of such subjects in the dark. I’m so scared + now that I keep thinking father’s steps behind us are SOMETHING’S. Just + think, my own father!” + </p> + <p> + The Story Girl slipped her arm through Felicity’s. + </p> + <p> + “Never mind,” she said soothingly. “I’ll tell you another story—such + a beautiful story that you’ll forget all about the devil.” + </p> + <p> + She told us one of Hans Andersen’s most exquisite tales; and the magic of + her voice charmed away all our fear, so that when we reached the bracken + hollow, a lake of shadow surrounded by the silver shore of moonlit fields, + we all went through it without a thought of His Satanic Majesty at all. + And beyond us, on the hill, the homelight was glowing from the farmhouse + window like a beacon of old loves. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0032" id="link2HCH0032"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXII. THE OPENING OF THE BLUE CHEST + </h2> + <p> + November wakened from her dream of May in a bad temper. The day after the + picnic a cold autumn rain set in, and we got up to find our world a + drenched, wind-writhen place, with sodden fields and dour skies. The rain + was weeping on the roof as if it were shedding the tears of old sorrows; + the willow by the gate tossed its gaunt branches wildly, as if it were + some passionate, spectral thing, wringing its fleshless hands in agony; + the orchard was haggard and uncomely; nothing seemed the same except the + staunch, trusty, old spruces. + </p> + <p> + It was Friday, but we were not to begin going to school again until + Monday, so we spent the day in the granary, sorting apples and hearing + tales. In the evening the rain ceased, the wind came around to the + northwest, freezing suddenly, and a chilly yellow sunset beyond the dark + hills seemed to herald a brighter morrow. + </p> + <p> + Felicity and the Story Girl and I walked down to the post-office for the + mail, along a road where fallen leaves went eddying fitfully up and down + before us in weird, uncanny dances of their own. The evening was full of + eerie sounds—the creaking of fir boughs, the whistle of the wind in + the tree-tops, the vibrations of strips of dried bark on the rail fences. + But we carried summer and sunshine in our hearts, and the bleak + unloveliness of the outer world only intensified our inner radiance. + </p> + <p> + Felicity wore her new velvet hood, with a coquettish little collar of + white fur about her neck. Her golden curls framed her lovely face, and the + wind stung the pink of her cheeks to crimson. On my left hand walked the + Story Girl, her red cap on her jaunty brown head. She scattered her words + along the path like the pearls and diamonds of the old fairy tale. I + remember that I strutted along quite insufferably, for we met several of + the Carlisle boys and I felt that I was an exceptionally lucky fellow to + have such beauty on one side and such charm on the other. + </p> + <p> + There was one of father’s thin letters for Felix, a fat, foreign letter + for the Story Girl, addressed in her father’s minute handwriting, a drop + letter for Cecily from some school friend, with “In Haste” written across + the corner, and a letter for Aunt Janet, postmarked Montreal. + </p> + <p> + “I can’t think who that is from,” said Felicity. “Nobody in Montreal ever + writes to mother. Cecily’s letter is from Em Frewen. She always puts ‘In + Haste’ on her letters, no matter what is in them.” + </p> + <p> + When we reached home, Aunt Janet opened and read her Montreal letter. Then + she laid it down and looked about her in astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “Well, did ever any mortal!” she said. + </p> + <p> + “What in the world is the matter?” said Uncle Alec. + </p> + <p> + “This letter is from James Ward’s wife in Montreal,” said Aunt Janet + solemnly. “Rachel Ward is dead. And she told James’ wife to write to me + and tell me to open the old blue chest.” + </p> + <p> + “Hurrah!” shouted Dan. + </p> + <p> + “Donald King,” said his mother severely, “Rachel Ward was your relation + and she is dead. What do you mean by such behaviour?” + </p> + <p> + “I never was acquainted with her,” said Dan sulkily. “And I wasn’t + hurrahing because she is dead. I hurrahed because that blue chest is to be + opened at last.” + </p> + <p> + “So poor Rachel is gone,” said Uncle Alec. “She must have been an old + woman—seventy-five I suppose. I remember her as a fine, blooming + young woman. Well, well, and so the old chest is to be opened at last. + What is to be done with its contents?” + </p> + <p> + “Rachel left instructions about them,” answered Aunt Janet, referring to + the letter. “The wedding dress and veil and letters are to be burned. + There are two jugs in it which are to be sent to James’ wife. The rest of + the things are to be given around among the connection. Each members is to + have one, ‘to remember her by.’” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, can’t we open it right away this very night?” said Felicity eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “No, indeed!” Aunt Janet folded up the letter decidedly. “That chest has + been locked up for fifty years, and it’ll stand being locked up one more + night. You children wouldn’t sleep a wink to-night if we opened it now. + You’d go wild with excitement.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m sure I won’t sleep anyhow,” said Felicity. “Well, at least you’ll + open it the first thing in the morning, won’t you, ma?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I’ll do nothing of the sort,” was Aunt Janet’s pitiless decree. “I + want to get the work out of the way first—and Roger and Olivia will + want to be here, too. We’ll say ten o’clock to-morrow forenoon.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s sixteen whole hours yet,” sighed Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “I’m going right over to tell the Story Girl,” said Cecily. “Won’t she be + excited!” + </p> + <p> + We were all excited. We spent the evening speculating on the possible + contents of the chest, and Cecily dreamed miserably that night that the + moths had eaten everything in it. + </p> + <p> + The morning dawned on a beautiful world. A very slight fall of snow had + come in the night—just enough to look like a filmy veil of lace + flung over the dark evergreens, and the hard frozen ground. A new blossom + time seemed to have revisited the orchard. The spruce wood behind the + house appeared to be woven out of enchantment. There is nothing more + beautiful than a thickly growing wood of firs lightly powdered with + new-fallen snow. As the sun remained hidden by gray clouds, this + fairy-beauty lasted all day. + </p> + <p> + The Story Girl came over early in the morning, and Sara Ray, to whom + faithful Cecily had sent word, was also on hand. Felicity did not approve + of this. + </p> + <p> + “Sara Ray isn’t any relation to our family,” she scolded to Cecily, “and + she has no right to be present.” + </p> + <p> + “She’s a particular friend of mine,” said Cecily with dignity. “We have + her in everything, and it would hurt her feelings dreadfully to be left + out of this. Peter is no relation either, but he is going to be here when + we open it, so why shouldn’t Sara?” + </p> + <p> + “Peter ain’t a member of the family YET, but maybe he will be some day. + Hey, Felicity?” said Dan. + </p> + <p> + “You’re awful smart, aren’t you, Dan King?” said Felicity, reddening. + “Perhaps you’d like to send for Kitty Marr, too—though she DOES + laugh at your big mouth.” + </p> + <p> + “It seems as if ten o’clock would never come,” sighed the Story Girl. “The + work is all done, and Aunt Olivia and Uncle Roger are here, and the chest + might just as well be opened right away.” + </p> + <p> + “Mother SAID ten o’clock and she’ll stick to it,” said Felicity crossly. + “It’s only nine now.” + </p> + <p> + “Let us put the clock on half an hour,” said the Story Girl. “The clock in + the hall isn’t going, so no one will know the difference.” + </p> + <p> + We all looked at each other. + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn’t dare,” said Felicity irresolutely. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, if that’s all, I’ll do it,” said the Story Girl. + </p> + <p> + When ten o’clock struck Aunt Janet came into the kitchen, remarking + innocently that it hadn’t seemed anytime since nine. We must have looked + horribly guilty, but none of the grown-ups suspected anything. Uncle Alec + brought in the axe, and pried off the cover of the old blue chest, while + everybody stood around in silence. + </p> + <p> + Then came the unpacking. It was certainly an interesting performance. Aunt + Janet and Aunt Olivia took everything out and laid it on the kitchen + table. We children were forbidden to touch anything, but fortunately we + were not forbidden the use of our eyes and tongues. + </p> + <p> + “There are the pink and gold vases Grandmother King gave her,” said + Felicity, as Aunt Olivia unwrapped from their tissue paper swathings a + pair of slender, old-fashioned, twisted vases of pink glass, over which + little gold leaves were scattered. “Aren’t they handsome?” + </p> + <p> + “And oh,” exclaimed Cecily in delight, “there’s the china fruit basket + with the apple on the handle. Doesn’t it look real? I’ve thought so much + about it. Oh, mother, please let me hold it for a minute. I’ll be as + careful as careful.” + </p> + <p> + “There comes the china set Grandfather King gave her,” said the Story Girl + wistfully. “Oh, it makes me feel sad. Think of all the hopes that Rachel + Ward must have put away in this chest with all her pretty things.” + </p> + <p> + Following these, came a quaint little candlestick of blue china, and the + two jugs which were to be sent to James’ wife. + </p> + <p> + “They ARE handsome,” said Aunt Janet rather enviously. “They must be a + hundred years old. Aunt Sara Ward gave them to Rachel, and she had them + for at least fifty years. I should have thought one would have been enough + for James’ wife. But of course we must do just as Rachel wished. I + declare, here’s a dozen tin patty pans!” + </p> + <p> + “Tin patty pans aren’t very romantic,” said the Story Girl discontentedly. + </p> + <p> + “I notice that you are as fond as any one of what is baked in them,” said + Aunt Janet. “I’ve heard of those patty pans. An old servant Grandmother + King had gave them to Rachel. Now we are coming to the linen. That was + Uncle Edward Ward’s present. How yellow it has grown.” + </p> + <p> + We children were not greatly interested in the sheets and tablecloths and + pillow-cases which now came out of the capacious depths of the old blue + chest. But Aunt Olivia was quite enraptured over them. + </p> + <p> + “What sewing!” she said. “Look, Janet, you’d almost need a magnifying + glass to see the stitches. And the dear, old-fashioned pillow-slips with + buttons on them!” + </p> + <p> + “Here are a dozen handkerchiefs,” said Aunt Janet. “Look at the initial in + the corner of each. Rachel learned that stitch from a nun in Montreal. It + looks as if it was woven into the material.” + </p> + <p> + “Here are her quilts,” said Aunt Olivia. “Yes, there is the blue and white + counterpane Grandmother Ward gave her—and the Rising Sun quilt her + Aunt Nancy made for her—and the braided rug. The colours are not + faded one bit. I want that rug, Janet.” + </p> + <p> + Underneath the linen were Rachel Ward’s wedding clothes. The excitement of + the girls waxed red hot over these. There was a Paisley shawl in the + wrappings in which it had come from the store, and a wide scarf of some + yellowed lace. There was the embroidered petticoat which had cost Felicity + such painful blushes, and a dozen beautifully worked sets of the fine + muslin “undersleeves” which had been the fashion in Rachel Ward’s youth. + </p> + <p> + “This was to have been her appearing out dress,” said Aunt Olivia, lifting + out a shot green silk. “It is all cut to pieces—but what a pretty + soft shade it was! Look at the skirt, Janet. How many yards must it + measure around?” + </p> + <p> + “Hoopskirts were in then,” said Aunt Janet. “I don’t see her wedding hat + here. I was always told that she packed it away, too.” + </p> + <p> + “So was I. But she couldn’t have. It certainly isn’t here. I have heard + that the white plume on it cost a small fortune. Here is her black silk + mantle. It seems like sacrilege to meddle with these clothes.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t be foolish, Olivia. They must be unpacked at least. And they must + all be burned since they have cut so badly. This purple cloth dress is + quite good, however. It can be made over nicely, and it would become you + very well, Olivia.” + </p> + <p> + “No, thank you,” said Aunt Olivia, with a little shudder. “I should feel + like a ghost. Make it over for yourself, Janet.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I will, if you don’t want it. I am not troubled with fancies. That + seems to be all except this box. I suppose the wedding dress is in it.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” breathed the girls, crowding about Aunt Olivia, as she lifted out + the box and cut the cord around it. Inside was lying a dress of soft silk, + that had once been white but was now yellowed with age, and, enfolding it + like a mist, a long, white bridal veil, redolent with some strange, + old-time perfume that had kept its sweetness through all the years. + </p> + <p> + “Poor Rachel Ward,” said Aunt Olivia softly. “Here is her point lace + handkerchief. She made it herself. It is like a spider’s web. Here are the + letters Will Montague wrote her. And here,” she added, taking up a crimson + velvet case with a tarnished gilt clasp, “are their photographs—his + and hers.” + </p> + <p> + We looked eagerly at the daguerreotypes in the old case. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Rachel Ward wasn’t a bit pretty!” exclaimed the Story Girl in + poignant disappointment. + </p> + <p> + No, Rachel Ward was not pretty, that had to be admitted. The picture + showed a fresh young face, with strongly marked, irregular features, large + black eyes, and black curls hanging around the shoulders in old-time + style. + </p> + <p> + “Rachel wasn’t pretty,” said Uncle Alec, “but she had a lovely colour, and + a beautiful smile. She looks far too sober in that picture.” + </p> + <p> + “She has a beautiful neck and bust,” said Aunt Olivia critically. + </p> + <p> + “Anyhow, Will Montague was really handsome,” said the Story Girl. + </p> + <p> + “A handsome rogue,” growled Uncle Alec. “I never liked him. I was only a + little chap of ten but I saw through him. Rachel Ward was far too good for + him.” + </p> + <p> + We would dearly have liked to get a peep into the letters, too. But Aunt + Olivia would not allow that. They must be burned unread, she declared. She + took the wedding dress and veil, the picture case, and the letters away + with her. The rest of the things were put back into the chest, pending + their ultimate distribution. Aunt Janet gave each of us boys a + handkerchief. The Story Girl got the blue candlestick, and Felicity and + Cecily each got a pink and gold vase. Even Sara Ray was made happy by the + gift of a little china plate, with a loudly coloured picture of Moses and + Aaron before Pharaoh in the middle of it. Moses wore a scarlet cloak, + while Aaron disported himself in bright blue. Pharaoh was arrayed in + yellow. The plate had a scalloped border with a wreath of green leaves + around it. + </p> + <p> + “I shall never use it to eat off,” said Sara rapturously. “I’ll put it up + on the parlour mantelpiece.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t see much use in having a plate just for ornament,” said Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “It’s nice to have something interesting to look at,” retorted Sara, who + felt that the soul must have food as well as the body. + </p> + <p> + “I’m going to get a candle for my candlestick, and use it every night to + go to bed with,” said the Story Girl. “And I’ll never light it without + thinking of poor Rachel Ward. But I DO wish she had been pretty.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Felicity, with a glance at the clock, “it’s all over, and it + has been very interesting. But that clock has got to be put back to the + right time some time through the day. I don’t want bedtime coming a whole + half-hour before it ought to.” + </p> + <p> + In the afternoon, when Aunt Janet was over at Uncle Roger’s, seeing him + and Aunt Olivia off to town, the clock was righted. The Story Girl and + Peter came over to stay all night with us, and we made taffy in the + kitchen, which the grown-ups kindly gave over to us for that purpose. + </p> + <p> + “Of course it was very interesting to see the old chest unpacked,” said + the Story Girl as she stirred the contents of a saucepan vigorously. “But + now that it is over I believe I am sorry that it is opened. It isn’t + mysterious any longer. We know all about it now, and we can never imagine + what things are in it any more.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s better to know than to imagine,” said Felicity. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, it isn’t,” said the Story Girl quickly. “When you know things you + have to go by facts. But when you just dream about things there’s nothing + to hold you down.” + </p> + <p> + “You’re letting the taffy scorch, and THAT’S a fact you’d better go by,” + said Felicity sniffing. “Haven’t you got a nose?” + </p> + <p> + When we went to bed, that wonderful white enchantress, the moon, was + making an elf-land of the snow-misted world outside. From where I lay I + could see the sharp tops of the spruces against the silvery sky. The frost + was abroad, and the winds were still and the land lay in glamour. + </p> + <p> + Across the hall, the Story Girl was telling Felicity and Cecily the old, + old tale of Argive Helen and “evil-hearted Paris.” + </p> + <p> + “But that’s a bad story,” said Felicity when the tale was ended. “She left + her husband and run away with another man.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose it was bad four thousand years ago,” admitted the Story Girl. + “But by this time the bad must have all gone out of it. It’s only the good + that could last so long.” + </p> + <p> + Our summer was over. It had been a beautiful one. We had known the + sweetness of common joys, the delight of dawns, the dream and glamour of + noontides, the long, purple peace of carefree nights. We had had the + pleasure of bird song, of silver rain on greening fields, of storm among + the trees, of blossoming meadows, and of the converse of whispering + leaves. We had had brotherhood with wind and star, with books and tales, + and hearth fires of autumn. Ours had been the little, loving tasks of + every day, blithe companionship, shared thoughts, and adventuring. Rich + were we in the memory of those opulent months that had gone from us—richer + than we then knew or suspected. And before us was the dream of spring. It + is always safe to dream of spring. For it is sure to come; and if it be + not just as we have pictured it, it will be infinitely sweeter. + </p> + <h3> + THE END. + </h3> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Story Girl, by Lucy Maud Montgomery + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE STORY GIRL *** + +***** This file should be named 5342-h.htm or 5342-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/5/3/4/5342/ + + +Text file produced by Leslee Suttie, Mary Mark Ockerbloom, and Ben Crowder + +HTML file produced by David Widger + + +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. 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