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diff --git a/5342.txt b/5342.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c91f554 --- /dev/null +++ b/5342.txt @@ -0,0 +1,10402 @@ +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: April 16, 2013 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE STORY GIRL *** + + + + +Produced by Leslee Suttie, Mary Mark Ockerbloom, and Ben Crowder + + + + + + + + +THE STORY GIRL + +By L. M. Montgomery + + +Author of "Anne of Green Gables," "Anne of Avonlea," "Kilmeny of the +Orchard," etc. + + +With frontispiece and cover in colour by George Gibbs + + + +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. + +http://digital.library.upenn.edu/women/ + +Reformatted by Ben Crowder + + + + "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. + + +TO MY COUSIN + +Frederica E. Campbell + +IN REMEMBRANCE OF OLD DAYS, OLD DREAMS, AND OLD LAUGHTER + + + +CONTENTS + + I. The Home of Our Fathers + II. A Queen of Hearts + III. Legends of the Old Orchard + IV. The Wedding Veil of the Proud Princess + V. Peter Goes to Church + VI. The Mystery of Golden Milestone + VII. How Betty Sherman Won a Husband + VIII. A Tragedy of Childhood + IX. Magic Seed + X. A Daughter of Eve + XI. The Story Girl Does Penance + XII. The Blue Chest of Rachel Ward + XIII. An Old Proverb With a New Meaning + XIV. Forbidden Fruit + XV. A Disobedient Brother + XVI. The Ghostly Bell + XVII. The Proof of the Pudding + XVIII. How Kissing Was Discovered + XIX. A Dread Prophecy + XX. The Judgment Sunday + XXI. Dreamers of Dreams + XXII. The Dream Books + XXIII. Such Stuff as Dreams Are Made On + XXIV. The Bewitchment of Pat + XXV. A Cup of Failure + XXVI. Peter Makes an Impression + XXVII. The Ordeal of Bitter Apples + XXVIII. The Tale of the Rainbow Bridge + XXIX. The Shadow Feared of Man + XXX. A Compound Letter + XXXI. On the Edge of Light and Dark + XXXII. The Opening of the Blue Chest + + + + +THE STORY GIRL + + + +CHAPTER I. THE HOME OF OUR FATHERS + +"I do like a road, because you can be always wondering what is at the +end of it." + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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. + +"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." + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +"There's the big willow, Bev," whispered Felix excitedly, as we turned +in at the gate. + +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. + +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. + +"I'm going to climb it to-morrow," I said joyfully. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"Who is the Story Girl?" asked Felix. + +"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." + +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. + +"Peter?" I questioned. I had never heard of any Peter. + +"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." + +"He wants to be Felicity's beau," said Dan slyly. + +"Don't talk silly nonsense, Dan," said Aunt Janet severely. + +Felicity tossed her golden head and shot an unsisterly glance at Dan. + +"I wouldn't be very likely to have a hired boy for a beau," she +observed. + +We saw that her anger was real, not affected. Evidently Peter was not an +admirer of whom Felicity was proud. + +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. + +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. + +"Just think, those are the very frogs father listened to when he was a +little boy," whispered Felix. + +"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." + +"Well, they're the descendants of the frogs he heard," said Felix, "and +they're singing in the same swamp. That's near enough." + +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. + +"What do you think of the boys?" asked Cecily. + +"Beverley is handsome, but Felix is too fat," answered Felicity +promptly. + +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? + +"I think they're both nice and nice looking," said Cecily. + +Dear little soul! + +"I wonder what the Story Girl will think of them," said Felicity, as if, +after all, that was the main thing. + +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. + +"I wonder if the Story Girl is pretty," said Felix aloud. + +"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." + +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. + + + +CHAPTER II. A QUEEN OF HEARTS + +I wakened shortly after sunrise. The pale May sunshine was showering +through the spruces, and a chill, inspiring wind was tossing the boughs +about. + +"Felix, wake up," I whispered, shaking him. + +"What's the matter?" he murmured reluctantly. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Then she spoke; she said, + +"Good morning." + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +"She's the prettiest girl I ever saw," I said enthusiastically, +remembering that Felicity had called me handsome. + +"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." + +"What is Aunt Olivia like?" asked Felix. + +"Aunt Olivia is very pretty. She is just like a pansy--all velvety and +purply and goldy." + +Felix and I SAW, somewhere inside of our heads, a velvet and purple and +gold pansy-woman, just as the Story Girl spoke. + +"But is she NICE?" I asked. That was the main question about grown-ups. +Their looks mattered little to us. + +"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?" + +No, we did not. But it was our experience that grown-ups had a habit of +saying things hard to understand. + +"What is Uncle Roger like?" was our next question. + +"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." + +"Doesn't he ever mean to get married?" asked Felix. + +"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." + +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. + +"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. + +"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." + +"FOUR girls? Oh, yes, Sara Ray. Felicity mentioned her. What is she +like? Where does she live?" + +"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?" + +"I think it's awfully lucky we were all born into the same family," +Felix remarked. + +"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." + +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. + +"Who lives over there?" I asked, pointing to a house across the fields. + +"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." + +"And who lives in that other house?" asked Felix, looking over the +westering valley where a little gray roof was visible among the trees. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +The latch of the gate clicked under the Story Girl's hand, and the next +moment we were in the King orchard. + + + +CHAPTER III. LEGENDS OF THE OLD ORCHARD + +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. + +"It's all just as father described it," said Felix with a blissful sigh, +"and there's the well with the Chinese roof." + +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. + +"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." + +"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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"I like to hear you talk," said Felix in his grave, stodgy way. + +"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." + +"Well, I will, for one," said Felix emphatically. I think he was +remembering that Felicity had called him fat. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"Now for your stories about the orchard," said I. + +"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?" + +"Tell them both," said Felix greedily, "but tell the ghost one first." + +"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." + +We thought it might be more agreeable not to have the souls frightened +out of our bodies, and we voted for the Family Ghost. + +"Ghost stories are more comfortable in daytime," said Felix. + +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. + +"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. + +"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." + +"Did YOU ever see her?" asked Felix skeptically. + +"No, but I shall some day, if I keep on believing in her," said the +Story Girl confidently. + +"I wouldn't like to see her. I'd be afraid," said Cecily with a shiver. + +"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." + +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. + +"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?" + +"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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"They should have got married," said Felix. + +"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." + +"What is Peter like?" I asked. + +"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." + +"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." + +Laughter rippled over the Story Girl's face as shadow waves go over ripe +wheat before a wind. + +"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. + +"He can hardly write," said Felicity. + +"William the Conqueror couldn't write at all," said the Story Girl +crushingly. + +"He never goes to church, and he never says his prayers," retorted +Felicity, uncrushed. + +"I do, too," said Peter himself, suddenly appearing through a little gap +in the hedge. "I say my prayers sometimes." + +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. + +"You don't pray very often," insisted Felicity. + +"Well, God will be all the more likely to listen to me if I don't pester +Him all the time," argued Peter. + +This was rank heresy to Felicity, but the Story Girl looked as if she +thought there might be something in it. + +"You NEVER go to church, anyhow," continued Felicity, determined not to +be argued down. + +"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." + +"That's not the same as being BORN something," said Felicity loftily. + +"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. + +"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?" + +"Harrow the wood field and dig your Aunt Olivia's flower beds." + +"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." + +"I am going to help mother plant the vegetable garden to-day," said +Felicity. + +"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." + +"Adam and Eve lived in a garden all the time," said Felicity, "and THEY +were far from being always good." + +"They mightn't have kept good as long as they did if they hadn't lived +in a garden," said the Story Girl. + +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. + +"Well, what do you think of the Story Girl?" asked Felicity. + +"She's just fine," said Felix, enthusiastically. "I never heard anything +like her to tell stories." + +"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?" + +We didn't exactly see why. + +"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." + +Evidently Felicity thought artists and actresses and all such poor trash +were members one of another. + +"Aunt Olivia says the Story Girl is fascinating," said Cecily. + +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. + +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? + + + +CHAPTER IV. THE WEDDING VEIL OF THE PROUD PRINCESS + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Felicity did not approve of the design, and said so plainly. + +"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." + +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. + +"It isn't a bit of difference which you are," pleaded the Story Girl. +"They both go to heaven." + +"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." + +"Isn't she one still?" asked Felicity pertly. + +"Well, I don't know exactly. She's dead," said Peter rebukingly. "Do +people go on being just the same after they're dead?" + +"No, of course not. They're angels then--not Methodists or anything, but +just angels. That is, if they go to heaven." + +"S'posen they went to the other place?" + +But Felicity's theology broke down at this point. She turned her back on +Peter and walked disdainfully away. + +The Story Girl returned to the main point with a new argument. + +"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." + +"But s'posen I got too fond of being Presbyterian and couldn't change if +I wanted to?" objected Peter. + +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. + +"He's going to church with us to-morrow," she said triumphantly. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"I'm trying to think of something ma hasn't forbid," she answered with a +sigh. + +We were all glad to hear that Peter was going to church, except +Felicity. She was full of gloomy forebodings and warnings. + +"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." + +"There's a great big patch on his best pair of trousers," protested +Felicity. + +"Well, that's better than a hole," said the Story Girl, addressing +herself daintily to her turnover. "God won't notice the patch." + +"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?" + +"I'm not a bit afraid," said the Story Girl staunchly. "Peter knows +better than that." + +"Well, all I hope is that he'll wash behind his ears," said Felicity +resignedly. + +"How is Pat to-day?" asked Cecily, by way of changing the conversation. + +"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." + +"Wouldn't it be awful if--if anything happened to Pat?" whispered +Cecily. + +"Well, we could have a jolly funeral, you know," said Dan. + +We looked at him in such horror that Dan hastened to apologize. + +"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." + +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. + +"Look at that long, thin, lacy cloud up there," she said. "What does it +make you think of, girls?" + +"A wedding veil," said Cecily. + +"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--" + +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-- + +"and she said, + +"'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.' + +"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. + +"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. + +"'But I am the king who conquers all kings,' he said. + +"'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. + +"'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.' + +"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. + +"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. + +"'Why have you brought me here?' cried the proud princess angrily. + +"'This is my kingdom,' he answered. 'These are the tombs of the kings I +have conquered. Behold me, beautiful princess. I am Death!' + +"He lifted his visor. All saw his awful face. The proud princess +shrieked. + +"'Come to my arms, my bride,' he cried. 'I have won you fairly. I am the +king who conquers all kings!' + +"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.'" + +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. + +"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." + + + +CHAPTER V. PETER GOES TO CHURCH + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"What is the matter with your stockings, Peter?" asked Dan bluntly. + +"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." + +"Have you got a cent for collection?" demanded Felicity. + +"I've got a Yankee cent. I s'pose it will do, won't it?" + +Felicity shook her head vehemently. + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +Uncle Roger wandered by at this moment and, beholding Peter, said, + +"'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.'" + +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. + +"It isn't my fault that he's going to church," she said snappishly. +"It's the Story Girl's doings." + +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, + +"Not her fault! Oh, Felicity, Felicity, you'll be the death of your dear +Uncle yet if you don't watch out." + +Felicity started off indignantly, and we followed, picking up Sara Ray +at the foot of the hill. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"'They were lovely and pleasant in their lives and in their death they +were not divided.'" + +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. + +"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." + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +"Isn't it awful nice and holy in here?" whispered Peter reverently. "I +didn't know church was like this. It's nice." + +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. + +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! + +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, + +"I told you so!" + +The Story Girl made no response. Peter sidled up to her. + +"I'm awful sorry," he said contritely. "I never meant to laugh. It just +happened before I could stop myself. It was this way--" + +"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!" + +She marched off with Sara Ray, and Peter dropped back to us with a +frightened face. + +"What is it I've done to her?" he whispered. "What does that big word +mean?" + +"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?" + +"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. + +"'_This pulpit door was made for speerits_'--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." + +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." + +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. + +"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." + +"Oh, no, no, don't do that," said Felicity in alarm. "Ministers wouldn't +want to be bothered with such questions." + +"Why not? What are ministers for if they ain't to tell people how to get +to heaven?" + +"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." + +"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?" + +"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." + +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. + +"What does God look like?" he said. + +It appeared that none of us had any idea. + +"The Story Girl would prob'ly know," said Cecily. + +"I wish I knew," said Peter gravely. "I wish I could see a picture of +God. It would make Him seem lots more real." + +"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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"It couldn't have been a very good book if there was such a picture in +it," said Felicity. + +"It was a real good book. My Aunt Jane wouldn't have a book that wasn't +good," retorted Peter sulkily. + +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. + +"We'll ask Peter to describe it sometime when he's in a better humour," +whispered Felix. + +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. + +"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." + +"Why not?" + +"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." + +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! + +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. + +"Wait for me, Peter," she called. + +She went over to him and held out her hand. + +"I forgive you," she said graciously. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + + + +CHAPTER VI. THE MYSTERY OF GOLDEN MILESTONE + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"I'm just going to pray to God to send me some money," she announced +desperately at last. + +"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." + +"I can't," said Sara, with passionate defiance. "I think He ought to +take that into account." + +"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." + +"I won't ever feel like reading a single book in the library if I can't +give something to it," mourned Sara. + +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. + +"I always feel so sorry for the poor weeds," said the Story Girl +dreamily. "It must be very hard to be rooted up." + +"They shouldn't grow in the wrong place," said Felicity mercilessly. + +"When weeds go to heaven I suppose they will be flowers," continued the +Story Girl. + +"You do think such queer things," said Felicity. + +"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." + +"Oh, I wish we had one here," exclaimed Cecily. + +"What would be the use of it?" asked the Story Girl a little +disdainfully. "Nobody ever wants to know the time in a garden." + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +One day the Story Girl had an inspiration. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"I shouldn't think you'd put on your best clothes to go begging for the +library in," said Felicity cuttingly. + +"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. + +"Aunt Olivia spoils you," said Felicity. + +"She doesn't either, Felicity King! Aunt Olivia is just sweet. She +kisses me good-night every night, and your mother NEVER kisses you." + +"My mother doesn't make kisses so common," retorted Felicity. "But she +gives us pie for dinner every day." + +"So does Aunt Olivia." + +"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." + +"Aunt Olivia's skim milk is as good as your mother's cream," cried the +Story Girl hotly. + +"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." + +"We're NOT fighting," said Felicity. "And I like Aunt Olivia. But my +mother is just as good as Aunt Olivia, there now!" + +"Of course she is. Aunt Janet is splendid," agreed the Story Girl. + +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. + +"You said once you knew a story about the Awkward Man," said Felix. "You +might tell it to us." + +"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.'" + +"Oh, I don't believe that story is true," said Felicity. "I believe Mrs. +Griggs was just romancing. She DOES romance, mother says." + +"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?" + +"Something like--like Bluebeard's chamber?" suggested Felix in a scared +tone. + +"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?" + +"It's a pretty queer yarn," said Felix. "I wonder if it is true--and +what it means." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"Very likely. If that blue silk dress story is true, I'd believe +ANYTHING of him," said Felicity. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + + + +CHAPTER VII. HOW BETTY SHERMAN WON A HUSBAND + +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? + +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? + +"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." + +"Hard words break no bones," observed Felicity philosophically. + +"But they hurt your feelings. I am afraid of Mr. Campbell," said Cecily +candidly. + +"Perhaps we'd better give up and go home," suggested Dan. + +"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." + +That settled it. We were not going to let the Story Girl get ahead of us +in the manner of collecting. + +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. + +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. + +"Is this a Sunday School deputation?" he inquired rather ironically. + +"No. We have come to ask a favour of you," said the Story Girl. + +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. + +"What is it?" he asked. + +"We are collecting for our school library, and we have called to ask you +for a contribution," she replied. + +"Why should I contribute to your school library?" demanded Mr. Campbell. + +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, + +"Because a lady asks you." + +Mr. Campbell chuckled. + +"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." + +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. + +"I shall tell you the story of the Sherman girls, and how Betty Sherman +won a husband," she said. + +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. + +But Mr. Campbell chuckled again. + +"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." + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"'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.' + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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, + +"'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.' + +"Neil didn't want MUCH persuasion. He took some more, and said slyly, + +"'Is it going over the bay the night that yourself will be doing?' + +"Donald shook his head. + +"'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.' + +"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. + +"'May your sleep be long and sweet, man,' he said, laughing softly, 'and +as for the waking, 'twill be betwixt you and me.' + +"With that he untied Neil's horse, climbed into Neil's sleigh, and +tucked Neil's buffalo robe about him. + +"'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.' + +"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!' + +"'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.' + +"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, + +"'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?' + +"Nancy didn't SAY she would have him. She just LOOKED it, and Donald +kissed her right there in the snow. + +"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. + +"'Black Dan goes well, but he'll not be quick enough,' he said. + +"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. + +"'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.' + +"'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?' + +"'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?' + +"'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!' + +"'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!' + +"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!" + +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. + +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. + +That gentleman, in silence, took out his wallet, extracted a note +therefrom, and handed it gravely to the Story Girl. + +"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?" + +"Of course," said the delighted Story Girl. + +"Recite the multiplication table for me," said Mr. Campbell. + +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. + +Mr. Campbell nodded his satisfaction. + +"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." + +Then he let us go. + +"You see," said the Story Girl as we went home, "you need never be +afraid of people." + +"But we are not all Story Girls," said Cecily. + +That night we heard Felicity talking to Cecily in their room. + +"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." + +"Could you ever do what Betty Sherman did, do you suppose?" asked Cecily +absently. + +"No; but I believe the Story Girl could," answered Felicity rather +snappishly. + + + +CHAPTER VIII. A TRAGEDY OF CHILDHOOD + +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. + +"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." + +To think that Jerry Cowan should have seen such a picture often! We were +as deeply impressed as Felix had meant us to be. + +"Did he say what it was like?" asked Peter. + +"No--only that it was a picture of God, walking in the garden of Eden." + +"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?" + +"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." + +"Oh, I'll be almost afraid to look at it," said Sara Ray tremulously. + +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. + +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. + +"Fifty cents would be pretty dear for any other picture, but of course +this is different," said Dan. + +"And there's a picture of Eden thrown in, too, you know," added +Felicity. + +"Fancy selling God's picture," said Cecily in a shocked, awed tone. + +"Nobody but a Cowan would do it, and that's a fact," said Dan. + +"When we get it we'll keep it in the family Bible," said Felicity. +"That's the only proper place." + +"Oh, I wonder what it will be like," breathed Cecily. + +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. + +We were all intensely excited Saturday morning. To our dismay, it began +to rain just before dinner. + +"What if Jerry doesn't bring the picture to-day because of the rain?" I +suggested. + +"Never you fear," answered Felicity decidedly. "A Cowan would come +through ANYTHING for fifty cents." + +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, + +"How DARE you quarrel when you are going to look at a picture of God +to-day?" + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"There he is now!" cried Dan, waving excitedly from the window. + +"He's carrying a fish-basket," said Felicity. "You surely don't suppose +he would bring THAT picture in a fish-basket!" + +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. + +"Cecily," said Felicity in a hushed tone. "You are the best of us all. +YOU open the parcel." + +"Oh, I'm no gooder than the rest of you," breathed Cecily, "but I'll +open it if you like." + +With trembling fingers Cecily opened the parcel. We stood around, hardly +breathing. She unfolded it and held it up. We saw it. + +Suddenly Sara began to cry. + +"Oh, oh, oh, does God look like THAT?" she wailed. + +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. + +"I suppose He must, since that is His picture," said Dan miserably. + +"He looks awful cross," said Peter simply. + +"Oh, I wish we'd never, never seen it," cried Cecily. + +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. + +"I've always had a feeling right along," wept Sara, "that it wasn't +RIGHT to buy--or LOOK AT--God's picture." + +As we stood there wretchedly we heard flying feet below and a blithe +voice calling, + +"Where are you, children?" + +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. + +"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?" + +"A picture of God," said Cecily with a sob in her voice, "and oh, it is +so dreadful and ugly. Look!" + +The Story Girl looked. An expression of scorn came over her face. + +"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." + +Hope sprang up in our hearts, although we were not wholly convinced. + +"I don't know," said Dan dubiously. "It says under the picture 'God in +the Garden of Eden.' It's PRINTED." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +The rest of us remained in the background but within hearing. + +"Well, Felix, what is it?" asked Mr. Marwood kindly. + +"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." + +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. + +"Where did you get that thing?" he asked. + +THING! We began to breathe easier. + +"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. + +"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." + +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. + +"I could hardly believe the Story Girl, but of course the minister +KNOWS," said Dan happily. + +"We've lost fifty cents because of it," said Felicity gloomily. + +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. + +"Mr. Marwood told me to burn it," said Felix. + +"It doesn't seem reverent to do that," said Cecily. "Even if it isn't +God's picture, it has His name on it." + +"Bury it," said the Story Girl. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +"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! + +"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 _Fanny_ to take them to California. + +"The captain of the _Fanny_ 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. + +"Well, when Alan Dunbar knew that he must go to California in the +_Fanny_ 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." + +"How can you know?" interrupted Peter suddenly. "You ain't old enough to +have a beau. How can you know?" + +The Story Girl looked at Peter with a frown. She did not like to be +interrupted when telling a story. + +"Those are not things one KNOWS about," she said with dignity. "One +FEELS about them." + +Peter, crushed but not convinced, subsided, and the Story Girl went on. + +"Finally, Margaret ran away with Alan, and they were married in +Charlottetown. Alan intended to take his wife with him to California in +the _Fanny_. 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 _Fanny_ 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 +_Fanny_ 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!" + +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. + +"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." + +Cecily sprang up, shaking with sobs. + +"Oh, don't--don't go on," she implored. "I CAN'T bear any more." + +"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." + +"I just wish I'd hold of those fellows who wouldn't let the Captain take +his wife," said Peter savagely. + +"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." + +We went. In spite of new disappointments and old heartbreaks we had +appetites. And Felicity did make scrumptious rhubarb tarts! + + + +CHAPTER IX. MAGIC SEED + +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. + +"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. + +"I didn't," said Felicity indignantly. "Look how Aunt Olivia's hens +laid, too, and she fed them herself just the same as usual." + +"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." + +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. + +"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!" + +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. + +"She prayed for it, you know," said Felix, after Sara had gone home. + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"It must be splendid to go to Europe," sighed Cecily longingly. + +"I am going some day," said the Story Girl airily. + +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. + +"What will you do there?" asked Peter practically. + +"I shall learn how to tell stories to all the world," said the Story +Girl dreamily. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Beverley King, what have you got there?" + +I thrust the box hastily into my trunk and confronted Dan. + +"None of your business," I said defiantly. + +"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?" + +Dan and I looked at each other, suspicion dawning in our eyes. + +"What do you know about Billy Robinson and his magic seed?" I demanded. + +"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?" + +"Yes, he did," I said in disgust--for I was beginning to understand that +Billy and his magic seed were arrant frauds. + +"What for? YOUR mouth is a decent size," said Dan. + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +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. + + + +CHAPTER X. A DAUGHTER OF EVE + +"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." + +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. + +We were all in the hayloft. The Story Girl had been telling us a tale + + "Of old, unhappy, far-off things, + And battles long ago." + +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. + +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. + +"I think it is very vain to talk about anything you have yourself being +beautiful," said Felicity. + +"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." + +"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. + +"I don't know that. I'm thinking of going barefooted." + +"Oh, you wouldn't! Sara Stanley, you're not in earnest!" exclaimed +Felicity, her blue eyes filling with horror. + +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. + +"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?" + +"Oh, you wouldn't! It would be such a disgrace!" said poor Felicity in +real distress. + +"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?" + +"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." + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +"Oh, yes," Cecily had assured him. "The Bible is always the same." + +"I thought maybe they'd got some new improvements on it since Aunt +Jane's day," said Peter, relieved. + +"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. + +"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." + +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. + +"She SAID yesterday you could go," said the Story Girl indignantly. "Why +has she changed her mind?" + +"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." + +"I don't believe there's any danger of catching measles," said Felicity. +"If there was we wouldn't be allowed to go." + +"I wish I COULD get the measles," said Sara defiantly. "Maybe I'd be of +some importance to ma then." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"Oh, but that's wrong," said Felicity. "You shouldn't put Sara up to +disobeying her mother." + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"But I've no shoes or stockings. They're locked up too." + +"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. + +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. + +"Suppose she DOES catch the measles?" Felicity said aside. + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"I'm not repenting," protested Sara. "I'm only scared of ma finding it +out." + +"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?" + +"Yes; but maybe some one who sees me there will mention it to ma." + +"Well, if you're so scared you'd better not go. It isn't too late. +Here's your own gate," said Cecily. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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. + +"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--" + +"Have angels names--same as people?" interrupted Peter. + +"Yes, of course. They MUST have. They'd be all mixed up if they hadn't." + +"And when I'm an angel--if I ever get to be one--will my name still be +Peter?" + +"No. You'll have a new name up there," said Cecily gently. "It says so +in the Bible." + +"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?" + +"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. + +"How long does it take for an angel to grow into an archangel?" pursued +Peter. + +"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." + +"I shall be satisfied just to be a plain angel," said Felicity modestly. + +"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." + +We dried up, and the Story Girl went on. + +"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. + +"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, + +"'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.' + +"They ceased--and all heaven was hushed. Through the silence sounded the +voice of the Almighty. + +"'Nay,' He said, 'whatsoever in my universe true love hath builded not +even the Almighty can destroy. The bridge must stand forever.' + +"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." + +"What a lovely story," sighed Sara Ray, who had been wooed to a +temporary forgetfulness of her woes by its charm. + +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. + +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. + +"What if Sara does take the measles?" she asked miserably. + +"Everyone has to have the measles sometime," I said comfortingly, "and +the younger you are the better." + + + +CHAPTER XI. THE STORY GIRL DOES PENANCE + +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. + +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. + +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. + +When Felicity returned we concluded from her expression that she had +news. And she had. + +"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." + +Felicity flung the last sentence at the Story Girl, who turned very +pale. + +"Oh, do you suppose she caught them at the magic lantern show?" she said +miserably. + +"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." + +But Felicity had done her work too thoroughly. The Story Girl was not to +be comforted. + +"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." + +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. + +"I'm going to do penance all day for coaxing Sara to disobey her +mother," she announced with chastened triumph. + +"Penance?" we murmured in bewilderment. + +"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." + +"He can see it anyhow, without your doing anything," said Cecily. + +"Well, my conscience will feel better." + +"I don't believe Presbyterians ever do penance," said Felicity +dubiously. "I never heard of one doing it." + +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. + +"You might put peas in your shoes, you know," suggested Peter. + +"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!" + +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. + +Aunt Janet, of course, noticed the Story Girl's abstinence and asked if +she was sick. + +"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?" + +Aunt Janet was in a very good humour that morning, so she merely +laughed. + +"Not if you don't go too far with your nonsense," she said tolerantly. + +"Thank you. And will you give me a handful of hard peas after breakfast, +Aunt Janet? I want to put them in my shoes." + +"There isn't any; I used the last in the soup yesterday." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"What would you say if I took a whip and whipped my bare shoulders till +the blood came?" demanded the Story Girl aggrieved. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"What's the good of working buttonholes on an old rag?" asked Felicity. + +"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." + +"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." + +"I've thought of a great penance," said Cecily eagerly. "Don't go to the +missionary meeting to-night." + +The Story Girl looked piteous. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +"Yes, and that is just why I put it on, Aunt Janet. I want to mortify +the flesh--" + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +The first person we saw in the church porch was Mrs. Ray. She told us +that Sara had nothing worse than a feverish cold. + +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. + +"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. + +"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." + +"I'd like to be a missionary and have adventures like that," said Felix. + +"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?" + +"Nothing would prevent cannibals from eating Felix if they once caught +him," giggled Felicity. "He's so nice and fat." + +I am sure Felix felt very unlike a missionary at that precise moment. + +"I'm going to put two cents more a week in my missionary box than I've +been doing," said Cecily determinedly. + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"It wouldn't do," said Felicity decidedly. "You could see through it." + +Which seemed to settle the question of moonshine dresses effectually. + + + +CHAPTER XII. THE BLUE CHEST OF RACHEL WARD + +"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. + +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. + +Uncle Alec and Aunt Olivia were eager to go; but Aunt Janet at first +declared it was impossible. + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +The Story Girl was pleased, too. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +Then they were really gone and we were all left "to keep house." + +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. + +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. + +"I am sitting on a tragedy," said the Story Girl suddenly. + +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. + +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. + +"This old blue chest holds a tragedy," explained the Story Girl. "I know +a story about it." + +"Cousin Rachel Ward's wedding things are all in that old chest," said +Felicity. + +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. + +"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." + +"Mother says she was awful sentimental and romantic," interjected +Felicity. + +"Well, anyway, she met Will Montague that winter. He was +handsome--everybody says so"-- + +"And an awful flirt," said Felicity. + +"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!" + +We felt as much of a shock as if we had been one of the expectant guests +ourselves. + +"What happened to him? Was HE killed too?" asked Felix. + +The Story Girl sighed and resumed her work. + +"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." + +"Pig!" said Felix forcibly. + +"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." + +"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." + +"What was the thing she couldn't bear any one to see?" I asked. + +"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. + +"A petticoat, embroidered by hand from hem to belt," said the Story Girl +calmly. + +"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." + +"I'd dearly love to see all the things that are in it," said the Story +Girl. + +"Pa says it must never be opened without Cousin Rachel's permission," +said Cecily. + +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. + +"What happened to Will Montague?" I asked. + +"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?" + +"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!" + +"Wasn't that right?" I cried, in an agony of shame. + +"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. + +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. + +"What are you to do when a cow won't stand straight?" spluttered Felix +angrily. + +"That's the question," said Uncle Roger, shaking his head gravely. + +Uncle Roger's laughter was hard to bear, but his gravity was harder. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + + + +CHAPTER XIII. AN OLD PROVERB WITH A NEW MEANING + +It was half-past five when we boys got up the next morning. We were +joined on the stairs by Felicity, yawning and rosy. + +"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." + +The fire was on, and a flushed and triumphant Story Girl was taking a +loaf of bread from the oven. + +"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. + +"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?" + +The Story Girl turned quite pale. + +"Yes, I did," she faltered. "Oh, Felicity, wasn't it right?" + +"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." + +Bitter indeed was the poor Story Girl's mortification. + +"Don't tell Uncle Roger," she implored humbly. + +"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." + +The Story Girl crept out with Felix and me to the morning orchard, while +Dan and Peter went to do the barn work. + +"It isn't ANY use for me to try to learn to cook," she said. + +"Never mind," I said consolingly. "You can tell splendid stories." + +"But what good would that do a hungry boy?" wailed the Story Girl. + +"Boys ain't ALWAYS hungry," said Felix gravely. "There's times when they +ain't." + +"I don't believe it," said the Story Girl drearily. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"But it's better to be useful than just interesting," sighed the Story +Girl bitterly. + +And Felicity, who was useful, would, in her secret soul, have given +anything to be interesting. Which is the way of human nature. + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"Dan, where's the baby?" cried Felicity. + +Dan looked around. His jaw fell in blank amazement. I never saw any one +look as foolish as Dan at that moment. + +"Good gracious, I don't know," he said helplessly. + +"You've been so deep in that wretched book that he's got out, and dear +knows where he is," cried Felicity distractedly. + +"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." + +"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." + +"He DIDN'T go out of this door," reiterated Dan stubbornly. "I know +that." + +"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!" + +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-- + +"And they never found him till the next spring, and all they found +was--HIS SKELETON, with the grass growing through it," she whispered. + +"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." + +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! + +"Well, I'll be--jiggered!" said Uncle Roger. + +"I KNEW he never went out of the door," cried Dan triumphantly. + +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. + +"What does 'it never rains but it pours' mean?" + +"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?" + +"Yes, I guess so," said Cecily somewhat doubtfully. Later on we heard +her imparting her newly acquired knowledge to Felicity in the pantry. + +"'It never rains but it pours' means that nobody wants to marry you for +ever so long, and then lots of people do." + + + +CHAPTER XIV. FORBIDDEN FRUIT + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"I wish I was back in Toronto," I said sulkily. The mince pie was to +blame for THAT wish. + +"I wish you were, I'm sure," said Felicity, riddling the fire noisily. + +"Any one who lives with you, Felicity King, will always be wishing he +was somewhere else," said Dan. + +"I wasn't talking to you, Dan King," retorted Felicity, "'Speak when +you're spoken to, come when you're called.'" + +"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." + +"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. + +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. + +"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." + +"What does that mean?" asked Peter. + +"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." + +"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." + +"How did old Mr. Scott find out the young minister was in the closet?" +asked Felix. + +"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." + +"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." + +"I do," said the Story Girl sagely. + +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. + +"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?" + +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. + +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. + +"Dan King, don't you DARE eat those berries," said Felicity in her +"bossiest" tone. "They're poison. Drop them right away." + +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! + +"I'll eat them if I please, Felicity King," he said in a fury: "I don't +believe they're poison. Look here!" + +Dan crammed the whole bunch into his capacious mouth and chewed it up. + +"They taste great," he said, smacking; and he ate two more clusters, +regardless of our horror-stricken protestations and Felicity's +pleadings. + +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. + +"I knew they wouldn't hurt me," he said loftily. "Felicity's so fond of +making a fuss over everything." + +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. + +"Don't you feel all right, Dan?" I whispered anxiously. + +"Shut up," he said. + +I shut up. + +Felicity and Cecily were setting out a lunch in the pantry when we were +all startled by a loud groan from the sofa. + +"Oh, I'm sick--I'm awful sick," said Dan abjectly, all the defiance and +bravado gone out of him. + +We all went to pieces, except Cecily, who alone retained her presence of +mind. + +"Have you got a pain in your stomach?" she demanded. + +"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!" + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +There was no doubt Dan was suffering intense pain. He moaned and +writhed, and cried for his mother. + +"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." + +"Pa's cousin died of eating something forty years ago," sobbed Sara Ray. + +"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." + +"But Pa's cousin DID die," reiterated Sara. + +"My Aunt Jane used to rub whisky on for a pain," suggested Peter. + +"We haven't any whisky," said Felicity disapprovingly. "This is a +temperance house." + +"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." + +"Well, we haven't any, anyhow," said Felicity. "I suppose blueberry wine +wouldn't do in its place?" + +Peter did not think blueberry wine would be any good. + +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. + +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. + +Mrs. Ray now appeared, looking for Sara, and said she would stay all +night with us. + +"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." + +"It's been a horrid day all through," said Felicity drearily, as we +climbed the stairs. + +"I suppose we made it horrid ourselves," said the Story Girl candidly. +"But it'll be a good story to tell sometime," she added. + +"I'm awful tired and thankful," sighed Cecily. + +We all felt that way. + + + +CHAPTER XV. A DISOBEDIENT BROTHER + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"The Prince of Wales was in Charlottetown once," said Peter. "My Aunt +Jane saw him quite close by." + +"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. + +"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." + +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. + +"Can a queen do exactly as she pleases?" Sara Ray wanted to know. + +"Not nowadays," explained the Story Girl. + +"Then I don't see any use in being one," Sara decided. + +"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." + +"Isn't 'squelch' a lovely word?" said the Story Girl irrelevantly. "It's +so expressive. Squ-u-e-l-ch!" + +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. + +"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." + +"I'm glad of it," said Cecily vindictively. + +We all stared. This was so very unlike Cecily. + +"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." + +"That isn't a Christian spirit," said Felicity rebukingly. + +"I don't care. Would YOU forgive James Forbes if he had called YOU +Johnny?" demanded Cecily. + +"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.'" + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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, + +"'You should be resigned to the will of Providence.' + +"'Providence had nothing to do with it,' said old Mr. Scott. ''Twas the +McCloskeys and the devil.'" + +"You shouldn't speak of the--the--DEVIL," said Felicity, rather shocked. + +"Well, that's just what Mr. Scott said." + +"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." + +"''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. + +"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." + +"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. + +"'It was cleverly done,' he said, right out loud, 'BUT DINNA TRY IT +AGAIN!'" + +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. + +"Do you think you should have got up, Dan?" said Cecily anxiously. + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +"Now he's gone off mad," said Cecily reproachfully. "Oh, Felicity, why +couldn't you have held your tongue?" + +"Why, what did I say to make him mad?" asked Felicity in honest +perplexity. + +"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." + +"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." + +"I don't!" + +"You do! And you've no business to, specially when mother's away. She +left ME in charge." + +"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." + +"Who's talking to you?" said Felicity. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"Dan King, do you want to commit suicide?" demanded the Story Girl. + +"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." + +"All right," said Dan. "I've et all I want. They taste fine. I don't +believe it was them made me sick." + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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. + +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. + +"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?" + +"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." + +"Is that boy stark, staring mad?" said Uncle Roger. + +"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." + +"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. + +"How could I tell Dan would act so like a mule!" cried Felicity. + +"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?" + +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. + +"Never you mind him, Felicity," I said. "He's only a grown-up." + + + +CHAPTER XVI. THE GHOSTLY BELL + +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. + +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, + + "If you love me as I love you, + No knife can cut our love in two"-- + +"but, Sara Ray, NEVER you breathe this to a living soul." + +Felix also averred that he heard Sara ask Cecily very seriously, + +"Cecily, how old must we be before we can have a REAL beau?" + +But Sara always denied it; so I am inclined to believe Felix simply made +it up himself. + +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! + +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! + +"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?" + +"I'd like to," sighed Felicity, "but we'd come home tired and with all +the milking to do. You boys better go alone." + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"I wish there was such a place as fairyland--and a way to get to it," +said Cecily. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"I don't understand why they call him the awkward man," said Cecily, +when he was out of earshot. + +"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." + +"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." + +"Do you think he'll ever tell you who Alice is?" I asked. + +"I have a notion who Alice is already," said the mysterious creature. +But she would tell us nothing more. + +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. + +"Peter, what is the matter?" cried Cecily. + +"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. + +"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." + +"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." + +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! + +"There CAN'T be anybody in the house," said Felicity. + +"Well, here's the key--go and see for yourself," said Peter. + +Felicity had no intention of going and seeing. + +"I think you boys ought to go," she said, retreating behind the defence +of sex. "You ought to be braver than girls." + +"But we ain't," said Felix candidly. "I wouldn't be much scared of +anything REAL. But a haunted house is a different thing." + +"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." + +"Perhaps it is Emily King's ghost," whispered Felix. + +"She never appeared anywhere but in the orchard," said the Story Girl. +"Oh, oh, children, isn't there something under Uncle Alec's tree?" + +We peered fearfully through the gloom. There WAS something--something +that wavered and fluttered--advanced--retreated-- + +"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." + +"Maybe it's only Peg Bowen," suggested Dan. + +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. + +Peter scoffed at the idea. + +"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." + +"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--" + +"Don't," cried Cecily hysterically. "Don't you go on! Don't you say +another word! I can't bear it! Don't you!" + +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. + +There never were in all the world six more badly scared children than +those who huddled in the old King orchard that August night. + +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. + +"Pat, Pat," I said, picking him up, feeling a certain comfort in his +soft, solid body. "Stay with us, old fellow." + +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." + +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. + +"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." + +"There's no such thing as a ghost," I said contemptuously. Oh, how I +wished I could believe it! + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +"Have you tormented any one into eating more bad berries, Felicity?" he +demanded. + +"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." + +"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?" + +"I DID hear a bell ring," said Peter stubbornly. + +Uncle Roger unlocked and flung open the front door. As he did so, clear +and sweet, rang out ten bell-like chimes. + +"That's what I heard," cried Peter. "There's the bell!" + +We had to wait until Uncle Roger stopped laughing before we heard the +explanation. We thought he never WOULD stop. + +"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." + +We heard Uncle Roger chuckling all the way to the barn. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"I'm dreadful tired," sighed Cecily. + +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. + +"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." + + + +CHAPTER XVII. THE PROOF OF THE PUDDING + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"I wish I was twins so's I could eat more," said Dan, when he simply had +to stop. + +"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?" + +We could not see any connection between Peter's two questions. + +"What has squinting got to do with twins?" asked Dan. + +"Why, twins are just people that squint, aren't they?" said Peter. + +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. + +"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." + +"Never mind, Peter," said Cecily. "You know lots of things they don't." + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"So it is," said Cecily. + +"It isn't. There isn't a speck of sawdust in that box." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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!" + +The poor Story Girl went very white. + +"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." + +"I didn't chew the pudding," groaned Uncle Roger. "It was too tough--I +just swallowed the chunks whole." + +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. + +"Uncle Roger, you are not one bit sick," she said deliberately. "You are +just putting on." + +"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." + +"Well, you know every one has to eat a peck of dirt in his life," +giggled Felicity. + +"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." + +Uncle Roger hobbled off to the barn, still holding on to his stomach. + +"Do you think he really feels sick?" asked the Story Girl anxiously. + +"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." + +"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. + +"'Oh, doctor, my son has swallowed a mouse,' he cried. 'What shall I +do?' + +"'Tell him to swallow a cat,' roared the poor doctor, and slammed his +door. + +"Now, if Uncle Roger has swallowed any needles, maybe it would make it +all right if he swallowed a pincushion." + +We all laughed. But Felicity soon grew sober. + +"It seems awful to think of eating a sawdust pudding. How on earth did +you make such a mistake?" + +"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." + +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." + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. HOW KISSING WAS DISCOVERED + +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. + +Uncle Roger had gone to the station to meet the travellers, and the +dining-room table was spread with a feast of fat things. + +"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." + +"I wonder if they'll bring us anything," said Dan. + +"I'm thinking long to hear all about the wedding," said Felicity, who +was braiding timothy stalks into a collar for Pat. + +"You girls are always thinking about weddings and getting married," said +Dan contemptuously. + +"We ain't," said Felicity indignantly. "I am NEVER going to get married. +I think it is just horrid, so there!" + +"I guess you think it would be a good deal horrider not to be," said +Dan. + +"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." + +"Perhaps that's WHY he's mean and cross," said Felix. + +"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." + +"If your word is as big as your mouth I guess it will be," said Felicity +cruelly. + +"I pity the man who gets you, Felicity King, that's all," retorted Dan. + +"Now, don't fight," implored Cecily. + +"Who's fighting?" demanded Dan. "Felicity thinks she can say anything +she likes to me, but I'll show her different." + +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. + +"Just look how the Story Girl has got herself up!" said Felicity. "Why, +she's no more than decent!" + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"Oh, Felicity! What for?" + +"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." + +The Story Girl came out of her shadows and sat down beside us on the +grass. + +"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.'" + +"Wasn't kissing always discovered?" asked Dan. + +"Not according to this story. It was just discovered accidentally." + +"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." + +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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"'Give that stone to me,' said Pan, holding out his hand. + +"But Aglaia, though she was frightened, would not give him the stone. + +"'I want it for Glaucon,' she said. + +"'I want it for one of my wood nymphs,' said Pan, 'and I must have it.' + +"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. + +"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. + +"'Now, dearest, what is all this trouble about?' asked Glaucon; and +Aglaia told him the story. + +"'But where is the beautiful stone?' he asked, when she had finished. +'Didst thou drop it in thy alarm?' + +"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. + +"'Take it,' she whispered. + +"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. + +"He bent over until his lips touched hers--and THEN, he forgot all about +the beautiful pebble and so did Aglaia. Kissing was discovered! + +"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." + +"Of course, we know it wasn't really true," said Felicity. + +"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." + +"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." + +"How do you know what there might have been in the Golden Age?" asked +the Story Girl. + +Which was, indeed, an unanswerable question for Felicity. + +"I wonder what became of the beautiful stone?" said Cecily. + +"Likely Aglaia swallowed it," said Felix practically. + +"Did Glaucon and Aglaia ever get married?" asked Sara Ray. + +"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." + +"But you only THINK that," said Sara Ray. "I'd like to be really sure +that was what happened." + +"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?" + +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." + +"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?" + +"Like models," said Uncle Roger. "They were as good as gold most of the +days." + +There were times when one couldn't help liking Uncle Roger. + + + +CHAPTER XIX. A DREAD PROPHECY + +"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." + +"Why don't you tell him so?" asked Dan. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"I don't know where you expect to go when you die, Felicity," she said +tearfully, "if you don't forgive people." + +"I have forgiven her," was Felicity's answer, "but I am not going to +speak first for all that." + +"It's very wrong, and, more than that, it's so uncomfortable," +complained Cecily. "It spoils everything." + +"Were they ever like this before?" I asked Cecily, as we talked the +matter over privately in Uncle Stephen's Walk. + +"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." + +"And who spoke first?" + +"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." + +"We've just got to think up something that will excite her, that's all," +I said. + +"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?" + +"Very likely," I assured her. "Remember Sara Ray and the money. That +came from praying." + +"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." + +"Which half does he believe is true?" I inquired with unholy curiosity. + +"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?" + +"Well, no, I suppose not," I agreed, thinking of Billy Robinson. + +"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?" + +"I guess it depends a good deal on whether you're inside or outside the +fires," I said. + +"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." + +"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. + +"Well, I believe it would puzzle Him," said Cecily, out of the depths of +her experience with Felicity. + +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. + +Sara Ray thought Felicity should speak first, because the Story Girl was +half an orphan. + +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. + +Dan had no patience with either of the girls, especially Felicity. + +"What they both want is a right good spanking," he said. + +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. + +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. + +"I know a story about a man who always had his own opinion--" + +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. + +"He must have got some bad news at the office," said Sara Ray. + +"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. + +"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. + +"He wouldn't be running so fast for good news," said Dan cynically. + +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: + +"Felix King, what has scared you?" + +Felix held out the newspaper--it was the Charlottetown _Daily +Enterprise_. + +"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!" + +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? + +"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. + +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. + +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 _Daily Enterprise_ said that August twelfth was to be +the Judgment Day how were you going to get around it? + +"Do you believe it, Sara Stanley?" persisted Felicity. "DO you?" + +"No--no, I don't believe a word of it," said the Story Girl. + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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 _Enterprise_ can know it--and him a Grit, +too?" + +"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 _Enterprise_ 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." + +"And it's in the paper, too, and that's printed as well as the Bible," +said Dan. + +"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. + +That was exactly the position of us all. As in the case of the +bell-ringing ghost, we did not believe but we trembled. + +"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." + +"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." + +"It can't be much worse than dying, I s'pose," said Felix, grasping at +any straw of comfort. + +"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?" + +"Oh, that doesn't matter," said Cecily earnestly. "If--if you're a +Christian, Peter, that is all that's necessary." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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. + +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! + +"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." + +"He will be," said Cecily. "If it's the Judgment Day for Prince Edward +Island it will be for Europe, too." + +"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." + +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? + +"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." + +"But if they'd just SAY they didn't believe it, it would be a sort of +comfort," said Cecily. + +"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." + +Felicity picked up the _Enterprise_ and betook herself to the house. We +awaited her return in dire suspense. + +"Well, what does she say?" asked Cecily tremulously. + +"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!'" + +"Well, that's kind of comforting," said Peter. "She can't put any faith +in it, or she'd be more worked up." + +"If it only wasn't PRINTED!" said Dan gloomily. + +"Let's all go over and ask Uncle Roger," said Felix desperately. + +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 +_Enterprise_ 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. + +"You ask him," said Felicity, nudging the Story Girl. + +"Uncle Roger," said the Story Girl, the golden notes of her voice +threaded with fear and appeal, "the _Enterprise_ says that to-morrow is +the Judgment Day? IS it? Do YOU think it is?" + +"I'm afraid so," said Uncle Roger gravely. "The _Enterprise_ is always +very careful to print only reliable news." + +"But mother doesn't believe it," cried Felicity. + +Uncle Roger shook his head. + +"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." + +He got into his buggy and drove away, leaving eight distracted mortals +behind him. + +"Well, I suppose that settles it," said Peter, in despairing tone. + +"Is there anything we can do to PREPARE?" asked Cecily. + +"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." + +"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." + +"We could depend on father if he was here," said Dan stoutly. "HE'D tell +us the truth." + +"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 _Enterprise_. No, +there's nothing to do but wait and see." + +"Let us go into the house and read just what the Bible does say about +it," suggested Cecily. + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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. + +"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." + +It was finally decided that Dan and Felix should go. I wanted to go +also, but the girls protested. + +"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.'" + +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. + +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. + +"Sara, I am going to give you this jug," she said solemnly. + +Now, Sara had always coveted this particular jug. She stopped crying +long enough to clutch it delightedly. + +"Oh, Cecily, thank you. But are you sure you won't want it back if +to-morrow isn't the Judgment Day?" + +"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. + +"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. + +"No, I'm not," answered Cecily, with a change of tone. + +"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." + +"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! + +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 _Enterprise_ 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. + +"Perhaps they'll laugh on the other side of their faces to-morrow," said +Dan, with gloomy satisfaction. + +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. + +"If to-morrow is the Judgment Day I want to be with you fellows," he +said. + +Sara Ray had also yearned to stay, but could not because her mother had +told her she must be home before dark. + +"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." + +"But there might be a mistake," sobbed Sara. "It might be two o'clock +to-night instead of to-morrow." + +It might, indeed. This was a new horror, which had not occurred to us. + +"I'm sure I won't sleep a wink to-night," said Felix. + +"The paper SAYS two o'clock to-morrow," said Dan. "You needn't worry, +Sara." + +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. + +"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. + +"I hope we'll be all together, wherever we are," said Cecily gently. +"Nothing can be so very bad then." + +"I'm going to read the Bible all to-morrow forenoon," said Peter. + +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. + +"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. + +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. + + + +CHAPTER XX. THE JUDGMENT SUNDAY + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"If it's the Judgment Day I don't care whether my hair is curly or not," +she said. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +But the long drawn out dread was beginning to get on Dan's nerves. + +"If it is the Judgment Day," he growled, as we went in to dinner, "I +wish it'd hurry up and have it over." + +"Oh, Dan!" cried Felicity and Cecily together, in a chorus of horror. +But the Story Girl looked as if she rather sympathized with Dan. + +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. + +Sara Ray came up, still crying, of course. She increased our uneasiness +by saying that her mother believed the _Enterprise_ paragraph, and was +afraid that the end of the world was really at hand. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +"Pshaw, I don't believe there's any fear of it being the last day," said +Dan, beginning a whistle out of sheer bravado. + +"Well, don't whistle on Sunday anyhow," said Felicity severely. + +"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?" + +"There's nothing about Methodists or Presbyterians in the Bible," said +Felicity scornfully. + +Peter looked amazed. + +"Well, how did they happen then?" he asked. "When did they begin to be?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"I didn't mean any harm," said Peter, crestfallen. + +"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." + +"Why, you wouldn't tell stories in heaven," said Cecily, in a very timid +voice. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"Can't you tell us a story to pass the time?" I entreated the Story +Girl. + +She shook her head. + +"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." + +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. + +"It can't be the Judgment Day," said Sara Ray, brightening up. "Paddy +would never be eating mice if it was." + +"If that clock doesn't soon strike two I shall go out of my seven +senses," declared Cecily with unusual vehemence. + +"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." + +"Maybe the clock struck and we didn't hear it," suggested Dan. +"Somebody'd better go and see." + +"I'll go," said Cecily. "I suppose, even if anything happens, I'll have +time to get back to you." + +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. + +"What is it? Is it past two?" implored the Story Girl. + +"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." + +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. + +"I'll never believe anything I read in the papers again," said Dan, +rushing to the opposite extreme. + +"I told you the Bible was more to be depended on than the newspapers," +said Cecily triumphantly. + +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?" + +"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. + +"Yes, and Felicity and the Story Girl are speaking again," said Cecily +happily. + +"And Felicity DID speak first," I said. + +"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." + +"And I wish I hadn't been in such a hurry deciding I'd be a +Presbyterian," said Peter. + +"Well, it's not too late for that," said Dan. "You can change your mind +now." + +"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." + +"You said you knew a story that had something to do with Presbyterians," +I said to the Story Girl. "Tell us it now." + +"Oh, no, it isn't the right kind of story to tell on Sunday," she +replied. "But I'll tell it to-morrow morning." + +Accordingly, we heard it the next morning in the orchard. + +"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.'" + + + +CHAPTER XXI. DREAMERS OF DREAMS + +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. + +At least, our slumbers were peaceful and undisturbed until our orgy of +dreaming began. + +"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. + +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. + +"Oh," said Felicity in a shocked tone, when Uncle Roger had passed by, +"Uncle Roger SWORE." + +"Oh, no, he didn't," said the Story Girl quickly. "'Deviltry' isn't +swearing at all. It only means extra bad mischief." + +"Well, it's not a very nice word, anyhow," said Felicity. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"My Aunt Jane used to say it wasn't polite to chew gum anywhere," said +Peter rather ruefully. + +"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 +_Family Guide_. 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. + +"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." + +"Have you any idea where your father is?" asked Dan. + +"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." + +"Oh, Peter, that sounds dreadful," said Cecily. "Your own father!" + +"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." + +"Perhaps your father may come home some of these days with a huge +fortune," suggested the Story Girl. + +"Perhaps pigs may whistle, but they've poor mouths for it," was all the +answer Peter deigned to this charming suggestion. + +"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." + +"I don't think it's very nice to call a horse after your own +grandmother," said Felicity. + +"Betty Sherman would have thought it a compliment," said the Story Girl. + +"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. + +"Why not?" + +"Goodness me, it was dreadful! Would YOU do such a thing yourself?" + +"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." + +"I'd rather die an old maid forty times over," exclaimed Felicity. + +"Nobody as pretty as you will ever be an old maid, Felicity," said +Peter, who never put too fine an edge on his compliments. + +Felicity tossed her golden tressed head and tried to look angry, but +made a dismal failure of it. + +"It wouldn't be ladylike to ask any one to marry you, you know," argued +Cecily. + +"I don't suppose the _Family Guide_ would think so," agreed the Story +Girl lazily, with some sarcasm in her voice. The Story Girl never held +the _Family Guide_ 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. + +"They say Mrs. Richard Cook asked HER husband to marry her," said Dan. + +"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--'" + +"Take notice, Felicity," said Dan aside. + +"--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 _Family Guide_ 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.'" + +"And did she talk to him after that as usual?" asked Sara Ray. + +"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." + +"Well, I always like to know what happens afterwards," said Sara Ray. + +"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." + +"I wonder if Uncle Roger will always stay a bachelor," said Cecily. + +"He seems real happy," observed Peter. + +"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." + +"If your Aunt Olivia was to up and get married what would your Uncle +Roger do for a housekeeper?" asked Peter. + +"Oh, but Aunt Olivia will never be married now," said Felicity. "Why, +she'll be twenty-nine next January." + +"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." + +"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." + +"I've never even got to a funeral," said Sara Ray gloomily. + +"There's the wedding veil of the proud princess," said Cecily, pointing +to a long drift of filmy vapour in the southwestern sky. + +"And look at that sweet pink cloud below it," added Felicity. + +"Maybe that little pink cloud is a dream, getting all ready to float +down into somebody's sleep," suggested the Story Girl. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"I've had some real int'resting dreams," said Peter, "but I can't +remember them long. I wish I could." + +"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." + +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. + + + +CHAPTER XXII. THE DREAM BOOKS + +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. + +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 _Family Guide_ into practice; but +she generously gave us all one apiece for the covers of our dream books. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"I expected to come down with an awful thud," she said shuddering, "but +I lit as light as a feather and woke right up." + +"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." + +"How do you know?" asked Dan skeptically. "Nobody who died in his sleep +could ever tell it." + +"My Aunt Jane told me so," said Peter. + +"I suppose that settles it," said Felicity disagreeably. + +"You always say something nasty when I mention my Aunt Jane," said Peter +reproachfully. + +"What did I say that was nasty?" cried Felicity. "I didn't say a single +thing." + +"Well, it sounded nasty," said Peter, who knew that it is the tone that +makes the music. + +"What did your Aunt Jane look like?" asked Cecily sympathetically. "Was +she pretty?" + +"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." + +"'Dream of the dead, you'll hear of the living,'" quoted Felix +oracularly. + +"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." + +"One is so apt to wake up just as things get interesting," remarked the +Story Girl discontentedly. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +"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." + +"I should think you did screech," said Felicity. "We heard you clean +over into our room." + +"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." + +"I wonder what Peg Bowen would really do to a fellow if she caught him," +speculated Dan. + +"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." + +"I don't believe that," said the Story Girl airily. + +"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?" + +"It might have happened anyhow," said the Story Girl--somewhat less +assuredly, though. + +"It might. But I'd just as soon Peg Bowen didn't look at MY cows," said +Peter. + +"As if you had any cows!" giggled Felicity. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +"Anyhow, I saved my dream," she said placidly. + +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? + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. SUCH STUFF AS DREAMS ARE MADE ON + +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. + +"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?" + +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. + +"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." + +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:-- + +"Last nite i dremed a drem. it wasent a polit drem so i won't rite it +down." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +I expected the Story Girl would overwhelm him with scorn and +indignation. But she took it very coolly. + +"I knew Felicity would get it out of him sometime," she said. "I think +he has done well to hold out this long." + +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. + +"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?" + +"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." + +Having discovered how to produce exciting dreams, we all promptly +followed the example of Peter and the Story Girl. + +"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." + +"Can't you hide something away through the day as we do?" asked +Felicity. + +"No." Sara shook her fawn-coloured head mournfully. "Ma always keeps the +pantry locked, for fear Judy Pineau will treat her friends." + +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. + +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. + +"I thought you didn't like cucumber, Cecily," Dan remarked. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"Cecily's sick," said Dan, springing out of bed. "That cucumber must +have disagreed with her." + +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. + +"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." + +"It was that wretched Peter," sobbed Felicity indignantly. "He told her +it would make her dream something extra." + +"What on earth did she want to dream for?" demanded Aunt Janet in +bewilderment. + +"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. + +"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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"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. + +"They'd like to stop us from dreaming altogether if they could," said +the Story Girl wrathfully. + +"Well, anyway, they can't prevent us from growing up," consoled Dan. + +"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." + +"Well, let's go down to the Pulpit Stone and I'll tell you a story I +know," said the Story Girl. + +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. + +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. + +The Story Girl was in great fettle that night. Never had her tales +sparkled with such wit and archness. + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +When the tale ended there was a brief silence. Then Aunt Janet said +severely, but with a sigh of relief, + +"Little girls shouldn't tell such horrible stories." + +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, + +"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." + +"You looked like one," said Uncle Roger. "How on earth do you do it?" + +"I can't explain how I do it," said the Story Girl perplexedly. "It just +does itself." + +Genius can never explain how it does it. It would not be genius if it +could. And the Story Girl had genius. + +As we left the orchard I walked along behind Uncle Roger and Aunt +Olivia. + +"That was an uncanny exhibition for a girl of fourteen, you know, +Roger," said Aunt Olivia musingly. "What is in store for that child?" + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. THE BEWITCHMENT OF PAT + +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. + +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! + +"What were you crying for, then?" I said. + +"I'm crying because--because my Aunt Jane is dead," said Peter +defiantly. + +"But your Aunt Jane died two years ago," I said skeptically. + +"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." + +"I believe you were crying because Pat is so sick," I said firmly. + +"As if I'd cry about a cat!" scoffed Peter. And he marched off +whistling. + +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. + +"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." + +"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. + +"I could tell you what's the matter with him, but you'd only laugh at +me," said Peter. + +We all looked at him. + +"Peter Craig, what do you mean?" asked Felicity. + +"'Zackly what I say." + +"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. + +"He's BEWITCHED--that's what's the matter with him," said Peter, half +defiantly, half shamefacedly. + +"Bewitched? Nonsense!" + +"There now, what did I tell you?" complained Peter. + +The Story Girl looked at Peter, at the rest of us, and then at poor Pat. + +"How could he be bewitched?" she asked irresolutely, "and who could +bewitch him?" + +"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." + +"Nonsense!" said the Story Girl again. + +"All right," said Peter. "You don't have to believe me." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +"If that's so--though I can't believe it--we can't do anything," said +the Story Girl drearily. "Pat must die." + +Cecily began to weep afresh. + +"I'd do anything to save Pat's life," she said. "I'd BELIEVE anything." + +"There's nothing we can do," said Felicity impatiently. + +"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." + +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! + +"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." + +But there was some uncertainty in the Story Girl's voice. + +"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." + +"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.'" + +"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." + +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. + +"I'm afraid it's all up with Pat," he said. + +"Uncle Roger," said Cecily imploringly, "Peter says Peg Bowen has +bewitched Pat for scratching her. Do you think it can be so?" + +"Did Pat scratch Peg?" asked Uncle Roger, with a horror-stricken face. +"Dear me! Dear me! That mystery is solved. Poor Pat!" + +Uncle Roger nodded his head, as if resigning himself and Pat to the +worst. + +"Do you really think Peg Bowen is a witch, Uncle Roger?" demanded the +Story Girl incredulously. + +"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." + +"Can Peg Bowen turn herself into a black cat?" asked Felix, staring. + +"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." + +"What are you telling those children such stuff for?" asked Aunt Olivia, +passing on her way to the well. + +"It's an irresistible temptation," answered Uncle Roger, strolling over +to carry her pail. + +"You can see your Uncle Roger believes Peg is a witch," said Peter. + +"And you can see Aunt Olivia doesn't," I said, "and I don't either." + +"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?" + +"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." + +"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?" + +"We must all go together," said the Story Girl. + +"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." + +"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." + +"If she'll let us," said Dan significantly. + +"Can Peg read a letter?" I asked. + +"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." + +"What if we don't see her?" asked Felicity. + +"We'll put the things on her doorstep then and leave them." + +"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?" + +"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." + +"I'll give her that sponge cake I made this morning," said Felicity. "I +guess she doesn't get sponge cake very often." + +"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." + +"I'll give her a roll of peppermint candy," said Felix. + +"I'll give one of those little jars of cherry preserve I made," said +Cecily. + +"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." + +I decided to give the redoubtable Peg some apples from my birthday tree, +and Dan declared he would give her a plug of tobacco. + +"Oh, won't she be insulted?" exclaimed Felix, rather horrified. + +"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." + +"Now, we must write the letter and take it and the presents to her right +away, before it gets dark," said the Story Girl. + +We adjourned to the granary to indite the important document, which the +Story Girl was to compose. + +"How shall I begin it?" she asked in perplexity. "It would never do to +say, 'Dear Peg,' and 'Dear Miss Bowen' sounds too ridiculous." + +"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." + +"Well, how am I to address her?" asked the Story Girl in despair. + +Peter again came to the rescue with a practical suggestion. + +"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." + +"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. + +"Very respectfully yours, + +"SARA STANLEY." + +"I tell you that last sentence has a fine sound," said Peter admiringly. + +"I didn't make that up," admitted the Story Girl honestly. "I read it +somewhere and remembered it." + +"I think it's TOO fine," criticized Felicity. "Peg Bowen won't know the +meaning of such big words." + +But it was decided to leave them in and we all signed the letter. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Oh, wasn't that an awful experience?" gasped Cecily, shuddering. "I +wouldn't go through it again--I couldn't, not even for Pat." + +"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." + +"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." + +"I don't believe she could do anything, anyway," said the Story Girl. "I +think we've just been a lot of geese." + +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. + +"He sha'n't die alone, anyway," she said miserably, gathering his limp +body up in her arms. + +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. + +"There's nothing we can do now, except pray God to make Pat better," +said Cecily. + +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, + +"I don't believe it would be right to pray about a cat." + +"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." + +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." + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +"You see Peg Bowen did put a spell on him," said Peter, "and then she +took it off." + +"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." + +"Oh, all right," said Peter, "but I'd advise Pat not to scratch Peg +Bowen again, that's all." + +"I wish I knew whether it was the praying or Peg Bowen that cured Pat," +said Felix in perplexity. + +"I don't believe it was either of them," said Dan. "Pat just got sick +and got better again of his own accord." + +"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." + +"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." + +Thus faith, superstition, and incredulity strove together amongst us, as +in all history. + + + +CHAPTER XXV. A CUP OF FAILURE + +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. + +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. + +That evening, after they tired of singing, our grown-ups began talking +of their youthful days and doings. + +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. + +"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?" + +"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.'" + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"It isn't like the religious fruit basket game, is it?" asked Cecily +anxiously. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"Who'll give the prize?" asked Felix. + +"I will," said the Story Girl. "I'll give that picture father sent me +last week." + +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. + +"But who's to be the judge?" I said, "and what kind of a sermon would +you call the best?" + +"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?" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"That was a very good sermon for a first attempt," said the Story Girl +graciously. "It sounded just like real sermons I have heard." + +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. + +"Every word of it was true," said Cecily, her tone unconsciously +implying that this was its sole merit. + +"I often feel," said Felicity primly, "that we don't think enough about +the heathens. We ought to think a great deal more." + +Sara Ray put the finishing touch to my mortification. + +"It was so nice and short," she said. + +"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. + +"It was too much like a reg'lar sermon to be interesting," said Dan +frankly. + +"I should think the more like a regular sermon it was, the better," I +said. + +"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." + +"Oh, Peter! I don't believe he can preach a sermon," I said. + +"Maybe not, but you'll see he'll make an impression," said Dan. + +Dan was neither the prophet nor the son of a prophet, but he had the +second sight for once; Peter DID make an impression. + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. PETER MAKES AN IMPRESSION + +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. + +"Why, who ever heard of a sermon without a text?" asked Felix blankly. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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." + +"What are you going to preach on?" asked Felix. + +"You'll find out next Sunday," said Peter significantly. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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, + +"We will sing the whole hymn, omitting the fourth stanza." + +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. + +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. + +"Dearly beloved," said Peter, "my sermon is about the bad place--in +short, about hell." + +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. + +"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. + +"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." + +"But how are you going to tell who are the good grown-up people?" asked +Felix suddenly, forgetting that he was in church. + +"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." + +At this point Felicity gave Dan a significant poke with her elbow, and +Dan was up in arms at once. + +"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." + +"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." + +"All right, but just you wait till to-morrow," growled Dan, subsiding +reluctantly into silence under the reproachful looks of the girls. + +"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." + +"Amen," cried Felix, who had suffered many things because Felicity so +often made faces at him. + +Peter stopped and glared at him over the edge of the Pulpit Stone. + +"You haven't any business to call out a thing like that right in the +middle of a sermon," he said. + +"They do it in the Methodist church at Markdale," protested Felix, +somewhat abashed. "I heard them." + +"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?" + +"Yes, of course. I was born that way." + +"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." + +"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." + +"Bev didn't get up there and pitch into us like that," muttered Dan. + +"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." + +At this point Sara Ray arrived, somewhat out of breath. Peter looked at +her reproachfully. + +"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." + +"That was really done once. I know a story about it," said the Story +Girl. + +"Who's interrupting now?" aid Dan slyly. + +"Never mind, tell us the story," said the preacher himself, eagerly +leaning over the pulpit. + +"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." + +"It served him right," said Dan, "but it was pretty hard lines on the +rest of the congregation." + +"Now, let's be quiet so Peter can go on with his sermon," said Cecily. + +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. + +"I've come now to the second head of my sermon--what the bad place is +like." + +He proceeded to describe the bad place. Later on we discovered that +he had found his material in an illustrated translation of Dante's +_Inferno_ 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. + +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. + +"She's gone clean crazy," said Peter, coming down out of his pulpit with +a very pale face. + +"You've frightened her crazy with your dreadful sermon," said Felicity +indignantly. + +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. + +"You've made rather too much of an impression, Peter," said the Story +Girl miserably. + +"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. + +"Do you s'pose they'll have to take her to the asylum?" said Dan in a +whisper. + +"Hush, here's your father," said Felix. + +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, + +"What have you been doing to frighten Sara Ray into such a condition?" + +"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." + +"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." + +The Story Girl and Peter went humbly home and we went with them. + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"Oh, tell us, what is it?" everybody entreated. + +"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." + +Dan made a face to begin with. + +"I don't believe any of us can do that," he said. + +"YOU can't, if you take bites big enough to fill your mouth," giggled +Felicity, with cruelty and without provocation. + +"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." + +"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. + +"I think the bitter apples would be real good for Felix," said Felicity. +"They say sour things make people thin." + +"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. + +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. + +"Peter is a real smart boy," she said to me. "It's such a pity he is a +hired boy." + +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. + +"Bless the children," said Uncle Alec, as he carried the milk pails +across the yard. "Nothing can quench their spirits for long." + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. THE ORDEAL OF BITTER APPLES + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Another prayer or two, and I'll be able to eat a whole one," he said +jubilantly. + +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. + +"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." + +Felix was very indignant--and aggrieved as well. + +"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." + +"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?" + +"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." + +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. + +"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--" + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"You'll have to fight me, if you keep on praying against me," said +Felix. + +The girls gasped; but Dan and I were jubilant, snuffing battle afar off. + +"All right. I can fight as well as pray." + +"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." + +"I don't want to give up the Ordeal," said Felix, "and I won't." + +"Oh, well, surely you can settle it some way without fighting," +persisted Cecily. + +"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." + +"But how will that settle it?" asked Cecily. + +"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." + +"It's dreadful to fight about anything so religious as praying," sighed +poor Cecily. + +"Why, they were always fighting about religion in old times," said +Felix. "The more religious anything was the more fighting there was +about it." + +"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." + +"What would Miss Marwood say if she knew you were going to fight?" asked +Felicity. + +Miss Marwood was Felix' Sunday School teacher and he was very fond of +her. But by this time Felix was quite reckless. + +"I don't care what she would say," he retorted. + +Felicity tried another tack. + +"You'll be sure to get whipped if you fight with Peter," she said. +"You're too fat to fight." + +After that, no moral force on earth could have prevented Felix from +fighting. He would have faced an army with banners. + +"You might settle it by drawing lots," said Cecily desperately. + +"Drawing lots is wickeder that fighting," said Dan. "It's a kind of +gambling." + +"What would Aunt Jane say if she knew you were going to fight?" Cecily +demanded of Peter. + +"Don't you drag my Aunt Jane into this affair," said Peter darkly. + +"You said you were going to be a Presbyterian," persisted Cecily. "Good +Presbyterians don't fight." + +"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." + +Cecily had but one more shot in her locker. + +"I thought you said in your sermon, Master Peter, that people shouldn't +fight." + +"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." + +"I guess you mean principle," I suggested. + +"Yes, that's it," agreed Peter. "It's all right to fight for principle. +It's kind of praying with your fists." + +"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. + +"It doesn't do to meddle in an affair of this kind between boys," said +the Story Girl sagely. + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +"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." + +"Did you ever fight?" asked the Story Girl. + +"Once," I said briefly, dreading the next question, which promptly came. + +"Who beat?" + +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. + +"The other fellow," I said with reluctant honesty. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"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!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"This stops right here, boys," he said. "You know I don't allow +fighting." + +"Oh, but Uncle Alec, it was this way," began Felix eagerly. "Peter--" + +"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." + +Peter went off rather sullenly, and Felix, also sullenly, sat down and +began to nurse his nose. He turned his back on Cecily. + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +"I don't meddle with hired boys' prayers," she said haughtily. + +"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." + +"Oh, Dan, don't you believe there is some good in praying?" said Cecily +reproachfully. + +"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." + +"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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"Oh, I see through it now," said Cecily joyfully. + +"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?" + +"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?" + +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. + +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. + +"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--" + +"Why is it they're always so handsome in stories?" asked Dan. "Why are +there never no stories about ugly people?" + +"Perhaps ugly people never have stories happen to them," suggested +Felicity. + +"I think they're just as interesting as the handsome people," retorted +Dan. + +"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." + +"Pretty people are always conceited," said Felix, who was getting tired +of holding his tongue. + +"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?" + +"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." + +"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: + +"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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"What did Shuben do when she found out she had killed Accadee?" asked +Felicity. + +"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. + +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. + +"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." + +"It wouldn't be so nice if they caught you and tortured you at the +stake," said Felicity. + +"No," said Dan reluctantly. "I suppose there'd be some drawback to +everything, even being an Injun." + +"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." + +"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. + +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. + +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. + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII. THE TALE OF THE RAINBOW BRIDGE + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"He's just lazy, that's what's the matter with him," he said. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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!" + +"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." + +"They say there must be a black sheep in every family," said the Story +Girl. + +"There isn't any in ours," said Cecily loyally. + +"Why do white sheep eat more than black?" asked Felix. + +"Is that a conundrum?" asked Cecily cautiously. "If it is I won't try to +guess the reason. I never can guess conundrums." + +"It isn't a conundrum," said Felix. "It's a fact. They do--and there's a +good reason for it." + +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. + +"Well, what is the reason?" asked Felicity. + +"Because there's more of them," said Felix, grinning. + +I forget what we did to Felix. + +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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"'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.' + +"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. + +"'Ving, strong, noble, and valiant,' he said, 'Rainbow Bridge is not for +thee.' + +"Very dark grew Ving's face. Hot rebellion rose in his heart and rushed +over his pale lips. + +"'Why dost thou keep back the draught of immortality from me?' he +demanded passionately. + +"The Warder pointed to the dark flood that rolled under the bridge. + +"'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.' + +"'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.' + +"But Odin stood silent, with his face turned from his beloved, and +Ving's heart was filled with unspeakable bitterness and despair. + +"'Thou mayest return to earth if thou fearest to essay the flood,' said +the Warder. + +"'Nay,' said Ving wildly, 'earthly life without Alin is more dreadful +than the death which awaits me in yon dark river.' + +"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." + +The rainbow had faded out, and the darkness of the October dusk was +falling. + +"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." + +"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." + + + +CHAPTER XXIX. THE SHADOW FEARED OF MAN + +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. + +"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." + +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! + +"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." + +"I don't believe any time is very convenient to have the measles," +Cecily said. + +"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." + +"I don't want to catch the measles from Peter," said Felicity decidedly. +"Fancy catching them from a hired boy!" + +"Oh, Felicity, don't call Peter a hired boy when he's sick," protested +Cecily. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +We all stood around, stricken, incredulous. + +"Do you mean," said Felix, finding voice at length, "that Peter is going +to die?" + +The Story Girl nodded miserably. + +"They're afraid so." + +Cecily sat down by her half filled basket and began to cry. Felicity +said violently that she didn't believe it. + +"I can't pick another apple to-day and I ain't going to try," said Dan. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"While there's life there's hope, you know," said Felix. "We shouldn't +cross bridges till we come to them." + +"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." + +"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." + +"He was always so polite and good-natured and obliging," sighed Cecily. + +"He was just a real gentleman," said the Story Girl. + +"There ain't many fellows as fair and square as Peter," said Dan. + +"And such a worker," said Felix. + +"Uncle Roger says he never had a boy he could depend on like Peter," I +said. + +"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." + +"If he gets better I'll tell him," said Cecily resolutely. + +"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?" + +"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." + +"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?" + +"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." + +"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?" + +"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." + +"Sara Stanley," rebuked Felicity. "I should think you wouldn't say such +things at such a solemn time. You're such a queer girl." + +"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." + +But Felicity took refuge from this inconvenient question in tears. + +"If we could only DO something to help Peter!" I said desperately. "It +seems dreadful not to be able to do a single thing." + +"There's one thing we can do," said Cecily gently. "We can pray for +him." + +"So we can," I agreed. + +"I'm going to pray like sixty," said Felix energetically. + +"We'll have to be awful good, you know," warned Cecily. "There's no use +praying if you're not good." + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +"Your OWN TRUE FRIEND, + +"SARA RAY. + +"P.S. Oh I DO hope Peter will get better. Ma is going to get me a new +brown dress for the winter. + +"S. R." + +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? + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"Oh, don't, Sara, don't," I said gently, patting her convulsed shoulder. + +"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." + +"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. + +"Oh, ain't it great that Peter's going to be all right?" said Dan, +springing up. + +"I never was so glad of anything in my whole life," declared Felicity in +shameless rapture. + +"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." + +"Let's all go down to the Ray gate and holler to Judy Pineau till she +comes out," suggested Felix. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"We mustn't forget to thank God for making Peter better," said Cecily, +as we finally went to the house. + +"Do you s'pose Peter wouldn't have got better anyway?" said Dan. + +"Oh, Dan, what makes you ask such questions?" exclaimed Cecily in real +distress. + +"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." + + + +CHAPTER XXX. A COMPOUND LETTER + +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. + + +CECILY'S LETTER + +"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. + +"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. + +"Your true friend, + +"CECILY KING. + +"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." + + +FELICITY'S LETTER + +"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. + +"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? + +"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. + +"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. + +"Well, Peter, I have no more news so I will close for this time. + +"hoping you will soon be quite well, I remain + +"yours sincerely, + +"FELICITY KING. + +"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 +_Family Guide_ 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." + + +FELIX' LETTER + +"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. + +"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." + + +SARA RAY'S LETTER + +"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? + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"Your true friend, + +"SARA RAY. + +"P. S. Don't let Felicity see this letter. S. R." + + +DAN'S LETTER + +"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. + +"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. + +"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? + +"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. + +"I ain't any hand to write letters so I guess I'll stop. Hope you'll be +out soon. DAN." + + +THE STORY GIRL'S LETTER + +"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. + +"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. + +"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! + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"'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.' + +"I'll tell you these stories when you get well. I can tell them ever so +much better than I can write them. + +"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. + +"I remain + +"your very affectionate friend, + +"SARA STANLEY." + + +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. + +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. + + +PETER'S LETTER + +"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. + +"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, _The Safe +Compass_, 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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"Your obedient servant, + +"PETER CRAIG." + + + +CHAPTER XXXI. ON THE EDGE OF LIGHT AND DARK + +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. + +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. + +"It's just like spring, isn't it?" asked Felicity. + +The Story Girl shook her head. + +"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?" + +"I think it's just like spring," insisted Felicity. + +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. + +"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. + +"We ought to have grace," said Felicity, as we sat down at the festal +board. "Will any one say it?" + +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. + +"Where on earth did you learn that, Felix?" I asked. + +"It's the grace Uncle Alec says at every meal," answered Felix. + +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? + +"Now," said Felicity jubilantly, "let's eat everything up." + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +"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?" + +"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." + +"Never mind. Tell us the story," I said curiously. + +"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." + +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. + +"What--what--was IT like?" whispered Felix, curiosity getting the better +of his terror. + +"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." + +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? + +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. + +"I don't believe a word of that yarn," said Dan, trying to speak with +his usual incredulity. + +"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." + +"Oh, I suppose William Cowan got a fright of some kind," conceded Dan, +"but I don't believe he saw the devil." + +"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. + +"How did William Cowan behave afterwards?" I asked. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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!" + +The Story Girl slipped her arm through Felicity's. + +"Never mind," she said soothingly. "I'll tell you another story--such a +beautiful story that you'll forget all about the devil." + +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. + + + +CHAPTER XXXII. THE OPENING OF THE BLUE CHEST + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +When we reached home, Aunt Janet opened and read her Montreal letter. +Then she laid it down and looked about her in astonishment. + +"Well, did ever any mortal!" she said. + +"What in the world is the matter?" said Uncle Alec. + +"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." + +"Hurrah!" shouted Dan. + +"Donald King," said his mother severely, "Rachel Ward was your relation +and she is dead. What do you mean by such behaviour?" + +"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." + +"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?" + +"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.'" + +"Oh, can't we open it right away this very night?" said Felicity +eagerly. + +"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." + +"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?" + +"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." + +"That's sixteen whole hours yet," sighed Felicity. + +"I'm going right over to tell the Story Girl," said Cecily. "Won't she +be excited!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Sara Ray isn't any relation to our family," she scolded to Cecily, "and +she has no right to be present." + +"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?" + +"Peter ain't a member of the family YET, but maybe he will be some day. +Hey, Felicity?" said Dan. + +"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." + +"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." + +"Mother SAID ten o'clock and she'll stick to it," said Felicity crossly. +"It's only nine now." + +"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." + +We all looked at each other. + +"I wouldn't dare," said Felicity irresolutely. + +"Oh, if that's all, I'll do it," said the Story Girl. + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +"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." + +"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." + +Following these, came a quaint little candlestick of blue china, and the +two jugs which were to be sent to James' wife. + +"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!" + +"Tin patty pans aren't very romantic," said the Story Girl +discontentedly. + +"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." + +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. + +"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!" + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +"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?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"No, thank you," said Aunt Olivia, with a little shudder. "I should feel +like a ghost. Make it over for yourself, Janet." + +"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." + +"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. + +"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." + +We looked eagerly at the daguerreotypes in the old case. + +"Why, Rachel Ward wasn't a bit pretty!" exclaimed the Story Girl in +poignant disappointment. + +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. + +"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." + +"She has a beautiful neck and bust," said Aunt Olivia critically. + +"Anyhow, Will Montague was really handsome," said the Story Girl. + +"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." + +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. + +"I shall never use it to eat off," said Sara rapturously. "I'll put it +up on the parlour mantelpiece." + +"I don't see much use in having a plate just for ornament," said +Felicity. + +"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. + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"It's better to know than to imagine," said Felicity. + +"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." + +"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?" + +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. + +Across the hall, the Story Girl was telling Felicity and Cecily the old, +old tale of Argive Helen and "evil-hearted Paris." + +"But that's a bad story," said Felicity when the tale was ended. "She +left her husband and run away with another man." + +"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." + + +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. + +THE END. + + + + + + + + +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.txt or 5342.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/5/3/4/5342/ + +Produced by Leslee Suttie, Mary Mark Ockerbloom, and Ben Crowder + +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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