THE GOLDEN ROAD

By L. M. Montgomery

 "Life was a rose-lipped comrade With purple flowers dripping from her fingers. " --The Author. 

 TO THE MEMORY OF Aunt Mary Lawson WHO TOLD ME MANY OF THE TALES REPEATED BY THE STORY GIRL

FOREWORD

Once upon a time we all walked on the golden road. It was a fairhighway, through the Land of Lost Delight; shadow and sunshine wereblessedly mingled, and every turn and dip revealed a fresh charm and anew loveliness to eager hearts and unspoiled eyes. 

On that road we heard the song of morning stars; we drank in fragrancesaerial and sweet as a May mist; we were rich in gossamer fancies andiris hopes; our hearts sought and found the boon of dreams; the yearswaited beyond and they were very fair; life was a rose-lipped comradewith purple flowers dripping from her fingers. 

We may long have left the golden road behind, but its memories are thedearest of our eternal possessions; and those who cherish them as suchmay haply find a pleasure in the pages of this book, whose people arepilgrims on the golden road of youth. 

THE GOLDEN ROAD

CHAPTER I. A NEW DEPARTURE

"I've thought of something amusing for the winter, " I said as wedrew into a half-circle around the glorious wood-fire in Uncle Alec'skitchen. 

It had been a day of wild November wind, closing down into a wet, eerietwilight. Outside, the wind was shrilling at the windows and around theeaves, and the rain was playing on the roof. The old willow at the gatewas writhing in the storm and the orchard was a place of weird music, born of all the tears and fears that haunt the halls of night. Butlittle we cared for the gloom and the loneliness of the outside world;we kept them at bay with the light of the fire and the laughter of ouryoung lips. 

We had been having a splendid game of Blind-Man's Buff. That is, ithad been splendid at first; but later the fun went out of it because wefound that Peter was, of malice prepense, allowing himself to becaught too easily, in order that he might have the pleasure of catchingFelicity--which he never failed to do, no matter how tightly his eyeswere bound. What remarkable goose said that love is blind? Love can seethrough five folds of closely-woven muffler with ease!

"I'm getting tired, " said Cecily, whose breath was coming rather quicklyand whose pale cheeks had bloomed into scarlet. "Let's sit down and getthe Story Girl to tell us a story. "

But as we dropped into our places the Story Girl shot a significantglance at me which intimated that this was the psychological moment forintroducing the scheme she and I had been secretly developing for somedays. It was really the Story Girl's idea and none of mine. But she hadinsisted that I should make the suggestion as coming wholly from myself. 

"If you don't, Felicity won't agree to it. You know yourself, Bev, howcontrary she's been lately over anything I mention. And if she goesagainst it Peter will too--the ninny!--and it wouldn't be any fun if weweren't all in it. "

"What is it?" asked Felicity, drawing her chair slightly away fromPeter's. 

"It is this. Let us get up a newspaper of our own--write it allourselves, and have all we do in it. Don't you think we can get a lot offun out of it?"

Everyone looked rather blank and amazed, except the Story Girl. She knewwhat she had to do, and she did it. 

"What a silly idea!" she exclaimed, with a contemptuous toss of her longbrown curls. "Just as if WE could get up a newspaper!"

Felicity fired up, exactly as we had hoped. 

"I think it's a splendid idea, " she said enthusiastically. "I'd like toknow why we couldn't get up as good a newspaper as they have in town!Uncle Roger says the Daily Enterprise has gone to the dogs--all the newsit prints is that some old woman has put a shawl on her head and goneacross the road to have tea with another old woman. I guess we could dobetter than that. You needn't think, Sara Stanley, that nobody but youcan do anything. "

"I think it would be great fun, " said Peter decidedly. "My Aunt Janehelped edit a paper when she was at Queen's Academy, and she said it wasvery amusing and helped her a great deal. "

The Story Girl could hide her delight only by dropping her eyes andfrowning. 

"Bev wants to be editor, " she said, "and I don't see how he can, with noexperience. Anyhow, it would be a lot of trouble. "

"Some people are so afraid of a little bother, " retorted Felicity. 

"I think it would be nice, " said Cecily timidly, "and none of us haveany experience of being editors, any more than Bev, so that wouldn'tmatter. "

"Will it be printed?" asked Dan. 

"Oh, no, " I said. "We can't have it printed. We'll just have to write itout--we can buy foolscap from the teacher. "

"I don't think it will be much of a newspaper if it isn't printed, " saidDan scornfully. 

"It doesn't matter very much what YOU think, " said Felicity. 

"Thank you, " retorted Dan. 

"Of course, " said the Story Girl hastily, not wishing to have Dan turnedagainst our project, "if all the rest of you want it I'll go in for ittoo. I daresay it would be real good fun, now that I come to think ofit. And we'll keep the copies, and when we become famous they'll bequite valuable. "

"I wonder if any of us ever will be famous, " said Felix. 

"The Story Girl will be, " I said. 

"I don't see how she can be, " said Felicity skeptically. "Why, she'sjust one of us. "

"Well, it's decided, then, that we're to have a newspaper, " I resumedbriskly. "The next thing is to choose a name for it. That's a veryimportant thing. "

"How often are you going to publish it?" asked Felix. 

"Once a month. "

"I thought newspapers came out every day, or every week at least, " saidDan. 

"We couldn't have one every week, " I explained. "It would be too muchwork. "

"Well, that's an argument, " admitted Dan. "The less work you can getalong with the better, in my opinion. No, Felicity, you needn't say it. I know exactly what you want to say, so save your breath to cool yourporridge. I agree with you that I never work if I can find anything elseto do. "

 "'Remember it is harder still To have no work to do, "'

quoted Cecily reprovingly. 

"I don't believe THAT, " rejoined Dan. "I'm like the Irishman who said hewished the man who begun work had stayed and finished it. "

"Well, is it decided that Bev is to be editor?" asked Felix. 

"Of course it is, " Felicity answered for everybody. 

"Then, " said Felix, "I move that the name be The King Monthly Magazine. "

"That sounds fine, " said Peter, hitching his chair a little nearerFelicity's. 

"But, " said Cecily timidly, "that will leave out Peter and the StoryGirl and Sara Ray, just as if they didn't have a share in it. I don'tthink that would be fair. "

"You name it then, Cecily, " I suggested. 

"Oh!" Cecily threw a deprecating glance at the Story Girl and Felicity. Then, meeting the contempt in the latter's gaze, she raised her headwith unusual spirit. 

"I think it would be nice just to call it Our Magazine, " she said. "Thenwe'd all feel as if we had a share in it. "

"Our Magazine it will be, then, " I said. "And as for having a share init, you bet we'll all have a share in it. If I'm to be editor you'll allhave to be sub-editors, and have charge of a department. "

"Oh, I couldn't, " protested Cecily. 

"You must, " I said inexorably. "'England expects everyone to do hisduty. ' That's our motto--only we'll put Prince Edward Island in place ofEngland. There must be no shirking. Now, what departments will we have?We must make it as much like a real newspaper as we can. "

"Well, we ought to have an etiquette department, then, " said Felicity. "The Family Guide has one. "

"Of course we'll have one, " I said, "and Dan will edit it. "

"Dan!" exclaimed Felicity, who had fondly expected to be asked to editit herself. 

"I can run an etiquette column as well as that idiot in the FamilyGuide, anyhow, " said Dan defiantly. "But you can't have an etiquettedepartment unless questions are asked. What am I to do if nobody asksany?"

"You must make some up, " said the Story Girl. "Uncle Roger says that iswhat the Family Guide man does. He says it is impossible that there canbe as many hopeless fools in the world as that column would stand forotherwise. "

"We want you to edit the household department, Felicity, " I said, seeinga cloud lowering on that fair lady's brow. "Nobody can do that as wellas you. Felix will edit the jokes and the Information Bureau, and Cecilymust be fashion editor. Yes, you must, Sis. It's easy as wink. And theStory Girl will attend to the personals. They're very important. Anyonecan contribute a personal, but the Story Girl is to see there are somein every issue, even if she has to make them up, like Dan with theetiquette. "

"Bev will run the scrap book department, besides the editorials, " saidthe Story Girl, seeing that I was too modest to say it myself. 

"Aren't you going to have a story page?" asked Peter. 

"We will, if you'll be fiction and poetry editor, " I said. 

Peter, in his secret soul, was dismayed, but he would not blanch beforeFelicity. 

"All right, " he said, recklessly. 

"We can put anything we like in the scrap book department, " I explained, "but all the other contributions must be original, and all must have thename of the writer signed to them, except the personals. We must all doour best. Our Magazine is to be 'a feast of reason and flow of soul. "'

I felt that I had worked in two quotations with striking effect. Theothers, with the exception of the Story Girl, looked suitably impressed. 

"But, " said Cecily, reproachfully, "haven't you anything for Sara Ray todo? She'll feel awful bad if she is left out. "

I had forgotten Sara Ray. Nobody, except Cecily, ever did rememberSara Ray unless she was on the spot. But we decided to put her in asadvertising manager. That sounded well and really meant very little. 

"Well, we'll go ahead then, " I said, with a sigh of relief that theproject had been so easily launched. "We'll get the first issue outabout the first of January. And whatever else we do we mustn't let UncleRoger get hold of it. He'd make such fearful fun of it. "

"I hope we can make a success of it, " said Peter moodily. He had beenmoody ever since he was entrapped into being fiction editor. 

"It will be a success if we are determined to succeed, " I said. "'Wherethere is a will there is always a way. '"

"That's just what Ursula Townley said when her father locked her in herroom the night she was going to run away with Kenneth MacNair, " said theStory Girl. 

We pricked up our ears, scenting a story. 

"Who were Ursula Townley and Kenneth MacNair?" I asked. 

"Kenneth MacNair was a first cousin of the Awkward Man's grandfather, and Ursula Townley was the belle of the Island in her day. Who do yousuppose told me the story--no, read it to me, out of his brown book?"

"Never the Awkward Man himself!" I exclaimed incredulously. 

"Yes, he did, " said the Story Girl triumphantly. "I met him one daylast week back in the maple woods when I was looking for ferns. He wassitting by the spring, writing in his brown book. He hid it when he sawme and looked real silly; but after I had talked to him awhile I justasked him about it, and told him that the gossips said he wrote poetryin it, and if he did would he tell me, because I was dying to know. Hesaid he wrote a little of everything in it; and then I begged him toread me something out of it, and he read me the story of Ursula andKenneth. "

"I don't see how you ever had the face, " said Felicity; and even Cecilylooked as if she thought the Story Girl had gone rather far. 

"Never mind that, " cried Felix, "but tell us the story. That's the mainthing. "

"I'll tell it just as the Awkward Man read it, as far as I can, " saidthe Story Girl, "but I can't put all his nice poetical touches in, because I can't remember them all, though he read it over twice for me. "

CHAPTER II. A WILL, A WAY AND A WOMAN

"One day, over a hundred years ago, Ursula Townley was waiting forKenneth MacNair in a great beechwood, where brown nuts were fallingand an October wind was making the leaves dance on the ground likepixy-people. "

"What are pixy-people?" demanded Peter, forgetting the Story Girl'sdislike of interruptions. 

"Hush, " whispered Cecily. "That is only one of the Awkward Man'spoetical touches, I guess. "

"There were cultivated fields between the grove and the dark blue gulf;but far behind and on each side were woods, for Prince Edward Island ahundred years ago was not what it is today. The settlements were few andscattered, and the population so scanty that old Hugh Townley boastedthat he knew every man, woman and child in it. 

"Old Hugh was quite a noted man in his day. He was noted forseveral things--he was rich, he was hospitable, he was proud, he wasmasterful--and he had for daughter the handsomest young woman in PrinceEdward Island. 

"Of course, the young men were not blind to her good looks, and she hadso many lovers that all the other girls hated her--"

"You bet!" said Dan, aside--

"But the only one who found favour in her eyes was the very last man sheshould have pitched her fancy on, at least if old Hugh were thejudge. Kenneth MacNair was a dark-eyed young sea-captain of the nextsettlement, and it was to meet him that Ursula stole to the beechwood onthat autumn day of crisp wind and ripe sunshine. Old Hugh had forbiddenhis house to the young man, making such a scene of fury about it thateven Ursula's high spirit quailed. Old Hugh had really nothing againstKenneth himself; but years before either Kenneth or Ursula was born, Kenneth's father had beaten Hugh Townley in a hotly contested election. Political feeling ran high in those days, and old Hugh had neverforgiven the MacNair his victory. The feud between the families datedfrom that tempest in the provincial teapot, and the surplus of voteson the wrong side was the reason why, thirty years after, Ursula had tomeet her lover by stealth if she met him at all. "

"Was the MacNair a Conservative or a Grit?" asked Felicity. 

"It doesn't make any difference what he was, " said the Story Girlimpatiently. "Even a Tory would be romantic a hundred years ago. Well, Ursula couldn't see Kenneth very often, for Kenneth lived fifteen milesaway and was often absent from home in his vessel. On this particularday it was nearly three months since they had met. 

"The Sunday before, young Sandy MacNair had been in Carlyle church. Hehad risen at dawn that morning, walked bare-footed for eight miles alongthe shore, carrying his shoes, hired a harbour fisherman to row him overthe channel, and then walked eight miles more to the church at Carlyle, less, it is to be feared, from a zeal for holy things than that he mightdo an errand for his adored brother, Kenneth. He carried a letter whichhe contrived to pass into Ursula's hand in the crowd as the people cameout. This letter asked Ursula to meet Kenneth in the beechwood thenext afternoon, and so she stole away there when suspicious father andwatchful stepmother thought she was spinning in the granary loft. "

"It was very wrong of her to deceive her parents, " said Felicity primly. 

The Story Girl couldn't deny this, so she evaded the ethical side of thequestion skilfully. 

"I am not telling you what Ursula Townley ought to have done, " she saidloftily. "I am only telling you what she DID do. If you don't want tohear it you needn't listen, of course. There wouldn't be many stories totell if nobody ever did anything she shouldn't do. 

"Well, when Kenneth came, the meeting was just what might have beenexpected between two lovers who had taken their last kiss three monthsbefore. So it was a good half-hour before Ursula said, "'Oh, Kenneth, I cannot stay long--I shall be missed. You said in yourletter that you had something important to talk of. What is it?'

"'My news is this, Ursula. Next Saturday morning my vessel, The FairLady, with her captain on board, sails at dawn from Charlottetownharbour, bound for Buenos Ayres. At this season this means a safe andsure return--next May. '

"'Kenneth!' cried Ursula. She turned pale and burst into tears. 'How canyou think of leaving me? Oh, you are cruel!'

"'Why, no, sweetheart, ' laughed Kenneth. 'The captain of The Fair Ladywill take his bride with him. We'll spend our honeymoon on the highseas, Ursula, and the cold Canadian winter under southern palms. '

"'You want me to run away with you, Kenneth?' exclaimed Ursula. 

"'Indeed, dear girl, there's nothing else to do!'

"'Oh, I cannot!' she protested. 'My father would--'

"'We'll not consult him--until afterward. Come, Ursula, you know there'sno other way. We've always known it must come to this. YOUR father willnever forgive me for MY father. You won't fail me now. Think of thelong parting if you send me away alone on such a voyage. Pluck up yourcourage, and we'll let Townleys and MacNairs whistle their mouldy feudsdown the wind while we sail southward in The Fair Lady. I have a plan. '

"'Let me hear it, ' said Ursula, beginning to get back her breath. 

"'There is to be a dance at The Springs Friday night. Are you invited, Ursula?'

"'Yes. '

"'Good. I am not--but I shall be there--in the fir grove behind thehouse, with two horses. When the dancing is at its height you'll stealout to meet me. Then 'tis but a fifteen mile ride to Charlottetown, where a good minister, who is a friend of mine, will be ready to marryus. By the time the dancers have tired their heels you and I will be onour vessel, able to snap our fingers at fate. '

"'And what if I do not meet you in the fir grove?' said Ursula, a littleimpertinently. 

"'If you do not, I'll sail for South America the next morning, and manya long year will pass ere Kenneth MacNair comes home again. '

"Perhaps Kenneth didn't mean that, but Ursula thought he did, and itdecided her. She agreed to run away with him. Yes, of course that waswrong, too, Felicity. She ought to have said, 'No, I shall be marriedrespectably from home, and have a wedding and a silk dress andbridesmaids and lots of presents. ' But she didn't. She wasn't as prudentas Felicity King would have been. "

"She was a shameless hussy, " said Felicity, venting on the long-deadUrsula that anger she dare not visit on the Story Girl. 

"Oh, no, Felicity dear, she was just a lass of spirit. I'd have done thesame. And when Friday night came she began to dress for the dance witha brave heart. She was to go to The Springs with her uncle and aunt, who were coming on horseback that afternoon, and would then go on to TheSprings in old Hugh's carriage, which was the only one in Carlyle then. They were to leave in time to reach The Springs before nightfall, forthe October nights were dark and the wooded roads rough for travelling. 

"When Ursula was ready she looked at herself in the glass with a gooddeal of satisfaction. Yes, Felicity, she was a vain baggage, that sameUrsula, but that kind didn't all die out a hundred years ago. And shehad good reason for being vain. She wore the sea-green silk which hadbeen brought out from England a year before and worn but once--at theChristmas ball at Government House. A fine, stiff, rustling silk it was, and over it shone Ursula's crimson cheeks and gleaming eyes, and massesof nut brown hair. 

"As she turned from the glass she heard her father's voice below, loudand angry. Growing very pale, she ran out into the hall. Her father wasalready half way upstairs, his face red with fury. In the hall belowUrsula saw her step-mother, looking troubled and vexed. At the doorstood Malcolm Ramsay, a homely neighbour youth who had been courtingUrsula in his clumsy way ever since she grew up. Ursula had always hatedhim. 

"'Ursula!' shouted old Hugh, 'come here and tell this scoundrel he lies. He says that you met Kenneth MacNair in the beechgrove last Tuesday. Tell him he lies! Tell him he lies!'

"Ursula was no coward. She looked scornfully at poor Ramsay. 

"'The creature is a spy and a tale-bearer, ' she said, 'but in this hedoes not lie. I DID meet Kenneth MacNair last Tuesday. '

"'And you dare to tell me this to my face!' roared old Hugh. 'Back toyour room, girl! Back to your room and stay there! Take off that finery. You go to no more dances. You shall stay in that room until I choose tolet you out. No, not a word! I'll put you there if you don't go. In withyou--ay, and take your knitting with you. Occupy yourself with that thisevening instead of kicking your heels at The Springs!'

"He snatched a roll of gray stocking from the hall table and flungit into Ursula's room. Ursula knew she would have to follow it, or bepicked up and carried in like a naughty child. So she gave the miserableRamsay a look that made him cringe, and swept into her room with herhead in the air. The next moment she heard the door locked behindher. Her first proceeding was to have a cry of anger and shame anddisappointment. That did no good, and then she took to marching up anddown her room. It did not calm her to hear the rumble of the carriageout of the gate as her uncle and aunt departed. 

"'Oh, what's to be done?' she sobbed. 'Kenneth will be furious. He willthink I have failed him and he will go away hot with anger against me. If I could only send a word of explanation I know he would not leave me. But there seems to be no way at all--though I have heard that there'salways a way when there's a will. Oh, I shall go mad! If the windowwere not so high I would jump out of it. But to break my legs or my neckwould not mend the matter. '

"The afternoon passed on. At sunset Ursula heard hoof-beats and ran tothe window. Andrew Kinnear of The Springs was tying his horse at thedoor. He was a dashing young fellow, and a political crony of old Hugh. No doubt he would be at the dance that night. Oh, if she could getspeech for but a moment with him!

"When he had gone into the house, Ursula, turning impatiently from thewindow, tripped and almost fell over the big ball of homespun yarnher father had flung on the floor. For a moment she gazed at itresentfully--then, with a gay little laugh, she pounced on it. The nextmoment she was at her table, writing a brief note to Kenneth MacNair. When it was written, Ursula unwound the gray ball to a considerabledepth, pinned the note on it, and rewound the yarn over it. A grayball, the color of the twilight, might escape observation, where a whitemissive fluttering down from an upper window would surely be seen bysomeone. Then she softly opened her window and waited. 

"It was dusk when Andrew went away. Fortunately old Hugh did not come tothe door with him. As Andrew untied his horse Ursula threw the ball withsuch good aim that it struck him, as she had meant it to do, squarely onthe head. Andrew looked up at her window. She leaned out, put her fingerwarningly on her lips, pointed to the ball, and nodded. Andrew, lookingsomewhat puzzled, picked up the ball, sprang to his saddle, and gallopedoff. 

"So far, well, thought Ursula. But would Andrew understand? Would hehave wit enough to think of exploring the big, knobby ball for itsdelicate secret? And would he be at the dance after all?

"The evening dragged by. Time had never seemed so long to Ursula. Shecould not rest or sleep. It was midnight before she heard the patter ofa handful of gravel on her window-panes. In a trice she was leaning out. Below in the darkness stood Kenneth MacNair. 

"'Oh, Kenneth, did you get my letter? And is it safe for you to behere?'

"'Safe enough. Your father is in bed. I've waited two hours down theroad for his light to go out, and an extra half-hour to put him tosleep. The horses are there. Slip down and out, Ursula. We'll makeCharlottetown by dawn yet. '

"'That's easier said than done, lad. I'm locked in. But do you go outbehind the new barn and bring the ladder you will find there. '

"Five minutes later, Miss Ursula, hooded and cloaked, scrambledsoundlessly down the ladder, and in five more minutes she and Kennethwere riding along the road. 

"'There's a stiff gallop before us, Ursula, ' said Kenneth. 

"'I would ride to the world's end with you, Kenneth MacNair, ' saidUrsula. Oh, of course she shouldn't have said anything of the sort, Felicity. But you see people had no etiquette departments in those days. And when the red sunlight of a fair October dawn was shining over thegray sea The Fair Lady sailed out of Charlottetown harbour. On her deckstood Kenneth and Ursula MacNair, and in her hand, as a most precioustreasure, the bride carried a ball of gray homespun yarn. "

"Well, " said Dan, yawning, "I like that kind of a story. Nobody goes anddies in it, that's one good thing. "

"Did old Hugh forgive Ursula?" I asked. 

"The story stopped there in the brown book, " said the Story Girl, "butthe Awkward Man says he did, after awhile. "

"It must be rather romantic to be run away with, " remarked Cecily, wistfully. 

"Don't you get such silly notions in your head, Cecily King, " saidFelicity, severely. 

CHAPTER III. THE CHRISTMAS HARP

Great was the excitement in the houses of King as Christmas drew nigh. The air was simply charged with secrets. Everybody was very penuriousfor weeks beforehand and hoards were counted scrutinizingly every day. Mysterious pieces of handiwork were smuggled in and out of sight, andwhispered consultations were held, about which nobody thought of beingjealous, as might have happened at any other time. Felicity was in herelement, for she and her mother were deep in preparations for theday. Cecily and the Story Girl were excluded from these doingswith indifference on Aunt Janet's part and what seemed ostentatiouscomplacency on Felicity's. Cecily took this to heart and complained tome about it. 

"I'm one of this family just as much as Felicity is, " she said, with asmuch indignation as Cecily could feel, "and I don't think she needshut me out of everything. When I wanted to stone the raisins for themince-meat she said, no, she would do it herself, because Christmasmince-meat was very particular--as if I couldn't stone raisins right!The airs Felicity puts on about her cooking just make me sick, "concluded Cecily wrathfully. 

"It's a pity she doesn't make a mistake in cooking once in a whileherself, " I said. "Then maybe she wouldn't think she knew so much morethan other people. "

All parcels that came in the mail from distant friends were taken chargeof by Aunts Janet and Olivia, not to be opened until the great day ofthe feast itself. How slowly the last week passed! But even watched potswill boil in the fulness of time, and finally Christmas day came, grayand dour and frost-bitten without, but full of revelry and rose-redmirth within. Uncle Roger and Aunt Olivia and the Story Girl came overearly for the day; and Peter came too, with his shining, morning face, to be hailed with joy, for we had been afraid that Peter would not beable to spend Christmas with us. His mother had wanted him home withher. 

"Of course I ought to go, " Peter had told me mournfully, "but we won'thave turkey for dinner, because ma can't afford it. And ma always crieson holidays because she says they make her think of father. Of courseshe can't help it, but it ain't cheerful. Aunt Jane wouldn't have cried. Aunt Jane used to say she never saw the man who was worth spoiling hereyes for. But I guess I'll have to spend Christmas at home. "

At the last moment, however, a cousin of Mrs. Craig's in Charlottetowninvited her for Christmas, and Peter, being given his choice of going orstaying, joyfully elected to stay. So we were all together, except SaraRay, who had been invited but whose mother wouldn't let her come. 

"Sara Ray's mother is a nuisance, " snapped the Story Girl. "She justlives to make that poor child miserable, and she won't let her go to theparty tonight, either. "

"It is just breaking Sara's heart that she can't, " said Cecilycompassionately. "I'm almost afraid I won't enjoy myself for thinking ofher, home there alone, most likely reading the Bible, while we're at theparty. "

"She might be worse occupied than reading the Bible, " said Felicityrebukingly. 

"But Mrs. Ray makes her read it as a punishment, " protested Cecily. "Whenever Sara cries to go anywhere--and of course she'll crytonight--Mrs. Ray makes her read seven chapters in the Bible. I wouldn'tthink that would make her very fond of it. And I'll not be able to talkthe party over with Sara afterwards--and that's half the fun gone. "

"You can tell her all about it, " comforted Felix. 

"Telling isn't a bit like talking it over, " retorted Cecily. "It's tooone-sided. "

We had an exciting time opening our presents. Some of us had more thanothers, but we all received enough to make us feel comfortably that wewere not unduly neglected in the matter. The contents of the box whichthe Story Girl's father had sent her from Paris made our eyes stick out. It was full of beautiful things, among them another red silk dress--notthe bright, flame-hued tint of her old one, but a rich, dark crimson, with the most distracting flounces and bows and ruffles; and with itwere little red satin slippers with gold buckles, and heels that madeAunt Janet hold up her hands in horror. Felicity remarked scornfullythat she would have thought the Story Girl would get tired wearing redso much, and even Cecily commented apart to me that she thought whenyou got so many things all at once you didn't appreciate them as much aswhen you only got a few. 

"I'd never get tired of red, " said the Story Girl. "I just love it--it'sso rich and glowing. When I'm dressed in red I always feel ever so muchcleverer than in any other colour. Thoughts just crowd into my brainone after the other. Oh, you darling dress--you dear, sheeny, red-rosy, glistening, silky thing!"

She flung it over her shoulder and danced around the kitchen. 

"Don't be silly, Sara, " said Aunt Janet, a little stimy. She was a goodsoul, that Aunt Janet, and had a kind, loving heart in her ample bosom. But I fancy there were times when she thought it rather hard that thedaughter of a roving adventurer--as she considered him--like BlairStanley should disport herself in silk dresses, while her own daughtersmust go clad in gingham and muslin--for those were the days when afeminine creature got one silk dress in her lifetime, and seldom morethan one. 

The Story Girl also got a present from the Awkward Man--a little, shabby, worn volume with a great many marks on the leaves. 

"Why, it isn't new--it's an old book!" exclaimed Felicity. "I didn'tthink the Awkward Man was mean, whatever else he was. "

"Oh, you don't understand, Felicity, " said the Story Girl patiently. "And I don't suppose I can make you understand. But I'll try. I'd tentimes rather have this than a new book. It's one of his own, don't yousee--one that he has read a hundred times and loved and made a friendof. A new book, just out of a shop, wouldn't be the same thing at all. It wouldn't MEAN anything. I consider it a great compliment that he hasgiven me this book. I'm prouder of it than of anything else I've got. "

"Well, you're welcome to it, " said Felicity. "I don't understand and Idon't want to. I wouldn't give anybody a Christmas present that wasn'tnew, and I wouldn't thank anybody who gave me one. "

Peter was in the seventh heaven because Felicity had given him apresent--and, moreover, one that she had made herself. It was a bookmarkof perforated cardboard, with a gorgeous red and yellow worsted gobletworked on it, and below, in green letters, the solemn warning, "TouchNot The Cup. " As Peter was not addicted to habits of intemperance, noteven to looking on dandelion wine when it was pale yellow, we did notexactly see why Felicity should have selected such a device. But Peterwas perfectly satisfied, so nobody cast any blight on his happiness bycarping criticism. Later on Felicity told me she had worked the bookmarkfor him because his father used to drink before he ran away. 

"I thought Peter ought to be warned in time, " she said. 

Even Pat had a ribbon of blue, which he clawed off and lost half an hourafter it was tied on him. Pat did not care for vain adornments of thebody. 

We had a glorious Christmas dinner, fit for the halls of Lucullus, andate far more than was good for us, none daring to make us afraid on thatone day of the year. And in the evening--oh, rapture and delight!--wewent to Kitty Marr's party. 

It was a fine December evening; the sharp air of morning had melloweduntil it was as mild as autumn. There had been no snow, and the longfields, sloping down from the homestead, were brown and mellow. A weird, dreamy stillness had fallen on the purple earth, the dark fir woods, thevalley rims, the sere meadows. Nature seemed to have folded satisfiedhands to rest, knowing that her long wintry slumber was coming upon her. 

At first, when the invitations to the party had come, Aunt Janet hadsaid we could not go; but Uncle Alec interceded in our favour, perhapsinfluenced thereto by Cecily's wistful eyes. If Uncle Alec had afavourite among his children it was Cecily, and he had grown even moreindulgent towards her of late. Now and then I saw him looking at herintently, and, following his eyes and thought, I had, somehow, seen thatCecily was paler and thinner than she had been in the summer, and thather soft eyes seemed larger, and that over her little face in moments ofrepose there was a certain languor and weariness that made it very sweetand pathetic. And I heard him tell Aunt Janet that he did not like tosee the child getting so much the look of her Aunt Felicity. 

"Cecily is perfectly well, " said Aunt Janet sharply. "She's only growingvery fast. Don't be foolish, Alec. "

But after that Cecily had cups of cream where the rest of us got onlymilk; and Aunt Janet was very particular to see that she had her rubberson whenever she went out. 

On this merry Christmas evening, however, no fears or dim foreshadowingsof any coming event clouded our hearts or faces. Cecily looked brighterand prettier than I had ever seen her, with her softly shining eyes andthe nut brown gloss of her hair. Felicity was too beautiful for words;and even the Story Girl, between excitement and the crimson silk array, blossomed out with a charm and allurement more potent than any regularloveliness--and this in spite of the fact that Aunt Olivia had tabooedthe red satin slippers and mercilessly decreed that stout shoes shouldbe worn. 

"I know just how you feel about it, you daughter of Eve, " she said, withgay sympathy, "but December roads are damp, and if you are going towalk to Marrs' you are not going to do it in those frivolous Parisianconcoctions, even with overboots on; so be brave, dear heart, and showthat you have a soul above little red satin shoes. "

"Anyhow, " said Uncle Roger, "that red silk dress will break the heartsof all the feminine small fry at the party. You'd break their spirits, too, if you wore the slippers. Don't do it, Sara. Leave them one weeloophole of enjoyment. "

"What does Uncle Roger mean?" whispered Felicity. 

"He means you girls are all dying of jealousy because of the StoryGirl's dress, " said Dan. 

"I am not of a jealous disposition, " said Felicity loftily, "and she'sentirely welcome to the dress--with a complexion like that. "

But we enjoyed that party hugely, every one of us. And we enjoyed thewalk home afterwards, through dim, enshadowed fields where silverystar-beams lay, while Orion trod his stately march above us, and a redmoon climbed up the black horizon's rim. A brook went with us part ofthe way, singing to us through the dark--a gay, irresponsible vagabondof valley and wilderness. 

Felicity and Peter walked not with us. Peter's cup must surely havebrimmed over that Christmas night. When we left the Marr house, he hadboldly said to Felicity, "May I see you home?" And Felicity, much to ouramazement, had taken his arm and marched off with him. The primnessof her was indescribable, and was not at all ruffled by Dan's hoot ofderision. As for me, I was consumed by a secret and burning desire toask the Story Girl if I might see HER home; but I could not screw mycourage to the sticking point. How I envied Peter his easy, insouciantmanner! I could not emulate him, so Dan and Felix and Cecily and theStory Girl and I all walked hand in hand, huddling a little closertogether as we went through James Frewen's woods--for there are strangeharps in a fir grove, and who shall say what fingers sweep them? Mightyand sonorous was the music above our heads as the winds of the nightstirred the great boughs tossing athwart the starlit sky. Perhaps it wasthat aeolian harmony which recalled to the Story Girl a legend of elderdays. 

"I read such a pretty story in one of Aunt Olivia's books last night, "she said. "It was called 'The Christmas Harp. ' Would you like to hearit? It seems to me it would just suit this part of the road. "

"There isn't anything about--about ghosts in it, is there?" said Cecilytimidly. 

"Oh, no, I wouldn't tell a ghost story here for anything. I'd frightenmyself too much. This story is about one of the shepherds who saw theangels on the first Christmas night. He was just a youth, and he lovedmusic with all his heart, and he longed to be able to express the melodythat was in his soul. But he could not; he had a harp and he often triedto play on it; but his clumsy fingers only made such discord thathis companions laughed at him and mocked him, and called him a madmanbecause he would not give it up, but would rather sit apart by himself, with his arms about his harp, looking up into the sky, while theygathered around their fire and told tales to wile away their long nightvigils as they watched their sheep on the hills. But to him the thoughtsthat came out of the great silence were far sweeter than their mirth;and he never gave up the hope, which sometimes left his lips as aprayer, that some day he might be able to express those thoughts inmusic to the tired, weary, forgetful world. On the first Christmas nighthe was out with his fellow shepherds on the hills. It was chill anddark, and all, except him, were glad to gather around the fire. He sat, as usual, by himself, with his harp on his knee and a great longing inhis heart. And there came a marvellous light in the sky and over thehills, as if the darkness of the night had suddenly blossomed into awonderful meadow of flowery flame; and all the shepherds saw the angelsand heard them sing. And as they sang, the harp that the young shepherdheld began to play softly by itself, and as he listened to it herealized that it was playing the same music that the angels sangand that all his secret longings and aspirations and strivings wereexpressed in it. From that night, whenever he took the harp in hishands, it played the same music; and he wandered all over the worldcarrying it; wherever the sound of its music was heard hate and discordfled away and peace and good-will reigned. No one who heard it couldthink an evil thought; no one could feel hopeless or despairing orbitter or angry. When a man had once heard that music it entered intohis soul and heart and life and became a part of him for ever. Yearswent by; the shepherd grew old and bent and feeble; but still heroamed over land and sea, that his harp might carry the message of theChristmas night and the angel song to all mankind. At last his strengthfailed him and he fell by the wayside in the darkness; but his harpplayed as his spirit passed; and it seemed to him that a Shining Onestood by him, with wonderful starry eyes, and said to him, 'Lo, themusic thy harp has played for so many years has been but the echo of thelove and sympathy and purity and beauty in thine own soul; and if at anytime in the wanderings thou hadst opened the door of that soul to evilor envy or selfishness thy harp would have ceased to play. Now thy lifeis ended; but what thou hast given to mankind has no end; and as long asthe world lasts, so long will the heavenly music of the Christmas harpring in the ears of men. ' When the sun rose the old shepherd lay dead bythe roadside, with a smile on his face; and in his hands was a harp withall its strings broken. "

We left the fir woods as the tale was ended, and on the opposite hillwas home. A dim light in the kitchen window betokened that Aunt Janethad no idea of going to bed until all her young fry were safely housedfor the night. 

"Ma's waiting up for us, " said Dan. "I'd laugh if she happened to go tothe door just as Felicity and Peter were strutting up. I guess she'll becross. It's nearly twelve. "

"Christmas will soon be over, " said Cecily, with a sigh. "Hasn't itbeen a nice one? It's the first we've all spent together. Do you supposewe'll ever spend another together?"

"Lots of 'em, " said Dan cheerily. "Why not?"

"Oh, I don't know, " answered Cecily, her footsteps lagging somewhat. "Only things seem just a little too pleasant to last. "

"If Willy Fraser had had as much spunk as Peter, Miss Cecily Kingmightn't be so low spirited, " quoth Dan, significantly. 

Cecily tossed her head and disdained reply. There are really someremarks a self-respecting young lady must ignore. 

CHAPTER IV. NEW YEAR RESOLUTIONS

If we did not have a white Christmas we had a white New Year. Midwaybetween the two came a heavy snowfall. It was winter in our orchard ofold delights then, --so truly winter that it was hard to believe summerhad ever dwelt in it, or that spring would ever return to it. There wereno birds to sing the music of the moon; and the path where the appleblossoms had fallen were heaped with less fragrant drifts. But it was aplace of wonder on a moonlight night, when the snowy arcades shonelike avenues of ivory and crystal, and the bare trees cast fairy-liketraceries upon them. Over Uncle Stephen's Walk, where the snow hadfallen smoothly, a spell of white magic had been woven. Taintless andwonderful it seemed, like a street of pearl in the new Jerusalem. 

On New Year's Eve we were all together in Uncle Alec's kitchen, whichwas tacitly given over to our revels during the winter evenings. TheStory Girl and Peter were there, of course, and Sara Ray's mother hadallowed her to come up on condition that she should be home by eightsharp. Cecily was glad to see her, but the boys never hailed her arrivalwith over-much delight, because, since the dark began to come downearly, Aunt Janet always made one of us walk down home with her. Wehated this, because Sara Ray was always so maddeningly self-consciousof having an escort. We knew perfectly well that next day in school shewould tell her chums as a "dead" secret that "So-and-So King saw herhome" from the hill farm the night before. Now, seeing a young lady homefrom choice, and being sent home with her by your aunt or mother are twoentirely different things, and we thought Sara Ray ought to have senseenough to know it. 

Outside there was a vivid rose of sunset behind the cold hills of fir, and the long reaches of snowy fields glowed fairily pink in the westernlight. The drifts along the edges of the meadows and down the lanelooked as if a series of breaking waves had, by the lifting of amagician's wand, been suddenly transformed into marble, even to theirtoppling curls of foam. 

Slowly the splendour died, giving place to the mystic beauty of a wintertwilight when the moon is rising. The hollow sky was a cup of blue. Thestars came out over the white glens and the earth was covered with akingly carpet for the feet of the young year to press. 

"I'm so glad the snow came, " said the Story Girl. "If it hadn't the NewYear would have seemed just as dingy and worn out as the old. There'ssomething very solemn about the idea of a New Year, isn't there? Justthink of three hundred and sixty-five whole days, with not a thinghappened in them yet. "

"I don't suppose anything very wonderful will happen in them, " saidFelix pessimistically. To Felix, just then, life was flat, stale andunprofitable because it was his turn to go home with Sara Ray. 

"It makes me a little frightened to think of all that may happen inthem, " said Cecily. "Miss Marwood says it is what we put into a year, not what we get out of it, that counts at last. "

"I'm always glad to see a New Year, " said the Story Girl. "I wish wecould do as they do in Norway. The whole family sits up until midnight, and then, just as the clock is striking twelve, the father opens thedoor and welcomes the New Year in. Isn't it a pretty custom?"

"If ma would let us stay up till twelve we might do that too, " said Dan, "but she never will. I call it mean. "

"If I ever have children I'll let them stay up to watch the New Yearin, " said the Story Girl decidedly. 

"So will I, " said Peter, "but other nights they'll have to go to bed atseven. "

"You ought to be ashamed, speaking of such things, " said Felicity, witha scandalized face. 

Peter shrank into the background abashed, no doubt believing that he hadbroken some Family Guide precept all to pieces. 

"I didn't know it wasn't proper to mention children, " he mutteredapologetically. 

"We ought to make some New Year resolutions, " suggested the Story Girl. "New Year's Eve is the time to make them. "

"I can't think of any resolutions I want to make, " said Felicity, whowas perfectly satisfied with herself. 

"I could suggest a few to you, " said Dan sarcastically. 

"There are so many I would like to make, " said Cecily, "that I'm afraidit wouldn't be any use trying to keep them all. "

"Well, let's all make a few, just for the fun of it, and see if we cankeep them, " I said. "And let's get paper and ink and write them out. That will make them seem more solemn and binding. "

"And then pin them up on our bedroom walls, where we'll see them everyday, " suggested the Story Girl, "and every time we break a resolutionwe must put a cross opposite it. That will show us what progress we aremaking, as well as make us ashamed if we have too many crosses. "

"And let's have a Roll of Honour in Our Magazine, " suggested Felix, "andevery month we'll publish the names of those who keep their resolutionsperfect. "

"I think it's all nonsense, " said Felicity. But she joined our circlearound the table, though she sat for a long time with a blank sheetbefore her. 

"Let's each make a resolution in turn, " I said. "I'll lead off. "

And, recalling with shame certain unpleasant differences of opinion Ihad lately had with Felicity, I wrote down in my best hand, "I shall try to keep my temper always. "

"You'd better, " said Felicity tactfully. 

It was Dan's turn next. 

"I can't think of anything to start with, " he said, gnawing hispenholder fiercely. 

"You might make a resolution not to eat poison berries, " suggestedFelicity. 

"You'd better make one not to nag people everlastingly, " retorted Dan. 

"Oh, don't quarrel the last night of the old year, " implored Cecily. 

"You might resolve not to quarrel any time, " suggested Sara Ray. 

"No, sir, " said Dan emphatically. "There's no use making a resolutionyou CAN'T keep. There are people in this family you've just GOT toquarrel with if you want to live. But I've thought of one--I won't dothings to spite people. "

Felicity--who really was in an unbearable mood that night--laugheddisagreeably; but Cecily gave her a fierce nudge, which probablyrestrained her from speaking. 

"I will not eat any apples, " wrote Felix. 

"What on earth do you want to give up eating apples for?" asked Peter inastonishment. 

"Never mind, " returned Felix. 

"Apples make people fat, you know, " said Felicity sweetly. 

"It seems a funny kind of resolution, " I said doubtfully. "I think ourresolutions ought to be giving up wrong things or doing right ones. "

"You make your resolutions to suit yourself and I'll make mine to suitmyself, " said Felix defiantly. 

"I shall never get drunk, " wrote Peter painstakingly. 

"But you never do, " said the Story Girl in astonishment. 

"Well, it will be all the easier to keep the resolution, " argued Peter. 

"That isn't fair, " complained Dan. "If we all resolved not to do thethings we never do we'd all be on the Roll of Honour. "

"You let Peter alone, " said Felicity severely. "It's a very goodresolution and one everybody ought to make. "

"I shall not be jealous, " wrote the Story Girl. 

"But are you?" I asked, surprised. 

The Story Girl coloured and nodded. "Of one thing, " she confessed, "butI'm not going to tell what it is. "

"I'm jealous sometimes, too, " confessed Sara Ray, "and so my firstresolution will be 'I shall try not to feel jealous when I hear theother girls in school describing all the sick spells they've had. '"

"Goodness, do you want to be sick?" demanded Felix in astonishment. 

"It makes a person important, " explained Sara Ray. 

"I am going to try to improve my mind by reading good books andlistening to older people, " wrote Cecily. 

"You got that out of the Sunday School paper, " cried Felicity. 

"It doesn't matter where I got it, " said Cecily with dignity. "The mainthing is to keep it. "

"It's your turn, Felicity, " I said. 

Felicity tossed her beautiful golden head. 

"I told you I wasn't going to make any resolutions. Go on yourself. "

"I shall always study my grammar lesson, " I wrote--I, who loathedgrammar with a deadly loathing. 

"I hate grammar too, " sighed Sara Ray. "It seems so unimportant. "

Sara was rather fond of a big word, but did not always get hold of theright one. I rather suspected that in the above instance she reallymeant uninteresting. 

"I won't get mad at Felicity, if I can help it, " wrote Dan. 

"I'm sure I never do anything to make you mad, " exclaimed Felicity. 

"I don't think it's polite to make resolutions about your sisters, " saidPeter. 

"He can't keep it anyway, " scoffed Felicity. "He's got such an awfultemper. "

"It's a family failing, " flashed Dan, breaking his resolution ere theink on it was dry. 

"There you go, " taunted Felicity. 

"I'll work all my arithmetic problems without any help, " scribbledFelix. 

"I wish I could resolve that, too, " sighed Sara Ray, "but it wouldn't beany use. I'd never be able to do those compound multiplication sums theteacher gives us to do at home every night if I didn't get Judy Pineauto help me. Judy isn't a good reader and she can't spell AT ALL, but youcan't stick her in arithmetic as far as she went herself. I feel sure, "concluded poor Sara, in a hopeless tone, "that I'll NEVER be able tounderstand compound multiplication. "

 "'Multiplication is vexation, Division is as bad, The rule of three perplexes me, And fractions drive me mad, '"

quoted Dan. 

"I haven't got as far as fractions yet, " sighed Sara, "and I hope I'llbe too big to go to school before I do. I hate arithmetic, but I amPASSIONATELY fond of geography. "

"I will not play tit-tat-x on the fly leaves of my hymn book in church, "wrote Peter. 

"Mercy, did you ever do such a thing?" exclaimed Felicity in horror. 

Peter nodded shamefacedly. 

"Yes--that Sunday Mr. Bailey preached. He was so long-winded, I gotawful tired, and, anyway, he was talking about things I couldn'tunderstand, so I played tit-tat-x with one of the Markdale boys. It wasthe day I was sitting up in the gallery. "

"Well, I hope if you ever do the like again you won't do it in OUR pew, "said Felicity severely. 

"I ain't going to do it at all, " said Peter. "I felt sort of mean allthe rest of the day. "

"I shall try not to be vexed when people interrupt me when I'm tellingstories, " wrote the Story Girl. "but it will be hard, " she added with asigh. 

"I never mind being interrupted, " said Felicity. 

"I shall try to be cheerful and smiling all the time, " wrote Cecily. 

"You are, anyway, " said Sara Ray loyally. 

"I don't believe we ought to be cheerful ALL the time, " said the StoryGirl. "The Bible says we ought to weep with those who weep. "

"But maybe it means that we're to weep cheerfully, " suggested Cecily. 

"Sorter as if you were thinking, 'I'm very sorry for you but I'm mightyglad I'm not in the scrape too, '" said Dan. 

"Dan, don't be irreverent, " rebuked Felicity. 

"I know a story about old Mr. And Mrs. Davidson of Markdale, " saidthe Story Girl. "She was always smiling and it used to aggravate herhusband, so one day he said very crossly, 'Old lady, what ARE yougrinning at?' 'Oh, well, Abiram, everything's so bright and pleasant, I've just got to smile. '

"Not long after there came a time when everything went wrong--the cropfailed and their best cow died, and Mrs. Davidson had rheumatism; andfinally Mr. Davidson fell and broke his leg. But still Mrs. Davidsonsmiled. 'What in the dickens are you grinning about now, old lady?'he demanded. 'Oh, well, Abiram, ' she said, 'everything is so dark andunpleasant I've just got to smile. ' 'Well, ' said the old man crossly, 'Ithink you might give your face a rest sometimes. '"

"I shall not talk gossip, " wrote Sara Ray with a satisfied air. 

"Oh, don't you think that's a little TOO strict?" asked Cecilyanxiously. "Of course, it's not right to talk MEAN gossip, but theharmless kind doesn't hurt. If I say to you that Emmy MacPhail is goingto get a new fur collar this winter, THAT is harmless gossip, but if Isay I don't see how Emmy MacPhail can afford a new fur collar when herfather can't pay my father for the oats he got from him, that would beMEAN gossip. If I were you, Sara, I'd put MEAN gossip. "

Sara consented to this amendment. 

"I will be polite to everybody, " was my third resolution, which passedwithout comment. 

"I'll try not to use slang since Cecily doesn't like it, " wrote Dan. 

"I think some slang is real cute, " said Felicity. 

"The Family Guide says it's very vulgar, " grinned Dan. "Doesn't it, SaraStanley?"

"Don't disturb me, " said the Story Girl dreamily. "I'm just thinking abeautiful thought. "

"I've thought of a resolution to make, " cried Felicity. "Mr. Marwoodsaid last Sunday we should always try to think beautiful thoughts andthen our lives would be very beautiful. So I shall resolve to think abeautiful thought every morning before breakfast. "

"Can you only manage one a day?" queried Dan. 

"And why before breakfast?" I asked. 

"Because it's easier to think on an empty stomach, " said Peter, in allgood faith. But Felicity shot a furious glance at him. 

"I selected that time, " she explained with dignity, "because when I'mbrushing my hair before my glass in the morning I'll see my resolutionand remember it. "

"Mr. Marwood meant that ALL our thoughts ought to be beautiful, " saidthe Story Girl. "If they were, people wouldn't be afraid to say whatthey think. "

"They oughtn't to be afraid to, anyhow, " said Felix stoutly. "I'm goingto make a resolution to say just what I think always. "

"And do you expect to get through the year alive if you do?" asked Dan. 

"It might be easy enough to say what you think if you could always besure just what you DO think, " said the Story Girl. "So often I can't besure. "

"How would you like it if people always said just what they think toyou?" asked Felicity. 

"I'm not very particular what SOME people think of me, " rejoined Felix. 

"I notice you don't like to be told by anybody that you're fat, "retorted Felicity. 

"Oh, dear me, I do wish you wouldn't all say such sarcastic things toeach other, " said poor Cecily plaintively. "It sounds so horrid the lastnight of the old year. Dear knows where we'll all be this night nextyear. Peter, it's your turn. "

"I will try, " wrote Peter, "to say my prayers every night regular, andnot twice one night because I don't expect to have time the next, --likeI did the night before the party, " he added. 

"I s'pose you never said your prayers until we got you to go to church, "said Felicity--who had had no hand in inducing Peter to go to church, but had stoutly opposed it, as recorded in the first volume of ourfamily history. 

"I did, too, " said Peter. "Aunt Jane taught me to say my prayers. Mahadn't time, being as father had run away; ma had to wash at night sameas in day-time. "

"I shall learn to cook, " wrote the Story Girl, frowning. 

"You'd better resolve not to make puddings of--" began Felicity, thenstopped as suddenly as if she had bitten off the rest of her sentenceand swallowed it. Cecily had nudged her, so she had probably rememberedthe Story Girl's threat that she would never tell another story if shewas ever twitted with the pudding she had made from sawdust. But we allknew what Felicity had started to say and the Story Girl dealt her amost uncousinly glance. 

"I will not cry because mother won't starch my aprons, " wrote Sara Ray. 

"Better resolve not to cry about anything, " said Dan kindly. 

Sara Ray shook her head forlornly. 

"That would be too hard to keep. There are times when I HAVE to cry. It's a relief. "

"Not to the folks who have to hear you, " muttered Dan aside to Cecily. 

"Oh, hush, " whispered Cecily back. "Don't go and hurt her feelings thelast night of the old year. Is it my turn again? Well, I'll resolve notto worry because my hair is not curly. But, oh, I'll never be able tohelp wishing it was. "

"Why don't you curl it as you used to do, then?" asked Dan. 

"You know very well that I've never put my hair up in curl papers sincethe time Peter was dying of the measles, " said Cecily reproachfully. "Iresolved then I wouldn't because I wasn't sure it was quite right. "

"I will keep my finger-nails neat and clean, " I wrote. "There, that'sfour resolutions. I'm not going to make any more. Four's enough. "

"I shall always think twice before I speak, " wrote Felix. 

"That's an awful waste of time, " commented Dan, "but I guess you'll needto if you're always going to say what you think. "

"I'm going to stop with three, " said Peter. 

"I will have all the good times I can, " wrote the Story Girl. 

"THAT'S what I call sensible, " said Dan. 

"It's a very easy resolution to keep, anyhow, " commented Felix. 

"I shall try to like reading the Bible, " wrote Sara Ray. 

"You ought to like reading the Bible without trying to, " exclaimedFelicity. 

"If you had to read seven chapters of it every time you were naughty Idon't believe you would like it either, " retorted Sara Ray with a flashof spirit. 

"I shall try to believe only half of what I hear, " was Cecily'sconcluding resolution. 

"But which half?" scoffed Dan. 

"The best half, " said sweet Cecily simply. 

"I'll try to obey mother ALWAYS, " wrote Sara Ray, with a tremendoussigh, as if she fully realized the difficulty of keeping such aresolution. "And that's all I'm going to make. "

"Felicity has only made one, " said the Story Girl. 

"I think it better to make just one and keep it than make a lot andbreak them, " said Felicity loftily. 

She had the last word on the subject, for it was time for Sara Ray togo, and our circle broke up. Sara and Felix departed and we watchedthem down the lane in the moonlight--Sara walking demurely in one runnertrack, and Felix stalking grimly along in the other. I fear the romanticbeauty of that silver shining night was entirely thrown away on mymischievous brother. 

And it was, as I remember it, a most exquisite night--a white poem, afrosty, starry lyric of light. It was one of those nights on which onemight fall asleep and dream happy dreams of gardens of mirth andsong, feeling all the while through one's sleep the soft splendour andradiance of the white moon-world outside, as one hears soft, far-awaymusic sounding through the thoughts and words that are born of it. 

As a matter of fact, however, Cecily dreamed that night that she sawthree full moons in the sky, and wakened up crying with the horror ofit. 

CHAPTER V. THE FIRST NUMBER OF "OUR MAGAZINE"

The first number of Our Magazine was ready on New Year's Day, and weread it that evening in the kitchen. All our staff had worked nobly andwe were enormously proud of the result, although Dan still continuedto scoff at a paper that wasn't printed. The Story Girl and I read itturnabout while the others, except Felix, ate apples. It opened with ashort

EDITORIAL

With this number Our Magazine makes its first bow to the public. Allthe editors have done their best and the various departments are full ofvaluable information and amusement. The tastefully designed cover is bya famous artist, Mr. Blair Stanley, who sent it to us all the way fromEurope at the request of his daughter. Mr. Peter Craig, our enterprisingliterary editor, contributes a touching love story. (Peter, aside, ina gratified pig's whisper: "I never was called 'Mr. ' before. ") MissFelicity King's essays on Shakespeare is none the worse for being anold school composition, as it is new to most of our readers. MissCecily King contributes a thrilling article of adventure. The variousdepartments are ably edited, and we feel that we have reason to be proudof Our Magazine. But we shall not rest on our oars. "Excelsior" shallever be our motto. We trust that each succeeding issue will be betterthan the one that went before. We are well aware of many defects, butit is easier to see them than to remedy them. Any suggestion that wouldtend to the improvement of Our Magazine will be thankfully received, but we trust that no criticism will be made that will hurt anyone'sfeelings. Let us all work together in harmony, and strive to make OurMagazine an influence for good and a source of innocent pleasure, andlet us always remember the words of the poet. 

 "The heights by great men reached and kept Were not attained by sudden flight, But they, while their companions slept, Were toiling upwards in the night. "

(Peter, IMPRESSIVELY:--"I've read many a worse editorial in theEnterprise. ")

ESSAY ON SHAKESPEARE

Shakespeare's full name was William Shakespeare. He did not always spellit the same way. He lived in the reign of Queen Elizabeth and wrote agreat many plays. His plays are written in dialogue form. Some peoplethink they were not written by Shakespeare but by another man of thesame name. I have read some of them because our school teacher sayseverybody ought to read them, but I did not care much for them. Thereare some things in them I cannot understand. I like the stories ofValeria H. Montague in the Family Guide ever so much better. They aremore exciting and truer to life. Romeo and Juliet was one of the plays Iread. It was very sad. Juliet dies and I don't like stories where peopledie. I like it better when they all get married especially to dukes andearls. Shakespeare himself was married to Anne Hatheway. They are bothdead now. They have been dead a good while. He was a very famous man. 

 FELICITY KING. 

(PETER, MODESTLY: "I don't know much about Shakespeare myself but I'vegot a book of his plays that belonged to my Aunt Jane, and I guess I'llhave to tackle him as soon as I finish with the Bible. ")

THE STORY OF AN ELOPEMENT FROM CHURCH

This is a true story. It happened in Markdale to an uncle of my mothers. He wanted to marry Miss Jemima Parr. Felicity says Jemima is not aromantic name for a heroin of a story but I cant help it in this casebecause it is a true story and her name realy was Jemima. My mothersuncle was named Thomas Taylor. He was poor at that time and so thefather of Miss Jemima Parr did not want him for a soninlaw and told himhe was not to come near the house or he would set the dog on him. MissJemima Parr was very pretty and my mothers uncle Thomas was just crazyabout her and she wanted him too. She cried almost every night afterher father forbid him to come to the house except the nights she had tosleep or she would have died. And she was so frightened he might try tocome for all and get tore up by the dog and it was a bull-dog too thatwould never let go. But mothers uncle Thomas was too cute for that. Hewaited till one day there was preaching in the Markdale church in themiddle of the week because it was sacrament time and Miss Jemima Parrand her family all went because her father was an elder. My mothersuncle Thomas went too and set in the pew just behind Miss Jemima Parrsfamily. When they all bowed their heads at prayer time Miss Jemima Parrdidnt but set bolt uprite and my mothers uncle Thomas bent over andwispered in her ear. I dont know what he said so I cant right it butMiss Jemima Parr blushed that is turned red and nodded her head. Perhapssome people may think that my mothers uncle Thomas shouldent of wisperedat prayer time in church but you must remember that Miss Jemima Parrsfather had thretened to set the dog on him and that was hard lines whenhe was a respektable young man though not rich. Well when they weresinging the last sam my mothers uncle Thomas got up and went out veryquitely and as soon as church was out Miss Jemima Parr walked out tooreal quick. Her family never suspekted anything and they hung roundtalking to folks and shaking hands while Miss Jemima Parr and my mothersuncle Thomas were eloping outside. And what do you suppose they elopedin. Why in Miss Jemima Parrs fathers slay. And when he went out theywere gone and his slay was gone also his horse. Of course my mothersuncle Thomas didnt steal the horse. He just borroed it and sent it homethe next day. But before Miss Jemima Parrs father could get another rigto follow them they were so far away he couldent catch them before theygot married. And they lived happy together forever afterwards. Mothersuncle Thomas lived to be a very old man. He died very suddent. He feltquite well when he went to sleep and when he woke up he was dead. 

 PETER CRAIG. 

MY MOST EXCITING ADVENTURE

The editor says we must all write up our most exciting adventure for OurMagazine. My most exciting adventure happened a year ago last November. I was nearly frightened to death. Dan says he wouldn't of been scaredand Felicity says she would of known what it was but it's easy to talk. 

It happened the night I went down to see Kitty Marr. I thought when Iwent that Aunt Olivia was visiting there and I could come home with her. But she wasn't there and I had to come home alone. Kitty came a pieceof the way but she wouldn't come any further than Uncle James Frewen'sgate. She said it was because it was so windy she was afraid she wouldget the tooth-ache and not because she was frightened of the ghost ofthe dog that haunted the bridge in Uncle James' hollow. I did wish shehadn't said anything about the dog because I mightn't of thought aboutit if she hadn't. I had to go on alone thinking of it. I'd heard thestory often but I'd never believed in it. They said the dog used toappear at one end of the bridge and walk across it with people andvanish when he got to the other end. He never tried to bite anyone butone wouldn't want to meet the ghost of a dog even if one didn't believein him. I knew there was no such thing as ghosts and I kept saying aparaphrase over to myself and the Golden Text of the next Sunday Schoollesson but oh, how my heart beat when I got near the hollow! It was sodark. You could just see things dim-like but you couldn't see what theywere. When I got to the bridge I walked along sideways with my back tothe railing so I couldn't think the dog was behind me. And then just inthe middle of the bridge I met something. It was right before me andit was big and black, just about the size of a Newfoundland dog, andI thought I could see a white nose. And it kept jumping about from oneside of the bridge to the other. Oh, I hope none of my readers will everbe so frightened as I was then. I was too frightened to run back becauseI was afraid it would chase me and I couldn't get past it, it moved soquick, and then it just made one spring right on me and I felt its clawsand I screamed and fell down. It rolled off to one side and laid therequite quiet but I didn't dare move and I don't know what would havebecome of me if Amos Cowan hadn't come along that very minute with alantern. And there was me sitting in the middle of the bridge and thatawful thing beside me. And what do you think it was but a big umbrellawith a white handle? Amos said it was his umbrella and it had blown awayfrom him and he had to go back and get the lantern to look for it. Ifelt like asking him what on earth he was going about with an umbrellaopen when it wasent raining. But the Cowans do such queer things. Youremember the time Jerry Cowan sold us God's picture. Amos took me righthome and I was thankful for I don't know what would have become of meif he hadn't come along. I couldn't sleep all night and I never want tohave any more adventures like that one. 

 CECILY KING. 

PERSONALS

Mr. Dan King felt somewhat indisposed the day after Christmas--probablyas the result of too much mince pie. (DAN, INDIGNANTLY:--"I wasn't. Ionly et one piece!")

Mr. Peter Craig thinks he saw the Family Ghost on Christmas Eve. Butthe rest of us think all he saw was the white calf with the red tail. (PETER, MUTTERING SULKILY:--"It's a queer calf that would walk up on endand wring its hands. ")

Miss Cecily King spent the night of Dec. 20th with Miss Kitty Marr. Theytalked most of the night about new knitted lace patterns and their beausand were very sleepy in school next day. (CECILY, SHARPLY:--"We nevermentioned such things!")

Patrick Grayfur, Esq. , was indisposed yesterday, but seems to beenjoying his usual health to-day. 

The King family expect their Aunt Eliza to visit them in January. Sheis really our great-aunt. We have never seen her but we are told she isvery deaf and does not like children. So Aunt Janet says we must makeourselves scarece when she comes. 

Miss Cecily King has undertaken to fill with names a square of themissionary quilt which the Mission Band is making. You pay five centsto have your name embroidered in a corner, ten cents to have it inthe centre, and a quarter if you want it left off altogether. (CECILY, INDIGNANTLY:--"That isn't the way at all. ")

ADS. 

WANTED--A remedy to make a fat boy thin. Address, "Patient Sufferer, care of Our Magazine. "

(FELIX, SOURLY:--"Sara Ray never got that up. I'll bet it was Dan. He'dbetter stick to his own department. ")

HOUSEHOLD DEPARTMENT

Mrs. Alexander King killed all her geese the twentieth of December. Weall helped pick them. We had one Christmas Day and will have one everyfortnight the rest of the winter. 

The bread was sour last week because mother wouldn't take my advice. Itold her it was too warm for it in the corner behind the stove. 

Miss Felicity King invented a new recete for date cookies recently, which everybody said were excelent. I am not going to publish it though, because I don't want other people to find it out. 

ANXIOUS INQUIRER:--If you want to remove inkstains place the stainover steam and apply salt and lemon juice. If it was Dan who sent thisquestion in I'd advise him to stop wiping his pen on his shirt sleevesand then he wouldn't have so many stains. 

 FELICITY KING. 

ETIQUETTE DEPARTMENT

F-l-x:--Yes, you should offer your arm to a lady when seeing her home, but don't keep her standing too long at the gate while you say goodnight. 

(FELIX, ENRAGED:--"I never asked such a question. ")

C-c-l-y:--No, it is not polite to use "Holy Moses" or "dodgasted" inordinary conversation. 

(Cecily had gone down cellar to replenish the apple plate, so thispassed without protest. )

S-r-a:--No, it isn't polite to cry all the time. As to whether youshould ask a young man in, it all depends on whether he went home withyou of his own accord or was sent by some elderly relative. 

F-l-t-y:--It does not break any rule of etiquette if you keep a buttonoff your best young man's coat for a keepsake. But don't take more thanone or his mother might miss them. 

 DAN KING. 

FASHION NOTES

Knitted mufflers are much more stylish than crocheted ones this winter. It is nice to have one the same colour as your cap. 

Red mittens with a black diamond pattern on the back are much run after. Em Frewen's grandma knits hers for her. She can knit the double diamondpattern and Em puts on such airs about it, but I think the singlediamond is in better taste. 

The new winter hats at Markdale are very pretty. It is so exciting topick a hat. Boys can't have that fun. Their hats are so much alike. 

 CECILY KING. 

FUNNY PARAGRAPHS

This is a true joke and really happened. 

There was an old local preacher in New Brunswick one time whose name wasSamuel Clask. He used to preach and pray and visit the sick just like aregular minister. One day he was visiting a neighbour who was dying andhe prayed the Lord to have mercy on him because he was very poor andhad worked so hard all his life that he hadn't much time to attend toreligion. 

"And if you don't believe me, O Lord, " Mr. Clask finished up with, "justtake a look at his hands. "

 FELIX KING. 

GENERAL INFORMATION BUREAU

DAN:--Do porpoises grow on trees or vines?

Ans. Neither. They inhabit the deep sea. 

 FELIX KING. 

(DAN, AGGRIEVED:--"Well, I'd never heard of porpoises and it soundedlike something that grew. But you needn't have gone and put it in thepaper. "

FELIX:--"It isn't any worse than the things you put in about me that Inever asked at all. "

CECILY, SOOTHINGLY:--"Oh, well, boys, it's all in fun, and I think OurMagazine is perfectly elegant. "

FELICITY, FAILING TO SEE THE STORY GIRL AND BEVERLEY EXCHANGING WINKSBEHIND HER BACK:--"It certainly is, though SOME PEOPLE were so opposedto starting it. ")

What harmless, happy fooling it all was! How we laughed as we read andlistened and devoured apples! Blow high, blow low, no wind can everquench the ruddy glow of that faraway winter night in our memories. Andthough Our Magazine never made much of a stir in the world, or was themeans of hatching any genius, it continued to be capital fun for usthroughout the year. 

CHAPTER VI. GREAT-AUNT ELIZA'S VISIT

It was a diamond winter day in February--clear, cold, hard, brilliant. The sharp blue sky shone, the white fields and hills glittered, thefringe of icicles around the eaves of Uncle Alec's house sparkled. Keenwas the frost and crisp the snow over our world; and we young fry of theKing households were all agog to enjoy life--for was it not Saturday, and were we not left all alone to keep house?

Aunt Janet and Aunt Olivia had had their last big "kill" of marketpoultry the day before; and early in the morning all our grown-ups setforth to Charlottetown, to be gone the whole day. They left us manycharges as usual, some of which we remembered and some of which weforgot; but with Felicity in command none of us dared stray far out ofline. The Story Girl and Peter came over, of course, and we all agreedthat we would haste and get the work done in the forenoon, that we mighthave an afternoon of uninterrupted enjoyment. A taffy-pull after dinnerand then a jolly hour of coasting on the hill field before supper wereon our programme. But disappointment was our portion. We did manage toget the taffy made but before we could sample the result satisfactorily, and just as the girls were finishing with the washing of the dishes, Felicity glanced out of the window and exclaimed in tones of dismay, "Oh, dear me, here's Great-aunt Eliza coming up the lane! Now, isn'tthat too mean?"

We all looked out to see a tall, gray-haired lady approaching the house, looking about her with the slightly puzzled air of a stranger. We hadbeen expecting Great-aunt Eliza's advent for some weeks, for she wasvisiting relatives in Markdale. We knew she was liable to pounce down onus any time, being one of those delightful folk who like to "surprise"people, but we had never thought of her coming that particular day. Itmust be confessed that we did not look forward to her visit with anypleasure. None of us had ever seen her, but we knew she was very deaf, and had very decided opinions as to the way in which children shouldbehave. 

"Whew!" whistled Dan. "We're in for a jolly afternoon. She's deaf as apost and we'll have to split our throats to make her hear at all. I've anotion to skin out. "

"Oh, don't talk like that, Dan, " said Cecily reproachfully. "She's oldand lonely and has had a great deal of trouble. She has buried threehusbands. We must be kind to her and do the best we can to make hervisit pleasant. "

"She's coming to the back door, " said Felicity, with an agitated glancearound the kitchen. "I told you, Dan, that you should have shovelled thesnow away from the front door this morning. Cecily, set those potsin the pantry quick--hide those boots, Felix--shut the cupboard door, Peter--Sara, straighten up the lounge. She's awfully particular and masays her house is always as neat as wax. "

To do Felicity justice, while she issued orders to the rest of us, she was flying busily about herself, and it was amazing how much wasaccomplished in the way of putting the kitchen in perfect order duringthe two minutes in which Great-aunt Eliza was crossing the yard. 

"Fortunately the sitting-room is tidy and there's plenty in the pantry, "said Felicity, who could face anything undauntedly with a well-stockedlarder behind her. 

Further conversation was cut short by a decided rap at the door. Felicity opened it. 

"Why, how do you do, Aunt Eliza?" she said loudly. 

A slightly bewildered look appeared on Aunt Eliza's face. Felicityperceived she had not spoken loudly enough. 

"How do you do, Aunt Eliza, " she repeated at the top of her voice. "Come in--we are glad to see you. We've been looking for you for ever solong. "

"Are your father and mother at home?" asked Aunt Eliza, slowly. 

"No, they went to town today. But they'll be home this evening. "

"I'm sorry they're away, " said Aunt Eliza, coming in, "because I canstay only a few hours. "

"Oh, that's too bad, " shouted poor Felicity, darting an angry glance atthe rest of us, as if to demand why we didn't help her out. "Why, we'vebeen thinking you'd stay a week with us anyway. You MUST stay overSunday. "

"I really can't. I have to go to Charlottetown tonight, " returned AuntEliza. 

"Well, you'll take off your things and stay to tea, at least, " urgedFelicity, as hospitably as her strained vocal chords would admit. 

"Yes, I think I'll do that. I want to get acquainted with my--my nephewsand nieces, " said Aunt Eliza, with a rather pleasant glance around ourgroup. If I could have associated the thought of such a thing with mypreconception of Great-aunt Eliza I could have sworn there was a twinklein her eye. But of course it was impossible. "Won't you introduceyourselves, please?"

Felicity shouted our names and Great-aunt Eliza shook hands all round. She performed the duty grimly and I concluded I must have been mistakenabout the twinkle. She was certainly very tall and dignified andimposing--altogether a great-aunt to be respected. 

Felicity and Cecily took her to the spare room and then left her in thesitting-room while they returned to the kitchen, to discuss the matterin family conclave. 

"Well, and what do you think of dear Aunt Eliza?" asked Dan. 

"S-s-s-sh, " warned Cecily, with a glance at the half-open hall door. 

"Pshaw, " scoffed Dan, "she can't hear us. There ought to be a lawagainst anyone being as deaf as that. "

"She's not so old-looking as I expected, " said Felix. "If her hairwasn't so white she wouldn't look much older than your mother. "

"You don't have to be very old to be a great-aunt, " said Cecily. "KittyMarr has a great-aunt who is just the same age as her mother. I expectit was burying so many husbands turned her hair white. But Aunt Elizadoesn't look just as I expected she would either. "

"She's dressed more stylishly than I expected, " said Felicity. "Ithought she'd be real old-fashioned, but her clothes aren't too bad atall. "

"She wouldn't be bad-looking if 'tweren't for her nose, " said Peter. "It's too long, and crooked besides. "

"You needn't criticize our relations like that, " said Felicity tartly. 

"Well, aren't you doing it yourselves?" expostulated Peter. 

"That's different, " retorted Felicity. "Never you mind Great-auntEliza's nose. "

"Well, don't expect me to talk to her, " said Dan, "'cause I won't. "

"I'm going to be very polite to her, " said Felicity. "She's rich. Buthow are we to entertain her, that's the question. "

"What does the Family Guide say about entertaining your rich, deaf oldaunt?" queried Dan ironically. 

"The Family Guide says we should be polite to EVERYBODY, " said Cecily, with a reproachful look at Dan. 

"The worst of it is, " said Felicity, looking worried, "that there isn'ta bit of old bread in the house and she can't eat new, I've heard fathersay. It gives her indigestion. What will we do?"

"Make a pan of rusks and apologize for having no old bread, " suggestedthe Story Girl, probably by way of teasing Felicity. The latter, however, took it in all good faith. 

"The Family Guide says we should never apologize for things we can'thelp. It says it's adding insult to injury to do it. But you run overhome for a loaf of stale bread, Sara, and it's a good idea about therusks. I'll make a panful. "

"Let me make them, " said the Story Girl, eagerly. "I can make real goodrusks now. "

"No, it wouldn't do to trust you, " said Felicity mercilessly. "Youmight make some queer mistake and Aunt Eliza would tell it all over thecountry. She's a fearful old gossip. I'll make the rusks myself. Shehates cats, so we mustn't let Paddy be seen. And she's a Methodist, somind nobody says anything against Methodists to her. "

"Who's going to say anything, anyhow?" asked Peter belligerently. 

"I wonder if I might ask her for her name for my quilt square?"speculated Cecily. "I believe I will. She looks so much friendlier thanI expected. Of course she'll choose the five-cent section. She's anestimable old lady, but very economical. "

"Why don't you say she's so mean she'd skin a flea for its hide andtallow?" said Dan. "That's the plain truth. "

"Well, I'm going to see about getting tea, " said Felicity, "so the restof you will have to entertain her. You better go in and show her thephotographs in the album. Dan, you do it. "

"Thank you, that's a girl's job, " said Dan. "I'd look nice sitting upto Aunt Eliza and yelling out that this was Uncle Jim and 'tother CousinSarah's twins, wouldn't I? Cecily or the Story Girl can do it. "

"I don't know all the pictures in your album, " said the Story Girlhastily. 

"I s'pose I'll have to do it, though I don't like to, " sighed Cecily. "But we ought to go in. We've left her alone too long now. She'll thinkwe have no manners. "

Accordingly we all filed in rather reluctantly. Great-aunt Elizawas toasting her toes--clad, as we noted, in very smart and shapelyshoes--at the stove and looking quite at her ease. Cecily, determined todo her duty even in the face of such fearful odds as Great-aunt Eliza'sdeafness, dragged a ponderous, plush-covered album from its corner andproceeded to display and explain the family photographs. She did herbrave best but she could not shout like Felicity, and half the time, asshe confided to me later on, she felt that Great-aunt Eliza did not hearone word she said, because she didn't seem to take in who the peoplewere, though, just like all deaf folks, she wouldn't let on. Great-auntEliza certainly didn't talk much; she looked at the photographs insilence, but she smiled now and then. That smile bothered me. It was sotwinkly and so very un-great-aunt-Elizaish. But I felt indignant withher. I thought she might have shown a little more appreciation ofCecily's gallant efforts to entertain. 

It was very dull for the rest of us. The Story Girl sat rather sulkilyin her corner; she was angry because Felicity would not let her makethe rusks, and also, perhaps, a little vexed because she could not charmGreat-aunt Eliza with her golden voice and story-telling gift. Felixand I looked at each other and wished ourselves out in the hill field, careering gloriously adown its gleaming crust. 

But presently a little amusement came our way. Dan, who was sittingbehind Great-aunt Eliza, and consequently out of her view, began makingcomments on Cecily's explanation of this one and that one among thephotographs. In vain Cecily implored him to stop. It was too good funto give up. For the next half-hour the dialogue ran after this fashion, while Peter and Felix and I, and even the Story Girl, suffered agoniestrying to smother our bursts of laughter--for Great-aunt Eliza could seeif she couldn't hear:

CECILY, SHOUTING:--"That is Mr. Joseph Elliott of Markdale, a secondcousin of mother's. "

DAN:--"Don't brag of it, Sis. He's the man who was asked if somebodyelse said something in sincerity and old Joe said 'No, he said it in mycellar. '"

CECILY:--"This isn't anybody in our family. It's little Xavy Gautier whoused to be hired with Uncle Roger. "

DAN:--"Uncle Roger sent him to fix a gate one day and scolded himbecause he didn't do it right, and Xavy was mad as hops and said 'Howyou 'spect me to fix dat gate? I never learned jogerfy. '"

CECILY, WITH AN ANGUISHED GLANCE AT DAN:--"This is Great-uncle RobertKing. "

DAN:--"He's been married four times. Don't you think that's oftenenough, dear great-aunty?"

CECILY:--"(Dan!!) This is a nephew of Mr. Ambrose Marr's. He lives outwest and teaches school. "

DAN:--"Yes, and Uncle Roger says he doesn't know enough not to sleep ina field with the gate open. "

CECILY:--"This is Miss Julia Stanley, who used to teach in Carlisle afew years ago. "

DAN:--"When she resigned the trustees had a meeting to see if they'd askher to stay and raise her supplement. Old Highland Sandy was alive thenand he got up and said, 'If she for go let her for went. Perhaps she formarry. '"

CECILY, WITH THE AIR OF A MARTYR:--"This is Mr. Layton, who used totravel around selling Bibles and hymn books and Talmage's sermons. "

DAN:--"He was so thin Uncle Roger used to say he always mistook him fora crack in the atmosphere. One time he stayed here all night and went toprayer meeting and Mr. Marwood asked him to lead in prayer. It had beenraining 'most every day for three weeks, and it was just in haymakingtime, and everybody thought the hay was going to be ruined, and oldLayton got up and prayed that God would send gentle showers on thegrowing crops, and I heard Uncle Roger whisper to a fellow behindme, 'If somebody don't choke him off we won't get the hay made thissummer. '"

CECILY, IN EXASPERATION:--"(Dan, shame on you for telling suchirreverent stories. ) This is Mrs. Alexander Scott of Markdale. She hasbeen very sick for a long time. "

DAN:--"Uncle Roger says all that keeps her alive is that she's scaredher husband will marry again. "

CECILY:--"This is old Mr. James MacPherson who used to live behind thegraveyard. "

DAN:--"He's the man who told mother once that he always made his owniodine out of strong tea and baking soda. "

CECILY:--"This is Cousin Ebenezer MacPherson on the Markdale road. "

DAN:--"Great temperance man! He never tasted rum in his life. He tookthe measles when he was forty-five and was crazy as a loon with them, and the doctor ordered them to give him a dose of brandy. When heswallowed it he looked up and says, solemn as an owl, 'Give it to meoftener and more at a time. '"

CECILY, IMPLORINGLY:--"(Dan, do stop. You make me so nervous I don'tknow what I'm doing. ) This is Mr. Lemuel Goodridge. He is a minister. "

DAN:--"You ought to see his mouth. Uncle Roger says the drawing stringhas fell out of it. It just hangs loose--so fashion. "

Dan, whose own mouth was far from being beautiful, here gave animitation of the Rev. Lemuel's, to the utter undoing of Peter, Felix, and myself. Our wild guffaws of laughter penetrated even Great-auntEliza's deafness, and she glanced up with a startled face. What we wouldhave done I do not know had not Felicity at that moment appeared in thedoorway with panic-stricken eyes and exclaimed, "Cecily, come here for a moment. "

Cecily, glad of even a temporary respite, fled to the kitchen and weheard her demanding what was the matter. 

"Matter!" exclaimed Felicity, tragically. "Matter enough! Some of youleft a soup plate with molasses in it on the pantry table and Pat gotinto it and what do you think? He went into the spare room and walkedall over Aunt Eliza's things on the bed. You can see his tracks plain asplain. What in the world can we do? She'll be simply furious. "

I looked apprehensively at Great-aunt Eliza; but she was gazingintently at a picture of Aunt Janet's sister's twins, a most stolid, uninteresting pair; but evidently Great-aunt Eliza found them amusingfor she was smiling widely over them. 

"Let us take a little clean water and a soft bit of cotton, " cameCecily's clear voice from the kitchen, "and see if we can't clean themolasses off. The coat and hat are both cloth, and molasses isn't likegrease. "

"Well, we can try, but I wish the Story Girl would keep her cat home, "grumbled Felicity. 

The Story Girl here flew out to defend her pet, and we four boys sat on, miserably conscious of Great-aunt Eliza, who never said a word to us, despite her previously expressed desire to become acquainted with us. She kept on looking at the photographs and seemed quite oblivious of ourpresence. 

Presently the girls returned, having, as transpired later, been sosuccessful in removing the traces of Paddy's mischief that it was notdeemed necessary to worry Great-aunt Eliza with any account of it. Felicity announced tea and, while Cecily conveyed Great-aunt Eliza outto the dining-room, lingered behind to consult with us for a moment. 

"Ought we to ask her to say grace?" she wanted to know. 

"I know a story, " said the Story Girl, "about Uncle Roger when he wasjust a young man. He went to the house of a very deaf old lady and whenthey sat down to the table she asked him to say grace. Uncle Roger hadnever done such a thing in his life and he turned as red as a beetand looked down and muttered, 'E-r-r, please excuse me--I--I'm notaccustomed to doing that. ' Then he looked up and the old lady said'Amen, ' loudly and cheerfully. She thought Uncle Roger was saying graceall the time. "

"I don't think it's right to tell funny stories about such things, " saidFelicity coldly. "And I asked for your opinion, not for a story. "

"If we don't ask her, Felix must say it, for he's the only one who can, and we must have it, or she'd be shocked. "

"Oh, ask her--ask her, " advised Felix hastily. 

She was asked accordingly and said grace without any hesitation, afterwhich she proceeded to eat heartily of the excellent supper Felicity hadprovided. The rusks were especially good and Great-aunt Eliza ate threeof them and praised them. Apart from that she said little and during thefirst part of the meal we sat in embarrassed silence. Towards the last, however, our tongues were loosened, and the Story Girl told us a tragictale of old Charlottetown and a governor's wife who had died of a brokenheart in the early days of the colony. 

"They say that story isn't true, " said Felicity. "They say what shereally died of was indigestion. The Governor's wife who lives there nowis a relation of our own. She is a second cousin of father's but we'venever seen her. Her name was Agnes Clark. And mind you, when father wasa young man he was dead in love with her and so was she with him. "

"Who ever told you that?" exclaimed Dan. 

"Aunt Olivia. And I've heard ma teasing father about it, too. Of course, it was before father got acquainted with mother. "

"Why didn't your father marry her?" I asked. 

"Well, she just simply wouldn't marry him in the end. She got over beingin love with him. I guess she was pretty fickle. Aunt Olivia said fatherfelt awful about it for awhile, but he got over it when he met ma. Ma was twice as good-looking as Agnes Clark. Agnes was a sight forfreckles, so Aunt Olivia says. But she and father remained real goodfriends. Just think, if she had married him we would have been thechildren of the Governor's wife. "

"But she wouldn't have been the Governor's wife then, " said Dan. 

"I guess it's just as good being father's wife, " declared Cecilyloyally. 

"You might think so if you saw the Governor, " chuckled Dan. "Uncle Rogersays it would be no harm to worship him because he doesn't look likeanything in the heavens above or on the earth beneath or the watersunder the earth. "

"Oh, Uncle Roger just says that because he's on the opposite side ofpolitics, " said Cecily. "The Governor isn't really so very ugly. I sawhim at the Markdale picnic two years ago. He's very fat and bald andred-faced, but I've seen far worse looking men. "

"I'm afraid your seat is too near the stove, Aunt Eliza, " shoutedFelicity. 

Our guest, whose face was certainly very much flushed, shook her head. 

"Oh, no, I'm very comfortable, " she said. But her voice had the effectof making us uncomfortable. There was a queer, uncertain little soundin it. Was Great-aunt Eliza laughing at us? We looked at her sharplybut her face was very solemn. Only her eyes had a suspicious appearance. Somehow, we did not talk much more the rest of the meal. 

When it was over Great-aunt Eliza said she was very sorry but she mustreally go. Felicity politely urged her to stay, but was much relievedwhen Great-aunt Eliza adhered to her intention of going. When Felicitytook her to the spare room Cecily slipped upstairs and presently cameback with a little parcel in her hand. 

"What have you got there?" demanded Felicity suspiciously. 

"A--a little bag of rose-leaves, " faltered Cecily. "I thought I'd givethem to Aunt Eliza. "

"The idea! Don't you do such a thing, " said Felicity contemptuously. "She'd think you were crazy. "

"She was awfully nice when I asked her for her name for the quilt, "protested Cecily, "and she took a ten-cent section after all. So I'dlike to give her the rose-leaves--and I'm going to, too, Miss Felicity. "

Great-aunt Eliza accepted the little gift quite graciously, bade usall good-bye, said she had enjoyed herself very much, left messages forfather and mother, and finally betook herself away. We watched her crossthe yard, tall, stately, erect, and disappear down the lane. Then, as often aforetime, we gathered together in the cheer of the redhearth-flame, while outside the wind of a winter twilight sang throughfair white valleys brimmed with a reddening sunset, and a faint, serene, silver-cold star glimmered over the willow at the gate. 

"Well, " said Felicity, drawing a relieved breath, "I'm glad she's gone. She certainly is queer, just as mother said. "

"It's a different kind of queerness from what I expected, though, " saidthe Story Girl meditatively. "There's something I can't quite make outabout Aunt Eliza. I don't think I altogether like her. "

"I'm precious sure I don't, " said Dan. 

"Oh, well, never mind. She's gone now and that's the last of it, " saidCecily comfortingly. 

But it wasn't the last of it--not by any manner of means was it! Whenour grown-ups returned almost the first words Aunt Janet said were, "And so you had the Governor's wife to tea?"

We all stared at her. 

"I don't know what you mean, " said Felicity. "We had nobody to teaexcept Great-aunt Eliza. She came this afternoon and--"

"Great-aunt Eliza? Nonsense, " said Aunt Janet. "Aunt Eliza was in towntoday. She had tea with us at Aunt Louisa's. But wasn't Mrs. GovernorLesley here? We met her on her way back to Charlottetown and she toldus she was. She said she was visiting a friend in Carlisle and thoughtshe'd call to see father for old acquaintance sake. What in the worldare all you children staring like that for? Your eyes are like saucers. "

"There was a lady here to tea, " said Felicity miserably, "but we thoughtit was Great-aunt Eliza--she never SAID she wasn't--I thought she actedqueer--and we all yelled at her as if she was deaf--and said things toeach other about her nose--and Pat running over her clothes--"

"She must have heard all you said while I was showing her thephotographs, Dan, " cried Cecily. 

"And about the Governor at tea time, " chuckled unrepentant Dan. 

"I want to know what all this means, " said Aunt Janet sternly. 

She knew in due time, after she had pieced the story together fromour disjointed accounts. She was horrified, and Uncle Alec was mildlydisturbed, but Uncle Roger roared with laughter and Aunt Olivia echoedit. 

"To think you should have so little sense!" said Aunt Janet in adisgusted tone. 

"I think it was real mean of her to pretend she was deaf, " saidFelicity, almost on the verge of tears. 

"That was Agnes Clark all over, " chuckled Uncle Roger. "How she musthave enjoyed this afternoon!"

She had enjoyed it, as we learned the next day, when a letter came fromher. 

"Dear Cecily and all the rest of you, " wrote the Governor's wife, "Iwant to ask you to forgive me for pretending to be Aunt Eliza. Isuspect it was a little horrid of me, but really I couldn't resist thetemptation, and if you will forgive me for it I will forgive you for thethings you said about the Governor, and we will all be good friends. Youknow the Governor is a very nice man, though he has the misfortune notto be handsome. 

"I had just a splendid time at your place, and I envy your Aunt Elizaher nephews and nieces. You were all so nice to me, and I didn't dareto be a bit nice to you lest I should give myself away. But I'll makeup for that when you come to see me at Government House, as you all mustthe very next time you come to town. I'm so sorry I didn't see Paddy, for I love pussy cats, even if they do track molasses over my clothes. And, Cecily, thank you ever so much for that little bag of pot-pourri. It smells like a hundred rose gardens, and I have put it between thesheets for my very sparest room bed, where you shall sleep when you cometo see me, you dear thing. And the Governor wants you to put his name onthe quilt square, too, in the ten-cent section. 

"Tell Dan I enjoyed his comments on the photographs very much. They werequite a refreshing contrast to the usual explanations of 'who's who. 'And Felicity, your rusks were perfection. Do send me your recipe forthem, there's a darling. 

"Yours most cordially, AGNES CLARK LESLEY. 

"Well, it was decent of her to apologize, anyhow, " commented Dan. 

"If we only hadn't said that about the Governor, " moaned Felicity. 

"How did you make your rusks?" asked Aunt Janet. "There was nobaking-powder in the house, and I never could get them right with sodaand cream of tartar. "

"There was plenty of baking-powder in the pantry, " said Felicity. 

"No, there wasn't a particle. I used the last making those cookiesThursday morning. "

"But I found another can nearly full, away back on the top shelf, ma, --the one with the yellow label. I guess you forgot it was there. "

Aunt Janet stared at her pretty daughter blankly. Then amazement gaveplace to horror. 

"Felicity King!" she exclaimed. "You don't mean to tell me that youraised those rusks with the stuff that was in that old yellow can?"

"Yes, I did, " faltered Felicity, beginning to look scared. "Why, ma, what was the matter with it?"

"Matter! That stuff was TOOTH-POWDER, that's what it was. Your CousinMyra broke the bottle her tooth-powder was in when she was here lastwinter and I gave her that old can to keep it in. She forgot to take itwhen she went away and I put it on that top shelf. I declare you mustall have been bewitched yesterday. "

Poor, poor Felicity! If she had not always been so horribly vain overher cooking and so scornfully contemptuous of other people's aspirationsand mistakes along that line, I could have found it in my heart to pityher. 

The Story Girl would have been more than human if she had not betrayed alittle triumphant amusement, but Peter stood up for his lady manfully. 

"The rusks were splendid, anyhow, so what difference does it make whatthey were raised with?"

Dan, however, began to taunt Felicity with her tooth-powder rusks, andkept it up for the rest of his natural life. 

"Don't forget to send the Governor's wife the recipe for them, " he said. 

Felicity, with eyes tearful and cheeks crimson from mortification, rushed from the room, but never, never did the Governor's wife get therecipe for those rusks. 

CHAPTER VII. WE VISIT COUSIN MATTIE'S

One Saturday in March we walked over to Baywater, for a long-talked-ofvisit to Cousin Mattie Dilke. By the road, Baywater was six miles away, but there was a short cut across hills and fields and woods which wasscantly three. We did not look forward to our visit with any particulardelight, for there was nobody at Cousin Mattie's except grown-ups whohad been grown up so long that it was rather hard for them to rememberthey had ever been children. But, as Felicity told us, it was necessaryto visit Cousin Mattie at least once a year, or else she would be"huffed, " so we concluded we might as well go and have it over. 

"Anyhow, we'll get a splendiferous dinner, " said Dan. "Cousin Mattie's agreat cook and there's nothing stingy about her. "

"You are always thinking of your stomach, " said Felicity pleasantly. 

"Well, you know I couldn't get along very well without it, darling, "responded Dan who, since New Year's, had adopted a new method of dealingwith Felicity--whether by way of keeping his resolution or because hehad discovered that it annoyed Felicity far more than angry retorts, deponent sayeth not. He invariably met her criticisms with agood-natured grin and a flippant remark with some tender epithet taggedon to it. Poor Felicity used to get hopelessly furious over it. 

Uncle Alec was dubious about our going that day. He looked abroad onthe general dourness of gray earth and gray air and gray sky, and saida storm was brewing. But Cousin Mattie had been sent word that wewere coming, and she did not like to be disappointed, so he let us go, warning us to stay with Cousin Mattie all night if the storm came onwhile we were there. 

We enjoyed our walk--even Felix enjoyed it, although he had beenappointed to write up the visit for Our Magazine and was rather weigheddown by the responsibility of it. What mattered it though the world weregray and wintry? We walked the golden road and carried spring time inour hearts, and we beguiled our way with laughter and jest, and thetales the Story Girl told us--myths and legends of elder time. 

The walking was good, for there had lately been a thaw and everythingwas frozen. We went over fields, crossed by spidery trails of grayfences, where the withered grasses stuck forlornly up through thesnow; we lingered for a time in a group of hill pines, great, majestictree-creatures, friends of evening stars; and finally struck into thebelt of fir and maple which intervened between Carlisle and Baywater. It was in this locality that Peg Bowen lived, and our way lay near herhouse though not directly in sight of it. We hoped we would not meether, for since the affair of the bewitchment of Paddy we did not knowquite what to think of Peg; the boldest of us held his breath as wepassed her haunts, and drew it again with a sigh of relief when theywere safely left behind. 

The woods were full of the brooding stillness that often precedes astorm, and the wind crept along their white, cone-sprinkled floors witha low, wailing cry. Around us were solitudes of snow, arcades picked outin pearl and silver, long avenues of untrodden marble whence sprang thecathedral columns of the firs. We were all sorry when we were throughthe woods and found ourselves looking down into the snug, commonplace, farmstead-dotted settlement of Baywater. 

"There's Cousin Mattie's house--that big white one at the turn of theroad, " said the Story Girl. "I hope she has that dinner ready, Dan. I'mhungry as a wolf after our walk. "

"I wish Cousin Mattie's husband was still alive, " said Dan. "He was anawful nice old man. He always had his pockets full of nuts and apples. I used to like going there better when he was alive. Too many old womendon't suit me. "

"Oh, Dan, Cousin Mattie and her sisters-in-law are just as nice and kindas they can be, " reproached Cecily. 

"Oh, they're kind enough, but they never seem to see that a fellow getsover being five years old if he only lives long enough, " retorted Dan. 

"I know a story about Cousin Mattie's husband, " said the Story Girl. "His name was Ebenezer, you know--"

"Is it any wonder he was thin and stunted looking?" said Dan. 

"Ebenezer is just as nice a name as Daniel, " said Felicity. 

"Do you REALLY think so, my angel?" inquired Dan, in honey-sweet tones. 

"Go on. Remember your second resolution, " I whispered to the Story Girl, who was stalking along with an outraged expression. 

The Story Girl swallowed something and went on. 

"Cousin Ebenezer had a horror of borrowing. He thought it was simplya dreadful disgrace to borrow ANYTHING. Well, you know he and CousinMattie used to live in Carlisle, where the Rays now live. This was whenGrandfather King was alive. One day Cousin Ebenezer came up the hill andinto the kitchen where all the family were. Uncle Roger said he lookedas if he had been stealing sheep. He sat for a whole hour in the kitchenand hardly spoke a word, but just looked miserable. At last he got upand said in a desperate sort of way, 'Uncle Abraham, can I speak withyou in private for a minute?' 'Oh, certainly, ' said grandfather, andtook him into the parlour. Cousin Ebenezer shut the door, lookedall around him and then said imploringly, 'MORE PRIVATE STILL. ' Sograndfather took him into the spare room and shut that door. He wasgetting frightened. He thought something terrible must have happenedCousin Ebenezer. Cousin Ebenezer came right up to grandfather, tookhold of the lapel of his coat, and said in a whisper, 'Uncle Abraham, CAN--YOU--LEND--ME--AN--AXE?'"

"He needn't have made such a mystery about it, " said Cecily, who hadmissed the point entirely, and couldn't see why the rest of us werelaughing. But Cecily was such a darling that we did not mind her lack ofa sense of humour. 

"It's kind of mean to tell stories like that about people who are dead, "said Felicity. 

"Sometimes it's safer than when they're alive though, sweetheart, "commented Dan. 

We had our expected good dinner at Cousin Mattie's--may it be countedunto her for righteousness. She and her sisters-in-law, Miss LouisaJane and Miss Caroline, were very kind to us. We had quite a nice time, although I understood why Dan objected to them when they patted usall on the head and told us whom we resembled and gave us peppermintlozenges. 

CHAPTER VIII. WE VISIT PEG BOWEN

We left Cousin Mattie's early, for it still looked like a storm, thoughno more so than it had in the morning. We intended to go home by adifferent path--one leading through cleared land overgrown with scrubmaple, which had the advantage of being farther away from Peg Bowen'shouse. We hoped to be home before it began to storm, but we had hardlyreached the hill above the village when a fine, driving snow began tofall. It would have been wiser to have turned back even then; but wehad already come a mile and we thought we would have ample time to reachhome before it became really bad. We were sadly mistaken; by the timewe had gone another half-mile we were in the thick of a bewildering, blinding snowstorm. But it was by now just as far back to CousinMattie's as it was to Uncle Alec's, so we struggled on, growing morefrightened at every step. We could hardly face the stinging snow, and wecould not see ten feet ahead of us. It had turned bitterly cold andthe tempest howled all around us in white desolation under thefast-darkening night. The narrow path we were trying to follow soonbecame entirely obliterated and we stumbled blindly on, holding to eachother, and trying to peer through the furious whirl that filled the air. Our plight had come upon us so suddenly that we could not realize it. Presently Peter, who was leading the van because he was supposed to knowthe path best, stopped. 

"I can't see the road any longer, " he shouted. "I don't know where weare. "

We all stopped and huddled together in a miserable group. Fear filledour hearts. It seemed ages ago that we had been snug and safe and warmat Cousin Mattie's. Cecily began to cry with cold. Dan, in spite of herprotests, dragged off his overcoat and made her put it on. 

"We can't stay here, " he said. "We'll all freeze to death if we do. Comeon--we've got to keep moving. The snow ain't so deep yet. Take hold ofmy hand, Cecily. We must all hold together. Come, now. "

"It won't be nice to be frozen to death, but if we get through alivethink what a story we'll have to tell, " said the Story Girl between herchattering teeth. 

In my heart I did not believe we would ever get through alive. It wasalmost pitch dark now, and the snow grew deeper every moment. We werechilled to the heart. I thought how nice it would be to lie down andrest; but I remembered hearing that that was fatal, and I endeavoured tostumble on with the others. It was wonderful how the girls kept up, evenCecily. It occurred to me to be thankful that Sara Ray was not with us. 

But we were wholly lost now. All around us was a horror of greatdarkness. Suddenly Felicity fell. We dragged her up, but she declaredshe could not go on--she was done out. 

"Have you any idea where we are?" shouted Dan to Peter. 

"No, " Peter shouted back, "the wind is blowing every which way. Ihaven't any idea where home is. "

Home! Would we ever see it again? We tried to urge Felicity on, but sheonly repeated drowsily that she must lie down and rest. Cecily, too, was reeling against me. The Story Girl still stood up staunchly andcounselled struggling on, but she was numb with cold and her words werehardly distinguishable. Some wild idea was in my mind that we must dig ahole in the snow and all creep into it. I had read somewhere that peoplehad thus saved their lives in snowstorms. Suddenly Felix gave a shout. 

"I see a light, " he cried. 

"Where? Where?" We all looked but could see nothing. 

"I don't see it now but I saw it a moment ago, " shouted Felix. "I'm sureI did. Come on--over in this direction. "

Inspired with fresh hope we hurried after him. Soon we all saw thelight--and never shone a fairer beacon. A few more steps and, cominginto the shelter of the woodland on the further side, we realized wherewe were. 

"That's Peg Bowen's house, " exclaimed Peter, stopping short in dismay. 

"I don't care whose house it is, " declared Dan. "We've got to go to it. "

"I s'pose so, " acquiesced Peter ruefully. "We can't freeze to death evenif she is a witch. "

"For goodness' sake don't say anything about witches so close to herhouse, " gasped Felicity. "I'll be thankful to get in anywhere. "

We reached the house, climbed the flight of steps that led to thatmysterious second story door, and Dan rapped. The door opened promptlyand Peg Bowen stood before us, in what seemed exactly the same costumeshe had worn on the memorable day when we had come, bearing gifts, topropitiate her in the matter of Paddy. 

"Behind her was a dim room scantly illumined by the one small candlethat had guided us through the storm; but the old Waterloo stove wascolouring the gloom with tremulous, rose-red whorls of light, and warmand cosy indeed seemed Peg's retreat to us snow-covered, frost-chilled, benighted wanderers. 

"Gracious goodness, where did yez all come from?" exclaimed Peg. "Didthey turn yez out?"

"We've been over to Baywater, and we got lost in the storm coming back, "explained Dan. "We didn't know where we were till we saw your light. I guess we'll have to stay here till the storm is over--if you don'tmind. "

"And if it won't inconvenience you, " said Cecily timidly. 

"Oh, it's no inconvenience to speak of. Come in. Well, yez HAVE got somesnow on yez. Let me get a broom. You boys stomp your feet well and shakeyour coats. You girls give me your things and I'll hang them up. Guessyez are most froze. Well, sit up to the stove and git het up. "

Peg bustled away to gather up a dubious assortment of chairs, with backsand rungs missing, and in a few minutes we were in a circle around herroaring stove, getting dried and thawed out. In our wildest flightsof fancy we had never pictured ourselves as guests at the witch'shearth-stone. Yet here we were; and the witch herself was actuallybrewing a jorum of ginger tea for Cecily, who continued to shiver longafter the rest of us were roasted to the marrow. Poor Sis drank thatscalding draught, being in too great awe of Peg to do aught else. 

"That'll soon fix your shivers, " said our hostess kindly. "And now I'llget yez all some tea. "

"Oh, please don't trouble, " said the Story Girl hastily. 

"'Tain't any trouble, " said Peg briskly; then, with one of the suddenchanges to fierceness which made her such a terrifying personage, "Doyez think my vittels ain't clean?"

"Oh, no, no, " cried Felicity quickly, before the Story Girl could speak, "none of us would ever think THAT. Sara only meant she didn't want youto go to any bother on our account. "

"It ain't any bother, " said Peg, mollified. "I'm spry as a cricket thiswinter, though I have the realagy sometimes. Many a good bite I've hadin your ma's kitchen. I owe yez a meal. "

No more protests were made. We sat in awed silence, gazing with timidcuriosity about the room, the stained, plastered walls of which werewell-nigh covered with a motley assortment of pictures, chromos, andadvertisements, pasted on without much regard for order or character. 

We had heard much of Peg's pets and now we saw them. Six cats occupiedvarious cosy corners; one of them, the black goblin which had soterrified us in the summer, blinked satirically at us from the centre ofPeg's bed. Another, a dilapidated, striped beastie, with both ears andone eye gone, glared at us from the sofa in the corner. A dog, with onlythree legs, lay behind the stove; a crow sat on a roost above ourheads, in company with a matronly old hen; and on the clock shelf werea stuffed monkey and a grinning skull. We had heard that a sailor hadgiven Peg the monkey. But where had she got the skull? And whose was it?I could not help puzzling over these gruesome questions. 

Presently tea was ready and we gathered around the festal board--a boardliterally as well as figuratively, for Peg's table was the work of herown unskilled hands. The less said about the viands of that meal, andthe dishes they were served in, the better. But we ate them--bless you, yes!--as we would have eaten any witch's banquet set before us. Pegmight or might not be a witch--common sense said not; but we knew shewas quite capable of turning every one of us out of doors in one ofher sudden fierce fits if we offended her; and we had no mind to trustourselves again to that wild forest where we had fought a losing fightwith the demon forces of night and storm. 

But it was not an agreeable meal in more ways than one. Peg was notat all careful of anybody's feelings. She hurt Felix's cruelly as shepassed him his cup of tea. 

"You've gone too much to flesh, boy. So the magic seed didn't work, hey?"

How in the world had Peg found out about that magic seed? Felix lookeduncommonly foolish. 

"If you'd come to me in the first place I'd soon have told you how toget thin, " said Peg, nodding wisely. 

"Won't you tell me now?" asked Felix eagerly, his desire to melt his toosolid flesh overcoming his dread and shame. 

"No, I don't like being second fiddle, " answered Peg with a craftysmile. "Sara, you're too scrawny and pale--not much like your ma. I knewher well. She was counted a beauty, but she made no great things of amatch. Your father had some money but he was a tramp like meself. Whereis he now?"

"In Rome, " said the Story Girl rather shortly. 

"People thought your ma was crazy when she took him. But she'd a rightto please herself. Folks is too ready to call other folks crazy. There'speople who say I'M not in my right mind. Did yez ever"--Peg fixedFelicity with a piercing glance--"hear anything so ridiculous?"

"Never, " said Felicity, white to the lips. 

"I wish everybody was as sane as I am, " said Peg scornfully. Then shelooked poor Felicity over critically. "You're good-looking but proud. And your complexion won't wear. It'll be like your ma's yet--too muchred in it. "

"Well, that's better than being the colour of mud, " muttered Peter, whowasn't going to hear his lady traduced, even by a witch. All the thankshe got was a furious look from Felicity, but Peg had not heard him andnow she turned her attention to Cecily. 

"You look delicate. I daresay you'll never live to grow up. "

Cecily's lip trembled and Dan's face turned crimson. 

"Shut up, " he said to Peg. "You've no business to say such things topeople. "

I think my jaw dropped. I know Peter's and Felix's did. Felicity brokein wildly. 

"Oh, don't mind him, Miss Bowen. He's got SUCH a temper--that's just theway he talks to us all at home. PLEASE excuse him. "

"Bless you, I don't mind him, " said Peg, from whom the unexpected seemedto be the thing to expect. "I like a lad of spurrit. And so your fatherrun away, did he, Peter? He used to be a beau of mine--he seen me homethree times from singing school when we was young. Some folks said hedid it for a dare. There's such a lot of jealousy in the world, ain'tthere? Do you know where he is now?"

"No, " said Peter. 

"Well, he's coming home before long, " said Peg mysteriously. 

"Who told you that?" cried Peter in amazement. 

"Better not ask, " responded Peg, looking up at the skull. 

If she meant to make the flesh creep on our bones she succeeded. Butnow, much to our relief, the meal was over and Peg invited us to drawour chairs up to the stove again. 

"Make yourselves at home, " she said, producing her pipe from her pocket. "I ain't one of the kind who thinks their houses too good to live in. Guess I won't bother washing the dishes. They'll do yez for breakfast ifyez don't forget your places. I s'pose none of yez smokes. "

"No, " said Felicity, rather primly. 

"Then yez don't know what's good for yez, " retorted Peg, rathergrumpily. But a few whiffs of her pipe placated her and, observingCecily sigh, she asked her kindly what was the matter. 

"I'm thinking how worried they'll be at home about us, " explainedCecily. 

"Bless you, dearie, don't be worrying over that. I'll send them wordthat yez are all snug and safe here. "

"But how can you?" cried amazed Cecily. 

"Better not ask, " said Peg again, with another glance at the skull. 

An uncomfortable silence followed, finally broken by Peg, who introducedher pets to us and told how she had come by them. The black cat was herfavourite. 

"That cat knows more than I do, if yez'll believe it, " she said proudly. "I've got a rat too, but he's a bit shy when strangers is round. Yourcat got all right again that time, didn't he?"

"Yes, " said the Story Girl. 

"Thought he would, " said Peg, nodding sagely. "I seen to that. Now, don't yez all be staring at the hole in my dress. "

"We weren't, " was our chorus of protest. 

"Looked as if yez were. I tore that yesterday but I didn't mend it. Iwas brought up to believe that a hole was an accident but a patch was adisgrace. And so your Aunt Olivia is going to be married after all?"

This was news to us. We felt and looked dazed. 

"I never heard anything of it, " said the Story Girl. 

"Oh, it's true enough. She's a great fool. I've no faith in husbands. But one good thing is she ain't going to marry that Henry Jacobs ofMarkdale. He wants her bad enough. Just like his presumption, --thinkinghimself good enough for a King. His father is the worst man alive. Hechased me off his place with his dog once. But I'll get even with himyet. "

Peg looked very savage, and visions of burned barns floated through ourminds. 

"He'll be punished in hell, you know, " said Peter timidly. 

"But I won't be there to see that, " rejoined Peg. "Some folks say I'llgo there because I don't go to church oftener. But I don't believe it. "

"Why don't you go?" asked Peter, with a temerity that bordered onrashness. 

"Well, I've got so sunburned I'm afraid folks might take me for anInjun, " explained Peg, quite seriously. "Besides, your minister makessuch awful long prayers. Why does he do it?"

"I suppose he finds it easier to talk to God than to people, " suggestedPeter reflectively. 

"Well, anyway, I belong to the round church, " said Peg comfortably, "andso the devil can't catch ME at the corners. I haven't been to Carlislechurch for over three years. I thought I'd a-died laughing the last timeI was there. Old Elder Marr took up the collection that day. He'd on apair of new boots and they squeaked all the way up and down the aisles. And every time the boots squeaked the elder made a face, like he hadtoothache. It was awful funny. How's your missionary quilt coming on, Cecily?"

Was there anything Peg didn't know?

"Very well, " said Cecily. 

"You can put my name on it, if you want to. "

"Oh, thank you. Which section--the five-cent one or the ten-cent one?"asked Cecily timidly. 

"The ten-cent one, of course. The best is none too good for me. I'llgive you the ten cents another time. I'm short of change just now--notbeing as rich as Queen Victory. There's her picture up there--the onewith the blue sash and diamint crown and the lace curting on her head. Can any of yez tell me this--is Queen Victory a married woman?"

"Oh, yes, but her husband is dead, " answered the Story Girl. 

"Well, I s'pose they couldn't have called her an old maid, seeing shewas a queen, even if she'd never got married. Sometimes I sez to myself, 'Peg, would you like to be Queen Victory?' But I never know whatto answer. In summer, when I can roam anywhere in the woods and thesunshine--I wouldn't be Queen Victory for anything. But when it's winterand cold and I can't git nowheres--I feel as if I wouldn't mind changingplaces with her. "

Peg put her pipe back in her mouth and began to smoke fiercely. Thecandle wick burned long, and was topped by a little cap of fiery redthat seemed to wink at us like an impish gnome. The most grotesqueshadow of Peg flickered over the wall behind her. The one-eyed catremitted his grim watch and went to sleep. Outside the wind screamedlike a ravening beast at the window. Suddenly Peg removed her pipe fromher mouth, bent forward, gripped my wrist with her sinewy fingers untilI almost cried out with pain, and gazed straight into my face. I felthorribly frightened of her. She seemed an entirely different creature. Awild light was in her eyes, a furtive, animal-like expression was onher face. When she spoke it was in a different voice and in differentlanguage. 

"Do you hear the wind?" she asked in a thrilling whisper. "What IS thewind? What IS the wind?"

"I--I--don't know, " I stammered. 

"No more do I, " said Peg, "and nobody knows. Nobody knows what the windis. I wish I could find out. I mightn't be so afraid of the wind if Iknew what it was. I am afraid of it. When the blasts come like that Iwant to crouch down and hide me. But I can tell you one thing about thewind--it's the only free thing in the world--THE--ONLY--FREE--THING. Everything else is subject to some law, but the wind is FREE. It blowethwhere it listeth and no man can tame it. It's free--that's why Ilove it, though I'm afraid of it. It's a grand thing to be free--freefree--free!"

Peg's voice rose almost to a shriek. We were dreadfully frightened, forwe knew there were times when she was quite crazy and we feared one ofher "spells" was coming on her. But with a swift movement she turnedthe man's coat she wore up over her shoulders and head like a hood, completely hiding her face. Then she crouched forward, elbows on knees, and relapsed into silence. None of us dared speak or move. We sat thusfor half an hour. Then Peg jumped up and said briskly in her usual tone, "Well, I guess yez are all sleepy and ready for bed. You girls can sleepin my bed over there, and I'll take the sofy. Yez can put the cat off ifyez like, though he won't hurt yez. You boys can go downstairs. There'sa big pile of straw there that'll do yez for a bed, if yez put yourcoats on. I'll light yez down, but I ain't going to leave yez a lightfor fear yez'd set fire to the place. "

Saying good-night to the girls, who looked as if they thought their lasthour was come, we went to the lower room. It was quite empty, save for apile of fire wood and another of clean straw. Casting a stealthy glancearound, ere Peg withdrew the light, I was relieved to see that therewere no skulls in sight. We four boys snuggled down in the straw. We didnot expect to sleep, but we were very tired and before we knew it oureyes were shut, to open no more till morning. The poor girls were notso fortunate. They always averred they never closed an eye. Four thingsprevented them from sleeping. In the first place Peg snored loudly; inthe second place the fitful gleams of firelight kept flickering over theskull for half the night and making gruesome effects on it; in the thirdplace Peg's pillows and bedclothes smelled rankly of tobacco smoke; andin the fourth place they were afraid the rat Peg had spoken of mightcome out to make their acquaintance. Indeed, they were sure they heardhim skirmishing about several times. 

When we wakened in the morning the storm was over and a young morningwas looking through rosy eyelids across a white world. The littleclearing around Peg's cabin was heaped with dazzling drifts, and weboys fell to and shovelled out a road to her well. She gave usbreakfast--stiff oatmeal porridge without milk, and a boiled egg apiece. Cecily could NOT eat her porridge; she declared she had such a badcold that she had no appetite; a cold she certainly had; the rest of uschoked our messes down and after we had done so Peg asked us if we hadnoticed a soapy taste. 

"The soap fell into the porridge while I was making it, " she said. "But, "--smacking her lips, --"I'm going to make yez an Irish stew fordinner. It'll be fine. "

An Irish stew concocted by Peg! No wonder Dan said hastily, "You are very kind but we'll have to go right home. "

"Yez can't walk, " said Peg. 

"Oh, yes, we can. The drifts are so hard they'll carry, and the snowwill be pretty well blown off the middle of the fields. It's onlythree-quarters of a mile. We boys will go home and get a pung and comeback for you girls. "

But the girls wouldn't listen to this. They must go with us, evenCecily. 

"Seems to me yez weren't in such a hurry to leave last night, " observedPeg sarcastically. 

"Oh, it's only because they'll be so anxious about us at home, and it'sSunday and we don't want to miss Sunday School, " explained Felicity. 

"Well, I hope your Sunday School will do yez good, " said Peg, rathergrumpily. But she relented again at the last and gave Cecily a wishbone. 

"Whatever you wish on that will come true, " she said. "But you only havethe one wish, so don't waste it. "

"We're so much obliged to you for all your trouble, " said the Story Girlpolitely. 

"Never mind the trouble. The expense is the thing, " retorted Peg grimly. 

"Oh!" Felicity hesitated. "If you would let us pay you--give yousomething--"

"No, thank yez, " responded Peg loftily. "There is people who take moneyfor their hospitality, I've heerd, but I'm thankful to say I don'tassociate with that class. Yez are welcome to all yez have had here, ifyez ARE in a big hurry to get away. "

She shut the door behind us with something of a slam, and her blackcat followed us so far, with stealthy, furtive footsteps, that we werefrightened of it. Eventually it turned back; then, and not till then, did we feel free to discuss our adventure. 

"Well, I'm thankful we're out of THAT, " said Felicity, drawing a longbreath. "Hasn't it just been an awful experience?"

"We might all have been found frozen stark and stiff this morning, "remarked the Story Girl with apparent relish. 

"I tell you, it was a lucky thing we got to Peg Bowen's, " said Dan. 

"Miss Marwood says there is no such thing as luck, " protested Cecily. "We ought to say it was Providence instead. "

"Well, Peg and Providence don't seem to go together very well, somehow, "retorted Dan. "If Peg is a witch it must be the Other One she's in co. With. "

"Dan, it's getting to be simply scandalous the way you talk, " saidFelicity. "I just wish ma could hear you. "

"Is soap in porridge any worse than tooth-powder in rusks, lovelycreature?" asked Dan. 

"Dan, Dan, " admonished Cecily, between her coughs, "remember it'sSunday. "

"It seems hard to remember that, " said Peter. "It doesn't seem a mitelike Sunday and it seems awful long since yesterday. "

"Cecily, you've got a dreadful cold, " said the Story Girl anxiously. 

"In spite of Peg's ginger tea, " added Felix. 

"Oh, that ginger tea was AWFUL, " exclaimed poor Cecily. "I thought I'dnever get it down--it was so hot with ginger--and there was so much ofit! But I was so frightened of offending Peg I'd have tried to drink itall if there had been a bucketful. Oh, yes, it's very easy for you allto laugh! You didn't have to drink it. "

"We had to eat two meals, though, " said Felicity with a shiver. "And Idon't know when those dishes of hers were washed. I just shut my eyesand took gulps. "

"Did you notice the soapy taste in the porridge?" asked the Story Girl. 

"Oh, there were so many queer tastes about it I didn't notice one morethan another, " answered Felicity wearily. 

"What bothers me, " remarked Peter absently, "is that skull. Do yousuppose Peg really finds things out by it?"

"Nonsense! How could she?" scoffed Felix, bold as a lion in daylight. 

"She didn't SAY she did, you know, " I said cautiously. 

"Well, we'll know in time if the things she said were going to happendo, " mused Peter. 

"Do you suppose your father is really coming home?" queried Felicity. 

"I hope not, " answered Peter decidedly. 

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself, " said Felicity severely. 

"No, I oughtn't. Father got drunk all the time he was home, and wouldn'twork and was bad to mother, " said Peter defiantly. "She had to supporthim as well as herself and me. I don't want to see any father cominghome, and you'd better believe it. Of course, if he was the right sortof a father it'd be different. "

"What I would like to know is if Aunt Olivia is going to be married, "said the Story Girl absently. "I can hardly believe it. But now thatI think of it--Uncle Roger has been teasing her ever since she was inHalifax last summer. "

"If she does get married you'll have to come and live with us, " saidCecily delightedly. 

Felicity did not betray so much delight and the Story Girl remarked witha weary little sigh that she hoped Aunt Olivia wouldn't. We all feltrather weary, somehow. Peg's predictions had been unsettling, and ournerves had all been more or less strained during our sojourn under herroof. We were glad when we found ourselves at home. 

The folks had not been at all troubled about us, but it was because theywere sure the storm had come up before we would think of leaving CousinMattie's and not because they had received any mysterious message fromPeg's skull. We were relieved at this, but on the whole, our adventurehad not done much towards clearing up the vexed question of Peg'switchcraft. 

CHAPTER IX. EXTRACTS FROM THE FEBRUARY AND MARCH NUMBERS OF "OURMAGAZINE"

RESOLUTION HONOUR ROLL

Miss Felicity King. 

HONOURABLE MENTION

Mr. Felix King. Mr. Peter Craig. Miss Sara Ray. 

EDITORIAL

The editor wishes to make a few remarks about the Resolution HonourRoll. As will be seen, only one name figures on it. Felicity says shehas thought a beautiful thought every morning before breakfast withoutmissing one morning, not even the one we were at Peg Bowen's. Some ofour number think it not fair that Felicity should be on the honourroll (FELICITY, ASIDE: "That's Dan, of course. ") when she only made oneresolution and won't tell us what any of the thoughts were. So wehave decided to give honourable mention to everybody who has kept oneresolution perfect. Felix has worked all his arithmetic problems byhimself. He complains that he never got more than a third of themright and the teacher has marked him away down; but one cannot keepresolutions without some inconvenience. Peter has never played tit-tat-xin church or got drunk and says it wasn't as bad as he expected. (PETER, INDIGNANTLY: "I never said it. " CECILY, SOOTHINGLY: "Now, Peter, Bevonly meant that as a joke. ") Sara Ray has never talked any mean gossip, but does not find conversation as interesting as it used to be. (SARARAY, WONDERINGLY: "I don't remember of saying that. ")

Felix did not eat any apples until March, but forgot and ate seven theday we were at Cousin Mattie's. (FELIX: "I only ate five!") He soon gaveup trying to say what he thought always. He got into too much trouble. We think Felix ought to change to old Grandfather King's rule. It was, "Hold your tongue when you can, and when you can't tell the truth. "Cecily feels she has not read all the good books she might, because someshe tried to read were very dull and the Pansy books were so much moreinteresting. And it is no use trying not to feel bad because her hairisn't curly and she has marked that resolution out. The Story Girl camevery near to keeping her resolution to have all the good times possible, but she says she missed two, if not three, she might have had. Danrefuses to say anything about his resolutions and so does the editor. 

PERSONALS

We regret that Miss Cecily King is suffering from a severe cold. 

Mr. Alexander Marr of Markdale died very suddenly last week. We neverheard of his death till he was dead. 

Miss Cecily King wishes to state that she did not ask the question about"Holy Moses" and the other word in the January number. Dan put it in fora mean joke. 

The weather has been cold and fine. We have only had one bad storm. Thecoasting on Uncle Roger's hill continues good. 

Aunt Eliza did not favour us with a visit after all. She took cold andhad to go home. We were sorry that she had a cold but glad that she hadto go home. Cecily said she thought it wicked of us to be glad. But whenwe asked her "cross her heart" if she wasn't glad herself she had to sayshe was. 

Miss Cecily King has got three very distinguished names on her quiltsquare. They are the Governor and his wife and a witch's. 

The King family had the honour of entertaining the Governor's wife totea on February the seventeenth. We are all invited to visit GovernmentHouse but some of us think we won't go. 

A tragic event occurred last Tuesday. Mrs. James Frewen came to tea andthere was no pie in the house. Felicity has not yet fully recovered. 

A new boy is coming to school. His name is Cyrus Brisk and his folksmoved up from Markdale. He says he is going to punch Willy Fraser's headif Willy keeps on thinking he is Miss Cecily King's beau. 

(CECILY: "I haven't ANY beau! I don't mean to think of such a thing forat least eight years yet!")

Miss Alice Reade of Charlottetown Royalty has come to Carlisle to teachmusic. She boards at Mr. Peter Armstrong's. The girls are all going totake music lessons from her. Two descriptions of her will be found inanother column. Felix wrote one, but the girls thought he did not do herjustice, so Cecily wrote another one. She admits she copied most of thedescription out of Valeria H. Montague's story Lord Marmaduke's First, Last, and Only Love; or the Bride of the Castle by the Sea, but saysthey fit Miss Reade better than anything she could make up. 

HOUSEHOLD DEPARTMENT

Always keep the kitchen tidy and then you needn't mind if company comesunexpectedly. 

ANXIOUS INQUIRER: We don't know anything that will take the stain outof a silk dress when a soft-boiled egg is dropped on it. Better not wearyour silk dress so often, especially when boiling eggs. 

Ginger tea is good for colds. 

OLD HOUSEKEEPER: Yes, when the baking-powder gives out you can usetooth-powder instead. 

(FELICITY: "I never wrote that! I don't care, I don't think it's fairfor other people to be putting things in my department!")

Our apples are not keeping well this year. They are rotting; and besidesfather says we eat an awful lot of them. 

PERSEVERANCE: I will give you the recipe for dumplings you ask for. But remember it is not everyone who can make dumplings, even from therecipe. There's a knack in it. 

If the soap falls into the porridge do not tell your guests about ituntil they have finished eating it because it might take away theirappetite. 

 FELICITY KING. 

ETIQUETTE DEPARTMENT

P-r C-g:--Do not criticize people's noses unless you are sure they can'thear you, and don't criticize your best girl's great-aunt's nose in anycase. 

(FELICITY, TOSSING HER HEAD: "Oh, my! I s'pose Dan thought that wasextra smart. ")

C-y K-g:--When my most intimate friend walks with another girl andexchanges lace patterns with her, what ought I to do? Ans. Adopt adignified attitude. 

F-y K-g:--It is better not to wear your second best hat to church, butif your mother says you must it is not for me to question her decision. 

(FELICITY: "Dan just copied that word for word out of the Family Guide, except about the hat part. ")

P-r C-g:--Yes, it would be quite proper to say good evening to thefamily ghost if you met it. 

F-x K-g:--No, it is not polite to sleep with your mouth open. What'smore, it isn't safe. Something might fall into it. 

 DAN KING. 

FASHION NOTES

Crocheted watch pockets are all the rage now. If you haven't a watchthey do to carry your pencil in or a piece of gum. 

It is stylish to have hair ribbons to match your dress. But it is hardto match gray drugget. I like scarlet for that. 

It is stylish to pin a piece of ribbon on your coat the same colour asyour chum wears in her hair. Mary Martha Cowan saw them doing it in townand started us doing it here. I always wear Kitty's ribbon and Kittywears mine, but the Story Girl thinks it is silly. 

 CECILY KING. 

AN ACCOUNT OF OUR VISIT TO COUSIN MATTIE'S

We all walked over to Cousin Mattie's last week. They were all wellthere and we had a fine dinner. On our way back a snow-storm came up andwe got lost in the woods. We didn't know where we were or nothing. If wehadn't seen a light I guess we'd all have been frozen and snowed over, and they would never have found us till spring and that would be verysad. But we saw a light and made for it and it was Peg Bowen's. Somepeople think she is a witch and it's hard to tell, but she was realhospitable and took us all in. Her house was very untidy but it waswarm. She has a skull. I mean a loose skull, not her own. She lets on ittells her things, but Uncle Alec says it couldn't because it was only anIndian skull that old Dr. Beecham had and Peg stole it when he died, but Uncle Roger says he wouldn't trust himself with Peg's skull foranything. She gave us supper. It was a horrid meal. The Story Girl saysI must not tell what I found in the bread and butter because it wouldbe too disgusting to read in Our Magazine but it don't matter becausewe were all there, except Sara Ray, and know what it was. We stayed allnight and us boys slept in straw. None of us had ever slept on strawbefore. We got home in the morning. That is all I can write about ourvisit to Cousin Mattie's. 

 FELIX KING. 

MY WORST ADVENTURE

It's my turn to write it so I suppose I must. I guess my worst adventurewas two years ago when a whole lot of us were coasting on Uncle Rogershill. Charlie Cowan and Fred Marr had started, but half-way down theirsled got stuck and I run down to shove them off again. Then I stoodthere just a moment to watch them with my back to the top of the hill. While I was standing there Rob Marr started Kitty and Em Frewen off onhis sled. His sled had a wooden tongue in it and it slanted back overthe girls' heads. I was right in the way and they yelled to me to getout, but just as I heard them it struck me. The sled took me between thelegs and I was histed back over the tongue and dropped in a heap behindbefore I knew what had happened to me. I thought a tornado had struckme. The girls couldn't stop though they thought I was killed, but Robcame tearing down and helped me up. He was awful scared but I wasn'tkilled nor my back wasn't broken but my nose bled something awful andkept on bleeding for three days. Not all the time but by spells. 

 DAN KING. 

THE STORY OF HOW CARLISLE GOT ITS NAME

This is a true story to. Long ago there was a girl lived in charlottetown. I dont know her name so I cant right it and maybe it is just aswell for Felicity might think it wasnt romantik like Miss Jemima Parrs. She was awful pretty and a young englishman who had come out to make hisfortune fell in love with her and they were engaged to be married thenext spring. His name was Mr. Carlisle. In the winter he started off tohunt cariboo for a spell. Cariboos lived on the island then. There aintany here now. He got to where it is Carlisle now. It wasn't anythingthen only woods and a few indians. He got awful sick and was sick forever so long in a indian camp and only an old micmac squaw to wait onhim. Back in town they all thought he was dead and his girl felt bad fora little while and then got over it and took up with another beau. Thegirls say that wasnt romantik but I think it was sensible but if it hadbeen me that died I'd have felt bad if she forgot me so soon. But hehadnt died and when he got back to town he went right to her houseand walked in and there she was standing up to be married to the otherfellow. Poor Mr. Carlisle felt awful. He was sick and week and it wentto his head. He just turned and run and run till he got back to the oldmicmac's camp and fell in front of it. But the indians had gone becauseit was spring and it didnt matter because he really was dead this timeand people come looking for him from town and found him and buryed himthere and called the place after him. They say the girl was never happyagain and that was hard lines on her but maybe she deserved it. 

 PETER CRAIG. 

MISS ALICE READE

Miss Alice Reade is a very pretty girl. She has kind of curly blackishhair and big gray eyes and a pale face. She is tall and thin but herfigure is pretty fair and she has a nice mouth and a sweet way ofspeaking. The girls are crazy about her and talk about her all the time. 

 FELIX KING. 

BEAUTIFUL ALICE

That is what we girls call Miss Reade among ourselves. She is divinelybeautiful. Her magnificent wealth of raven hair flows back in glisteningwaves from her sun-kissed brow. (DAN: "If Felix had said she wassunburned you'd have all jumped on him. " (CECILY, COLDLY: "Sun-kisseddoesn't mean sunburned. " DAN: "What does it mean then?" CECILY, EMBARRASSED: "I--I don't know. But Miss Montague says the LadyGeraldine's brow was sun-kissed and of course an earl's daughterwouldn't be sunburned. "THE STORY GIRL: "Oh, don't interrupt the readinglike this. It spoils it. ") Her eyes are gloriously dark and deep, likemidnight lakes mirroring the stars of heaven. Her features are likesculptured marble and her mouth is a trembling, curving Cupid's bow. (PETER, ASIDE: "What kind of a thing is that?") Her creamy skin is asfair and flawless as the petals of a white lily. Her voice is like theripple of a woodland brook and her slender form is matchless in itssymmetry. (DAN: "That's Valeria's way of putting it, but Uncle Rogersays she don't show her feed much. " FELICITY: "Dan! if Uncle Roger isvulgar you needn't be!") Her hands are like a poet's dreams. She dressesso nicely and looks so stylish in her clothes. Her favourite colour isblue. Some people think she is stiff and some say she is stuck-up, butshe isn't a bit. It's just that she is different from them and theydon't like it. She is just lovely and we adore her. )

 CECILY KING. 

CHAPTER X. DISAPPEARANCE OF PADDY

As I remember, the spring came late that year in Carlisle. It was Maybefore the weather began to satisfy the grown-ups. But we children weremore easily pleased, and we thought April a splendid month because thesnow all went early and left gray, firm, frozen ground for our ramblesand games. As the days slipped by they grew more gracious; the hillsidesbegan to look as if they were thinking of mayflowers; the old orchardwas washed in a bath of tingling sunshine and the sap stirred in thebig trees; by day the sky was veiled with delicate cloud drift, fine andfilmy as woven mist; in the evenings a full, low moon looked over thevalleys, as pallid and holy as some aureoled saint; a sound of laughterand dream was on the wind and the world grew young with the mirth ofApril breezes. 

"It's so nice to be alive in the spring, " said the Story Girl onetwilight as we swung on the boughs of Uncle Stephen's walk. 

"It's nice to be alive any time, " said Felicity, complacently. 

"But it's nicer in the spring, " insisted the Story Girl. "When I'm deadI think I'll FEEL dead all the rest of the year, but when spring comesI'm sure I'll feel like getting up and being alive again. "

"You do say such queer things, " complained Felicity. "You won't bereally dead any time. You'll be in the next world. And I think it'shorrid to talk about people being dead anyhow. "

"We've all got to die, " said Sara Ray solemnly, but with a certainrelish. It was as if she enjoyed looking forward to something in whichnothing, neither an unsympathetic mother, nor the cruel fate which hadmade her a colourless little nonentity, could prevent her from being thechief performer. 

"I sometimes think, " said Cecily, rather wearily, "that it isn't sodreadful to die young as I used to suppose. "

She prefaced her remark with a slight cough, as she had been all too aptto do of late, for the remnants of the cold she had caught the night wewere lost in the storm still clung to her. 

"Don't talk such nonsense, Cecily, " cried the Story Girl with unwontedsharpness, a sharpness we all understood. All of us, in our hearts, though we never spoke of it to each other, thought Cecily was not aswell as she ought to be that spring, and we hated to hear anything saidwhich seemed in any way to touch or acknowledge the tiny, faint shadowwhich now and again showed itself dimly athwart our sunshine. 

"Well, it was you began talking of being dead, " said Felicity angrily. "I don't think it's right to talk of such things. Cecily, are you sureyour feet ain't damp? We ought to go in anyhow--it's too chilly out herefor you. "

"You girls had better go, " said Dan, "but I ain't going in till oldIsaac Frewen goes. I've no use for him. "

"I hate him, too, " said Felicity, agreeing with Dan for once in herlife. "He chews tobacco all the time and spits on the floor--the horridpig!"

"And yet his brother is an elder in the church, " said Sara Raywonderingly. 

"I know a story about Isaac Frewen, " said the Story Girl. "When he wasyoung he went by the name of Oatmeal Frewen and he got it this way. Hewas noted for doing outlandish things. He lived at Markdale then and hewas a great, overgrown, awkward fellow, six feet tall. He drove over toBaywater one Saturday to visit his uncle there and came home the nextafternoon, and although it was Sunday he brought a big bag of oatmeal inthe wagon with him. When he came to Carlisle church he saw that servicewas going on there, and he concluded to stop and go in. But he didn'tlike to leave his oatmeal outside for fear something would happen to it, because there were always mischievous boys around, so he hoisted the bagon his back and walked into church with it and right to the top of theaisle to Grandfather King's pew. Grandfather King used to say hewould never forget it to his dying day. The minister was preaching andeverything was quiet and solemn when he heard a snicker behind him. Grandfather King turned around with a terrible frown--for you know inthose days it was thought a dreadful thing to laugh in church--to rebukethe offender; and what did he see but that great, hulking young Isaacstalking up the aisle, bending a little forward under the weight of abig bag of oatmeal? Grandfather King was so amazed he couldn't laugh, but almost everyone else in the church was laughing, and grandfathersaid he never blamed them, for no funnier sight was ever seen. YoungIsaac turned into grandfather's pew and thumped the bag of oatmeal downon the seat with a thud that cracked it. Then he plumped down besideit, took off his hat, wiped his face, and settled back to listen to thesermon, just as if it was all a matter of course. When the service wasover he hoisted his bag up again, marched out of church, and drove home. He could never understand why it made so much talk; but he was known bythe name of Oatmeal Frewen for years. "

Our laughter, as we separated, rang sweetly through the old orchard andacross the far, dim meadows. Felicity and Cecily went into the houseand Sara Ray and the Story Girl went home, but Peter decoyed me into thegranary to ask advice. 

"You know Felicity has a birthday next week, " he said, "and I want towrite her an ode. "

"A--a what?" I gasped. 

"An ode, " repeated Peter, gravely. "It's poetry, you know. I'll put itin Our Magazine. "

"But you can't write poetry, Peter, " I protested. 

"I'm going to try, " said Peter stoutly. "That is, if you think she won'tbe offended at me. "

"She ought to feel flattered, " I replied. 

"You never can tell how she'll take things, " said Peter gloomily. "Ofcourse I ain't going to sign my name, and if she ain't pleased I won'ttell her I wrote it. Don't you let on. "

I promised I wouldn't and Peter went off with a light heart. He said hemeant to write two lines every day till he got it done. 

Cupid was playing his world-old tricks with others than poor Peter thatspring. Allusion has been made in these chronicles to one, Cyrus Brisk, and to the fact that our brown-haired, soft-voiced Cecily had foundfavour in the eyes of the said Cyrus. Cecily did not regard her conquestwith any pride. On the contrary, it annoyed her terribly to be teasedabout Cyrus. She declared she hated both him and his name. She was asuncivil to him as sweet Cecily could be to anyone, but the gallant Cyruswas nothing daunted. He laid determined siege to Cecily's young heart byall the methods known to love-lorn swains. He placed delicate tributesof spruce gum, molasses taffy, "conversation" candies and decoratedslate pencils on her desk; he persistently "chose" her in all schoolgames calling for a partner; he entreated to be allowed to carry herbasket from school; he offered to work her sums for her; and rumour hadit that he had made a wild statement to the effect that he meant toask if he might see her home some night from prayer meeting. Cecily wasquite frightened that he would; she confided to me that she would ratherdie than walk home with him, but that if he asked her she would be toobashful to say no. So far, however, Cyrus had not molested her out ofschool, nor had he as yet thumped Willy Fraser--who was reported to bevery low in his spirits over the whole affair. 

And now Cyrus had written Cecily a letter--a love letter, mark you. Moreover, he had sent it through the post-office, with a real stampon it. Its arrival made a sensation among us. Dan brought it from theoffice and, recognizing the handwriting of Cyrus, gave Cecily no peaceuntil she showed us the letter. It was a very sentimental and ratherill-spelled epistle in which the inflammable Cyrus reproached her inheart-rending words for her coldness, and begged her to answer hisletter, saying that if she did he would keep the secret "in violets. "Cyrus probably meant "inviolate" but Cecily thought it was intended fora poetical touch. He signed himself "your troo lover, Cyrus Brisk" andadded in a postcript that he couldn't eat or sleep for thinking of her. 

"Are you going to answer it?" asked Dan. 

"Certainly not, " said Cecily with dignity. 

"Cyrus Brisk wants to be kicked, " growled Felix, who never seemed to beany particular friend of Willy Fraser's either. "He'd better learn howto spell before he takes to writing love letters. "

"Maybe Cyrus will starve to death if you don't, " suggested Sara Ray. 

"I hope he will, " said Cecily cruelly. She was truly vexed over theletter; and yet, so contradictory a thing is the feminine heart, even attwelve years old, I think she was a little flattered by it also. It washer first love letter and she confided to me that it gives you a veryqueer feeling to get it. At all events--the letter, though unanswered, was not torn up. I feel sure Cecily preserved it. But she walked pastCyrus next morning at school with a frozen countenance, evincing not theslightest pity for his pangs of unrequited affection. Cecily winced whenPat caught a mouse, visited a school chum the day the pigs were killedthat she might not hear their squealing, and would not have stepped on acaterpillar for anything; yet she did not care at all how much she madethe brisk Cyrus suffer. 

Then, suddenly, all our spring gladness and Maytime hopes were blightedas by a killing frost. Sorrow and anxiety pervaded our days andembittered our dreams by night. Grim tragedy held sway in our lives forthe next fortnight. 

Paddy disappeared. One night he lapped his new milk as usual at UncleRoger's dairy door and then sat blandly on the flat stone before it, giving the world assurance of a cat, sleek sides glistening, plumy tailgracefully folded around his paws, brilliant eyes watching the stir andflicker of bare willow boughs in the twilight air above him. That wasthe last seen of him. In the morning he was not. 

At first we were not seriously alarmed. Paddy was no roving Thomas, but occasionally he vanished for a day or so. But when two days passedwithout his return we became anxious, the third day worried us greatly, and the fourth found us distracted. 

"Something has happened to Pat, " the Story Girl declared miserably. "Henever stayed away from home more than two days in his life. "

"What could have happened to him?" asked Felix. 

"He's been poisoned--or a dog has killed him, " answered the Story Girlin tragic tones. 

Cecily began to cry at this; but tears were of no avail. Neither wasanything else, apparently. We searched every nook and cranny of barnsand out-buildings and woods on both the King farms; we inquired far andwide; we roved over Carlisle meadows calling Paddy's name, until AuntJanet grew exasperated and declared we must stop making such exhibitionsof ourselves. But we found and heard no trace of our lost pet. The StoryGirl moped and refused to be comforted; Cecily declared she could notsleep at night for thinking of poor Paddy dying miserably in some cornerto which he had dragged his failing body, or lying somewhere mangled andtorn by a dog. We hated every dog we saw on the ground that he might bethe guilty one. 

"It's the suspense that's so hard, " sobbed the Story Girl. "If I justknew what had happened to him it wouldn't be QUITE so hard. But I don'tknow whether he's dead or alive. He may be living and suffering, andevery night I dream that he has come home and when I wake up and findit's only a dream it just breaks my heart. "

"It's ever so much worse than when he was so sick last fall, " saidCecily drearily. "Then we knew that everything was done for him thatcould be done. "

We could not appeal to Peg Bowen this time. In our desperation we wouldhave done it, but Peg was far away. With the first breath of spring shewas up and off, answering to the lure of the long road. She had notbeen seen in her accustomed haunts for many a day. Her pets were gainingtheir own living in the woods and her house was locked up. 

CHAPTER XI. THE WITCH'S WISHBONE

When a fortnight had elapsed we gave up all hope. 

"Pat is dead, " said the Story Girl hopelessly, as we returned oneevening from a bootless quest to Andrew Cowan's where a strange graycat had been reported--a cat which turned out to be a yellowish brownnondescript, with no tail to speak of. 

"I'm afraid so, " I acknowledged at last. 

"If only Peg Bowen had been at home she could have found him for us, "asserted Peter. "Her skull would have told her where he was. "

"I wonder if the wishbone she gave me would have done any good, " criedCecily suddenly. "I'd forgotten all about it. Oh, do you suppose it'stoo late yet?"

"There's nothing in a wishbone, " said Dan impatiently. 

"You can't be sure. She TOLD me I'd get the wish I made on it. I'm goingto try whenever I get home. "

"It can't do any harm, anyhow, " said Peter, "but I'm afraid you've leftit too late. If Pat is dead even a witch's wishbone can't bring him backto life. "

"I'll never forgive myself for not thinking about it before, " mournedCecily. 

As soon as we got home she flew to the little box upstairs where shekept her treasures, and brought therefrom the dry and brittle wishbone. 

"Peg told me how it must be done. I'm to hold the wishbone with bothhands, like this, and walk backward, repeating the wish nine times. Andwhen I've finished the ninth time I'm to turn around nine times, fromright to left, and then the wish will come true right away. "

"Do you expect to see Pat when you finish turning?" said Danskeptically. 

None of us had any faith in the incantation except Peter, and, byinfection, Cecily. You never could tell what might happen. Cecilytook the wishbone in her trembling little hands and began her backwardpacing, repeating solemnly, "I wish that we may find Paddy alive, orelse his body, so that we can bury him decently. " By the time Cecilyhad repeated this nine times we were all slightly infected with thedesperate hope that something might come of it; and when she hadmade her nine gyrations we looked eagerly down the sunset lane, halfexpecting to see our lost pet. But we saw only the Awkward Man turningin at the gate. This was almost as surprising as the sight of Pathimself would have been; but there was no sign of Pat and hope flickeredout in every breast but Peter's. 

"You've got to give the spell time to work, " he expostulated. "If Patwas miles away when it was wished it wouldn't be reasonable to expect tosee him right off. "

But we of little faith had already lost that little, and it was a verydisconsolate group which the Awkward Man presently joined. 

He was smiling--his rare, beautiful smile which only children eversaw--and he lifted his hat to the girls with no trace of the shyness andawkwardness for which he was notorious. 

"Good evening, " he said. "Have you little people lost a cat lately?"

We stared. Peter said "I knew it!" in a triumphant pig's whisper. TheStory Girl started eagerly forward. 

"Oh, Mr. Dale, can you tell us anything of Paddy?" she cried. 

"A silver gray cat with black points and very fine marking?"

"Yes, yes!"

"Alive?"

"Yes. "

"Well, doesn't that beat the Dutch!" muttered Dan. 

But we were all crowding about the Awkward Man, demanding where and whenhe had found Paddy. 

"You'd better come over to my place and make sure that it really is yourcat, " suggested the Awkward Man, "and I'll tell you all about findinghim on the way. I must warn you that he is pretty thin--but I thinkhe'll pull through. "

We obtained permission to go without much difficulty, although thespring evening was wearing late, for Aunt Janet said she supposed noneof us would sleep a wink that night if we didn't. A joyful processionfollowed the Awkward Man and the Story Girl across the gray, star-littenmeadows to his home and through his pine-guarded gate. 

"You know that old barn of mine back in the woods?" said the AwkwardMan. "I go to it only about once in a blue moon. There was an old barrelthere, upside down, one side resting on a block of wood. This morningI went to the barn to see about having some hay hauled home, and I hadoccasion to move the barrel. I noticed that it seemed to have beenmoved slightly since my last visit, and it was now resting wholly on thefloor. I lifted it up--and there was a cat lying on the floor under it. I had heard you had lost yours and I took it this was your pet. I wasafraid he was dead at first. He was lying there with his eyes closed;but when I bent over him he opened them and gave a pitiful little mew;or rather his mouth made the motion of a mew, for he was too weak toutter a sound. "

"Oh, poor, poor Paddy, " said tender-hearted Cecily tearfully. 

"He couldn't stand, so I carried him home and gave him just a littlemilk. Fortunately he was able to lap it. I gave him a little more atintervals all day, and when I left he was able to crawl around. I thinkhe'll be all right, but you'll have to be careful how you feed him for afew days. Don't let your hearts run away with your judgment and kill himwith kindness. "

"Do you suppose any one put him under that barrel?" asked the StoryGirl. 

"No. The barn was locked. Nothing but a cat could get in. I supposehe went under the barrel, perhaps in pursuit of a mouse, and somehowknocked it off the block and so imprisoned himself. "

Paddy was sitting before the fire in the Awkward Man's clean, barekitchen. Thin! Why, he was literally skin and bone, and his fur was dulland lustreless. It almost broke our hearts to see our beautiful Paddybrought so low. 

"Oh, how he must have suffered!" moaned Cecily. 

"He'll be as prosperous as ever in a week or two, " said the Awkward Mankindly. 

The Story Girl gathered Paddy up in her arms. Most mellifluously did hepurr as we crowded around to stroke him; with friendly joy he licked ourhands with his little red tongue; poor Paddy was a thankful cat; he wasno longer lost, starving, imprisoned, helpless; he was with his comradesonce more and he was going home--home to his old familiar haunts oforchard and dairy and granary, to his daily rations of new milk andcream, to the cosy corner of his own fireside. We trooped home joyfully, the Story Girl in our midst carrying Paddy hugged against her shoulder. Never did April stars look down on a happier band of travellers on thegolden road. There was a little gray wind out in the meadows thatnight, and it danced along beside us on viewless, fairy feet, and sanga delicate song of the lovely, waiting years, while the night laid herbeautiful hands of blessing over the world. 

"You see what Peg's wishbone did, " said Peter triumphantly. 

"Now, look here, Peter, don't talk nonsense, " expostulated Dan. "TheAwkward Man found Paddy this morning and had started to bring us wordbefore Cecily ever thought of the wishbone. Do you mean to say youbelieve he wouldn't have come walking up our lane just when he did ifshe had never thought of it?"

"I mean to say that I wouldn't mind if I had several wishbones of thesame kind, " retorted Peter stubbornly. 

"Of course I don't think the wishbone had really anything to do withour getting Paddy back, but I'm glad I tried it, for all that, " remarkedCecily in a tone of satisfaction. 

"Well, anyhow, we've got Pat and that's the main thing, " said Felix. 

"And I hope it will be a lesson to him to stay home after this, "commented Felicity. 

"They say the barrens are full of mayflowers, " said the Story Girl. "Letus have a mayflower picnic tomorrow to celebrate Paddy's safe return. "

CHAPTER XII. FLOWERS O' MAY

Accordingly we went a-maying, following the lure of dancing winds to acertain westward sloping hill lying under the spirit-like blue of springskies, feathered over with lisping young pines and firs, which cuppedlittle hollows and corners where the sunshine got in and never got outagain, but stayed there and grew mellow, coaxing dear things to bloomlong before they would dream of waking up elsewhere. 

'Twas there we found our mayflowers, after faithful seeking. Mayflowers, you must know, never flaunt themselves; they must be sought asbecomes them, and then they will yield up their treasures to theseeker--clusters of star-white and dawn-pink that have in them the verysoul of all the springs that ever were, re-incarnated in something itseems gross to call perfume, so exquisite and spiritual is it. 

We wandered gaily over the hill, calling to each other with laughterand jest, getting parted and delightfully lost in that little pathlesswilderness, and finding each other unexpectedly in nooks and dips andsunny silences, where the wind purred and gentled and went softly. Whenthe sun began to hang low, sending great fan-like streamers of radianceup to the zenith, we foregathered in a tiny, sequestered valley, fullof young green fern, lying in the shadow of a wooded hill. In it was ashallow pool--a glimmering green sheet of water on whose banks nymphsmight dance as blithely as ever they did on Argive hill or in Cretandale. There we sat and stripped the faded leaves and stems from ourspoil, making up the blossoms into bouquets to fill our baskets withsweetness. The Story Girl twisted a spray of divinest pink in her browncurls, and told us an old legend of a beautiful Indian maiden who diedof a broken heart when the first snows of winter were falling, becauseshe believed her long-absent lover was false. But he came back in thespring time from his long captivity; and when he heard that she was deadhe sought her grave to mourn her, and lo, under the dead leaves of theold year he found sweet sprays of a blossom never seen before, andknew that it was a message of love and remembrance from his dark-eyedsweet-heart. 

"Except in stories Indian girls are called squaws, " remarked practicalDan, tying his mayflowers together in one huge, solid, cabbage-likebunch. Not for Dan the bother of filling his basket with the loosesprays, mingled with feathery elephant's-ears and trails of creepingspruce, as the rest of us, following the Story Girl's example, did. Norwould he admit that ours looked any better than his. 

"I like things of one kind together. I don't like them mixed, " he said. 

"You have no taste, " said Felicity. 

"Except in my mouth, best beloved, " responded Dan. 

"You do think you are so smart, " retorted Felicity, flushing with anger. 

"Don't quarrel this lovely day, " implored Cecily. 

"Nobody's quarrelling, Sis. I ain't a bit mad. It's Felicity. What onearth is that at the bottom of your basket, Cecily?"

"It's a History of the Reformation in France, " confessed poor Cecily, "by a man named D-a-u-b-i-g-n-y. I can't pronounce it. I heard Mr. Marwood saying it was a book everyone ought to read, so I began itlast Sunday. I brought it along today to read when I got tired pickingflowers. I'd ever so much rather have brought Ester Reid. There's somuch in the history I can't understand, and it is so dreadful to read ofpeople being burned to death. But I felt I OUGHT to read it. "

"Do you really think your mind has improved any?" asked Sara Rayseriously, wreathing the handle of her basket with creeping spruce. 

"No, I'm afraid it hasn't one bit, " answered Cecily sadly. "I feel thatI haven't succeeded very well in keeping my resolutions. "

"I've kept mine, " said Felicity complacently. 

"It's easy to keep just one, " retorted Cecily, rather resentfully. 

"It's not so easy to think beautiful thoughts, " answered Felicity. 

"It's the easiest thing in the world, " said the Story Girl, tiptoeing tothe edge of the pool to peep at her own arch reflection, as some nymphleft over from the golden age might do. "Beautiful thoughts just crowdinto your mind at times. "

"Oh, yes, AT TIMES. But that's different from thinking one REGULARLY ata given hour. And mother is always calling up the stairs for me to hurryup and get dressed, and it's VERY hard sometimes. "

"That's so, " conceded the Story Girl. "There ARE times when I can'tthink anything but gray thoughts. Then, other days, I think pink andblue and gold and purple and rainbow thoughts all the time. "

"The idea! As if thoughts were coloured, " giggled Felicity. 

"Oh, they are!" cried the Story Girl. "Why, I can always SEE the colourof any thought I think. Can't you?"

"I never heard of such a thing, " declared Felicity, "and I don't believeit. I believe you are just making that up. "

"Indeed I'm not. Why, I always supposed everyone thought in colours. Itmust be very tiresome if you don't. "

"When you think of me what colour is it?" asked Peter curiously. 

"Yellow, " answered the Story Girl promptly. "And Cecily is a sweet pink, like those mayflowers, and Sara Ray is very pale blue, and Dan is redand Felix is yellow, like Peter, and Bev is striped. "

"What colour am I?" asked Felicity, amid the laughter at my expense. 

"You're--you're like a rainbow, " answered the Story Girl ratherreluctantly. She had to be honest, but she would rather not havecomplimented Felicity. "And you needn't laugh at Bev. His stripes arebeautiful. It isn't HE that is striped. It's just the THOUGHT of him. Peg Bowen is a queer sort of yellowish green and the Awkward Man islilac. Aunt Olivia is pansy-purple mixed with gold, and Uncle Roger isnavy blue. "

"I never heard such nonsense, " declared Felicity. The rest of us wererather inclined to agree with her for once. We thought the Story Girlwas making fun of us. But I believe she really had a strange gift ofthinking in colours. In later years, when we were grown up, she toldme of it again. She said that everything had colour in her thought; themonths of the year ran through all the tints of the spectrum, the daysof the week were arrayed as Solomon in his glory, morning was golden, noon orange, evening crystal blue, and night violet. Every idea came toher mind robed in its own especial hue. Perhaps that was why her voiceand words had such a charm, conveying to the listeners' perception suchfine shadings of meaning and tint and music. 

"Well, let's go and have something to eat, " suggested Dan. "What colouris eating, Sara?"

"Golden brown, just the colour of a molasses cooky, " laughed the StoryGirl. 

We sat on the ferny bank of the pool and ate of the generous basket AuntJanet had provided, with appetites sharpened by the keen spring air andour wilderness rovings. Felicity had made some very nice sandwiches ofham which we all appreciated except Dan, who declared he didn't likethings minced up and dug out of the basket a chunk of boiled pork whichhe proceeded to saw up with a jack-knife and devour with gusto. 

"I told ma to put this in for me. There's some CHEW to it, " he said. 

"You are not a bit refined, " commented Felicity. 

"Not a morsel, my love, " grinned Dan. 

"You make me think of a story I heard Uncle Roger telling about CousinAnnetta King, " said the Story Girl. "Great-uncle Jeremiah King used tolive where Uncle Roger lives now, when Grandfather King was alive andUncle Roger was a boy. In those days it was thought rather coarse for ayoung lady to have too hearty an appetite, and she was more admired ifshe was delicate about what she ate. Cousin Annetta set out to be veryrefined indeed. She pretended to have no appetite at all. One afternoonshe was invited to tea at Grandfather King's when they had some specialcompany--people from Charlottetown. Cousin Annetta said she could hardlyeat anything. 'You know, Uncle Abraham, ' she said, in a very affected, fine-young-lady voice, 'I really hardly eat enough to keep a bird alive. Mother says she wonders how I continue to exist. ' And she picked andpecked until Grandfather King declared he would like to throw somethingat her. After tea Cousin Annetta went home, and just about darkGrandfather King went over to Uncle Jeremiah's on an errand. As hepassed the open, lighted pantry window he happened to glance in, andwhat do you think he saw? Delicate Cousin Annetta standing at thedresser, with a big loaf of bread beside her and a big platterful ofcold, boiled pork in front of her; and Annetta was hacking off greatchunks, like Dan there, and gobbling them down as if she was starving. Grandfather King couldn't resist the temptation. He stepped up to thewindow and said, 'I'm glad your appetite has come back to you, Annetta. Your mother needn't worry about your continuing to exist as long as youcan tuck away fat, salt pork in that fashion. '

"Cousin Annetta never forgave him, but she never pretended to bedelicate again. "

"The Jews don't believe in eating pork, " said Peter. 

"I'm glad I'm not a Jew and I guess Cousin Annetta was too, " said Dan. 

"I like bacon, but I can never look at a pig without wondering if theywere ever intended to be eaten, " remarked Cecily naively. 

When we finished our lunch the barrens were already wrapping themselvesin a dim, blue dusk and falling upon rest in dell and dingle. But outin the open there was still much light of a fine emerald-golden sort andthe robins whistled us home in it. "Horns of Elfland" never sounded moresweetly around hoary castle and ruined fane than those vesper callsof the robins from the twilight spruce woods and across green pastureslying under the pale radiance of a young moon. 

When we reached home we found that Miss Reade had been up to the hillfarm on an errand and was just leaving. The Story Girl went for a walkwith her and came back with an important expression on her face. 

"You look as if you had a story to tell, " said Felix. 

"One is growing. It isn't a whole story yet, " answered the Story Girlmysteriously. 

"What is it?" asked Cecily. 

"I can't tell you till it's fully grown, " said the Story Girl. "ButI'll tell you a pretty little story the Awkward Man told us--toldme--tonight. He was walking in his garden as we went by, looking at histulip beds. His tulips are up ever so much higher than ours, and I askedhim how he managed to coax them along so early. And he said HE didn't doit--it was all the work of the pixies who lived in the woods acrossthe brook. There were more pixy babies than usual this spring, and themothers were in a hurry for the cradles. The tulips are the pixy babies'cradles, it seems. The mother pixies come out of the woods at twilightand rock their tiny little brown babies to sleep in the tulip cups. Thatis the reason why tulip blooms last so much longer than other blossoms. The pixy babies must have a cradle until they are grown up. They growvery fast, you see, and the Awkward Man says on a spring evening, whenthe tulips are out, you can hear the sweetest, softest, clearest, fairymusic in his garden, and it is the pixy folk singing as they rock thepixy babies to sleep. "

"Then the Awkward Man says what isn't true, " said Felicity severely. 

CHAPTER XIII. A SURPRISING ANNOUNCEMENT

"Nothing exciting has happened for ever so long, " said the Story Girldiscontentedly, one late May evening, as we lingered under the wonderfulwhite bloom of the cherry trees. There was a long row of them in theorchard, with a Lombardy poplar at either end, and a hedge of lilacsbehind. When the wind blew over them all the spicy breezes of Ceylon'sisle were never sweeter. 

It was a time of wonder and marvel, of the soft touch of silver rain ongreening fields, of the incredible delicacy of young leaves, of blossomin field and garden and wood. The whole world bloomed in a flush andtremor of maiden loveliness, instinct with all the evasive, fleetingcharm of spring and girlhood and young morning. We felt and enjoyed itall without understanding or analyzing it. It was enough to be glad andyoung with spring on the golden road. 

"I don't like excitement very much, " said Cecily. "It makes one sotired. I'm sure it was exciting enough when Paddy was missing, but wedidn't find that very pleasant. "

"No, but it was interesting, " returned the Story Girl thoughtfully. "After all, I believe I'd rather be miserable than dull. "

"I wouldn't then, " said Felicity decidedly. "And you need never be dullwhen you have work to do. 'Satan finds some mischief still for idlehands to do!'"

"Well, mischief is interesting, " laughed the Story Girl. "And I thoughtyou didn't think it lady-like to speak of that person, Felicity?"

"It's all right if you call him by his polite name, " said Felicitystiffly. 

"Why does the Lombardy poplar hold its branches straight up in theair like that, when all the other poplars hold theirs out or hang themdown?" interjected Peter, who had been gazing intently at the slenderspire showing darkly against the fine blue eastern sky. 

"Because it grows that way, " said Felicity. 

"Oh I know a story about that, " cried the Story Girl. "Once upon a timean old man found the pot of gold at the rainbow's end. There IS a potthere, it is said, but it is very hard to find because you can never getto the rainbow's end before it vanishes from your sight. But this oldman found it, just at sunset, when Iris, the guardian of the rainbowgold, happened to be absent. As he was a long way from home, and the potwas very big and heavy, he decided to hide it until morning and then getone of his sons to go with him and help him carry it. So he hid it underthe boughs of the sleeping poplar tree. 

"When Iris came back she missed the pot of gold and of course she was ina sad way about it. She sent Mercury, the messenger of the gods, tolook for it, for she didn't dare leave the rainbow again, lest somebodyshould run off with that too. Mercury asked all the trees if they hadseen the pot of gold, and the elm, oak and pine pointed to the poplarand said, "'The poplar can tell you where it is. '

"'How can I tell you where it is?' cried the poplar, and she held up allher branches in surprise, just as we hold up our hands--and down tumbledthe pot of gold. The poplar was amazed and indignant, for she was a veryhonest tree. She stretched her boughs high above her head and declaredthat she would always hold them like that, so that nobody could hidestolen gold under them again. And she taught all the little poplars sheknew to stand the same way, and that is why Lombardy poplars always do. But the aspen poplar leaves are always shaking, even on the very calmestday. And do you know why?"

And then she told us the old legend that the cross on which the Saviourof the world suffered was made of aspen poplar wood and so never againcould its poor, shaken, shivering leaves know rest or peace. There wasan aspen in the orchard, the very embodiment of youth and spring in itslitheness and symmetry. Its little leaves were hanging tremulously, notyet so fully blown as to hide its development of bough and twig, makingpoetry against the spiritual tints of a spring sunset. 

"It does look sad, " said Peter, "but it is a pretty tree, and it wasn'tits fault. "

"There's a heavy dew and it's time we stopped talking nonsense and wentin, " decreed Felicity. "If we don't we'll all have a cold, and thenwe'll be miserable enough, but it won't be very exciting. "

"All the same, I wish something exciting would happen, " finished theStory Girl, as we walked up through the orchard, peopled with itsnun-like shadows. 

"There's a new moon tonight, so may be you'll get your wish, " saidPeter. "My Aunt Jane didn't believe there was anything in the moonbusiness, but you never can tell. "

The Story Girl did get her wish. Something happened the very next day. She joined us in the afternoon with a quite indescribable expressionon her face, compounded of triumph, anticipation, and regret. Hereyes betrayed that she had been crying, but in them shone a chastenedexultation. Whatever the Story Girl mourned over it was evident she wasnot without hope. 

"I have some news to tell you, " she said importantly. "Can you guesswhat it is?"

We couldn't and wouldn't try. 

"Tell us right off, " implored Felix. "You look as if it was somethingtremendous. "

"So it is. Listen--Aunt Olivia is going to be married. "

We stared in blank amazement. Peg Bowen's hint had faded from our mindsand we had never put much faith in it. 

"Aunt Olivia! I don't believe it, " cried Felicity flatly. "Who toldyou?"

"Aunt Olivia herself. So it is perfectly true. I'm awfully sorry in oneway--but oh, won't it be splendid to have a real wedding in the family?She's going to have a big wedding--and I am to be bridesmaid. "

"I shouldn't think you were old enough to be a bridesmaid, " saidFelicity sharply. 

"I'm nearly fifteen. Anyway, Aunt Olivia says I have to be. "

"Who's she going to marry?" asked Cecily, gathering herself togetherafter the shock, and finding that the world was going on just the same. 

"His name is Dr. Seton and he is a Halifax man. She met him when shewas at Uncle Edward's last summer. They've been engaged ever since. Thewedding is to be the third week in June. "

"And our school concert comes off the next week, " complained Felicity. "Why do things always come together like that? And what are you going todo if Aunt Olivia is going away?"

"I'm coming to live at your house, " answered the Story Girl rathertimidly. She did not know how Felicity might like that. But Felicitytook it rather well. 

"You've been here most of the time anyhow, so it'll just be that you'llsleep and eat here, too. But what's to become of Uncle Roger?"

"Aunt Olivia says he'll have to get married, too. But Uncle Roger sayshe'd rather hire a housekeeper than marry one, because in the first casehe could turn her off if he didn't like her, but in the second case hecouldn't. "

"There'll be a lot of cooking to do for the wedding, " reflected Felicityin a tone of satisfaction. 

"I s'pose Aunt Olivia will want some rusks made. I hope she has plentyof tooth-powder laid in, " said Dan. 

"It's a pity you don't use some of that tooth-powder you're so fond oftalking about yourself, " retorted Felicity. "When anyone has a mouth thesize of yours the teeth show so plain. "

"I brush my teeth every Sunday, " asseverated Dan. 

"Every Sunday! You ought to brush them every DAY. "

"Did anyone ever hear such nonsense?" demanded Dan sincerely. 

"Well, you know, it really does say so in the Family Guide, " said Cecilyquietly. 

"Then the Family Guide people must have lots more spare time than Ihave, " retorted Dan contemptuously. 

"Just think, the Story Girl will have her name in the papers if she'sbridesmaid, " marvelled Sara Ray. 

"In the Halifax papers, too, " added Felix, "since Dr. Seton is a Halifaxman. What is his first name?"

"Robert. "

"And will we have to call him Uncle Robert?"

"Not until he's married to her. Then we will, of course. "

"I hope your Aunt Olivia won't disappear before the ceremony, " remarkedSara Ray, who was surreptitiously reading "The Vanquished Bride, " byValeria H. Montague in the Family Guide. 

"I hope Dr. Seton won't fail to show up, like your cousin Rachel Ward'sbeau, " said Peter. 

"That makes me think of another story I read the other day aboutGreat-uncle Andrew King and Aunt Georgina, " laughed the Story Girl. "Ithappened eighty years ago. It was a very stormy winter and the roadswere bad. Uncle Andrew lived in Carlisle, and Aunt Georgina--she wasMiss Georgina Matheson then--lived away up west, so he couldn't get tosee her very often. They agreed to be married that winter, but Georginacouldn't set the day exactly because her brother, who lived in Ontario, was coming home for a visit, and she wanted to be married while he washome. So it was arranged that she was to write Uncle Andrew and tell himwhat day to come. She did, and she told him to come on a Tuesday. Buther writing wasn't very good and poor Uncle Andrew thought she wroteThursday. So on Thursday he drove all the way to Georgina's home to bemarried. It was forty miles and a bitter cold day. But it wasn't anycolder than the reception he got from Georgina. She was out in theporch, with her head tied up in a towel, picking geese. She had beenall ready Tuesday, and her friends and the minister were there, and thewedding supper prepared. But there was no bridegroom and Georgina wasfurious. Nothing Uncle Andrew could say would appease her. She wouldn'tlisten to a word of explanation, but told him to go, and never show hisnose there again. So poor Uncle Andrew had to go ruefully home, hopingthat she would relent later on, because he was really very much in lovewith her. "

"And did she?" queried Felicity. 

"She did. Thirteen years exactly from that day they were married. Ittook her just that long to forgive him. "

"It took her just that long to find out she couldn't get anybody else, "said Dan, cynically. 

CHAPTER XIV. A PRODIGAL RETURNS

Aunt Olivia and the Story Girl lived in a whirlwind of dressmaking afterthat, and enjoyed it hugely. Cecily and Felicity also had to havenew dresses for the great event, and they talked of little else for afortnight. Cecily declared that she hated to go to sleep because shewas sure to dream that she was at Aunt Olivia's wedding in her old fadedgingham dress and a ragged apron. 

"And no shoes or stockings, " she added, "and I can't move, and everyonewalks past and looks at my feet. "

"That's only in a dream, " mourned Sara Ray, "but I may have to wear mylast summer's white dress to the wedding. It's too short, but ma saysit's plenty good for this summer. I'll be so mortified if I have to wearit. "

"I'd rather not go at all than wear a dress that wasn't nice, " saidFelicity pleasantly. 

"I'd go to the wedding if I had to go in my school dress, " cried SaraRay. "I've never been to anything. I wouldn't miss it for the world. "

"My Aunt Jane always said that if you were neat and tidy it didn'tmatter whether you were dressed fine or not, " said Peter. 

"I'm sick and tired of hearing about your Aunt Jane, " said Felicitycrossly. 

Peter looked grieved but held his peace. Felicity was very hard on himthat spring, but his loyalty never wavered. Everything she said or didwas right in Peter's eyes. 

"It's all very well to be neat and tidy, " said Sara Ray, "but I like alittle style too. "

"I think you'll find your mother will get you a new dress after all, "comforted Cecily. "Anyway, nobody will notice you because everyone willbe looking at the bride. Aunt Olivia will make a lovely bride. Justthink how sweet she'll look in a white silk dress and a floating veil. "

"She says she is going to have the ceremony performed out here inthe orchard under her own tree, " said the Story Girl. "Won't that beromantic? It almost makes me feel like getting married myself. "

"What a way to talk, " rebuked Felicity, "and you only fifteen. "

"Lots of people have been married at fifteen, " laughed the Story Girl. "Lady Jane Gray was. "

"But you are always saying that Valeria H. Montague's stories are sillyand not true to life, so that is no argument, " retorted Felicity, whoknew more about cooking than about history, and evidently imagined thatthe Lady Jane Gray was one of Valeria's titled heroines. 

The wedding was a perennial source of conversation among us in thosedays; but presently its interest palled for a time in the light ofanother quite tremendous happening. One Saturday night Peter's mothercalled to take him home with her for Sunday. She had been working at Mr. James Frewen's, and Mr. Frewen was driving her home. We had never seenPeter's mother before, and we looked at her with discreet curiosity. Shewas a plump, black-eyed little woman, neat as a pin, but with a rathertired and care-worn face that looked as if it should have been rosy andjolly. Life had been a hard battle for her, and I rather think that hercurly-headed little lad was all that had kept heart and spirit in her. Peter went home with her and returned Sunday evening. We were in theorchard sitting around the Pulpit Stone, where we had, according to thecustom of the households of King, been learning our golden texts andmemory verses for the next Sunday School lesson. Paddy, grown sleek andhandsome again, was sitting on the stone itself, washing his jowls. 

Peter joined us with a very queer expression on his face. He seemedbursting with some news which he wanted to tell and yet hardly liked to. 

"Why are you looking so mysterious, Peter?" demanded the Story Girl. 

"What do you think has happened?" asked Peter solemnly. 

"What has?"

"My father has come home, " answered Peter. 

The announcement produced all the sensation he could have wished. Wecrowded around him in excitement. 

"Peter! When did he come back?"

"Saturday night. He was there when ma and I got home. It give her anawful turn. I didn't know him at first, of course. "

"Peter Craig, I believe you are glad your father has come back, " criedthe Story Girl. 

"'Course I'm glad, " retorted Peter. 

"And after you saying you didn't want ever to see him again, " saidFelicity. 

"You just wait. You haven't heard my story yet. I wouldn't have beenglad to see father if he'd come back the same as he went away. But he isa changed man. He happened to go into a revival meeting one night thisspring and he got converted. And he's come home to stay, and he sayshe's never going to drink another drop, but he's going to look after hisfamily. Ma isn't to do any more washing for nobody but him and me, andI'm not to be a hired boy any longer. He says I can stay with your UncleRoger till the fall 'cause I promised I would, but after that I'm tostay home and go to school right along and learn to be whatever I'd liketo be. I tell you it made me feel queer. Everything seemed to be upset. But he gave ma forty dollars--every cent he had--so I guess he really isconverted. "

"I hope it will last, I'm sure, " said Felicity. She did not say itnastily, however. We were all glad for Peter's sake, though a littledizzy over the unexpectedness of it all. 

"This is what I'D like to know, " said Peter. "How did Peg Bowen know myfather was coming home? Don't you tell me she isn't a witch after that. "

"And she knew about your Aunt Olivia's wedding, too, " added Sara Ray. 

"Oh, well, she likely heard that from some one. Grown up folks talkthings over long before they tell them to children, " said Cecily. 

"Well, she couldn't have heard father was coming home from any one, "answered Peter. "He was converted up in Maine, where nobody knew him, and he never told a soul he was coming till he got here. No, you canbelieve what you like, but I'm satisfied at last that Peg is a witch andthat skull of hers does tell her things. She told me father was cominghome and he come!"

"How happy you must be, " sighed Sara Ray romantically. "It's just likethat story in the Family Guide, where the missing earl comes home to hisfamily just as the Countess and Lady Violetta are going to be turned outby the cruel heir. "

Felicity sniffed. 

"There's some difference, I guess. The earl had been imprisoned foryears in a loathsome dungeon. "

Perhaps Peter's father had too, if we but realized it--imprisoned in thedungeon of his own evil appetites and habits, than which none couldbe more loathsome. But a Power, mightier than the forces of evil, hadstruck off his fetters and led him back to his long-forfeited libertyand light. And no countess or lady of high degree could have welcomed along-lost earl home more joyfully than the tired little washerwoman hadwelcomed the erring husband of her youth. 

But in Peter's ointment of joy there was a fly or two. So very, very fewthings are flawless in this world, even on the golden road. 

"Of course I'm awful glad that father has come back and that ma won'thave to wash any more, " he said with a sigh, "but there are two thingsthat kind of worry me. My Aunt Jane always said that it didn't do anygood to worry, and I s'pose it don't, but it's kind of a relief. "

"What's worrying you?" asked Felix. 

"Well, for one thing I'll feel awful bad to go away from you all. I'llmiss you just dreadful, and I won't even be able to go to the sameschool. I'll have to go to Markdale school. "

"But you must come and see us often, " said Felicity graciously. "Markdale isn't so far away, and you could spend every other Saturdayafternoon with us anyway. "

Peter's black eyes filled with adoring gratitude. 

"That's so kind of you, Felicity. I'll come as often as I can, ofcourse; but it won't be the same as being around with you all the time. The other thing is even worse. You see, it was a Methodist revivalfather got converted in, and so of course he joined the Methodistchurch. He wasn't anything before. He used to say he was a Nothingarianand lived up to it--kind of bragging like. But he's a strong Methodistnow, and is going to go to Markdale Methodist church and pay to thesalary. Now what'll he say when I tell him I'm a Presbyterian?"

"You haven't told him, yet?" asked the Story Girl. 

"No, I didn't dare. I was scared he'd say I'd have to be a Methodist. "

"Well, Methodists are pretty near as good as Presbyterians, " saidFelicity, with the air of one making a great concession. 

"I guess they're every bit as good, " retorted Peter. "But that ain't thepoint. I've got to be a Presbyterian, 'cause I stick to a thing when Ionce decide it. But I expect father will be mad when he finds out. "

"If he's converted he oughtn't to get mad, " said Dan. 

"Well, lots o' people do. But if he isn't mad he'll be sorry, andthat'll be even worse, for a Presbyterian I'm bound to be. But I expectit will make things unpleasant. "

"You needn't tell him anything about it, " advised Felicity. "Just keepquiet and go to the Methodist church until you get big, and then you cango where you please. "

"No, that wouldn't be honest, " said Peter sturdily. "My Aunt Janealways said it was best to be open and above board in everything, andespecially in religion. So I'll tell father right out, but I'll wait afew weeks so as not to spoil things for ma too soon if he acts up. "

Peter was not the only one who had secret cares. Sara Ray was beginningto feel worried over her looks. I heard her and Cecily talking overtheir troubles one evening while I was weeding the onion bed and theywere behind the hedge knitting lace. I did not mean to eavesdrop. I supposed they knew I was there until Cecily overwhelmed me withindignation later on. 

"I'm so afraid, Cecily, that I'm going to be homely all my life, " saidpoor Sara with a tremble in her voice. "You can stand being ugly whenyou are young if you have any hope of being better looking when you growup. But I'm getting worse. Aunt Mary says I'm going to be the veryimage of Aunt Matilda. And Aunt Matilda is as homely as she can be. Itisn't"--and poor Sara sighed--"a very cheerful prospect. If I am uglynobody will ever want to marry me, and, " concluded Sara candidly, "Idon't want to be an old maid. "

"But plenty of girls get married who aren't a bit pretty, " comfortedCecily. "Besides, you are real nice looking at times, Sara. I think youare going to have a nice figure. "

"But just look at my hands, " moaned Sara. "They're simply covered withwarts. "

"Oh, the warts will all disappear before you grow up, " said Cecily. 

"But they won't disappear before the school concert. How am I to getup there and recite? You know there is one line in my recitation, 'Shewaved her lily-white hand, ' and I have to wave mine when I say it. Fancywaving a lily-white hand all covered with warts. I've tried every remedyI ever heard of, but nothing does any good. Judy Pineau said if I rubbedthem with toad-spit it would take them away for sure. But how am I toget any toad-spit?"

"It doesn't sound like a very nice remedy, anyhow, " shuddered Cecily. "I'd rather have the warts. But do you know, I believe if you didn't cryso much over every little thing, you'd be ever so much better looking. Crying spoils your eyes and makes the end of your nose red. "

"I can't help crying, " protested Sara. "My feelings are so verysensitive. I've given up trying to keep THAT resolution. "

"Well, men don't like cry-babies, " said Cecily sagely. Cecily had a gooddeal of Mother Eve's wisdom tucked away in that smooth, brown head ofhers. 

"Cecily, do you ever intend to be married?" asked Sara in a confidentialtone. 

"Goodness!" cried Cecily, quite shocked. "It will be time enough when Igrow up to think of that, Sara. "

"I should think you'd have to think of it now, with Cyrus Brisk as crazyafter you as he is. "

"I wish Cyrus Brisk was at the bottom of the Red Sea, " exclaimed Cecily, goaded into a spurt of temper by mention of the detested name. 

"What has Cyrus been doing now?" asked Felicity, coming around thecorner of the hedge. 

"Doing NOW! It's ALL the time. He just worries me to death, " returnedCecily angrily. "He keeps writing me letters and putting them in my deskor in my reader. I never answer one of them, but he keeps on. And in thelast one, mind you, he said he'd do something desperate right off if Iwouldn't promise to marry him when we grew up. "

"Just think, Cecily, you've had a proposal already, " said Sara Ray in anawe-struck tone. 

"But he hasn't done anything desperate yet, and that was last week, "commented Felicity, with a toss of her head. 

"He sent me a lock of his hair and wanted one of mine in exchange, "continued Cecily indignantly. "I tell you I sent his back to him prettyquick. "

"Did you never answer any of his letters?" asked Sara Ray. 

"No, indeed! I guess not!"

"Do you know, " said Felicity, "I believe if you wrote him just once andtold him your exact opinion of him in good plain English it would curehim of his nonsense. "

"I couldn't do that. I haven't enough spunk, " confessed Cecily with ablush. "But I'll tell you what I did do once. He wrote me a long letterlast week. It was just awfully SOFT, and every other word was spelledwrong. He even spelled baking soda, 'bacon soda!'"

"What on earth had he to say about baking soda in a love-letter?" askedFelicity. 

"Oh, he said his mother sent him to the store for some and he forgot itbecause he was thinking about me. Well, I just took his letter and wrotein all the words, spelled right, above the wrong ones, in red ink, justas Mr. Perkins makes us do with our dictation exercises, and sent itback to him. I thought maybe he'd feel insulted and stop writing to me. "

"And did he?"

"No, he didn't. It is my opinion you can't insult Cyrus Brisk. He is toothick-skinned. He wrote another letter, and thanked me for correctinghis mistakes, and said it made him feel glad because it showed I wasbeginning to take an interest in him when I wanted him to spell better. Did you ever? Miss Marwood says it is wrong to hate anyone, but I don'tcare, I hate Cyrus Brisk. "

"Mrs. Cyrus Brisk WOULD be an awful name, " giggled Felicity. 

"Flossie Brisk says Cyrus is ruining all the trees on his father's placecutting your name on them, " said Sara Ray. "His father told him he wouldwhip him if he didn't stop, but Cyrus keeps right on. He told Flossie itrelieved his feelings. Flossie says he cut yours and his together on thebirch tree in front of the parlour window, and a row of hearts aroundthem. "

"Just where every visitor can see them, I suppose, " lamented Cecily. "Hejust worries my life out. And what I mind most of all is, he sits andlooks at me in school with such melancholy, reproachful eyes when heought to be working sums. I won't look at him, but I FEEL him staring atme, and it makes me so nervous. "

"They say his mother was out of her mind at one time, " said Felicity. 

I do not think Felicity was quite well pleased that Cyrus should havepassed over her rose-red prettiness to set his affections on that demureelf of a Cecily. She did not want the allegiance of Cyrus in the least, but it was something of a slight that he had not wanted her to want it. 

"And he sends me pieces of poetry he cuts out of the papers, " Cecilywent on, "with lots of the lines marked with a lead pencil. Yesterday heput one in his letter, and this is what he marked:

 "'If you will not relent to me Then must I learn to know Darkness alone till life be flown. 

Here--I have the piece in my sewing-bag--I'll read it all to you. "

Those three graceless girls read the sentimental rhyme and giggled overit. Poor Cyrus! His young affections were sadly misplaced. But afterall, though Cecily never relented towards him, he did not condemnhimself to darkness alone till life was flown. Quite early in life hewedded a stout, rosy, buxom lass, the very antithesis of his first love;he prospered in his undertakings, raised a large and respectable family, and was eventually appointed a Justice of the Peace. Which was all verysensible of Cyrus. 

CHAPTER XV. THE RAPE OF THE LOCK

June was crowded full of interest that year. We gathered in withits sheaf of fragrant days the choicest harvest of childhood. Thingshappened right along. Cecily declared she hated to go to sleep for fearshe might miss something. There were so many dear delights along thegolden road to give us pleasure--the earth dappled with new blossom, the dance of shadows in the fields, the rustling, rain-wet ways of thewoods, the faint fragrance in meadow lanes, liltings of birds and croonof bees in the old orchard, windy pipings on the hills, sunset behindthe pines, limpid dews filling primrose cups, crescent moons throughdarklings boughs, soft nights alight with blinking stars. We enjoyedall these boons, unthinkingly and light-heartedly, as children do. Andbesides these, there was the absorbing little drama of human lifewhich was being enacted all around us, and in which each of us playeda satisfying part--the gay preparations for Aunt Olivia's mid-Junewedding, the excitement of practising for the concert with which ourschool-teacher, Mr. Perkins, had elected to close the school year, andCecily's troubles with Cyrus Brisk, which furnished unholy mirth for therest of us, though Cecily could not see the funny side of it at all. 

Matters went from bad to worse in the case of the irrepressible Cyrus. He continued to shower Cecily with notes, the spelling of which showedno improvement; he worried the life out of her by constantly threateningto fight Willy Fraser--although, as Felicity sarcastically pointed out, he never did it. 

"But I'm always afraid he will, " said Cecily, "and it would be such aDISGRACE to have two boys fighting over me in school. "

"You must have encouraged Cyrus a little in the beginning or he'd neverhave been so persevering, " said Felicity unjustly. 

"I never did!" cried outraged Cecily. "You know very well, FelicityKing, that I hated Cyrus Brisk ever since the very first time I saw hisbig, fat, red face. So there!"

"Felicity is just jealous because Cyrus didn't take a notion to herinstead of you, Sis, " said Dan. 

"Talk sense!" snapped Felicity. 

"If I did you wouldn't understand me, sweet little sister, " rejoinedaggravating Dan. 

Finally Cyrus crowned his iniquities by stealing the denied lock ofCecily's hair. One sunny afternoon in school, Cecily and Kitty Marrasked and received permission to sit out on the side bench beforethe open window, where the cool breeze swept in from the green fieldsbeyond. To sit on this bench was always considered a treat, and was onlyallowed as a reward of merit; but Cecily and Kitty had another reasonfor wishing to sit there. Kitty had read in a magazine that sun-bathswere good for the hair; so both she and Cecily tossed their long braidsover the window-sill and let them hang there in the broiling sun-shine. And while Cecily sat thus, diligently working a fraction sum on herslate, that base Cyrus asked permission to go out, having previouslyborrowed a pair of scissors from one of the big girls who did fancy workat the noon recess. Outside, Cyrus sneaked up close to the window andcut off a piece of Cecily's hair. 

This rape of the lock did not produce quite such terrible consequencesas the more famous one in Pope's poem, but Cecily's soul was no lessagitated than Belinda's. She cried all the way home from school aboutit, and only checked her tears when Dan declared he'd fight Cyrus andmake him give it up. 

"Oh, no, You mustn't. " said Cecily, struggling with her sobs. "I won'thave you fighting on my account for anything. And besides, he'd likelylick you--he's so big and rough. And the folks at home might find outall about it, and Uncle Roger would never give me any peace, and motherwould be cross, for she'd never believe it wasn't my fault. It wouldn'tbe so bad if he'd only taken a little, but he cut a great big chunkright off the end of one of the braids. Just look at it. I'll have tocut the other to make them fair--and they'll look so awful stubby. "

But Cyrus' acquirement of the chunk of hair was his last triumph. His downfall was near; and, although it involved Cecily in a mosthumiliating experience, over which she cried half the following night, in the end she confessed it was worth undergoing just to get rid ofCyrus. 

Mr. Perkins was an exceedingly strict disciplinarian. No communicationof any sort was permitted between his pupils during school hours. Anyonecaught violating this rule was promptly punished by the infliction ofone of the weird penances for which Mr. Perkins was famous, and whichwere generally far worse than ordinary whipping. 

One day in school Cyrus sent a letter across to Cecily. Usually he lefthis effusions in her desk, or between the leaves of her books; but thistime it was passed over to her under cover of the desk through the handsof two or three scholars. Just as Em Frewen held it over the aisle Mr. Perkins wheeled around from his station before the blackboard and caughther in the act. 

"Bring that here, Emmeline, " he commanded. 

Cyrus turned quite pale. Em carried the note to Mr. Perkins. He took it, held it up, and scrutinized the address. 

"Did you write this to Cecily, Emmeline?" he asked. 

"No, sir. "

"Who wrote it then?"

Em said quite shamelessly that she didn't know--it had just been passedover from the next row. 

"And I suppose you have no idea where it came from?" said Mr. Perkins, with his frightful, sardonic grin. "Well, perhaps Cecily can tell us. You may take your seat, Emmeline, and you will remain at the foot ofyour spelling class for a week as punishment for passing the note. Cecily, come here. "

Indignant Em sat down and poor, innocent Cecily was haled forth topublic ignominy. She went with a crimson face. 

"Cecily, " said her tormentor, "do you know who wrote this letter toyou?"

Cecily, like a certain renowned personage, could not tell a lie. 

"I--I think so, sir, " she murmured faintly. 

"Who was it?"

"I can't tell you that, " stammered Cecily, on the verge of tears. 

"Ah!" said Mr. Perkins politely. "Well, I suppose I could easily findout by opening it. But it is very impolite to open other people'sletters. I think I have a better plan. Since you refuse to tell me whowrote it, open it yourself, take this chalk, and copy the contents onthe blackboard that we may all enjoy them. And sign the writer's name atthe bottom. "

"Oh, " gasped Cecily, choosing the lesser of two evils, "I'll tell youwho wrote it--it was--

"Hush!" Mr. Perkins checked her with a gentle motion of his hand. Hewas always most gentle when most inexorable. "You did not obey me whenI first ordered you to tell me the writer. You cannot have the privilegeof doing so now. Open the note, take the chalk, and do as I commandyou. "

Worms will turn, and even meek, mild, obedient little souls like Cecilymay be goaded to the point of wild, sheer rebellion. 

"I--I won't!" she cried passionately. 

Mr. Perkins, martinet though he was, would hardly, I think, haveinflicted such a punishment on Cecily, who was a favourite of his, hadhe known the real nature of that luckless missive. But, as he afterwardsadmitted, he thought it was merely a note from some other girl, of suchtrifling sort as school-girls are wont to write; and moreover, he hadalready committed himself to the decree, which, like those of Mede andPersian, must not alter. To let Cecily off, after her mad defiance, would be to establish a revolutionary precedent. 

"So you really think you won't?" he queried smilingly. "Well, on secondthoughts, you may take your choice. Either you will do as I have biddenyou, or you will sit for three days with"--Mr. Perkins' eye skimmed overthe school-room to find a boy who was sitting alone--"with Cyrus Brisk. "

This choice of Mr. Perkins, who knew nothing of the little drama ofemotions that went on under the routine of lessons and exercises in hisdomain, was purely accidental, but we took it at the time as a stroke ofdiabolical genius. It left Cecily no choice. She would have done almostanything before she would have sat with Cyrus Brisk. With flashingeyes she tore open the letter, snatched up the chalk, and dashed at theblackboard. 

In a few minutes the contents of that letter graced the expanse usuallysacred to more prosaic compositions. I cannot reproduce it verbatim, forI had no after opportunity of refreshing my memory. But I remember thatit was exceedingly sentimental and exceedingly ill-spelled--for Cecilymercilessly copied down poor Cyrus' mistakes. He wrote her that he woreher hare over his hart--"and he stole it, " Cecily threw passionatelyover her shoulder at Mr. Perkins--that her eyes were so sweet and lovelythat he couldn't find words nice enuf to describ them, that he couldnever forget how butiful she had looked in prar meeting the eveningbefore, and that some meels he couldn't eat for thinking of her, withmore to the same effect and he signed it "yours till deth us do part, Cyrus Brisk. "

As the writing proceeded we scholars exploded into smothered laughter, despite our awe of Mr. Perkins. Mr. Perkins himself could not keep astraight face. He turned abruptly away and looked out of the window, but we could see his shoulders shaking. When Cecily had finished andhad thrown down the chalk with bitter vehemence, he turned around with avery red face. 

"That will do. You may sit down. Cyrus, since it seems you are theguilty person, take the eraser and wipe that off the board. Then gostand in the corner, facing the room, and hold your arms straight aboveyour head until I tell you to take them down. "

Cyrus obeyed and Cecily fled to her seat and wept, nor did Mr. Perkinsmeddle with her more that day. She bore her burden of humiliationbitterly for several days, until she was suddenly comforted by arealization that Cyrus had ceased to persecute her. He wrote no moreletters, he gazed no longer in rapt adoration, he brought no more votiveofferings of gum and pencils to her shrine. At first we thought he hadbeen cured by the unmerciful chaffing he had to undergo from his mates, but eventually his sister told Cecily the true reason. Cyrus had at lastbeen driven to believe that Cecily's aversion to him was real, and notmerely the defence of maiden coyness. If she hated him so intensely thatshe would rather write that note on the blackboard than sit with him, what use was it to sigh like a furnace longer for her? Mr. Perkins hadblighted love's young dream for Cyrus with a killing frost. Thenceforthsweet Cecily kept the noiseless tenor of her way unvexed by theattentions of enamoured swains. 

CHAPTER XVI. AUNT UNA'S STORY

Felicity, and Cecily, Dan, Felix, Sara Ray and I were sitting oneevening on the mossy stones in Uncle Roger's hill pasture, where we hadsat the morning the Story Girl told us the tale of the Wedding Veil ofthe Proud Princess. But it was evening now and the valley beneath us wasbrimmed up with the glow of the afterlight. Behind us, two tall, shapelyspruce trees rose up against the sunset, and through the dark oriel oftheir sundered branches an evening star looked down. We sat on a littlestrip of emerald grassland and before us was a sloping meadow all whitewith daisies. 

We were waiting for Peter and the Story Girl. Peter had gone to Markdaleafter dinner to spend the afternoon with his reunited parents becauseit was his birthday. He had left us grimly determined to confess to hisfather the dark secret of his Presbyterianism, and we were anxious toknow what the result had been. The Story Girl had gone that morningwith Miss Reade to visit the latter's home near Charlottetown, and weexpected soon to see her coming gaily along over the fields from theArmstrong place. 

Presently Peter came jauntily stepping along the field path up the hill. 

"Hasn't Peter got tall?" said Cecily. 

"Peter is growing to be a very fine looking boy, " decreed Felicity. 

"I notice he's got ever so much handsomer since his father came home, "said Dan, with a killing sarcasm that was wholly lost on Felicity, whogravely responded that she supposed it was because Peter felt so muchfreer from care and responsibility. 

"What luck, Peter?" yelled Dan, as soon as Peter was within earshot. 

"Everything's all right, " he shouted jubilantly. "I told father rightoff, licketty-split, as soon as I got home, " he added when he reachedus. "I was anxious to have it over with. I says, solemn-like, 'Dad, there's something I've got to tell you, and I don't know how you'll takeit, but it can't be helped, ' I says. Dad looked pretty sober, and hesays, says he, 'What have you been up to, Peter? Don't be afraid to tellme. I've been forgiven to seventy times seven, so surely I can forgive alittle, too?' 'Well, ' I says, desperate-like, 'the truth is, father, I'ma Presbyterian. I made up my mind last summer, the time of the JudgmentDay, that I'd be a Presbyterian, and I've got to stick to it. I'm sorryI can't be a Methodist, like you and mother and Aunt Jane, but I can'tand that's all there is to it, ' I says. Then I waited, scared-like. Butfather, he just looked relieved and he says, says he, 'Goodness, boy, you can be a Presbyterian or anything else you like, so long as it'sProtestant. I'm not caring, ' he says. 'The main thing is that you mustbe good and do what's right. ' I tell you, " concluded Peter emphatically, "father is a Christian all right. "

"Well, I suppose your mind will be at rest now, " said Felicity. "What'sthat you have in your buttonhole?"

"That's a four-leaved clover, " answered Peter exultantly. "That meansgood luck for the summer. I found it in Markdale. There ain't muchclover in Carlisle this year of any kind of leaf. The crop is going tobe a failure. Your Uncle Roger says it's because there ain't enoughold maids in Carlisle. There's lots of them in Markdale, and that's thereason, he says, why they always have such good clover crops there. "

"What on earth have old maids to do with it?" cried Cecily. 

"I don't believe they've a single thing to do with it, but Mr. Rogersays they have, and he says a man called Darwin proved it. This is therigmarole he got off to me the other day. The clover crop depends onthere being plenty of bumble-bees, because they are the only insectswith tongues long enough to--to--fer--fertilize--I think he called itthe blossoms. But mice eat bumble-bees and cats eat mice and old maidskeep cats. So your Uncle Roger says the more old maids the more cats, and the more cats the fewer field-mice, and the fewer field-mice themore bumble-bees, and the more bumble-bees the better clover crops. "

"So don't worry if you do get to be old maids, girls, " said Dan. "Remember, you'll be helping the clover crops. "

"I never heard such stuff as you boys talk, " said Felicity, "and UncleRoger is no better. "

"There comes the Story Girl, " cried Cecily eagerly. "Now we'll hear allabout Beautiful Alice's home. "

The Story Girl was bombarded with eager questions as soon as shearrived. Miss Reade's home was a dream of a place, it appeared. Thehouse was just covered with ivy and there was a most delightful oldgarden--"and, " added the Story Girl, with the joy of a connoisseur whohas found a rare gem, "the sweetest little story connected with it. AndI saw the hero of the story too. "

"Where was the heroine?" queried Cecily. 

"She is dead. "

"Oh, of course she'd have to die, " exclaimed Dan in disgust. "I'd like astory where somebody lived once in awhile. "

"I've told you heaps of stories where people lived, " retorted the StoryGirl. "If this heroine hadn't died there wouldn't have been any story. She was Miss Reade's aunt and her name was Una, and I believe she musthave been just like Miss Reade herself. Miss Reade told me all abouther. When we went into the garden I saw in one corner of it an old stonebench arched over by a couple of pear trees and all grown about withgrass and violets. And an old man was sitting on it--a bent old man withlong, snow-white hair and beautiful sad blue eyes. He seemed very lonelyand sorrowful and I wondered that Miss Reade didn't speak to him. Butshe never let on she saw him and took me away to another part of thegarden. After awhile he got up and went away and then Miss Reade said, 'Come over to Aunt Una's seat and I will tell you about her and herlover--that man who has just gone out. '

"'Oh, isn't he too old for a lover?' I said. 

"Beautiful Alice laughed and said it was forty years since he had beenher Aunt Una's lover. He had been a tall, handsome young man then, andher Aunt Una was a beautiful girl of nineteen. 

"We went over and sat down and Miss Reade told me all about her. Shesaid that when she was a child she had heard much of her Aunt Una--thatshe seemed to have been one of those people who are not soon forgotten, whose personality seems to linger about the scenes of their lives longafter they have passed away. "

"What is a personality? Is it another word for ghost?" asked Peter. 

"No, " said the Story Girl shortly. "I can't stop in a story to explainwords. "

"I don't believe you know what it is yourself, " said Felicity. 

The Story Girl picked up her hat, which she had thrown down on thegrass, and placed it defiantly on her brown curls. 

"I'm going in, " she announced. "I have to help Aunt Olivia ice a caketonight, and you all seem more interested in dictionaries than stories. "

"That's not fair, " I exclaimed. "Dan and Felix and Sara Ray and Cecilyand I have never said a word. It's mean to punish us for what Peter andFelicity did. We want to hear the rest of the story. Never mind what apersonality is but go on--and, Peter, you young ass, keep still. "

"I only wanted to know, " muttered Peter sulkily. 

"I DO know what personality is, but it's hard to explain, " said theStory Girl, relenting. "It's what makes you different from Dan, Peter, and me different from Felicity or Cecily. Miss Reade's Aunt Una had apersonality that was very uncommon. And she was beautiful, too, withwhite skin and night-black eyes and hair--a 'moonlight beauty, ' MissReade called it. She used to keep a kind of a diary, and Miss Reade'smother used to read parts of it to her. She wrote verses in it and theywere lovely; and she wrote descriptions of the old garden which sheloved very much. Miss Reade said that everything in the garden, plotor shrub or tree, recalled to her mind some phrase or verse of herAunt Una's, so that the whole place seemed full of her, and her memoryhaunted the walks like a faint, sweet perfume. 

"Una had, as I've told you, a lover; and they were to have been marriedon her twentieth birthday. Her wedding dress was to have been a gown ofwhite brocade with purple violets in it. But a little while before itshe took ill with fever and died; and she was buried on her birthdayinstead of being married. It was just in the time of opening roses. Herlover has been faithful to her ever since; he has never married, andevery June, on her birthday, he makes a pilgrimage to the old garden andsits for a long time in silence on the bench where he used to woo heron crimson eves and moonlight nights of long ago. Miss Reade says shealways loves to see him sitting there because it gives her such a deepand lasting sense of the beauty and strength of love which can thusoutlive time and death. And sometimes, she says, it gives her a littleeerie feeling, too, as if her Aunt Una were really sitting there besidehim, keeping tryst, although she has been in her grave for forty years. "

"It would be real romantic to die young and have your lover make apilgrimage to your garden every year, " reflected Sara Ray. 

"It would be more comfortable to go on living and get married to him, "said Felicity. "Mother says all those sentimental ideas are bosh and Iexpect they are. It's a wonder Beautiful Alice hasn't a beau herself. She is so pretty and lady-like. "

"The Carlisle fellows all say she is too stuck up, " said Dan. 

"There's nobody in Carlisle half good enough for her, " cried the StoryGirl, "except--ex-cept--"

"Except who?" asked Felix. 

"Never mind, " said the Story Girl mysteriously. 

CHAPTER XVII. AUNT OLIVIA'S WEDDING

What a delightful, old-fashioned, wholesome excitement there was aboutAunt Olivia's wedding! The Monday and Tuesday preceding it we did not goto school at all, but were all kept home to do chores and run errands. The cooking and decorating and arranging that went on those two dayswas amazing, and Felicity was so happy over it all that she did not evenquarrel with Dan--though she narrowly escaped it when he told her thatthe Governor's wife was coming to the wedding. 

"Mind you have some of her favourite rusks for her, " he said. 

"I guess, " said Felicity with dignity, "that Aunt Olivia's weddingsupper will be good enough for even a Governor's wife. "

"I s'pose none of us except the Story Girl will get to the first table, "said Felix, rather gloomily. 

"Never mind, " comforted Felicity. "There's a whole turkey to be kept forus, and a freezerful of ice cream. Cecily and I are going to wait on thetables, and we'll put away a little of everything that's extra nice forour suppers. "

"I do so want to have my supper with you, " sighed Sara Ray, "but Is'pose ma will drag me with her wherever she goes. She won't trust meout of her sight a minute the whole evening--I know she won't. "

"I'll get Aunt Olivia to ask her to let you have your supper with us, "said Cecily. "She can't refuse the bride's request. "

"You don't know all ma can do, " returned Sara darkly. "No, I feel thatI'll have to eat my supper with her. But I suppose I ought to be verythankful I'm to get to the wedding at all, and that ma did get me anew white dress for it. Even yet I'm so scared something will happen toprevent me from getting to it. "

Monday evening shrouded itself in clouds, and all night long the voiceof the wind answered to the voice of the rain. Tuesday the downpourcontinued. We were quite frantic about it. Suppose it kept on rainingover Wednesday! Aunt Olivia couldn't be married in the orchard then. That would be too bad, especially when the late apple tree had mostobligingly kept its store of blossom until after all the other trees hadfaded and then burst lavishly into bloom for Aunt Olivia's wedding. Thatapple tree was always very late in blooming, and this year it was a weeklater than usual. It was a sight to see--a great tree-pyramid with high, far-spreading boughs, over which a wealth of rosy snow seemed to havebeen flung. Never had bride a more magnificent canopy. 

To our rapture, however, it cleared up beautifully Tuesday evening, and the sun, before setting in purple pomp, poured a flood of wonderfulradiance over the whole great, green, diamond-dripping world, promisinga fair morrow. Uncle Alec drove off to the station through it to bringhome the bridegroom and his best man. Dan was full of a wild idea thatwe should all meet them at the gate, armed with cowbells and tin-pans, and "charivari" them up the lane. Peter sided with him, but the rest ofus voted down the suggestion. 

"Do you want Dr. Seton to think we are a pack of wild Indians?" askedFelicity severely. "A nice opinion he'd have of our manners!"

"Well, it's the only chance we'll have to chivaree them, " grumbled Dan. "Aunt Olivia wouldn't mind. SHE can take a joke. "

"Ma would kill you if you did such a thing, " warned Felicity. "Dr. Setonlives in Halifax and they NEVER chivaree people there. He would think itvery vulgar. "

"Then he should have stayed in Halifax and got married there, " retortedDan, sulkily. 

We were very curious to see our uncle-elect. When he came and UncleAlec took him into the parlour, we were all crowded into the dark cornerbehind the stairs to peep at him. Then we fled to the moonlight worldoutside and discussed him at the dairy. 

"He's bald, " said Cecily disappointedly. 

"And RATHER short and stout, " said Felicity. 

"He's forty, if he's a day, " said Dan. 

"Never you mind, " cried the Story Girl loyally, "Aunt Olivia loves himwith all her heart. "

"And more than that, he's got lots of money, " added Felicity. 

"Well, he may be all right, " said Peter, "but it's my opinion that yourAunt Olivia could have done just as well on the Island. "

"YOUR opinion doesn't matter very much to our family, " said Felicitycrushingly. 

But when we made the acquaintance of Dr. Seton next morning we liked himenormously, and voted him a jolly good fellow. Even Peter remarked asideto me that he guessed Miss Olivia hadn't made much of a mistake afterall, though it was plain he thought she was running a risk in notsticking to the Island. The girls had not much time to discuss him withus. They were all exceedingly busy and whisked about at such a ratethat they seemed to possess the power of being in half a dozen placesat once. The importance of Felicity was quite terrible. But after dinnercame a lull. 

"Thank goodness, everything is ready at last, " breathed Felicitydevoutly, as we foregathered for a brief space in the fir wood. "We'venothing more to do now but get dressed. It's really a serious thing tohave a wedding in the family. "

"I have a note from Sara Ray, " said Cecily. "Judy Pineau brought it upwhen she brought Mrs. Ray's spoons. Just let me read it to you:--

 DEAREST CECILY:--A DREADFUL MISFORTUNE has happened to me. Last night I went with Judy to water the cows and in the spruce bush we found a WASPS' NEST and Judy thought it was AN OLD ONE and she POKED IT WITH A STICK. And it was a NEW ONE, full of wasps, and they all flew out and STUNG US TERRIBLY, on the face and hands. My face is all swelled up and I can HARDLY SEE out of one eye. The SUFFERING was awful but I didn't mind that as much as being scared ma wouldn't take me to the wedding. But she says I can go and I'm going. I know that I am a HARD-LOOKING SIGHT, but it isn't anything catching. I am writing this so that you won't get a shock when you see me. Isn't it SO STRANGE to think your dear Aunt Olivia is going away? How you will miss her! But your loss will be her gain. 

 "'Au revoir, "'Your loving chum, SARA RAY. '"

"That poor child, " said the Story Girl. 

"Well, all I hope is that strangers won't take her for one of thefamily, " remarked Felicity in a disgusted tone. 

Aunt Olivia was married at five o'clock in the orchard under the lateapple tree. It was a pretty scene. The air was full of the perfume ofapple bloom, and the bees blundered foolishly and delightfully from oneblossom to another, half drunken with perfume. The old orchard was fullof smiling guests in wedding garments. Aunt Olivia was most beautifulamid the frost of her bridal veil, and the Story Girl, in an unusuallylong white dress, with her brown curls clubbed up behind, looked so talland grown-up that we hardly recognized her. After the ceremony--duringwhich Sara Ray cried all the time--there was a royal wedding supper, andSara Ray was permitted to eat her share of the feast with us. 

"I'm glad I was stung by the wasps after all, " she said delightedly. "If I hadn't been ma would never have let me eat with you. She just gottired explaining to people what was the matter with my face, and soshe was glad to get rid of me. I know I look awful, but, oh, wasn't thebride a dream?"

We missed the Story Girl, who, of course, had to have her supper atthe bridal table; but we were a hilarious little crew and the girls hadnobly kept their promise to save tid-bits for us. By the time the lasttable was cleared away Aunt Olivia and our new uncle were ready to go. There was an orgy of tears and leavetakings, and then they drove awayinto the odorous moonlight night. Dan and Peter pursued them down thelane with a fiendish din of bells and pans, much to Felicity's wrath. But Aunt Olivia and Uncle Robert took it in good part and waved theirhands back to us with peals of laughter. 

"They're just that pleased with themselves that they wouldn't mind ifthere was an earthquake, " said Felix, grinning. 

"It's been splendid and exciting, and everything went off well, " sighedCecily, "but, oh dear, it's going to be so queer and lonesome withoutAunt Olivia. I just believe I'll cry all night. "

"You're tired to death, that's what's the matter with you, " said Dan, returning. "You girls have worked like slaves today. "

"Tomorrow will be even harder, " said Felicity comfortingly. "Everythingwill have to be cleaned up and put away. "

Peg Bowen paid us a call the next day and was regaled with a feast offat things left over from the supper. 

"Well, I've had all I can eat, " she said, when she had finished andbrought out her pipe. "And that doesn't happen to me every day. Thereain't been as much marrying as there used to be, and half the time theyjust sneak off to the minister, as if they were ashamed of it, and getmarried without any wedding or supper. That ain't the King way, though. And so Olivia's gone off at last. She weren't in any hurry but they tellme she's done well. Time'll show. "

"Why don't you get married yourself, Peg?" queried Uncle Rogerteasingly. We held our breath over his temerity. 

"Because I'm not so easy to please as your wife will be, " retorted Peg. 

She departed in high good humour over her repartee. Meeting Sara Rayon the doorstep she stopped and asked her what was the matter with herface. 

"Wasps, " stammered Sara Ray, laconic from terror. 

"Humph! And your hands?"

"Warts. "

"I'll tell you what'll take them away. You get a pertater and go outunder the full moon, cut the pertater in two, rub your warts with onehalf and say, 'One, two, three, warts, go away from me. ' Then rubthem with the other half and say, 'One, two, three, four, warts, nevertrouble me more. ' Then bury the pertater and never tell a living soulwhere you buried it. You won't have no more warts. Mind you bury thepertater, though. If you don't, and anyone picks it up, she'll get yourwarts. "

CHAPTER XVIII. SARA RAY HELPS OUT

We all missed Aunt Olivia greatly; she had been so merry andcompanionable, and had possessed such a knack of understanding smallfry. But youth quickly adapts itself to changed conditions; in a fewweeks it seemed as if the Story Girl had always been living at UncleAlec's, and as if Uncle Roger had always had a fat, jolly housekeeperwith a double chin and little, twinkling blue eyes. I don't think AuntJanet ever quite got over missing Aunt Olivia, or looked upon Mrs. Hawkins as anything but a necessary evil; but life resumed its eventenor on the King farm, broken only by the ripples of excitement overthe school concert and letters from Aunt Olivia describing her tripthrough the land of Evangeline. We incorporated the letters in OurMagazine under the heading "From Our Special Correspondent" and werevery proud of them. 

At the end of June our school concert came off and was a great eventin our young lives. It was the first appearance of most of us on anyplatform, and some of us were very nervous. We all had recitations, except Dan, who had refused flatly to take any part and was consequentlycare-free. 

"I'm sure I shall die when I find myself up on that platform, facingpeople, " sighed Sara Ray, as we talked the affair over in UncleStephen's Walk the night before the concert. 

"I'm afraid I'll faint, " was Cecily's more moderate foreboding. 

"I'm not one single bit nervous, " said Felicity complacently. 

"I'm not nervous this time, " said the Story Girl, "but the first time Irecited I was. "

"My Aunt Jane, " remarked Peter, "used to say that an old teacher of herstold her that when she was going to recite or speak in public she mustjust get it firmly into her mind that it was only a lot of cabbage headsshe had before her, and she wouldn't be nervous. "

"One mightn't be nervous, but I don't think there would be muchinspiration in reciting to cabbage heads, " said the Story Girldecidedly. "I want to recite to PEOPLE, and see them looking interestedand thrilled. "

"If I can only get through my piece without breaking down I don't carewhether I thrill people or not, " said Sara Ray. 

"I'm afraid I'll forget mine and get stuck, " foreboded Felix. "Some ofyou fellows be sure and prompt me if I do--and do it quick, so's I won'tget worse rattled. "

"I know one thing, " said Cecily resolutely, "and that is, I'm goingto curl my hair for to-morrow night. I've never curled it since Peteralmost died, but I simply must tomorrow night, for all the other girlsare going to have theirs in curls. "

"The dew and heat will take all the curl out of yours and then you'lllook like a scarecrow, " warned Felicity. 

"No, I won't. I'm going to put my hair up in paper tonight and wet itwith a curling-fluid that Judy Pineau uses. Sara brought me up a bottleof it. Judy says it is great stuff--your hair will keep in curl fordays, no matter how damp the weather is. I'll leave my hair in thepapers till tomorrow evening, and then I'll have beautiful curls. "

"You'd better leave your hair alone, " said Dan gruffly. "Smooth hair isbetter than a lot of fly-away curls. "

But Cecily was not to be persuaded. Curls she craved and curls she meantto have. 

"I'm thankful my warts have all gone, any-way, " said Sara Ray. 

"So they have, " exclaimed Felicity. "Did you try Peg's recipe?"

"Yes. I didn't believe in it but I tried it. For the first few daysafterwards I kept watching my warts, but they didn't go away, and thenI gave up and forgot them. But one day last week I just happened to lookat my hands and there wasn't a wart to be seen. It was the most amazingthing. "

"And yet you'll say Peg Bowen isn't a witch, " said Peter. 

"Pshaw, it was just the potato juice, " scoffed Dan. 

"It was a dry old potato I had, and there wasn't much juice in it, "said Sara Ray. "One hardly knows what to believe. But one thing iscertain--my warts are gone. "

Cecily put her hair up in curl-papers that night, thoroughly soaked inJudy Pineau's curling-fluid. It was a nasty job, for the fluid was verysticky, but Cecily persevered and got it done. Then she went to bed witha towel tied over her head to protect the pillow. She did not sleepwell and had uncanny dreams, but she came down to breakfast with anexpression of triumph. The Story Girl examined her head critically andsaid, "Cecily, if I were you I'd take those papers out this morning. "

"Oh, no; if I do my hair will be straight again by night. I mean toleave them in till the last minute. "

"I wouldn't do that--I really wouldn't, " persisted the Story Girl. "Ifyou do your hair will be too curly and all bushy and fuzzy. "

Cecily finally yielded and went upstairs with the Story Girl. Presentlywe heard a little shriek--then two little shrieks--then three. ThenFelicity came flying down and called her mother. Aunt Janet went up andpresently came down again with a grim mouth. She filled a large pan withwarm water and carried it upstairs. We dared ask her no questions, butwhen Felicity came down to wash the dishes we bombarded her. 

"What on earth is the matter with Cecily?" demanded Dan. "Is she sick?"

"No, she isn't. I warned her not to put her hair in curls but shewouldn't listen to me. I guess she wishes she had now. When peoplehaven't natural curly hair they shouldn't try to make it curly. They getpunished if they do. "

"Look here, Felicity, never mind all that. Just tell us what hashappened Sis. "

"Well, this is what has happened her. That ninny of a Sara Ray broughtup a bottle of mucilage instead of Judy's curling-fluid, and Cecily puther hair up with THAT. It's in an awful state. "

"Good gracious!" exclaimed Dan. "Look here, will she ever get it out?"

"Goodness knows. She's got her head in soak now. Her hair is just mattedtogether hard as a board. That's what comes of vanity, " said Felicity, than whom no vainer girl existed. 

Poor Cecily paid dearly enough for HER vanity. She spent a bad forenoon, made no easier by her mother's severe rebukes. For an hour she "soaked"her head; that is, she stood over a panful of warm water and keptdipping her head in with tightly shut eyes. Finally her hair softenedsufficiently to be disentangled from the curl papers; and then AuntJanet subjected it to a merciless shampoo. Eventually they got all themucilage washed out of it and Cecily spent the remainder of the forenoonsitting before the open oven door in the hot kitchen drying her ill-usedtresses. She felt very down-hearted; her hair was of that order which, glossy and smooth normally, is dry and harsh and lustreless for severaldays after being shampooed. 

"I'll look like a fright tonight, " said the poor child to me withtrembling voice. "The ends will be sticking out all over my head. "

"Sara Ray is a perfect idiot, " I said wrathfully

"Oh, don't be hard on poor Sara. She didn't mean to bring me mucilage. It's really all my own fault, I know. I made a solemn vow when Peter wasdying that I would never curl my hair again, and I should have kept it. It isn't right to break solemn vows. But my hair will look like driedhay tonight. "

Poor Sara Ray was quite overwhelmed when she came up and found whatshe had done. Felicity was very hard on her, and Aunt Janet was coldlydisapproving, but sweet Cecily forgave her unreservedly, and they walkedto the school that night with their arms about each other's waists asusual. 

The school-room was crowded with friends and neighbours. Mr. Perkins wasflying about, getting things into readiness, and Miss Reade, who wasthe organist of the evening, was sitting on the platform, looking hersweetest and prettiest. She wore a delightful white lace hat with afetching little wreath of tiny forget-me-nots around the brim, a whitemuslin dress with sprays of blue violets scattered over it, and a blacklace scarf. 

"Doesn't she look angelic?" said Cecily rapturously. 

"Mind you, " said Sara Ray, "the Awkward Man is here--in the cornerbehind the door. I never remember seeing him at a concert before. "

"I suppose he came to hear the Story Girl recite, " said Felicity. "He issuch a friend of hers. "

The concert went off very well. Dialogues, choruses and recitationsfollowed each other in rapid succession. Felix got through his without"getting stuck, " and Peter did excellently, though he stuffed his handsin his trousers pockets--a habit of which Mr. Perkins had vainly triedto break him. Peter's recitation was one greatly in vogue at that time, beginning, "My name is Norval; on the Grampian hills My father feeds his flocks. "

At our first practice Peter had started gaily in, rushing through thefirst line with no thought whatever of punctuation--"My name is Norvalon the Grampian Hills. "

"Stop, stop, Peter, " quoth Mr. Perkins, sarcastically, "your name mightbe Norval if you were never on the Grampian Hills. There's a semi-colonin that line, I wish you to remember. "

Peter did remember it. Cecily neither fainted nor failed when it cameher turn. She recited her little piece very well, though somewhatmechanically. I think she really did much better than if she had had herdesired curls. The miserable conviction that her hair, alone amongthat glossy-tressed bevy, was looking badly, quite blotted out allnervousness and self-consciousness from her mind. Her hair apart, shelooked very pretty. The prevailing excitement had made bright her eyeand flushed her cheeks rosily--too rosily, perhaps. I heard a Carlislewoman behind me whisper that Cecily King looked consumptive, just likeher Aunt Felicity; and I hated her fiercely for it. 

Sara Ray also managed to get through respectably, although she waspitiably nervous. Her bow was naught but a short nod--"as if her headworked on wires, " whispered Felicity uncharitably--and the wave of herlily-white hand more nearly resembled an agonized jerk than a wave. Weall felt relieved when she finished. She was, in a sense, one of "ourcrowd, " and we had been afraid she would disgrace us by breaking down. 

Felicity followed her and recited her selection without haste, withoutrest, and absolutely without any expression whatever. But what matteredit how she recited? To look at her was sufficient. What with hersplendid fleece of golden curls, her great, brilliant blue eyes, herexquisitely tinted face, her dimpled hands and arms, every member of theaudience must have felt it was worth the ten cents he had paid merely tosee her. 

The Story Girl followed. An expectant silence fell over the room, andMr. Perkins' face lost the look of tense anxiety it had worn all theevening. Here was a performer who could be depended on. No need tofear stage fright or forgetfulness on her part. The Story Girl was notlooking her best that night. White never became her, and her facewas pale, though her eyes were splendid. But nobody thought about herappearance when the power and magic of her voice caught and held herlisteners spellbound. 

Her recitation was an old one, figuring in one of the School Readers, and we scholars all knew it off by heart. Sara Ray alone had not heardthe Story Girl recite it. The latter had not been drilled at practicesas had the other pupils, Mr. Perkins choosing not to waste time teachingher what she already knew far better than he did. The only time she hadrecited it had been at the "dress rehearsal" two nights before, at whichSara Ray had not been present. 

In the poem a Florentine lady of old time, wedded to a cold and cruelhusband, had died, or was supposed to have died, and had been carried to"the rich, the beautiful, the dreadful tomb" of her proud family. Inthe night she wakened from her trance and made her escape. Chilled andterrified, she had made her way to her husband's door, only to be drivenaway brutally as a restless ghost by the horror-stricken inmates. Asimilar reception awaited her at her father's. Then she had wanderedblindly through the streets of Florence until she had fallen exhaustedat the door of the lover of her girlhood. He, unafraid, had taken herin and cared for her. On the morrow, the husband and father, havingdiscovered the empty tomb, came to claim her. She refused to return tothem and the case was carried to the court of law. The verdict given wasthat a woman who had been "to burial borne" and left for dead, who hadbeen driven from her husband's door and from her childhood home, "mustbe adjudged as dead in law and fact, " was no more daughter or wife, butwas set free to form what new ties she would. The climax of the wholeselection came in the line, "The court pronounces the defendant--DEAD!" and the Story Girl was wontto render it with such dramatic intensity and power that the veriestdullard among her listeners could not have missed its force andsignificance. 

She swept along through the poem royally, playing on the emotions of heraudience as she had so often played on ours in the old orchard. Pity, terror, indignation, suspense, possessed her hearers in turn. Inthe court scene she surpassed herself. She was, in very truth, theFlorentine judge, stern, stately, impassive. Her voice dropped into thesolemnity of the all-important line, "'The court pronounces the defendant--'"

She paused for a breathless moment, the better to bring out the tragicimport of the last word. 

"DEAD, " piped up Sara Ray in her shrill, plaintive little voice. 

The effect, to use a hackneyed but convenient phrase, can better beimagined than described. Instead of the sigh of relieved tension thatshould have swept over the audience at the conclusion of the line, a burst of laughter greeted it. The Story Girl's performance wascompletely spoiled. She dealt the luckless Sara a glance that would haveslain her on the spot could glances kill, stumbled lamely and impotentlythrough the few remaining lines of her recitation, and fled with crimsoncheeks to hide her mortification in the little corner that had beencurtained off for a dressing-room. Mr. Perkins looked things not lawfulto be uttered, and the audience tittered at intervals for the rest ofthe performance. 

Sara Ray alone remained serenely satisfied until the close of theconcert, when we surrounded her with a whirlwind of reproaches. 

"Why, " she stammered aghast, "what did I do? I--I thought she was stuckand that I ought to prompt her quick. "

"You little fool, she just paused for effect, " cried Felicity angrily. Felicity might be rather jealous of the Story Girl's gift, but shewas furious at beholding "one of our family" made ridiculous in such afashion. "You have less sense than anyone I ever heard of, Sara Ray. "

Poor Sara dissolved in tears. 

"I didn't know. I thought she was stuck, " she wailed again. 

She cried all the way home, but we did not try to comfort her. We feltquite out of patience with her. Even Cecily was seriously annoyed. Thissecond blunder of Sara's was too much even for her loyalty. We saw herturn in at her own gate and go sobbing up her lane with no relenting. 

The Story Girl was home before us, having fled from the schoolhouse assoon as the programme was over. We tried to sympathize with her but shewould not be sympathized with. 

"Please don't ever mention it to me again, " she said, with compressedlips. "I never want to be reminded of it. Oh, that little IDIOT!"

"She spoiled Peter's sermon last summer and now she's spoiled yourrecitation, " said Felicity. "I think it's time we gave up associatingwith Sara Ray. "

"Oh, don't be quite so hard on her, " pleaded Cecily. "Think of the lifethe poor child has to live at home. I know she'll cry all night. "

"Oh, let's go to bed, " growled Dan. "I'm good and ready for it. I've hadenough of school concerts. "

CHAPTER XIX. BY WAY OF THE STARS

But for two of us the adventures of the night were not yet over. Silencesettled down over the old house--the eerie, whisperful, creeping silenceof night. Felix and Dan were already sound asleep; I was drifting nearthe coast o' dreams when I was aroused by a light tap on the door. 

"Bev, are you asleep?" came in the Story Girl's whisper. 

"No, what is it?"

"S-s-h. Get up and dress and come out. I want you. "

With a good deal of curiosity and some misgiving I obeyed. What was inthe wind now? Outside in the hall I found the Story Girl, with a candlein her hand, and her hat and jacket. 

"Where are you going?" I whispered in amazement. 

"Hush. I've got to go to the school and you must come with me. I left mycoral necklace there. The clasp came loose and I was so afraid I'd loseit that I took it off and put it in the bookcase. I was feeling so upsetwhen the concert was over that I forgot all about it. "

The coral necklace was a very handsome one which had belonged to theStory Girl's mother. She had never been permitted to wear it before, andit had only been by dint of much coaxing that she had induced Aunt Janetto let her wear it to the concert. 

"But there's no sense in going for it in the dead of night, " I objected. "It will be quite safe. You can go for it in the morning. "

"Lizzie Paxton and her daughter are going to clean the school tomorrow, and I heard Lizzie say tonight she meant to be at it by five o'clock toget through before the heat of the day. You know perfectly well whatLiz Paxton's reputation is. If she finds that necklace I'll never see itagain. Besides, if I wait till the morning, Aunt Janet may find out thatI left it there and she'd never let me wear it again. No, I'm going forit now. If you're afraid, " added the Story Girl with delicate scorn, "ofcourse you needn't come. "

Afraid! I'd show her!

"Come on, " I said. 

We slipped out of the house noiselessly and found ourselves in theunutterable solemnity and strangeness of a dark night. It was a newexperience, and our hearts thrilled and our nerves tingled to the charmof it. Never had we been abroad before at such an hour. The world aroundus was not the world of daylight. 'Twas an alien place, full of weird, evasive enchantment and magicry. 

Only in the country can one become truly acquainted with the night. There it has the solemn calm of the infinite. The dim wide fields lie insilence, wrapped in the holy mystery of darkness. A wind, loosened fromwild places far away, steals out to blow over dewy, star-lit, immemorialhills. The air in the pastures is sweet with the hush of dreams, and onemay rest here like a child on its mother's breast. 

"Isn't it wonderful?" breathed the Story Girl as we went down the longhill. "Do you know, I can forgive Sara Ray now. I thought tonight Inever could--but now it doesn't matter any more. I can even see howfunny it was. Oh, wasn't it funny? 'DEAD' in that squeaky little voiceof Sara's! I'll just behave to her tomorrow as if nothing had happened. It seems so long ago now, here in the night. "

Neither of us ever forgot the subtle delight of that stolen walk. Aspell of glamour was over us. The breezes whispered strange secrets ofelf-haunted glens, and the hollows where the ferns grew were brimmedwith mystery and romance. Ghostlike scents crept out of the meadowsto meet us, and the fir wood before we came to the church was a livingsweetness of Junebells growing in abundance. 

Junebells have another and more scientific name, of course. But whocould desire a better name than Junebells? They are so perfect in theirway that they seem to epitomize the very scent and charm of the forest, as if the old wood's daintiest thoughts had materialized in blossom;and not all the roses by Bendameer's stream are as fragrant as a shallowsheet of Junebells under the boughs of fir. 

There were fireflies abroad that night, too, increasing the gramarye ofit. There is certainly something a little supernatural about fireflies. Nobody pretends to understand them. They are akin to the tribes offairy, survivals of the elder time when the woods and hills swarmed withthe little green folk. It is still very easy to believe in fairies whenyou see those goblin lanterns glimmering among the fir tassels. 

"Isn't it beautiful?" said the Story Girl in rapture. "I wouldn't havemissed it for anything. I'm glad I left my necklace. And I am glad youare with me, Bev. The others wouldn't understand so well. I like youbecause I don't have to talk to you all the time. It's so nice to walkwith someone you don't have to talk to. Here is the graveyard. Are youfrightened to pass it, Bev?"

"No, I don't think I'm frightened, " I answered slowly, "but I have aqueer feeling. "

"So have I. But it isn't fear. I don't know what it is. I feel as ifsomething was reaching out of the graveyard to hold me--something thatwanted life--I don't like it--let's hurry. But isn't it strange to thinkof all the dead people in there who were once alive like you and me. Idon't feel as if I could EVER die. Do you?"

"No, but everybody must. Of course we go on living afterwards, just thesame. Don't let's talk of such things here, " I said hurriedly. 

When we reached the school I contrived to open a window. We scrambledin, lighted a lamp and found the missing necklace. The Story Girl stoodon the platform and gave an imitation of the catastrophe of the eveningthat made me shout with laughter. We prowled around for sheer delightover being there at an unearthly hour when everybody supposed we weresound asleep in our beds. It was with regret that we left, and we walkedhome as slowly as we could to prolong the adventure. 

"Let's never tell anyone, " said the Story Girl, as we reached home. "Let's just have it as a secret between us for ever and ever--somethingthat nobody else knows a thing about but you and me. "

"We'd better keep it a secret from Aunt Janet anyhow, " I whispered, laughing. "She'd think we were both crazy. "

"It's real jolly to be crazy once in a while, " said the Story Girl. 

CHAPTER XX. EXTRACTS FROM "OUR MAGAZINE"

EDITORIAL

As will be seen there is no Honour Roll in this number. Even Felicityhas thought all the beautiful thoughts that can be thought andcannot think any more. Peter has never got drunk but, under existingcircumstances, that is not greatly to his credit. As for our writtenresolutions they have silently disappeared from our chamber walls andthe place that once knew them knows them no more for ever. (PETER, PERPLEXEDLY: "Seems to me I've heard something like that before. ") It isvery sad but we will all make some new resolutions next year and maybeit will be easier to keep those. 

THE STORY OF THE LOCKET THAT WAS BAKED

This was a story my Aunt Jane told me about her granma when she was alittle girl. Its funny to think of baking a locket, but it wasn't toeat. She was my great granma but Ill call her granma for short. Ithappened when she was ten years old. Of course she wasent anybodysgranma then. Her father and mother and her were living in a newsettlement called Brinsley. Their nearest naybor was a mile away. Oneday her Aunt Hannah from Charlottetown came and wanted her ma to govisiting with her. At first granma's ma thought she couldent go becauseit was baking day and granma's pa was away. But granma wasent afraid tostay alone and she knew how to bake the bread so she made her ma goand her Aunt Hannah took off the handsome gold locket and chain she waswaring round her neck and hung it on granmas and told her she could wareit all day. Granma was awful pleased for she had never had any jewelry. She did all the chores and then was needing the loaves when she lookedup and saw a tramp coming in and he was an awful villenus looking tramp. He dident even pass the time of day but just set down on a chair. Poorgranma was awful fritened and she turned her back on him and went onneeding the loaf cold and trembling--that is, granma was trembling notthe loaf. She was worried about the locket. She didn't know how shecould hide it for to get anywhere she would have to turn round and passhim. 

All of a suddent she thought she would hide it in the bread. She put herhand up and pulled it hard and quick and broke the fastening and neededit right into the loaf. Then she put the loaf in the pan and set it inthe oven. 

The tramp hadent seen her do it and then he asked for something to eat. Granma got him up a meal and when hed et it he began prowling about thekitchen looking into everything and opening the cubbord doors. Then hewent into granma's mas room and turned the buro drawers and trunk insideout and threw the things in them all about. All he found was a pursewith a dollar in it and he swore about it and took it and went away. When granma was sure he was really gone she broke down and cried. Sheforgot all about the bread and it burned as black as coal. When shesmelled it burning granma run and pulled it out. She was awful scaredthe locket was spoiled but she sawed open the loaf and it was there safeand sound. When her Aunt Hannah came back she said granma deserved thelocket because she had saved it so clever and she gave it to her andgrandma always wore it and was very proud of it. And granma used to saythat was the only loaf of bread she ever spoiled in her life. 

 PETER CRAIG. 

(FELICITY: "Those stories are all very well but they are only truestories. It's easy enough to write true stories. I thought Peter wasappointed fiction editor, but he has never written any fiction since thepaper started. That's not MY idea of a fiction editor. He ought to makeup stories out of his own head. " PETER, SPUNKILY: "I can do it, too, and I will next time. And it ain't easier to write true stories. It'sharder, 'cause you have to stick to facts. " FELICITY: "I don't believeyou could make up a story. " PETER: "I'll show you!")

MY MOST EXCITING ADVENTURE

It's my turn to write it but I'm SO NERVOUS. My worst adventure happenedTWO YEARS AGO. It was an awful one. I had a striped ribbon, stripedbrown and yellow and I LOST IT. I was very sorry for it was a handsomeribbon and all the girls in school were jealous of it. (FELICITY: "Iwasn't. I didn't think it one bit pretty. " CECILY: "Hush!") I huntedeverywhere but I couldn't find it. Next day was Sunday and I was runninginto the house by the front door and I saw SOMETHING LYING ON THE STEPand I thought it was my ribbon and I made a grab at it as I passed. But, oh, it was A SNAKE! Oh, I can never describe how I felt when I felt thatawful thing WRIGGLING IN MY HAND. I let it go and SCREAMED AND SCREAMED, and ma was cross at me for yelling on Sunday and made me read sevenchapters in the Bible but I didn't mind that much after what I had comethrough. I would rather DIE than have SUCH AN EXPERIENCE again. 

 SARA RAY. 

 TO FELICITY ON HER BERTHDAY

 Oh maiden fair with golden hair And brow of purest white, Id fight for you I'd die for you Let me be your faithful knite. 

 This is your berthday blessed day You are thirteen years old today May you be happy and fair as you are now Until your hair is gray. 

 I gaze into your shining eyes, They are so blue and bright. Id fight for you Id die for you Let me be your faithful knite. 

 A FRIEND. 

(DAN: "Great snakes, who got that up? I'll bet it was Peter. " FELICITY, WITH DIGNITY: "Well, it's more than YOU could do. YOU couldn't writepoetry to save your life. " PETER, ASIDE TO BEVERLEY: "She seems quitepleased. I'm glad I wrote it, but it was awful hard work. ")

PERSONALS

Patrick Grayfur, Esq. , caused his friends great anxiety recently by aprolonged absence from home. When found he was very thin but is now asfat and conceited as ever. 

On Wednesday, June 20th, Miss Olivia King was united in the bonds ofholy matrimony to Dr. Robert Seton of Halifax. Miss Sara Stanley wasbridesmaid, and Mr. Andrew Seton attended the groom. The young couplereceived many handsome presents. Rev. Mr. Marwood tied the nuptial knot. After the ceremony a substantial repast was served in Mrs. Alex King'swell-known style and the happy couple left for their new home inNova Scotia. Their many friends join in wishing them a very happy andprosperous journey through life. 

 A precious one from us is gone, A voice we loved is stilled. A place is vacant in our home That never can be filled. 

(THE STORY GIRL: "Goodness, that sounds as if somebody had died. I'veseen that verse on a tombstone. WHO wrote that notice?" FELICITY, WHO WROTE IT: "I think it is just as appropriate to a wedding as to afuneral!")

Our school concert came off on the evening of June 29th and was a greatsuccess. We made ten dollars for the library. 

We regret to chronicle that Miss Sara Ray met with a misfortune whiletaking some violent exercise with a wasps' nest recently. The moral isthat it is better not to monkey with a wasps' nest, new or old. 

Mrs. C. B. Hawkins of Baywater is keeping house for Uncle Roger. Sheis a very large woman. Uncle Roger says he has to spend too much timewalking round her, but otherwise she is an excellent housekeeper. 

It is reported that the school is haunted. A mysterious light was seenthere at two o'clock one night recently. 

(THE STORY GIRL AND I EXCHANGE KNOWING SMILES BEHIND THE OTHERS' BACKS. )

Dan and Felicity had a fight last Tuesday--not with fists but withtongues. Dan came off best--as usual. (FELICITY LAUGHS SARCASTICALLY. )

Mr. Newton Craig of Markdale returned home recently after a somewhatprolonged visit in foreign parts. We are glad to welcome Mr. Craig backto our midst. 

Billy Robinson was hurt last week. A cow kicked him. I suppose it iswicked of us to feel glad but we all do feel glad because of the way hecheated us with the magic seed last summer. 

On April 1st Uncle Roger sent Mr. Peter Craig to the manse to borrow thebiography of Adam's grandfather. Mr. Marwood told Peter he didn't thinkAdam had any grandfather and advised him to go home and look at thealmanac. (PETER, SOURLY: "Your Uncle Roger thought he was pretty smart. "FELICITY, SEVERELY: "Uncle Roger IS smart. It was so easy to fool you. ")

A pair of blue birds have built a nest in a hole in the sides of thewell, just under the ferns. We can see the eggs when we look down. Theyare so cunning. 

Felix sat down on a tack one day in May. Felix thinks house-cleaning isgreat foolishness. 

ADS. 

LOST--STOLEN--OR STRAYED--A HEART. Finder will be rewarded by returningsame to Cyrus E. Brisk, Desk 7, Carlisle School. 

LOST OR STOLEN. A piece of brown hair about three inches long and oneinch thick. Finder will kindly return to Miss Cecily King, Desk 15, Carlisle School. 

(CECILY: "Cyrus keeps my hair in his Bible for a bookmark, so Flossietells me. He says he means to keep it always for a remembrance thoughhe has given up hope. " DAN: "I'll steal it out of his Bible in SundaySchool. " CECILY, BLUSHING: "Oh, let him keep it if it is any comfort tohim. Besides, it isn't right to steal. " DAN: "He stole it. " CECILY: "ButMr. Marwood says two wrongs never make a right. ")

HOUSEHOLD DEPARTMENT

Aunt Olivia's wedding cake was said to be the best one of its kind evertasted in Carlisle. Me and mother made it. 

ANXIOUS INQUIRER:--It is not advisable to curl your hair with mucilageif you can get anything else. Quince juice is better. (CECILY, BITTERLY:"I suppose I'll never hear the last of that mucilage. " DAN: "Ask her whoused tooth-powder to raise biscuits?")

We had rhubarb pies for the first time this spring last week. They werefine but hard on the cream. 

 FELICITY KING. 

ETIQUETTE DEPARTMENT

PATIENT SUFFERER:--What will I do when a young man steals a lock of myhair? Ans. :--Grow some more. 

No, F-l-x, a little caterpillar is not called a kittenpillar. (FELIX, ENRAGED: "I never asked that! Dan just makes that etiquette columnup from beginning to end!" FELICITY: "I don't see what that kind of aquestion has to do with etiquette anyhow. ")

Yes, P-t-r, it is quite proper to treat a lady friend to ice cream twiceif you can afford it. 

No, F-l-c-t-y, it is not ladylike to chew tobacco. Better stick tospruce gum. 

 DAN KING. 

FASHION NOTES

Frilled muslin aprons will be much worn this summer. It is no longerfashionable to trim them with knitted lace. One pocket is consideredsmart. 

Clam-shells are fashionable keepsakes. You write your name and the dateinside one and your friend writes hers in the other and you exchange. 

 CECILY KING. 

FUNNY PARAGRAPHS

MR. PERKINS:--"Peter, name the large islands of the world. "

PETER:--"The Island, the British Isles and Australia. " (PETER, DEFIANTLY: "Well, Mr. Perkins said he guessed I was right, so youneedn't laugh. ")

This is a true joke and really happened. It's about Mr. Samuel Claskagain. He was once leading a prayer meeting and he looked through thewindow and saw the constable driving up and guessed he was after himbecause he was always in debt. So in a great hurry he called on BrotherCasey to lead in prayer and while Brother Casey was praying with hiseyes shut and everybody else had their heads bowed Mr. Clask got out ofthe window and got away before the constable got in because he didn'tlike to come in till the prayer was finished. 

Uncle Roger says it was a smart trick on Mr. Clask's part, but I don'tthink there was much religion about it. 

 FELIX KING. 

CHAPTER XXI. PEG BOWEN COMES TO CHURCH

When those of us who are still left of that band of children who playedlong years ago in the old orchard and walked the golden road togetherin joyous companionship, foregather now and again in our busy lives andtalk over the events of those many merry moons--there are some of ouradventures that gleam out more vividly in memory than the others, andare oftener discussed. The time we bought God's picture from JerryCowan--the time Dan ate the poison berries--the time we heard theghostly bell ring--the bewitchment of Paddy--the visit of the Governor'swife--and the night we were lost in the storm--all awaken reminiscentjest and laughter; but none more than the recollection of the SundayPeg Bowen came to church and sat in our pew. Though goodness knows, asFelicity would say, we did not think it any matter for laughter at thetime--far from it. 

It was one Sunday evening in July. Uncle Alec and Aunt Janet, havingbeen out to the morning service, did not attend in the evening, and wesmall fry walked together down the long hill road, wearing Sunday attireand trying, more or less successfully, to wear Sunday faces also. Thosewalks to church, through the golden completeness of the summer evenings, were always very pleasant to us, and we never hurried, though, on theother hand, we were very careful not to be late. 

This particular evening was particularly beautiful. It was cool after ahot day, and wheat fields all about us were ripening to their harvestry. The wind gossiped with the grasses along our way, and over them thebuttercups danced, goldenly-glad. Waves of sinuous shadow went over theripe hayfields, and plundering bees sang a freebooting lilt in waysidegardens. 

"The world is so lovely tonight, " said the Story Girl. "I just hate thethought of going into the church and shutting all the sunlight and musicoutside. I wish we could have the service outside in summer. "

"I don't think that would be very religious, " said Felicity. 

"I'd feel ever so much more religious outside than in, " retorted theStory Girl. 

"If the service was outside we'd have to sit in the graveyard and thatwouldn't be very cheerful, " said Felix. 

"Besides, the music isn't shut out, " added Felicity. "The choir isinside. "

"'Music has charms to soothe a savage breast, '" quoted Peter, who wasgetting into the habit of adorning his conversation with similar gems. "That's in one of Shakespeare's plays. I'm reading them now, since I gotthrough with the Bible. They're great. "

"I don't see when you get time to read them, " said Felicity. 

"Oh, I read them Sunday afternoons when I'm home. "

"I don't believe they're fit to read on Sundays, " exclaimed Felicity. "Mother says Valeria Montague's stories ain't. "

"But Shakespeare's different from Valeria, " protested Peter. 

"I don't see in what way. He wrote a lot of things that weren't true, just like Valeria, and he wrote swear words too. Valeria never doesthat. Her characters all talk in a very refined fashion. "

"Well, I always skip the swear words, " said Peter. "And Mr. Marwood saidonce that the Bible and Shakespeare would furnish any library well. Soyou see he put them together, but I'm sure that he would never say thatthe Bible and Valeria would make a library. "

"Well, all I know is, I shall never read Shakespeare on Sunday, " saidFelicity loftily. 

"I wonder what kind of a preacher young Mr. Davidson is, " speculatedCecily. 

"Well, we'll know when we hear him tonight, " said the Story Girl. "Heought to be good, for his uncle before him was a fine preacher, though avery absent-minded man. But Uncle Roger says the supply in Mr. Marwood'svacation never amounts to much. I know an awfully funny story about oldMr. Davidson. He used to be the minister in Baywater, you know, and hehad a large family and his children were very mischievous. One day hiswife was ironing and she ironed a great big nightcap with a frill roundit. One of the children took it when she wasn't looking and hid itin his father's best beaver hat--the one he wore on Sundays. When Mr. Davidson went to church next Sunday he put the hat on without everlooking into the crown. He walked to church in a brown study and at thedoor he took off his hat. The nightcap just slipped down on his head, asif it had been put on, and the frill stood out around his face and thestring hung down his back. But he never noticed it, because his thoughtswere far away, and he walked up the church aisle and into the pulpit, like that. One of his elders had to tiptoe up and tell him what hehad on his head. He plucked it off in a dazed fashion, held it up, andlooked at it. 'Bless me, it is Sally's nightcap!' he exclaimed mildly. 'I do not know how I could have got it on. ' Then he just stuffed it intohis pocket calmly and went on with the service, and the long strings ofthe nightcap hung down out of his pocket all the time. "

"It seems to me, " said Peter, amid the laughter with which we greetedthe tale, "that a funny story is funnier when it is about a ministerthan it is about any other man. I wonder why. "

"Sometimes I don't think it is right to tell funny stories aboutministers, " said Felicity. "It certainly isn't respectful. "

"A good story is a good story--no matter who it's about, " said the StoryGirl with ungrammatical relish. 

There was as yet no one in the church when we reached it, so we took ouraccustomed ramble through the graveyard surrounding it. The Story Girlhad brought flowers for her mother's grave as usual, and while shearranged them on it the rest of us read for the hundredth time theepitaph on Great-Grandfather King's tombstone, which had been composedby Great-Grandmother King. That epitaph was quite famous among thelittle family traditions that entwine every household with mingled mirthand sorrow, smiles and tears. It had a perennial fascination for usand we read it over every Sunday. Cut deeply in the upright slab of redIsland sandstone, the epitaph ran as follows:--

SWEET DEPARTED SPIRIT

 Do receive the vows a grateful widow pays, Each future day and night shall hear her speak her Isaac's praise. Though thy beloved form must in the grave decay Yet from her heart thy memory no time, no change shall steal away. Do thou from mansions of eternal bliss Remember thy distressed relict. Look on her with an angel's love-- Soothe her sad life and cheer her end Through this world's dangers and its griefs. Then meet her with thy well-known smiles and welcome At the last great day. 

"Well, I can't make out what the old lady was driving at, " said Dan. 

"That's a nice way to speak of your great-grandmother, " said Felicityseverely. 

"How does The Family Guide say you ought to speak of your great-grandma, sweet one?" asked Dan. 

"There is one thing about it that puzzles me, " remarked Cecily. "Shecalls herself a GRATEFUL widow. Now, what was she grateful for?"

"Because she was rid of him at last, " said graceless Dan. 

"Oh, it couldn't have been that, " protested Cecily seriously. "I'vealways heard that Great-Grandfather and Great-Grandmother were very muchattached to each other. "

"Maybe, then, it means she was grateful that she'd had him as long asshe did, " suggested Peter. 

"She was grateful to him because he had been so kind to her in life, Ithink, " said Felicity. 

"What is a 'distressed relict'?" asked Felix. 

"'Relict' is a word I hate, " said the Story Girl. "It sounds so muchlike relic. Relict means just the same as widow, only a man can be arelict, too. "

"Great-Grandmother seemed to run short of rhymes at the last of theepitaph, " commented Dan. 

"Finding rhymes isn't as easy as you might think, " avowed Peter, out ofhis own experience. 

"I think Grandmother King intended the last of the epitaph to be inblank verse, " said Felicity with dignity. 

There was still only a sprinkling of people in the church when we wentin and took our places in the old-fashioned, square King pew. We hadjust got comfortably settled when Felicity said in an agitated whisper, "Here is Peg Bowen!"

We all stared at Peg, who was pacing composedly up the aisle. We mightbe excused for so doing, for seldom were the decorous aisles of Carlislechurch invaded by such a figure. Peg was dressed in her usual shortdrugget skirt, rather worn and frayed around the bottom, and a waistof brilliant turkey red calico. She wore no hat, and her grizzled blackhair streamed in elf locks over her shoulders. Face, arms and feetwere bare--and face, arms and feet were liberally powdered withFLOUR. Certainly no one who saw Peg that night could ever forget theapparition. 

Peg's black eyes, in which shone a more than usually wild and fitfullight, roved scrutinizingly over the church, then settled on our pew. 

"She's coming here, " whispered Felicity in horror. "Can't we spread outand make her think the pew is full?"

But the manoeuvre was too late. The only result was that Felicity andthe Story Girl in moving over left a vacant space between them and Pegpromptly plumped down in it. 

"Well, I'm here, " she remarked aloud. "I did say once I'd never darkenthe door of Carlisle church again, but what that boy there"--noddingat Peter--"said last winter set me thinking, and I concluded maybe I'dbetter come once in a while, to be on the safe side. "

Those poor girls were in an agony. Everybody in the church was lookingat our pew and smiling. We all felt that we were terribly disgraced; butwe could do nothing. Peg was enjoying herself hugely, beyond all doubt. From where she sat she could see the whole church, including pulpit andgallery, and her black eyes darted over it with restless glances. 

"Bless me, there's Sam Kinnaird, " she exclaimed, still aloud. "He'sthe man that dunned Jacob Marr for four cents on the church steps oneSunday. I heard him. 'I think, Jacob, you owe me four cents on that cowyou bought last fall. Rec'llect you couldn't make the change?' Well, youknow, 'twould a-made a cat laugh. The Kinnairds were all mighty close, Ican tell you. That's how they got rich. "

What Sam Kinnaird felt or thought during this speech, which everyone inthe church must have heard, I know not. Gossip had it that he changedcolour. We wretched occupants of the King pew were concerned only withour own outraged feelings. 

"And there's Melita Ross, " went on Peg. "She's got the same bonnet onshe had last time I was in Carlisle church six years ago. Some folks hasthe knack of making things last. But look at the style Mrs. Elmer Brewerwears, will yez? Yez wouldn't think her mother died in the poor-house, would yez, now?"

Poor Mrs. Brewer! From the tip of her smart kid shoes to the daintycluster of ostrich tips in her bonnet--she was most immaculately andhandsomely arrayed; but I venture to think she could have takensmall pleasure in her fashionable attire that evening. Some of theunregenerate, including Dan, were shaking with suppressed laughter, butmost of the people looked as if they were afraid to smile, lest theirturn should come next. 

"There's old Stephen Grant coming in, " exclaimed Peg viciously, shakingher floury fist at him, "and looking as if butter wouldn't melt in hismouth. He may be an elder, but he's a scoundrel just the same. He setfire to his house to get the insurance and then blamed ME for doing it. But I got even with him for it. Oh, yes! He knows that, and so do I! He, he!"

Peg chuckled quite fiendishly and Stephen Grant tried to look as ifnothing had been said. 

"Oh, will the minister never come?" moaned Felicity in my ear. "Surelyshe'll have to stop then. "

But the minister did not come and Peg had no intention of stopping. 

"There's Maria Dean. " she resumed. "I haven't seen Maria for years. I never call there for she never seems to have anything to eat in thehouse. She was a Clayton and the Claytons never could cook. Mariasorter looks as if she'd shrunk in the wash, now, don't she? And there'sDouglas Nicholson. His brother put rat poison in the family pancakes. Nice little trick that, wasn't it? They say it was by mistake. I hope itWAS a mistake. His wife is all rigged out in silk. Yez wouldn't thinkto look at her she was married in cotton--and mighty thankful to getmarried in anything, it's my opinion. There's Timothy Patterson. He'sthe meanest man alive--meaner'n Sam Kinnaird even. Timothy pays hischildren five cents apiece to go without their suppers, and then stealsthe cents out of their pockets after they've gone to bed. It's a fact. And when his old father died he wouldn't let his wife put his best shirton him. He said his second best was plenty good to be buried in. That'sanother fact. "

"I can't stand much more of this, " wailed Felicity. 

"See here, Miss Bowen, you really oughtn't to talk like that aboutpeople, " expostulated Peter in a low tone, goaded thereto, despite hisawe of Peg, by Felicity's anguish. 

"Bless you, boy, " said Peg good-humouredly, "the only difference betweenme and other folks is that I say these things out loud and they justthink them. If I told yez all the things I know about the people in thiscongregation you'd be amazed. Have a peppermint?"

To our horror Peg produced a handful of peppermint lozenges from thepocket of her skirt and offered us one each. We did not dare refuse butwe each held our lozenge very gingerly in our hands. 

"Eat them, " commanded Peg rather fiercely. 

"Mother doesn't allow us to eat candy in church, " faltered Felicity. 

"Well, I've seen just as fine ladies as your ma give their childrenlozenges in church, " said Peg loftily. She put a peppermint in her ownmouth and sucked it with gusto. We were relieved, for she did not talkduring the process; but our relief was of short duration. A bevy ofthree very smartly dressed young ladies, sweeping past our pew, startedPeg off again. 

"Yez needn't be so stuck up, " she said, loudly and derisively. "Yez wasall of yez rocked in a flour barrel. And there's old Henry Frewen, stillabove ground. I called my parrot after him because their noses wereexactly alike. Look at Caroline Marr, will yez? That's a woman who'dlike pretty well to get married, And there's Alexander Marr. He's a realChristian, anyhow, and so's his dog. I can always size up what a man'sreligion amounts to by the kind of dog he keeps. Alexander Marr is agood man. "

It was a relief to hear Peg speak well of somebody; but that was theonly exception she made. 

"Look at Dave Fraser strutting in, " she went on. "That man has thankedGod so often that he isn't like other people that it's come to be true. He isn't! And there's Susan Frewen. She's jealous of everybody. She'seven jealous of Old Man Rogers because he's buried in the best spot inthe graveyard. Seth Erskine has the same look he was born with. They saythe Lord made everybody but I believe the devil made all the Erskines. "

"She's getting worse all the time. What WILL she say next?" whisperedpoor Felicity. 

But her martyrdom was over at last. The minister appeared in the pulpitand Peg subsided into silence. She folded her bare, floury arms over herbreast and fastened her black eyes on the young preacher. Her behaviourfor the next half-hour was decorum itself, save that when the ministerprayed that we might all be charitable in judgment Peg ejaculated "Amen"several times, loudly and forcibly, somewhat to the discomfiture of theYoung man, to whom Peg was a stranger. He opened his eyes, glanced atour pew in a startled way, then collected himself and went on. 

Peg listened to the sermon, silently and motionlessly, until Mr. Davidson was half through. Then she suddenly got on her feet. 

"This is too dull for me, " she exclaimed. "I want something moreexciting. "

Mr. Davidson stopped short and Peg marched down the aisle in the midstof complete silence. Half way down the aisle she turned around and facedthe minister. 

"There are so many hypocrites in this church that it isn't fit fordecent people to come to, " she said. "Rather than be such hypocrites asmost of you are it would be better for you to go miles into the woodsand commit suicide. "

Wheeling about, she strode to the door. Then she turned for a Parthianshot. 

"I've felt kind of worried for God sometimes, seeing He has so much toattend to, " she said, "but I see I needn't be, so long's there's plentyof ministers to tell Him what to do. "

With that Peg shook the dust of Carlisle church from her feet. Poor Mr. Davidson resumed his discourse. Old Elder Bayley, whose attentionan earthquake could not have distracted from the sermon, afterwardsdeclared that it was an excellent and edifying exhortation, but I doubtif anyone else in Carlisle church tasted it much or gained much goodtherefrom. Certainly we of the King household did not. We could not evenremember the text when we reached home. Felicity was comfortless. 

"Mr. Davidson would be sure to think she belonged to our family when shewas in our pew, " she said bitterly. "Oh, I feel as if I could neverget over such a mortification! Peter, I do wish you wouldn't go tellingpeople they ought to go to church. It's all your fault that thishappened. "

"Never mind, it will be a good story to tell sometime, " remarked theStory Girl with relish. 

CHAPTER XXII. THE YANKEE STORM

In an August orchard six children and a grown-up were sitting around thepulpit stone. The grown-up was Miss Reade, who had been up to give thegirls their music lesson and had consented to stay to tea, much to therapture of the said girls, who continued to worship her with unabatedand romantic ardour. To us, over the golden grasses, came the StoryGirl, carrying in her hand a single large poppy, like a blood-redchalice filled with the wine of August wizardry. She proffered it toMiss Reade and, as the latter took it into her singularly slender, beautiful hand, I saw a ring on her third finger. I noticed it, becauseI had heard the girls say that Miss Reade never wore rings, not likingthem. It was not a new ring; it was handsome, but of an old-fashioneddesign and setting, with a glint of diamonds about a central sapphire. Later on, when Miss Reade had gone, I asked the Story Girl if she hadnoticed the ring. She nodded, but seemed disinclined to say more aboutit. 

"Look here, Sara, " I said, "there's something about that ring--somethingyou know. "

"I told you once there was a story growing but you would have to waituntil it was fully grown, " she answered. 

"Is Miss Reade going to marry anybody--anybody we know?" I persisted. 

"Curiosity killed a cat, " observed the Story Girl coolly. "Miss Readehasn't told me that she was going to marry anybody. You will find outall that is good for you to know in due time. "

When the Story Girl put on grown-up airs I did not like her so well, andI dropped the subject with a dignity that seemed to amuse her mightily. 

She had been away for a week, visiting cousins in Markdale, and she hadcome home with a new treasure-trove of stories, most of which she hadheard from the old sailors of Markdale Harbour. She had promised thatmorning to tell us of "the most tragic event that had ever been known onthe north shore, " and we now reminded her of her promise. 

"Some call it the 'Yankee Storm, ' and others the 'American Gale, '" shebegan, sitting down by Miss Reade and beaming, because the latterput her arm around her waist. "It happened nearly forty years ago, inOctober of 1851. Old Mr. Coles at the Harbour told me all about it. Hewas a young man then and he says he can never forget that dreadful time. You know in those days hundreds of American fishing schooners used tocome down to the Gulf every summer to fish mackerel. On one beautifulSaturday night in this October of 1851, more than one hundred of thesevessels could be counted from Markdale Capes. By Monday night more thanseventy of them had been destroyed. Those which had escaped were mostlythose which went into harbour Saturday night, to keep Sunday. Mr. Colessays the rest stayed outside and fished all day Sunday, same as throughthe week, and HE says the storm was a judgment on them for doing it. Buthe admits that even some of them got into harbour later on and escaped, so it's hard to know what to think. But it is certain that on Sundaynight there came up a sudden and terrible storm--the worst, Mr. Colessays, that has ever been known on the north shore. It lasted for twodays and scores of vessels were driven ashore and completely wrecked. The crews of most of the vessels that went ashore on the sand beacheswere saved, but those that struck on the rocks went to pieces and allhands were lost. For weeks after the storm the north shore was strewnwith the bodies of drowned men. Think of it! Many of them were unknownand unrecognizable, and they were buried in Markdale graveyard. Mr. Coles says the schoolmaster who was in Markdale then wrote a poem on thestorm and Mr. Coles recited the first two verses to me. 

 "'Here are the fishers' hillside graves, The church beside, the woods around, Below, the hollow moaning waves Where the poor fishermen were drowned. 

 "'A sudden tempest the blue welkin tore, The seamen tossed and torn apart Rolled with the seaweed to the shore While landsmen gazed with aching heart. '

"Mr. Coles couldn't remember any more of it. But the saddest of all thestories of the Yankee Storm was the one about the Franklin Dexter. The Franklin Dexter went ashore on the Markdale Capes and all on boardperished, the Captain and three of his brothers among them. These fouryoung men were the sons of an old man who lived in Portland, Maine, andwhen he heard what had happened he came right down to the Island to seeif he could find their bodies. They had all come ashore and had beenburied in Markdale graveyard; but he was determined to take them up andcarry them home for burial. He said he had promised their mother to takeher boys home to her and he must do it. So they were taken up and puton board a sailing vessel at Markdale Harbour to be taken back to Maine, while the father himself went home on a passenger steamer. The name ofthe sailing vessel was the Seth Hall, and the captain's name was SethHall, too. Captain Hall was a dreadfully profane man and used to swearblood-curdling oaths. On the night he sailed out of Markdale Harbour theold sailors warned him that a storm was brewing and that it would catchhim if he did not wait until it was over. The captain had become veryimpatient because of several delays he had already met with, and he wasin a furious temper. He swore a wicked oath that he would sail out ofMarkdale Harbour that night and 'God Almighty Himself shouldn't catchhim. ' He did sail out of the harbour; and the storm did catch him, andthe Seth Hall went down with all hands, the dead and the living findinga watery grave together. So the poor old mother up in Maine never hadher boys brought back to her after all. Mr. Coles says it seems as if itwere foreordained that they should not rest in a grave, but should liebeneath the waves until the day when the sea gives up its dead. "

 "'They sleep as well beneath that purple tide As others under turf, '"

quoted Miss Reade softly. "I am very thankful, " she added, "that I amnot one of those whose dear ones 'go down to the sea in ships. ' It seemsto me that they have treble their share of this world's heartache. "

"Uncle Stephen was a sailor and he was drowned, " said Felicity, "andthey say it broke Grandmother King's heart. I don't see why people can'tbe contented on dry land. "

Cecily's tears had been dropping on the autograph quilt square she wasfaithfully embroidering. She had been diligently collecting names for itever since the preceding autumn and had a goodly number; but Kitty Marrhad one more and this was certainly a fly in Cecily's ointment. 

"Besides, one I've got isn't paid for--Peg Bowen's, " she lamented, "andI don't suppose it ever will be, for I'll never dare to ask her for it. "

"I wouldn't put it on at all, " said Felicity. 

"Oh, I don't dare not to. She'd be sure to find out I didn't and thenshe'd be very angry. I wish I could get just one more name and then I'dbe contented. But I don't know of a single person who hasn't been askedalready. "

"Except Mr. Campbell, " said Dan. 

"Oh, of course nobody would ask Mr. Campbell. We all know it would beof no use. He doesn't believe in missions at all--in fact, he says hedetests the very mention of missions--and he never gives one cent tothem. "

"All the same, I think he ought to be asked, so that he wouldn't havethe excuse that nobody DID ask him, " declared Dan. 

"Do you really think so, Dan?" asked Cecily earnestly. 

"Sure, " said Dan, solemnly. Dan liked to tease even Cecily a wee bit nowand then. 

Cecily relapsed into anxious thought, and care sat visibly on her browfor the rest of the day. Next morning she came to me and said:

"Bev, would you like to go for a walk with me this afternoon?"

"Of course, " I replied. "Any particular where?"

"I'm going to see Mr. Campbell and ask him for his name for my square, "said Cecily resolutely. "I don't suppose it will do any good. Hewouldn't give anything to the library last summer, you remember, tillthe Story Girl told him that story about his grandmother. She won'tgo with me this time--I don't know why. I can't tell a story and I'mfrightened to death just to think of going to him. But I believe it ismy duty; and besides I would love to get as many names on my squareas Kitty Marr has. So if you'll go with me we'll go this afternoon. Isimply COULDN'T go alone. "

CHAPTER XXIII. A MISSIONARY HEROINE

Accordingly, that afternoon we bearded the lion in his den. The road wetook was a beautiful one, for we went "cross lots, " and we enjoyedit, in spite of the fact that we did not expect the interview with Mr. Campbell to be a very pleasant one. To be sure, he had been quite civilon the occasion of our last call upon him, but the Story Girl had beenwith us then and had beguiled him into good-humour and generosity bythe magic of her voice and personality. We had no such ally now, and Mr. Campbell was known to be virulently opposed to missions in any shape orform. 

"I don't know whether it would have been any better if I could haveput on my good clothes, " said Cecily, with a rueful glance at her printdress, which, though neat and clean, was undeniably faded and RATHERshort and tight. "The Story Girl said it would, and I wanted to, butmother wouldn't let me. She said it was all nonsense, and Mr. Campbellwould never notice what I had on. "

"It's my opinion that Mr. Campbell notices a good deal more than you'dthink for, " I said sagely. 

"Well, I wish our call was over, " sighed Cecily. "I can't tell you how Idread it. "

"Now, see here, Sis, " I said cheerfully, "let's not think about ittill we get there. It'll only spoil our walk and do no good. Let's justforget it and enjoy ourselves. "

"I'll try, " agreed Cecily, "but it's ever so much easier to preach thanto practise. "

Our way lay first over a hill top, gallantly plumed with golden rod, where cloud shadows drifted over us like a gypsying crew. Carlisle, inall its ripely tinted length and breadth, lay below us, basking in theAugust sunshine, that spilled over the brim of the valley to the far-offMarkdale Harbour, cupped in its harvest-golden hills. 

Then came a little valley overgrown with the pale purple bloom ofthistles and elusively haunted with their perfume. You say that thistleshave no perfume? Go you to a brook hollow where they grow some latesummer twilight at dewfall; and on the still air that rises suddenly tomeet you will come a waft of faint, aromatic fragrance, wondrously sweetand evasive, the distillation of that despised thistle bloom. 

Beyond this the path wound through a forest of fir, where a wood windwove its murmurous spell and a wood brook dimpled pellucidly among theshadows--the dear, companionable, elfin shadows--that lurked under thelow growing boughs. Along the edges of that winding path grew banksof velvet green moss, starred with clusters of pigeon berries. Pigeonberries are not to be eaten. They are woolly, tasteless things. But theyare to be looked at in their glowing scarlet. They are the jewels withwhich the forest of cone-bearers loves to deck its brown breast. Cecilygathered some and pinned them on hers, but they did not become her. I thought how witching the Story Girl's brown curls would have lookedtwined with those brilliant clusters. Perhaps Cecily was thinking of it, too, for she presently said, "Bev, don't you think the Story Girl is changing somehow?"

"There are times--just times--when she seems to belong more among thegrown-ups than among us, " I said, reluctantly, "especially when she putson her bridesmaid dress. "

"Well, she's the oldest of us, and when you come to think of it, she'sfifteen, --that's almost grown-up, " sighed Cecily. Then she added, withsudden vehemence, "I hate the thought of any of us growing up. Felicitysays she just longs to be grown-up, but I don't, not a bit. I wish Icould just stay a little girl for ever--and have you and Felix andall the others for playmates right along. I don't know how it is--butwhenever I think of being grown-up I seem to feel tired. "

Something about Cecily's speech--or the wistful look that had crept intoher sweet brown eyes--made me feel vaguely uncomfortable; I was gladthat we were at the end of our journey, with Mr. Campbell's big housebefore us, and his dog sitting gravely at the veranda steps. 

"Oh, dear, " said Cecily, with a shiver, "I'd been hoping that dogwouldn't be around. "

"He never bites, " I assured her. 

"Perhaps he doesn't, but he always looks as if he was going to, "rejoined Cecily. 

The dog continued to look, and, as we edged gingerly past him and upthe veranda steps, he turned his head and kept on looking. What withMr. Campbell before us and the dog behind, Cecily was trembling withnervousness; but perhaps it was as well that the dour brute was there, else I verily believe she would have turned and fled shamelessly when weheard steps in the hall. 

It was Mr. Campbell's housekeeper who came to the door, however; sheushered us pleasantly into the sitting-room where Mr. Campbell wasreading. He laid down his book with a slight frown and said nothing atall in response to our timid "good afternoon. " But after we had sat fora few minutes in wretched silence, wishing ourselves a thousand milesaway, he said, with a chuckle, "Well, is it the school library again?"

Cecily had remarked as we were coming that what she dreaded most of allwas introducing the subject; but Mr. Campbell had given her a splendidopening, and she plunged wildly in at once, rattling her explanation offnervously with trembling voice and flushed cheeks. 

"No, it's our Mission Band autograph quilt, Mr. Campbell. There are tobe as many squares in it as there are members in the Band. Each one hasa square and is collecting names for it. If you want to have your nameon the quilt you pay five cents, and if you want to have it right in theround spot in the middle of the square you must pay ten cents. Then whenwe have got all the names we can we will embroider them on the squares. The money is to go to the little girl our Band is supporting in Korea. Iheard that nobody had asked you, so I thought perhaps you would give meyour name for my square. "

Mr. Campbell drew his black brows together in a scowl. 

"Stuff and nonsense!" he exclaimed angrily. "I don't believe in ForeignMissions--don't believe in them at all. I never give a cent to them. "

"Five cents isn't a very large sum, " said Cecily earnestly. 

Mr. Campbell's scowl disappeared and he laughed. 

"It wouldn't break me, " he admitted, "but it's the principle of thething. And as for that Mission Band of yours, if it wasn't for the funyou get out of it, catch one of you belonging. You don't really care arap more for the heathen than I do. "

"Oh, we do, " protested Cecily. "We do think of all the poor littlechildren in Korea, and we like to think we are helping them, if it'sever so little. We ARE in earnest, Mr. Campbell--indeed we are. "

"Don't believe it--don't believe a word of it, " said Mr. Campbellimpolitely. "You'll do things that are nice and interesting. You'll getup concerts, and chase people about for autographs and give money yourparents give you and that doesn't cost you either time or labour. Butyou wouldn't do anything you disliked for the heathen children--youwouldn't make any real sacrifice for them--catch you!"

"Indeed we would, " cried Cecily, forgetting her timidity in her zeal. "Ijust wish I had a chance to prove it to you. "

"You do, eh? Come, now, I'll take you at your word. I'll test you. Tomorrow is Communion Sunday and the church will be full of folks andthey'll all have their best clothes on. If you go to church tomorrow inthe very costume you have on at present, without telling anyone why youdo so, until it is all over, I'll give you--why, I vow I'll give youfive dollars for that quilt of yours. "

Poor Cecily! To go to church in a faded print dress, with a shabbylittle old sun-hat and worn shoes! It was very cruel of Mr. Campbell. 

"I--I don't think mother would let me, " she faltered. 

Her tormentor smiled grimly. 

"It's not hard to find some excuse, " he said sarcastically. 

Cecily crimsoned and sat up facing Mr. Campbell spunkily. 

"It's NOT an excuse, " she said. "If mother will let me go to church likethis I'll go. But I'll have to tell HER why, Mr. Campbell, because I'mcertain she'd never let me if I didn't. "

"Oh, you can tell all your own family, " said Mr. Campbell, "butremember, none of them must tell it outside until Sunday is over. Ifthey do, I'll be sure to find it out and then our bargain is off. IfI see you in church tomorrow, dressed as you are now, I'll give you myname and five dollars. But I won't see you. You'll shrink when you'vehad time to think it over. "

"I sha'n't, " said Cecily resolutely. 

"Well, we'll see. And now come out to the barn with me. I've got theprettiest little drove of calves out there you ever saw. I want you tosee them. "

Mr. Campbell took us all over his barns and was very affable. He hadbeautiful horses, cows and sheep, and I enjoyed seeing them. I don'tthink Cecily did, however. She was very quiet and even Mr. Campbell'shandsome new span of dappled grays failed to arouse any enthusiasm inher. She was already in bitter anticipation living over the martyrdomof the morrow. On the way home she asked me seriously if I thought Mr. Campbell would go to heaven when he died. 

"Of course he will, " I said. "Isn't he a member of the church?"

"Oh, yes, but I can't imagine him fitting into heaven. You know he isn'treally fond of anything but live stock. "

"He's fond of teasing people, I guess, " I responded. "Are you reallygoing to church to-morrow in that dress, Sis?"

"If mother'll let me I'll have to, " said poor Cecily. "I won't let Mr. Campbell triumph over me. And I DO want to have as many names as Kittyhas. And I DO want to help the poor little Korean children. But it willbe simply dreadful. I don't know whether I hope mother will or not. "

I did not believe she would, but Aunt Janet sometimes could be dependedon for the unexpected. She laughed and told Cecily she could pleaseherself. Felicity was in a rage over it, and declared SHE wouldn't go tochurch if Cecily went in such a rig. Dan sarcastically inquired if allshe went to church for was to show off her fine clothes and look atother people's; then they quarrelled and didn't speak to each other fortwo days, much to Cecily's distress. 

I suspect poor Sis wished devoutly that it might rain the next day; butit was gloriously fine. We were all waiting in the orchard for the StoryGirl who had not begun to dress for church until Cecily and Felicitywere ready. Felicity was her prettiest in flower-trimmed hat, crispmuslin, floating ribbons and trim black slippers. Poor Cecily stoodbeside her mute and pale, in her faded school garb and heavy copper-toedboots. But her face, if pale, was very determined. Cecily, having puther hand to the plough, was not of those who turn back. 

"You do look just awful, " said Felicity. "I don't care--I'm going tosit in Uncle James' pew. I WON'T sit with you. There will be so manystrangers there, and all the Markdale people, and what will they thinkof you? Some of them will never know the reason, either. "

"I wish the Story Girl would hurry, " was all poor Cecily said. "We'regoing to be late. It wouldn't have been quite so hard if I could havegot there before anyone and slipped quietly into our pew. "

"Here she comes at last, " said Dan. "Why--what's she got on?"

The Story Girl joined us with a quizzical smile on her face. Danwhistled. Cecily's pale cheeks flushed with understanding and gratitude. The Story Girl wore her school print dress and hat also, and wasgloveless and heavy shod. 

"You're not going to have to go through this all alone, Cecily, " shesaid. 

"Oh, it won't be half so hard now, " said Cecily, with a long breath ofrelief. 

I fancy it was hard enough even then. The Story Girl did not care awhit, but Cecily rather squirmed under the curious glances that werecast at her. She afterwards told me that she really did not think shecould have endured it if she had been alone. 

Mr. Campbell met us under the elms in the churchyard, with a twinkle inhis eye. 

"Well, you did it, Miss, " he said to Cecily, "but you should have beenalone. That was what I meant. I suppose you think you've cheated menicely. "

"No, she doesn't, " spoke up the Story Girl undauntedly. "She was alldressed and ready to come before she knew I was going to dress the sameway. So she kept her bargain faithfully, Mr. Campbell, and I think youwere cruel to make her do it. "

"You do, eh? Well, well, I hope you'll forgive me. I didn't think she'ddo it--I was sure feminine vanity would win the day over missionaryzeal. It seems it didn't--though how much was pure missionary zeal andhow much just plain King spunk I'm doubtful. I'll keep my promise, Miss. You shall have your five dollars, and mind you put my name in the roundspace. No five-cent corners for me. "

CHAPTER XXIV. A TANTALIZING REVELATION

"I shall have something to tell you in the orchard this evening, " saidthe Story Girl at breakfast one morning. Her eyes were very bright andexcited. She looked as if she had not slept a great deal. She had spentthe previous evening with Miss Reade and had not returned until the restof us were in bed. Miss Reade had finished giving music lessons and wasgoing home in a few days. Cecily and Felicity were in despair over thisand mourned as those without comfort. But the Story Girl, who had beeneven more devoted to Miss Reade than either of them, had not, as Inoticed, expressed any regret and seemed to be very cheerful over thewhole matter. 

"Why can't you tell it now?" asked Felicity. 

"Because the evening is the nicest time to tell things in. I onlymentioned it now so that you would have something interesting to lookforward to all day. "

"Is it about Miss Reade?" asked Cecily. 

"Never mind. "

"I'll bet she's going to be married, " I exclaimed, remembering the ring. 

"Is she?" cried Felicity and Cecily together. 

The Story Girl threw an annoyed glance at me. She did not like to haveher dramatic announcements forestalled. 

"I don't say that it is about Miss Reade or that it isn't. You must justwait till the evening. "

"I wonder what it is, " speculated Cecily, as the Story Girl left theroom. 

"I don't believe it's much of anything, " said Felicity, beginning toclear away the breakfast dishes. "The Story Girl always likes to make somuch out of so little. Anyhow, I don't believe Miss Reade is going to bemarried. She hasn't any beaus around here and Mrs. Armstrong saysshe's sure she doesn't correspond with anybody. Besides, if she was shewouldn't be likely to tell the Story Girl. "

"Oh, she might. They're such friends, you know, " said Cecily. 

"Miss Reade is no better friends with her than she is with me and you, "retorted Felicity. 

"No, but sometimes it seems to me that she's a different kind of friendwith the Story Girl than she is with me and you, " reflected Cecily. "Ican't just explain what I mean. "

"No wonder. Such nonsense, " sniffed Felicity. "It's only some girl'ssecret, anyway, " said Dan, loftily. "I don't feel much interest in it. "

But he was on hand with the rest of us that evening, interest or nointerest, in Uncle Stephen's Walk, where the ripening apples werebeginning to glow like jewels among the boughs. 

"Now, are you going to tell us your news?" asked Felicity impatiently. 

"Miss Reade IS going to be married, " said the Story Girl. "She told meso last night. She is going to be married in a fortnight's time. "

"Who to?" exclaimed the girls. 

"To"--the Story Girl threw a defiant glance at me as if to say, "Youcan't spoil the surprise of THIS, anyway, "--"to--the Awkward Man. "

For a few moments amazement literally held us dumb. 

"You're not in earnest, Sara Stanley?" gasped Felicity at last. 

"Indeed I am. I thought you'd be astonished. But I wasn't. I'vesuspected it all summer, from little things I've noticed. Don't youremember that evening last spring when I went a piece with Miss Readeand told you when I came back that a story was growing? I guessed itfrom the way the Awkward Man looked at her when I stopped to speak tohim over his garden fence. "

"But--the Awkward Man!" said Felicity helplessly. "It doesn't seempossible. Did Miss Reade tell you HERSELF?"

"Yes. "

"I suppose it must be true then. But how did it ever come about? He'sSO shy and awkward. How did he ever manage to get up enough spunk to askher to marry him?"

"Maybe she asked him, " suggested Dan. 

The Story Girl looked as if she might tell if she would. 

"I believe that WAS the way of it, " I said, to draw her on. 

"Not exactly, " she said reluctantly. "I know all about it but I can'ttell you. I guessed part from things I've seen--and Miss Reade told me agood deal--and the Awkward Man himself told me his side of it as we camehome last night. I met him just as I left Mr. Armstrong's and we weretogether as far as his house. It was dark and he just talked on as if hewere talking to himself--I think he forgot I was there at all, oncehe got started. He has never been shy or awkward with me, but he nevertalked as he did last night. "

"You might tell us what he said, " urged Cecily. "We'd never tell. "

The Story Girl shook her head. 

"No, I can't. You wouldn't understand. Besides, I couldn't tell it justright. It's one of the things that are hardest to tell. I'd spoil it ifI told it--now. Perhaps some day I'll be able to tell it properly. It'svery beautiful--but it might sound very ridiculous if it wasn't toldjust exactly the right way. "

"I don't know what you mean, and I don't believe you know yourself, "said Felicity pettishly. "All that I can make out is that Miss Reade isgoing to marry Jasper Dale, and I don't like the idea one bit. She isso beautiful and sweet. I thought she'd marry some dashing young man. Jasper Dale must be nearly twenty years older than her--and he's soqueer and shy--and such a hermit. "

"Miss Reade is perfectly happy, " said the Story Girl. "She thinks theAwkward Man is lovely--and so he is. You don't know him, but I do. "

"Well, you needn't put on such airs about it, " sniffed Felicity. 

"I am not putting on any airs. But it's true. Miss Reade and I are theonly people in Carlisle who really know the Awkward Man. Nobody elseever got behind his shyness to find out just what sort of a man he is. "

"When are they to be married?" asked Felicity. 

"In a fortnight's time. And then they are coming right back to live atGolden Milestone. Won't it be lovely to have Miss Reade always so nearus?"

"I wonder what she'll think about the mystery of Golden Milestone, "remarked Felicity. 

Golden Milestone was the beautiful name the Awkward Man had given hishome; and there was a mystery about it, as readers of the first volumeof these chronicles will recall. 

"She knows all about the mystery and thinks it perfectly lovely--and sodo I, " said the Story Girl. 

"Do YOU know the secret of the locked room?" cried Cecily. 

"Yes, the Awkward Man told me all about it last night. I told you I'dfind out the mystery some time. "

"And what is it?"

"I can't tell you that either. "

"I think you're hateful and mean, " exclaimed Felicity. "It hasn'tanything to do with Miss Reade, so I think you might tell us. "

"It has something to do with Miss Reade. It's all about her. "

"Well, I don't see how that can be when the Awkward Man never saw orheard of Miss Reade until she came to Carlisle in the spring, " saidFelicity incredulously, "and he's had that locked room for years. "

"I can't explain it to you--but it's just as I've said, " responded theStory Girl. 

"Well, it's a very queer thing, " retorted Felicity. 

"The name in the books in the room was Alice--and Miss Reade's name isAlice, " marvelled Cecily. "Did he know her before she came here?"

"Mrs. Griggs says that room has been locked for ten years. Ten years agoMiss Reade was just a little girl of ten. SHE couldn't be the Alice ofthe books, " argued Felicity. 

"I wonder if she'll wear the blue silk dress, " said Sara Ray. 

"And what will she do about the picture, if it isn't hers?" addedCecily. 

"The picture couldn't be hers, or Mrs. Griggs would have known her forthe same when she came to Carlisle, " said Felix. 

"I'm going to stop wondering about it, " exclaimed Felicity crossly, aggravated by the amused smile with which the Story Girl was listeningto the various speculations. "I think Sara is just as mean as mean whenshe won't tell us. "

"I can't, " repeated the Story Girl patiently. 

"You said one time you had an idea who 'Alice' was, " I said. "Was youridea anything like the truth?"

"Yes, I guessed pretty nearly right. "

"Do you suppose they'll keep the room locked after they are married?"asked Cecily. 

"Oh, no. I can tell you that much. It is to be Miss Reade's ownparticular sitting room. "

"Why, then, perhaps we'll see it some time ourselves, when we go to seeMiss Reade, " cried Cecily. 

"I'd be frightened to go into it, " confessed Sara Ray. "I hate thingswith mysteries. They always make me nervous. "

"I love them. They're so exciting, " said the Story Girl. 

"Just think, this will be the second wedding of people we know, "reflected Cecily. "Isn't that interesting?"

"I only hope the next thing won't be a funeral, " remarked Sara Raygloomily. "There were three lighted lamps on our kitchen table lastnight, and Judy Pineau says that's a sure sign of a funeral. "

"Well, there are funerals going on all the time, " said Dan. 

"But it means the funeral of somebody you know. I don't believe init--MUCH--but Judy says she's seen it come true time and again. I hopeif it does it won't be anybody we know very well. But I hope it'll besomebody I know a LITTLE, because then I might get to the funeral. I'djust love to go to a funeral. "

"That's a dreadful thing to say, " commented Felicity in a shocked tone. 

Sara Ray looked bewildered. 

"I don't see what is dreadful in it, " she protested. 

"People don't go to funerals for the fun of it, " said Felicity severely. "And you just as good as said you hoped somebody you knew would die soyou'd get to the funeral. "

"No, no, I didn't. I didn't mean that AT ALL, Felicity. I don't wantanybody to die; but what I meant was, if anybody I knew HAD to die theremight be a chance to go to the funeral. I've never been to a singlefuneral yet, and it must be so interesting. "

"Well, don't mix up talk about funerals with talk about weddings, " saidFelicity. "It isn't lucky. I think Miss Reade is simply throwing herselfaway, but I hope she'll be happy. And I hope the Awkward Man will manageto get married without making some awful blunder, but it's more than Iexpect. "

"The ceremony is to be very private, " said the Story Girl. 

"I'd like to see them the day they appear out in church, " chuckled Dan. "How'll he ever manage to bring her in and show her into the pew? I'llbet he'll go in first--or tramp on her dress--or fall over his feet. "

"Maybe he won't go to church at all the first Sunday and she'll have togo alone, " said Peter. "That happened in Markdale. A man was too bashfulto go to church the first time after getting married, and his wife wentalone till he got used to the idea. "

"They may do things like that in Markdale but that is not the way peoplebehave in Carlisle, " said Felicity loftily. 

Seeing the Story Girl slipping away with a disapproving face I joinedher. 

"What is the matter, Sara?" I asked. 

"I hate to hear them talking like that about Miss Reade and Mr. Dale, "she answered vehemently. "It's really all so beautiful--but they make itseem silly and absurd, somehow. "

"You might tell me all about it, Sara, " I insinuated. "I wouldn'ttell--and I'd understand. "

"Yes, I think you would, " she said thoughtfully. "But I can't tell iteven to you because I can't tell it well enough yet. I've a feeling thatthere's only one way to tell it--and I don't know the way yet. Some dayI'll know it--and then I'll tell you, Bev. "

Long, long after she kept her word. Forty years later I wrote to her, across the leagues of land and sea that divided us, and told her thatJasper Dale was dead; and I reminded her of her old promise and askedits fulfilment. In reply she sent me the written love story of JasperDale and Alice Reade. Now, when Alice sleeps under the whispering elmsof the old Carlisle churchyard, beside the husband of her youth, thatstory may be given, in all its old-time sweetness, to the world. 

CHAPTER XXV. THE LOVE STORY OF THE AWKWARD MAN

(Written by the Story Girl)

Jasper Dale lived alone in the old homestead which he had named GoldenMilestone. In Carlisle this giving one's farm a name was looked upon asa piece of affectation; but if a place must be named why not give ita sensible name with some meaning to it? Why Golden Milestone, whenPinewood or Hillslope or, if you wanted to be very fanciful, Ivy Lodge, might be had for the taking?

He had lived alone at Golden Milestone since his mother's death; he hadbeen twenty then and he was close upon forty now, though he did not lookit. But neither could it be said that he looked young; he had never atany time looked young with common youth; there had always been somethingin his appearance that stamped him as different from the ordinary runof men, and, apart from his shyness, built up an intangible, invisiblebarrier between him and his kind. He had lived all his life in Carlisle;and all the Carlisle people knew of or about him--although they thoughtthey knew everything--was that he was painfully, abnormally shy. Henever went anywhere except to church; he never took part in Carlisle'ssimple social life; even with most men he was distant and reserved; asfor women, he never spoke to or looked at them; if one spoke to him, even if she were a matronly old mother in Israel, he was at once in anagony of painful blushes. He had no friends in the sense of companions;to all outward appearance his life was solitary and devoid of any humaninterest. 

He had no housekeeper; but his old house, furnished as it had been inhis mother's lifetime, was cleanly and daintily kept. The quaint roomswere as free from dust and disorder as a woman could have had them. Thiswas known, because Jasper Dale occasionally had his hired man's wife, Mrs. Griggs, in to scrub for him. On the morning she was expected hebetook himself to woods and fields, returning only at night-fall. Duringhis absence Mrs. Griggs was frankly wont to explore the house fromcellar to attic, and her report of its condition was always thesame--"neat as wax. " To be sure, there was one room that was alwayslocked against her, the west gable, looking out on the garden and thehill of pines beyond. But Mrs. Griggs knew that in the lifetime ofJasper Dale's mother it had been unfurnished. She supposed it stillremained so, and felt no especial curiosity concerning it, though shealways tried the door. 

Jasper Dale had a good farm, well cultivated; he had a large gardenwhere he worked most of his spare time in summer; it was supposed thathe read a great deal, since the postmistress declared that he was alwaysgetting books and magazines by mail. He seemed well contented with hisexistence and people let him alone, since that was the greatest kindnessthey could do him. It was unsupposable that he would ever marry; nobodyever had supposed it. 

"Jasper Dale never so much as THOUGHT about a woman, " Carlisle oraclesdeclared. Oracles, however, are not always to be trusted. 

One day Mrs. Griggs went away from the Dale place with a very curiousstory, which she diligently spread far and wide. It made a good dealof talk, but people, although they listened eagerly, and wondered andquestioned, were rather incredulous about it. They thought Mrs. Griggsmust be drawing considerably upon her imagination; there were notlacking those who declared that she had invented the whole account, since her reputation for strict veracity was not wholly unquestioned. 

Mrs. Griggs's story was as follows:--

One day she found the door of the west gable unlocked. She went in, expecting to see bare walls and a collection of odds and ends. Insteadshe found herself in a finely furnished room. Delicate lace curtainshung before the small, square, broad-silled windows. The walls wereadorned with pictures in much finer taste than Mrs. Griggs couldappreciate. There was a bookcase between the windows filled withchoicely bound books. Beside it stood a little table with a very daintywork-basket on it. By the basket Mrs. Griggs saw a pair of tiny scissorsand a silver thimble. A wicker rocker, comfortable with silk cushions, was near it. Above the bookcase a woman's picture hung--a water-colour, if Mrs. Griggs had but known it--representing a pale, very sweet face, with large, dark eyes and a wistful expression under loose masses ofblack, lustrous hair. Just beneath the picture, on the top shelf of thebookcase, was a vaseful of flowers. Another vaseful stood on the tablebeside the basket. 

All this was astonishing enough. But what puzzled Mrs. Griggs completelywas the fact that a woman's dress was hanging over a chair before themirror--a pale blue, silken affair. And on the floor beside it were twolittle blue satin slippers!

Good Mrs. Griggs did not leave the room until she had thoroughlyexplored it, even to shaking out the blue dress and discovering it to bea tea-gown--wrapper, she called it. But she found nothing to throw anylight on the mystery. The fact that the simple name "Alice" was writtenon the fly-leaves of all the books only deepened it, for it was a nameunknown in the Dale family. In this puzzled state she was obliged todepart, nor did she ever find the door unlocked again; and, discoveringthat people thought she was romancing when she talked about themysterious west gable at Golden Milestone, she indignantly held herpeace concerning the whole affair. 

But Mrs. Griggs had told no more than the simple truth. Jasper Dale, under all his shyness and aloofness, possessed a nature full of delicateromance and poesy, which, denied expression in the common ways of life, bloomed out in the realm of fancy and imagination. Left alone, just whenthe boy's nature was deepening into the man's, he turned to this idealkingdom for all he believed the real world could never give him. Love--astrange, almost mystical love--played its part here for him. He shadowedforth to himself the vision of a woman, loving and beloved; he cherishedit until it became almost as real to him as his own personality and hegave this dream woman the name he liked best--Alice. In fancy he walkedand talked with her, spoke words of love to her, and heard words of lovein return. When he came from work at the close of day she met him at histhreshold in the twilight--a strange, fair, starry shape, as elusive andspiritual as a blossom reflected in a pool by moonlight--with welcome onher lips and in her eyes. 

One day, when he was in Charlottetown on business, he had been struck bya picture in the window of a store. It was strangely like the woman ofhis dream love. He went in, awkward and embarrassed, and bought it. Whenhe took it home he did not know where to put it. It was out of placeamong the dim old engravings of bewigged portraits and conventionallandscapes on the walls of Golden Milestone. As he pondered the matterin his garden that evening he had an inspiration. The sunset, flaming onthe windows of the west gable, kindled them into burning rose. Amid thesplendour he fancied Alice's fair face peeping archly down at him fromthe room. The inspiration came then. It should be her room; he would fitit up for her; and her picture should hang there. 

He was all summer carrying out his plan. Nobody must know or suspect, so he must go slowly and secretly. One by one the furnishings werepurchased and brought home under cover of darkness. He arranged themwith his own hands. He bought the books he thought she would like bestand wrote her name in them; he got the little feminine knick-knacks ofbasket and thimble. Finally he saw in a store a pale blue tea-gown andthe satin slippers. He had always fancied her as dressed in blue. Hebought them and took them home to her room. Thereafter it was sacred toher; he always knocked on its door before he entered; he kept it sweetwith fresh flowers; he sat there in the purple summer evenings andtalked aloud to her or read his favourite books to her. In his fancy shesat opposite to him in her rocker, clad in the trailing blue gown, withher head leaning on one slender hand, as white as a twilight star. 

But Carlisle people knew nothing of this--would have thought him tingedwith mild lunacy if they had known. To them, he was just the shy, simplefarmer he appeared. They never knew or guessed at the real Jasper Dale. 

One spring Alice Reade came to teach music in Carlisle. Her pupilsworshipped her, but the grown people thought she was rather too distantand reserved. They had been used to merry, jolly girls who joinedeagerly in the social life of the place. Alice Reade held herself alooffrom it--not disdainfully, but as one to whom these things were of smallimportance. She was very fond of books and solitary rambles; she wasnot at all shy but she was as sensitive as a flower; and after a timeCarlisle people were content to let her live her own life and no longerresented her unlikeness to themselves. 

She boarded with the Armstrongs, who lived beyond Golden Milestonearound the hill of pines. Until the snow disappeared she went out to themain road by the long Armstrong lane; but when spring came she was wontto take a shorter way, down the pine hill, across the brook, past JasperDale's garden, and out through his lane. And one day, as she went by, Jasper Dale was working in his garden. 

He was on his knees in a corner, setting out a bunch of roots--anunsightly little tangle of rainbow possibilities. It was a still springmorning; the world was green with young leaves; a little wind blew downfrom the pines and lost itself willingly among the budding delights ofthe garden. The grass opened eyes of blue violets. The sky was highand cloudless, turquoise-blue, shading off into milkiness on the farhorizons. Birds were singing along the brook valley. Rollicking robinswere whistling joyously in the pines. Jasper Dale's heart was filled toover-flowing with a realization of all the virgin loveliness around him;the feeling in his soul had the sacredness of a prayer. At this momenthe looked up and saw Alice Reade. 

She was standing outside the garden fence, in the shadow of a great pinetree, looking not at him, for she was unaware of his presence, butat the virginal bloom of the plum trees in a far corner, with all herdelight in it outblossoming freely in her face. For a moment Jasper Dalebelieved that his dream love had taken visible form before him. She waslike--so like; not in feature, perhaps, but in grace and colouring--thegrace of a slender, lissome form and the colouring of cloudy hair andwistful, dark gray eyes, and curving red mouth; and more than all, shewas like her in expression--in the subtle revelation of personalityexhaling from her like perfume from a flower. It was as if his own hadcome to him at last and his whole soul suddenly leaped out to meet andwelcome her. 

Then her eyes fell upon him and the spell was broken. Jasper remainedkneeling mutely there, shy man once more, crimson with blushes, astrange, almost pitiful creature in his abject confusion. A little smileflickered about the delicate corners of her mouth, but she turned andwalked swiftly away down the lane. 

Jasper looked after her with a new, painful sense of loss andloveliness. It had been agony to feel her conscious eyes upon him, buthe realized now that there had been a strange sweetness in it, too. Itwas still greater pain to watch her going from him. 

He thought she must be the new music teacher but he did not even knowher name. She had been dressed in blue, too--a pale, dainty blue; butthat was of course; he had known she must wear it; and he was sure hername must be Alice. When, later on, he discovered that it was, he feltno surprise. 

He carried some mayflowers up to the west gable and put them under thepicture. But the charm had gone out of the tribute; and looking at thepicture, he thought how scant was the justice it did her. Her facewas so much sweeter, her eyes so much softer, her hair so much morelustrous. The soul of his love had gone from the room and from thepicture and from his dreams. When he tried to think of the Alice heloved he saw, not the shadowy spirit occupant of the west gable, but theyoung girl who had stood under the pine, beautiful with the beauty ofmoonlight, of starshine on still water, of white, wind-swayed flowersgrowing in silent, shadowy places. He did not then realize what thismeant: had he realized it he would have suffered bitterly; as it washe felt only a vague discomfort--a curious sense of loss and gaincommingled. 

He saw her again that afternoon on her way home. She did not pause bythe garden but walked swiftly past. Thereafter, every day for a week hewatched unseen to see her pass his home. Once a little child was withher, clinging to her hand. No child had ever before had any part in theshy man's dream life. But that night in the twilight the vision ofthe rocking-chair was a girl in a blue print dress, with a little, golden-haired shape at her knee--a shape that lisped and prattled andcalled her "mother;" and both of them were his. 

It was the next day that he failed for the first time to put flowersin the west gable. Instead, he cut a loose handful of daffodils and, looking furtively about him as if committing a crime, he laid themacross the footpath under the pine. She must pass that way; her feetwould crush them if she failed to see them. Then he slipped back intohis garden, half exultant, half repentant. From a safe retreat he sawher pass by and stoop to lift his flowers. Thereafter he put some in thesame place every day. 

When Alice Reade saw the flowers she knew at once who had put themthere, and divined that they were for her. She lifted them tenderly inmuch surprise and pleasure. She had heard all about Jasper Dale and hisshyness; but before she had heard about him she had seen him in churchand liked him. She thought his face and his dark blue eyes beautiful;she even liked the long brown hair that Carlisle people laughed at. Thathe was quite different from other people she had understood at once, butshe thought the difference in his favour. Perhaps her sensitive naturedivined and responded to the beauty in his. At least, in her eyes JasperDale was never a ridiculous figure. 

When she heard the story of the west gable, which most peopledisbelieved, she believed it, although she did not understand it. Itinvested the shy man with interest and romance. She felt that she wouldhave liked, out of no impertinent curiosity, to solve the mystery; shebelieved that it contained the key to his character. 

Thereafter, every day she found flowers under the pine tree; she wishedto see Jasper to thank him, unaware that he watched her daily from thescreen of shrubbery in his garden; but it was some time before she foundthe opportunity. One evening she passed when he, not expecting her, wasleaning against his garden fence with a book in his hand. She stoppedunder the pine. 

"Mr. Dale, " she said softly, "I want to thank you for your flowers. "

Jasper, startled, wished that he might sink into the ground. His anguishof embarrassment made her smile a little. He could not speak, so shewent on gently. 

"It has been so good of you. They have given me so much pleasure--I wishyou could know how much. "

"It was nothing--nothing, " stammered Jasper. His book had fallen on theground at her feet, and she picked it up and held it out to him. 

"So you like Ruskin, " she said. "I do, too. But I haven't read this. "

"If you--would care--to read it--you may have it, " Jasper contrived tosay. 

She carried the book away with her. He did not again hide when shepassed, and when she brought the book back they talked a little aboutit over the fence. He lent her others, and got some from her in return;they fell into the habit of discussing them. Jasper did not find it hardto talk to her now; it seemed as if he were talking to his dream Alice, and it came strangely natural to him. He did not talk volubly, butAlice thought what he did say was worth while. His words lingered in hermemory and made music. She always found his flowers under the pine, andshe always wore some of them, but she did not know if he noticed this ornot. 

One evening Jasper walked shyly with her from his gate up the pine hill. After that he always walked that far with her. She would have missed himmuch if he had failed to do so; yet it did not occur to her that she waslearning to love him. She would have laughed with girlish scorn at theidea. She liked him very much; she thought his nature beautiful inits simplicity and purity; in spite of his shyness she felt moredelightfully at home in his society than in that of any other person shehad ever met. He was one of those rare souls whose friendship is at oncea pleasure and a benediction, showering light from their own crystalclearness into all the dark corners in the souls of others, until, forthe time being at least, they reflected his own nobility. But she neverthought of love. Like other girls she had her dreams of a possiblePrince Charming, young and handsome and debonair. It never occurredto her that he might be found in the shy, dreamy recluse of GoldenMilestone. 

In August came a day of gold and blue. Alice Reade, coming through thetrees, with the wind blowing her little dark love-locks tricksily aboutunder her wide blue hat, found a fragrant heap of mignonette underthe pine. She lifted it and buried her face in it, drinking in thewholesome, modest perfume. 

She had hoped Jasper would be in his garden, since she wished to ask himfor a book she greatly desired to read. But she saw him sitting on therustic seat at the further side. His back was towards her, and he waspartially screened by a copse of lilacs. 

Alice, blushing slightly, unlatched the garden gate, and went down thepath. She had never been in the garden before, and she found her heartbeating in a strange fashion. 

He did not hear her footsteps, and she was close behind him when sheheard his voice, and realized that he was talking to himself, in a low, dreamy tone. As the meaning of his words dawned on her consciousness shestarted and grew crimson. She could not move or speak; as one in adream she stood and listened to the shy man's reverie, guiltless of anythought of eavesdropping. 

"How much I love you, Alice, " Jasper Dale was saying, unafraid, with noshyness in voice or manner. "I wonder what you would say if you knew. You would laugh at me--sweet as you are, you would laugh in mockery. Ican never tell you. I can only dream of telling you. In my dream you arestanding here by me, dear. I can see you very plainly, my sweet lady, sotall and gracious, with your dark hair and your maiden eyes. I can dreamthat I tell you my love; that--maddest, sweetest dream of all--that youlove me in return. Everything is possible in dreams, you know, dear. Mydreams are all I have, so I go far in them, even to dreaming that youare my wife. I dream how I shall fix up my dull old house for you. Oneroom will need nothing more--it is your room, dear, and has been readyfor you a long time--long before that day I saw you under the pine. Yourbooks and your chair and your picture are there, dear--only the pictureis not half lovely enough. But the other rooms of the house must be madeto bloom out freshly for you. What a delight it is thus to dream ofwhat I would do for you! Then I would bring you home, dear, and leadyou through my garden and into my house as its mistress. I would see youstanding beside me in the old mirror at the end of the hall--a bride, in your pale blue dress, with a blush on your face. I would lead youthrough all the rooms made ready for your coming, and then to your own. I would see you sitting in your own chair and all my dreams wouldfind rich fulfilment in that royal moment. Oh, Alice, we would have abeautiful life together! It's sweet to make believe about it. You willsing to me in the twilight, and we will gather early flowers togetherin the spring days. When I come home from work, tired, you will putyour arms about me and lay your head on my shoulder. I will strokeit--so--that bonny, glossy head of yours. Alice, my Alice--all mine inmy dream--never to be mine in real life--how I love you!"

The Alice behind him could bear no more. She gave a little choking crythat betrayed her presence. Jasper Dale sprang up and gazed upon her. Hesaw her standing there, amid the languorous shadows of August, pale withfeeling, wide-eyed, trembling. 

For a moment shyness wrung him. Then every trace of it was banished by asudden, strange, fierce anger that swept over him. He felt outraged andhurt to the death; he felt as if he had been cheated out of somethingincalculably precious--as if sacrilege had been done to his most holysanctuary of emotion. White, tense with his anger, he looked at her andspoke, his lips as pale as if his fiery words scathed them. 

"How dare you? You have spied on me--you have crept in and listened! Howdare you? Do you know what you have done, girl? You have destroyed allthat made life worth while to me. My dream is dead. It could not livewhen it was betrayed. And it was all I had. Oh, laugh at me--mock me! Iknow that I am ridiculous! What of it? It never could have hurt you! Whymust you creep in like this to hear me and put me to shame? Oh, I loveyou--I will say it, laugh as you will. Is it such a strange thing that Ishould have a heart like other men? This will make sport for you! I, wholove you better than my life, better than any other man in the worldcan love you, will be a jest to you all your life. I love you--and yetI think I could hate you--you have destroyed my dream--you have done medeadly wrong. "

"Jasper! Jasper!" cried Alice, finding her voice. His anger hurt herwith a pain she could not endure. It was unbearable that Jasper shouldbe angry with her. In that moment she realized that she loved him--thatthe words he had spoken when unconscious of her presence were thesweetest she had ever heard, or ever could hear. Nothing mattered atall, save that he loved her and was angry with her. 

"Don't say such dreadful things to me, " she stammered, "I did notmean to listen. I could not help it. I shall never laugh at you. Oh, Jasper"--she looked bravely at him and the fine soul of her shonethrough the flesh like an illuminating lamp--"I am glad that you loveme! and I am glad I chanced to overhear you, since you would never havehad the courage to tell me otherwise. Glad--glad! Do you understand, Jasper?"

Jasper looked at her with the eyes of one who, looking through pain, sees rapture beyond. 

"Is it possible?" he said, wonderingly. "Alice--I am so much olderthan you--and they call me the Awkward Man--they say I am unlike otherpeople"--

"You ARE unlike other people, " she said softly, "and that is why I loveyou. I know now that I must have loved you ever since I saw you. "

"I loved you long before I saw you, " said Jasper. 

He came close to her and drew her into his arms, tenderly andreverently, all his shyness and awkwardness swallowed up in the graceof his great happiness. In the old garden he kissed her lips and Aliceentered into her own. 

CHAPTER XXVI. UNCLE BLAIR COMES HOME

It happened that the Story Girl and I both got up very early on themorning of the Awkward Man's wedding day. Uncle Alec was going toCharlottetown that day, and I, awakened at daybreak by the sounds in thekitchen beneath us, remembered that I had forgotten to ask him to bringme a certain school-book I wanted. So I hurriedly dressed and hasteneddown to tell him before he went. I was joined on the stairs by the StoryGirl, who said she had wakened and, not feeling like going to sleepagain, thought she might as well get up. 

"I had such a funny dream last night, " she said. "I dreamed that I hearda voice calling me from away down in Uncle Stephen's Walk--'Sara, Sara, Sara, ' it kept calling. I didn't know whose it was, and yet it seemedlike a voice I knew. I wakened up while it was calling, and it seemed soreal I could hardly believe it was a dream. It was bright moonlight, and I felt just like getting up and going out to the orchard. But I knewthat would be silly and of course I didn't go. But I kept on wanting toand I couldn't sleep any more. Wasn't it queer?"

When Uncle Alec had gone I proposed a saunter to the farther end of theorchard, where I had left a book the preceding evening. A young mom waswalking rosily on the hills as we passed down Uncle Stephen's Walk, with Paddy trotting before us. High overhead was the spirit-like blue ofpaling skies; the east was a great arc of crystal, smitten through withauroral crimsonings; just above it was one milk-white star of morning, like a pearl on a silver sea. A light wind of dawn was weaving an orientspell. 

"It's lovely to be up as early as this, isn't it?" said the Story Girl. "The world seems so different just at sunrise, doesn't it? It makes mefeel just like getting up to see the sun rise every morning of mylife after this. But I know I won't. I'll likely sleep later than evertomorrow morning. But I wish I could. "

"The Awkward Man and Miss Reade are going to have a lovely day for theirwedding, " I said. 

"Yes, and I'm so glad. Beautiful Alice deserves everything good. Why, Bev--why, Bev! Who is that in the hammock?"

I looked. The hammock was swung under the two end trees of the Walk. Init a man was lying, asleep, his head pillowed on his overcoat. He wassleeping easily, lightly, and wholesomely. He had a pointed brown beardand thick wavy brown hair. His cheeks were a dusky red and the lashes ofhis closed eyes were as long and dark and silken as a girl's. He wore alight gray suit, and on the slender white hand that hung down over thehammock's edge was a spark of diamond fire. 

It seemed to me that I knew his face, although assuredly I had neverseen him before. While I groped among vague speculations the Story Girlgave a queer, choked little cry. The next moment she had sprung over theintervening space, dropped on her knees by the hammock, and flung herarms about the man's neck. 

"Father! Father!" she cried, while I stood, rooted to the ground in myamazement. 

The sleeper stirred and opened two large, exceedingly brilliant hazeleyes. For a moment he gazed rather blankly at the brown-curled younglady who was embracing him. Then a most delightful smile broke over hisface; he sprang up and caught her to his heart. 

"Sara--Sara--my little Sara! To think didn't know you at first glance!But you are almost a woman. And when I saw you last you were just alittle girl of eight. My own little Sara!"

"Father--father--sometimes I've wondered if you were ever coming back tome, " I heard the Story Girl say, as I turned and scuttled up the Walk, realizing that I was not wanted there just then and would be littlemissed. Various emotions and speculations possessed my mind in myretreat; but chiefly did I feel a sense of triumph in being the bearerof exciting news. 

"Aunt Janet, Uncle Blair is here, " I announced breathlessly at thekitchen door. 

Aunt Janet, who was kneading her bread, turned round and lifted flouryhands. Felicity and Cecily, who were just entering the kitchen, rosyfrom slumber, stopped still and stared at me. 

"Uncle who?" exclaimed Aunt Janet. 

"Uncle Blair--the Story Girl's father, you know. He's here. "

"WHERE?"

"Down in the orchard. He was asleep in the hammock. We found him there. "

"Dear me!" said Aunt Janet, sitting down helplessly. "If that isn'tlike Blair! Of course he couldn't come like anybody else. I wonder, " sheadded in a tone unheard by anyone else save myself, "I wonder if he hascome to take the child away. "

My elation went out like a snuffed candle. I had never thought of this. If Uncle Blair took the Story Girl away would not life become rathersavourless on the hill farm? I turned and followed Felicity and Cecilyout in a very subdued mood. 

Uncle Blair and the Story Girl were just coming out of the orchard. Hisarm was about her and hers was on his shoulder. Laughter and tears werecontending in her eyes. Only once before--when Peter had come back fromthe Valley of the Shadow--had I seen the Story Girl cry. Emotion had togo very deep with her ere it touched the source of tears. I had alwaysknown that she loved her father passionately, though she rarely talkedof him, understanding that her uncles and aunts were not whole-heartedlyhis friends. 

But Aunt Janet's welcome was cordial enough, though a trifle flustered. Whatever thrifty, hard-working farmer folk might think of gay, BohemianBlair Stanley in his absence, in his presence even they liked him, bythe grace of some winsome, lovable quality in the soul of him. He had"a way with him"--revealed even in the manner with which he caught staidAunt Janet in his arms, swung her matronly form around as though she hadbeen a slim schoolgirl, and kissed her rosy cheek. 

"Sister o' mine, are you never going to grow old?" he said. "Here youare at forty-five with the roses of sixteen--and not a gray hair, I'llwager. "

"Blair, Blair, it is you who are always young, " laughed Aunt Janet, notill pleased. "Where in the world did you come from? And what is this Ihear of your sleeping all night in the hammock?"

"I've been painting in the Lake District all summer, as you know, "answered Uncle Blair, "and one day I just got homesick to see my littlegirl. So I sailed for Montreal without further delay. I got here ateleven last night--the station-master's son drove me down. Nice boy. Theold house was in darkness and I thought it would be a shame to rouse youall out of bed after a hard day's work. So I decided that I would spendthe night in the orchard. It was moonlight, you know, and moonlight inan old orchard is one of the few things left over from the Golden Age. "

"It was very foolish of you, " said practical Aunt Janet. "TheseSeptember nights are real chilly. You might have caught your death ofcold--or a bad dose of rheumatism. "

"So I might. No doubt it was foolish of me, " agreed Uncle Blair gaily. "It must have been the fault, of the moonlight. Moonlight, you know, Sister Janet, has an intoxicating quality. It is a fine, airy, silverwine, such as fairies may drink at their revels, unharmed of it; butwhen a mere mortal sips of it, it mounts straightway to his brain, tothe undoing of his daylight common sense. However, I have got neithercold nor rheumatism, as a sensible person would have done had he everbeen lured into doing such a non-sensible thing; there is a specialProvidence for us foolish folk. I enjoyed my night in the orchard; fora time I was companioned by sweet old memories; and then I fell asleeplistening to the murmurs of the wind in those old trees yonder. And Ihad a beautiful dream, Janet. I dreamed that the old orchard blossomedagain, as it did that spring eighteen years ago. I dreamed that itssunshine was the sunshine of spring, not autumn. There was newness oflife in my dream, Janet, and the sweetness of forgotten words. "

"Wasn't it strange about MY dream?" whispered the Story Girl to me. 

"Well, you'd better come in and have some breakfast, " said Aunt Janet. "These are my little girls--Felicity and Cecily. "

"I remember them as two most adorable tots, " said Uncle Blair, shakinghands. "They haven't changed quite so much as my own baby-child. Why, she's a woman, Janet--she's a woman. "

"She's child enough still, " said Aunt Janet hastily. 

The Story Girl shook her long brown curls. 

"I'm fifteen, " she said. "And you ought to see me in my long dress, father. "

"We must not be separated any longer, dear heart, " I heard Uncle Blairsay tenderly. I hoped that he meant he would stay in Canada--not that hewould take the Story Girl away. 

Apart from this we had a gay day with Uncle Blair. He evidently likedour society better than that of the grown-ups, for he was a childhimself at heart, gay, irresponsible, always acting on the impulse ofthe moment. We all found him a delightful companion. There was noschool that day, as Mr. Perkins was absent, attending a meeting ofthe Teachers' Convention, so we spent most of its golden hours in theorchard with Uncle Blair, listening to his fascinating accounts offoreign wanderings. He also drew all our pictures for us, and this wasespecially delightful, for the day of the camera was only just dawningand none of us had ever had even our photographs taken. Sara Ray'spleasure was, as usual, quite spoiled by wondering what her motherwould say of it, for Mrs. Ray had, so it appeared, some very peculiarprejudices against the taking or making of any kind of picturewhatsoever, owing to an exceedingly strict interpretation of the secondcommandment. Dan suggested that she need not tell her mother anythingabout it; but Sara shook her head. 

"I'll have to tell her. I've made it a rule to tell ma everything I doever since the Judgment Day. "

"Besides, " added Cecily seriously, "the Family Guide says one ought totell one's mother everything. "

"It's pretty hard sometimes, though, " sighed Sara. "Ma scolds so muchwhen I do tell her things, that it sort of discourages me. But when Ithink of how dreadful I felt the time of the Judgment Day over deceivingher in some things it nerves me up. I'd do almost anything rather thanfeel like that the next time the Judgment Day comes. "

"Fe, fi, fo, fum, I smell a story, " said Uncle Blair. "What do you meanby speaking of the Judgment Day in the past tense?"

The Story Girl told him the tale of that dreadful Sunday in thepreceding summer and we all laughed with him at ourselves. 

"All the same, " muttered Peter, "I don't want to have another experiencelike that. I hope I'll be dead the next time the Judgment Day comes. "

"But you'll be raised up for it, " said Felix. 

"Oh, that'll be all right. I won't mind that. I won't know anythingabout it till it really happens. It's the expecting it that's theworst. "

"I don't think you ought to talk of such things, " said Felicity. 

When evening came we all went to Golden Milestone. We knew the AwkwardMan and his bride were expected home at sunset, and we meant to scatterflowers on the path by which she must enter her new home. It was theStory Girl's idea, but I don't think Aunt Janet would have let us go ifUncle Blair had not pleaded for us. He asked to be taken along, too, andwe agreed, if he would stand out of sight when the newly married paircame home. 

"You see, father, the Awkward Man won't mind us, because we're onlychildren and he knows us well, " explained the Story Girl, "but ifhe sees you, a stranger, it might confuse him and we might spoil thehomecoming, and that would be such a pity. "

So we went to Golden Milestone, laden with all the flowery spoil wecould plunder from both gardens. It was a clear amber-tinted Septemberevening and far away, over Markdale Harbour, a great round red moonwas rising as we waited. Uncle Blair was hidden behind the wind-blowntassels of the pines at the gate, but he and the Story Girl kept wavingtheir hands at each other and calling out gay, mirthful jests. 

"Do you really feel acquainted with your father?" whispered Sara Raywonderingly. "It's long since you saw him. "

"If I hadn't seen him for a hundred years it wouldn't make anydifference that way, " laughed the Story Girl. 

"S-s-h-s-s-h--they're coming, " whispered Felicity excitedly. 

And then they came--Beautiful Alice blushing and lovely, in theprettiest of pretty blue dresses, and the Awkward Man, so ferventlyhappy that he quite forgot to be awkward. He lifted her out of the buggygallantly and led her forward to us, smiling. We retreated before them, scattering our flowers lavishly on the path, and Alice Dale walked tothe very doorstep of her new home over a carpet of blossoms. On thestep they both paused and turned towards us, and we shyly did the properthing in the way of congratulations and good wishes. 

"It was so sweet of you to do this, " said the smiling bride. 

"It was lovely to be able to do it for you, dearest, " whispered theStory Girl, "and oh, Miss Reade--Mrs. Dale, I mean--we all hope you'llbe so, so happy for ever. "

"I am sure I shall, " said Alice Dale, turning to her husband. He lookeddown into her eyes--and we were quite forgotten by both of them. We sawit, and slipped away, while Jasper Dale drew his wife into their homeand shut the world out. 

We scampered joyously away through the moonlit dusk. Uncle Blair joinedus at the gate and the Story Girl asked him what he thought of thebride. 

"When she dies white violets will grow out of her dust, " he answered. 

"Uncle Blair says even queerer things than the Story Girl, " Felicitywhispered to me. 

And so that beautiful day went away from us, slipping through ourfingers as we tried to hold it. It hooded itself in shadows and faredforth on the road that is lighted by the white stars of evening. It hadbeen a gift of Paradise. Its hours had all been fair and beloved. Fromdawn flush to fall of night there had been naught to mar it. It tookwith it its smiles and laughter. But it left the boon of memory. 

CHAPTER XXVII. THE OLD ORDER CHANGETH

"I am going away with father when he goes. He is going to spend thewinter in Paris, and I am to go to school there. "

The Story Girl told us this one day in the orchard. There was a littleelation in her tone, but more regret. The news was not a great surpriseto us. We had felt it in the air ever since Uncle Blair's arrival. AuntJanet had been very unwilling to let the Story Girl go. But Uncle Blairwas inexorable. It was time, he said, that she should go to a betterschool than the little country one in Carlisle; and besides, he did notwant her to grow into womanhood a stranger to him. So it was finallydecided that she was to go. 

"Just think, you are going to Europe, " said Sara Ray in an awe-strucktone. "Won't that be splendid!"

"I suppose I'll like it after a while, " said the Story Girl slowly, "but I know I'll be dreadfully homesick at first. Of course, it will belovely to be with father, but oh, I'll miss the rest of you so much!"

"Just think how WE'LL miss YOU, " sighed Cecily. "It will be so lonesomehere this winter, with you and Peter both gone. Oh, dear, I do wishthings didn't have to change. "

Felicity said nothing. She kept looking down at the grass on which shesat, absently pulling at the slender blades. Presently we saw two bigtears roll down over her cheeks. The Story Girl looked surprised. 

"Are you crying because I'm going away, Felicity?" she asked. 

"Of course I am, " answered Felicity, with a big sob. "Do you think I'veno f-f-eeling?"

"I didn't think you'd care much, " said the Story Girl frankly. "You'venever seemed to like me very much. "

"I d-don't wear my h-heart on my sleeve, " said poor Felicity, with anattempt at dignity. "I think you m-might stay. Your father would let yous-stay if you c-coaxed him. "

"Well, you see I'd have to go some time, " sighed the Story Girl, "and the longer it was put off the harder it would be. But I do feeldreadfully about it. I can't even take poor Paddy. I'll have to leavehim behind, and oh, I want you all to promise to be kind to him for mysake. "

We all solemnly assured her that we would. 

"I'll g-give him cream every m-morning and n-night, " sobbed Felicity, "but I'll never be able to look at him without crying. He'll make methink of you. "

"Well, I'm not going right away, " said the Story Girl, more cheerfully. "Not till the last of October. So we have over a month yet to have agood time in. Let's all just determine to make it a splendid month forthe last. We won't think about my going at all till we have to, and wewon't have any quarrels among us, and we'll just enjoy ourselves all wepossibly can. So don't cry any more, Felicity. I'm awfully glad youdo like me and am sorry I'm going away, but let's all forget it for amonth. "

Felicity sighed, and tucked away her damp handkerchief. 

"It isn't so easy for me to forget things, but I'll try, " she saiddisconsolately, "and if you want any more cooking lessons before you goI'll be real glad to teach you anything I know. "

This was a high plane of self-sacrifice for Felicity to attain. But theStory Girl shook her head. 

"No, I'm not going to bother my head about cooking lessons this lastmonth. It's too vexing. "

"Do you remember the time you made the pudding--" began Peter, andsuddenly stopped. 

"Out of sawdust?" finished the Story Girl cheerfully. "You needn't beafraid to mention it to me after this. I don't mind any more. I begin tosee the fun of it now. I should think I do remember it--and the time Ibaked the bread before it was raised enough. "

"People have made worse mistakes than that, " said Felicity kindly. 

"Such as using tooth-powd--" but here Dan stopped abruptly, rememberingthe Story Girl's plea for a beautiful month. Felicity coloured, but saidnothing--did not even LOOK anything. 

"We HAVE had lots of fun together one way or another, " said Cecily, retrospectively. 

"Just think how much we've laughed this last year or so, " said the StoryGirl. "We've had good times together; but I think we'll have lots moresplendid years ahead. "

"Eden is always behind us--Paradise always before, " said UncleBlair, coming up in time to hear her. He said it with a sigh that wasimmediately lost in one of his delightful smiles. 

"I like Uncle Blair so much better than I expected to, " Felicityconfided to me. "Mother says he's a rolling stone, but there really issomething very nice about him, although he says a great many things Idon't understand. I suppose the Story Girl will have a very gay time inParis. "

"She's going to school and she'll have to study hard, " I said. 

"She says she's going to study for the stage, " said Felicity. "UncleRoger thinks it is all right, and says she'll be very famous some day. But mother thinks it's dreadful, and so do I. "

"Aunt Julia is a concert singer, " I said. 

"Oh, that's very different. But I hope poor Sara will get on all right, "sighed Felicity. "You never know what may happen to a person in thoseforeign countries. And everybody says Paris is such a wicked place. Butwe must hope for the best, " she concluded in a resigned tone. 

That evening the Story Girl and I drove the cows to pasture aftermilking, and when we came home we sought out Uncle Blair in the orchard. He was sauntering up and down Uncle Stephen's Walk, his hands claspedbehind him and his beautiful, youthful face uplifted to the western skywhere waves of night were breaking on a dim primrose shore of sunset. 

"See that star over there in the south-west?" he said, as we joined him. "The one just above that pine? An evening star shining over a darkpine tree is the whitest thing in the universe--because it is LIVINGwhiteness--whiteness possessing a soul. How full this old orchard is oftwilight! Do you know, I have been trysting here with ghosts. "

"The Family Ghost?" I asked, very stupidly. 

"No, not the Family Ghost. I never saw beautiful, broken-hearted Emilyyet. Your mother saw her once, Sara--that was a strange thing, " he addedabsently, as if to himself. 

"Did mother really see her?" whispered the Story Girl. 

"Well, she always believed she did. Who knows?"

"Do you think there are such things as ghosts, Uncle Blair?" I askedcuriously. 

"I never saw any, Beverley. "

"But you said you were trysting with ghosts here this evening, " said theStory Girl. 

"Oh, yes--the ghosts of the old years. I love this orchard because ofits many ghosts. We are good comrades, those ghosts and I; we walk andtalk--we even laugh together--sorrowful laughter that has sorrow's ownsweetness. And always there comes to me one dear phantom and wandershand in hand with me--a lost lady of the old years. "

"My mother?" said the Story Girl very softly. 

"Yes, your mother. Here, in her old haunts, it is impossible for me tobelieve that she can be dead--that her LAUGHTER can be dead. She was thegayest, sweetest thing--and so young--only three years older than you, Sara. Yonder old house had been glad because of her for eighteen yearswhen I met her first. "

"I wish I could remember her, " said the Story Girl, with a little sigh. "I haven't even a picture of her. Why didn't you paint one, father?"

"She would never let me. She had some queer, funny, half-playful, half-earnest superstition about it. But I always meant to when she wouldbecome willing to let me. And then--she died. Her twin brother Felixdied the same day. There was something strange about that, too. I washolding her in my arms and she was looking up at me; suddenly she lookedpast me and gave a little start. 'Felix!' she said. For a momentshe trembled and then she smiled and looked up at me again a littlebeseechingly. 'Felix has come for me, dear, ' she said. 'We were alwaystogether before you came--you must not mind--you must be glad I do nothave to go alone. ' Well, who knows? But she left me, Sara--she left me. "

There was that in Uncle Blair's voice that kept us silent for a time. Then the Story Girl said, still very softly:

"What did mother look like, father? I don't look the least little bitlike her, do I?"

"No, I wish you did, you brown thing. Your mother's face was as white asa wood-lily, with only a faint dream of rose in her cheeks. She had theeyes of one who always had a song in her heart--blue as a mist, thoseeyes were. She had dark lashes, and a little red mouth that quiveredwhen she was very sad or very happy like a crimson rose too rudelyshaken by the wind. She was as slim and lithe as a young, white-stemmedbirch tree. How I loved her! How happy we were! But he who accepts humanlove must bind it to his soul with pain, and she is not lost to me. Nothing is ever really lost to us as long as we remember it. "

Uncle Blair looked up at the evening star. We saw that he had forgottenus, and we slipped away, hand in hand, leaving him alone in thememory-haunted shadows of the old orchard. 

CHAPTER XXVIII. THE PATH TO ARCADY

October that year gathered up all the spilled sunshine of the summer andclad herself in it as in a garment. The Story Girl had asked us totry to make the last month together beautiful, and Nature seconded ourefforts, giving us that most beautiful of beautiful things--a graciousand perfect moon of falling leaves. There was not in all that vanishedOctober one day that did not come in with auroral splendour and go outattended by a fair galaxy of evening stars--not a day when there werenot golden lights in the wide pastures and purple hazes in the ripeneddistances. Never was anything so gorgeous as the maple trees that year. Maples are trees that have primeval fire in their souls. It glows out alittle in their early youth, before the leaves open, in the redness androsy-yellowness of their blossoms, but in summer it is carefully hiddenunder a demure, silver-lined greenness. Then when autumn comes, themaples give up trying to be sober and flame out in all the barbaricsplendour and gorgeousness of their real nature, making of the hillsthings out of an Arabian Nights dream in the golden prime of good HarounAlraschid. 

You may never know what scarlet and crimson really are until you seethem in their perfection on an October hillside, under the unfathomableblue of an autumn sky. All the glow and radiance and joy at earth'sheart seem to have broken loose in a splendid determination to expressitself for once before the frost of winter chills her beating pulses. Itis the year's carnival ere the dull Lenten days of leafless valleys andpenitential mists come. 

The time of apple-picking had come around once more and we workedjoyously. Uncle Blair picked apples with us, and between him and theStory Girl it was an October never to be forgotten. 

"Will you go far afield for a walk with me to-day?" he said to her andme, one idle afternoon of opal skies, pied meadows and misty hills. 

It was Saturday and Peter had gone home; Felix and Dan were helpingUncle Alec top turnips; Cecily and Felicity were making cookies forSunday, so the Story Girl and I were alone in Uncle Stephen's Walk. 

We liked to be alone together that last month, to think the long, longthoughts of youth and talk about our futures. There had grown up betweenus that summer a bond of sympathy that did not exist between us and theothers. We were older than they--the Story Girl was fifteen and I wasnearly that; and all at once it seemed as if we were immeasurably olderthan the rest, and possessed of dreams and visions and forward-reachinghopes which they could not possibly share or understand. At times wewere still children, still interested in childish things. But there camehours when we seemed to our two selves very grown up and old, andin those hours we talked our dreams and visions and hopes, vague andsplendid, as all such are, over together, and so began to build up, outof the rainbow fragments of our childhood's companionship, that rareand beautiful friendship which was to last all our lives, enriching andenstarring them. For there is no bond more lasting than that formed bythe mutual confidences of that magic time when youth is slipping fromthe sheath of childhood and beginning to wonder what lies for it beyondthose misty hills that bound the golden road. 

"Where are you going?" asked the Story Girl. 

"To 'the woods that belt the gray hillside'--ay, and overflow beyond itinto many a valley purple-folded in immemorial peace, " answered UncleBlair. "I have a fancy for one more ramble in Prince Edward Island woodsbefore I leave Canada again. But I would not go alone. So come, you twogay youthful things to whom all life is yet fair and good, and we willseek the path to Arcady. There will be many little things along ourway to make us glad. Joyful sounds will 'come ringing down the wind;' awealth of gypsy gold will be ours for the gathering; we will learn thepotent, unutterable charm of a dim spruce wood and the grace of flexilemountain ashes fringing a lonely glen; we will tryst with the folk offur and feather; we'll hearken to the music of gray old firs. Come, andyou'll have a ramble and an afternoon that you will both remember allyour lives. "

We did have it; never has its remembrance faded; that idyllic afternoonof roving in the old Carlisle woods with the Story Girl and Uncle Blairgleams in my book of years, a page of living beauty. Yet it was buta few hours of simplest pleasure; we wandered pathlessly through thesylvan calm of those dear places which seemed that day to be full ofa great friendliness; Uncle Blair sauntered along behind us, whistlingsoftly; sometimes he talked to himself; we delighted in those briefreveries of his; Uncle Blair was the only man I have ever known whocould, when he so willed, "talk like a book, " and do it without seemingridiculous; perhaps it was because he had the knack of choosing "fitaudience, though few, " and the proper time to appeal to that audience. 

We went across the fields, intending to skirt the woods at the back ofUncle Alec's farm and find a lane that cut through Uncle Roger's woods;but before we came to it we stumbled on a sly, winding little path quiteby accident--if, indeed, there can be such a thing as accident in thewoods, where I am tempted to think we are led by the Good People alongsuch of their fairy ways as they have a mind for us to walk in. 

"Go to, let us explore this, " said Uncle Blair. "It always dragsterribly at my heart to go past a wood lane if I can make any excuse atall for traversing it: for it is the by-ways that lead to the heart ofthe woods and we must follow them if we would know the forest and beknown of it. When we can really feel its wild heart beating against oursits subtle life will steal into our veins and make us its own for ever, so that no matter where we go or how wide we wander in the noisy ways ofcities or over the lone ways of the sea, we shall yet be drawn back tothe forest to find our most enduring kinship. "

"I always feel so SATISFIED in the woods, " said the Story Girl dreamily, as we turned in under the low-swinging fir boughs. "Trees seem suchfriendly things. "

"They are the most friendly things in God's good creation, " said UncleBlair emphatically. "And it is so easy to live with them. To holdconverse with pines, to whisper secrets with the poplars, to listen tothe tales of old romance that beeches have to tell, to walk in eloquentsilence with self-contained firs, is to learn what real companionshipis. Besides, trees are the same all over the world. A beech tree on theslopes of the Pyrenees is just what a beech tree here in these Carlislewoods is; and there used to be an old pine hereabouts whose twin brotherI was well acquainted with in a dell among the Apennines. Listen tothose squirrels, will you, chattering over yonder. Did you ever hearsuch a fuss over nothing? Squirrels are the gossips and busybodies ofthe woods; they haven't learned the fine reserve of its other denizens. But after all, there is a certain shrill friendliness in theirgreeting. "

"They seem to be scolding us, " I said, laughing. 

"Oh, they are not half such scolds as they sound, " answered Uncle Blairgaily. "If they would but 'tak a thought and mend' their shrew-like waysthey would be dear, lovable creatures enough. "

"If I had to be an animal I think I'd like to be a squirrel, " said theStory Girl. "It must be next best thing to flying. "

"Just see what a spring that fellow gave, " laughed Uncle Blair. "And nowlisten to his song of triumph! I suppose that chasm he cleared seemed aswide and deep to him as Niagara Gorge would to us if we leaped overit. Well, the wood people are a happy folk and very well satisfied withthemselves. "

Those who have followed a dim, winding, balsamic path to the unexpectedhollow where a wood-spring lies have found the rarest secret the forestcan reveal. Such was our good fortune that day. At the end of our pathwe found it, under the pines, a crystal-clear thing with lips unkissedby so much as a stray sunbeam. 

"It is easy to dream that this is one of the haunted springs of oldromance, " said Uncle Blair. "'Tis an enchanted spot this, I am verysure, and we should go softly, speaking low, lest we disturb the restof a white, wet naiad, or break some spell that has cost long years ofmystic weaving. "

"It's so easy to believe things in the woods, " said the Story Girl, shaping a cup from a bit of golden-brown birch bark and filling it atthe spring. 

"Drink a toast in that water, Sara, " said Uncle Blair. "There's not adoubt that it has some potent quality of magic in it and the wish youwish over it will come true. "

The Story Girl lifted her golden-hued flagon to her red lips. Her hazeleyes laughed at us over the brim. 

"Here's to our futures, " she cried, "I wish that every day of our livesmay be better than the one that went before. "

"An extravagant wish--a very wish of youth, " commented Uncle Blair, "andyet in spite of its extravagance, a wish that will come true if you aretrue to yourselves. In that case, every day WILL be better than all thatwent before--but there will be many days, dear lad and lass, when youwill not believe it. "

We did not understand him, but we knew Uncle Blair never explained hismeaning. When asked it he was wont to answer with a smile, "Some dayyou'll grow to it. Wait for that. " So we addressed ourselves to followthe brook that stole away from the spring in its windings and doublingsand tricky surprises. 

"A brook, " quoth Uncle Blair, "is the most changeful, bewitching, lovable thing in the world. It is never in the same mind or mood twominutes. Here it is sighing and murmuring as if its heart were broken. But listen--yonder by the birches it is laughing as if it were enjoyingsome capital joke all by itself. "

It was indeed a changeful brook; here it would make a pool, dark andbrooding and still, where we bent to look at our mirrored faces; then itgrew communicative and gossiped shallowly over a broken pebble bed wherethere was a diamond dance of sunbeams and no troutling or minnow couldglide through without being seen. Sometimes its banks were high andsteep, hung with slender ashes and birches; again they were mere, lowmargins, green with delicate mosses, shelving out of the wood. Onceit came to a little precipice and flung itself over undauntedly in anindignation of foam, gathering itself up rather dizzily among the mossystones below. It was some time before it got over its vexation; it wentboiling and muttering along, fighting with the rotten logs that lieacross it, and making far more fuss than was necessary over every rootthat interfered with it. We were getting tired of its ill-humour andtalked of leaving it, when it suddenly grew sweet-tempered again, swooped around a curve--and presto, we were in fairyland. 

It was a little dell far in the heart of the woods. A row of birchesfringed the brook, and each birch seemed more exquisitely gracefuland golden than her sisters. The woods receded from it on every hand, leaving it lying in a pool of amber sunshine. The yellow trees weremirrored in the placid stream, with now and then a leaf falling on thewater, mayhap to drift away and be used, as Uncle Blair suggested, bysome adventurous wood sprite who had it in mind to fare forth to somefar-off, legendary region where all the brooks ran into the sea. 

"Oh, what a lovely place!" I exclaimed, looking around me with delight. 

"A spell of eternity is woven over it, surely, " murmured Uncle Blair. "Winter may not touch it, or spring ever revisit it. It should be likethis for ever. "

"Let us never come here again, " said the Story Girl softly, "never, no matter how often we may be in Carlisle. Then we will never see itchanged or different. We can always remember it just as we see it now, and it will be like this for ever for us. "

"I'm going to sketch it, " said Uncle Blair. 

While he sketched it the Story Girl and I sat on the banks of the brookand she told me the story of the Sighing Reed. It was a very simplelittle story, that of the slender brown reed which grew by the forestpool and always was sad and sighing because it could not utter musiclike the brook and the birds and the winds. All the bright, beautifulthings around it mocked it and laughed at it for its folly. Who wouldever look for music in it, a plain, brown, unbeautiful thing? But oneday a youth came through the wood; he was as beautiful as the spring; hecut the brown reed and fashioned it according to his liking; and then heput it to his lips and breathed on it; and, oh, the music that floatedthrough the forest! It was so entrancing that everything--brooks andbirds and winds--grew silent to listen to it. Never had anything solovely been heard; it was the music that had for so long been shut up inthe soul of the sighing reed and was set free at last through its painand suffering. 

I had heard the Story Girl tell many a more dramatic tale; but that onestands out for me in memory above them all, partly, perhaps, because ofthe spot in which she told it, partly because it was the last one I wasto hear her tell for many years--the last one she was ever to tell me onthe golden road. 

When Uncle Blair had finished his sketch the shafts of sunshine wereturning crimson and growing more and more remote; the early autumntwilight was falling over the woods. We left our dell, saying good-byeto it for ever, as the Story Girl had suggested, and we went slowlyhomeward through the fir woods, where a haunting, indescribable odourstole out to meet us. 

"There is magic in the scent of dying fir, " Uncle Blair was saying aloudto himself, as if forgetting he was not quite alone. "It gets intoour blood like some rare, subtly-compounded wine, and thrills us withunutterable sweetnesses, as of recollections from some other fairerlife, lived in some happier star. Compared to it, all other scents seemheavy and earth-born, luring to the valleys instead of the heights. Butthe tang of the fir summons onward and upward to some 'far-off, divineevent'--some spiritual peak of attainment whence we shall see withunfaltering, unclouded vision the spires of some aerial City Beautiful, or the fulfilment of some fair, fadeless land of promise. "

He was silent for a moment, then added in a lower tone, "Felicity, you loved the scent of dying fir. If you were here tonightwith me--Felicity--Felicity!"

Something in his voice made me suddenly sad. I was comforted when I feltthe Story Girl slip her hand into mine. So we walked out of the woodsinto the autumn dusk. 

We were in a little valley. Half-way up the opposite slope a brush firewas burning clearly and steadily in a maple grove. There was somethingindescribably alluring in that fire, glowing so redly against the darkbackground of forest and twilit hill. 

"Let us go to it, " cried Uncle Blair, gaily, casting aside his sorrowfulmood and catching our hands. "A wood fire at night has a fascination notto be resisted by those of mortal race. Hasten--we must not lose time. "

"Oh, it will burn a long time yet, " I gasped, for Uncle Blair waswhisking us up the hill at a merciless rate. 

"You can't be sure. It may have been lighted by some good, honestfarmer-man, bent on tidying up his sugar orchard, but it may also, foranything we know, have been kindled by no earthly woodman as a beacon orsummons to the tribes of fairyland, and may vanish away if we tarry. "

It did not vanish and presently we found ourselves in the grove. It wasvery beautiful; the fire burned with a clear, steady glow and a softcrackle; the long arcades beneath the trees were illuminated with arosy radiance, beyond which lurked companies of gray and purple shadows. Everything was very still and dreamy and remote. 

"It is impossible that out there, just over the hill, lies a village ofmen, where tame household lamps are shining, " said Uncle Blair. 

"I feel as if we must be thousands of miles away from everything we'veever known, " murmured the Story Girl. 

"So you are!" said Uncle Blair emphatically. "You're back in the youthof the race--back in the beguilement of the young world. Everythingis in this hour--the beauty of classic myths, the primal charm of thesilent and the open, the lure of mystery. Why, it's a time and placewhen and where everything might come true--when the men in green mightcreep out to join hands and dance around the fire, or dryads steal fromtheir trees to warm their white limbs, grown chilly in October frosts, by the blaze. I wouldn't be much surprised if we should see somethingof the kind. Isn't that the flash of an ivory shoulder through yondergloom? And didn't you see a queer little elfin face peering at us aroundthat twisted gray trunk? But one can't be sure. Mortal eyesight is tooslow and clumsy a thing to match against the flicker of a pixy-littenfire. "

Hand in hand we wandered through that enchanted place, seeking the folkof elf-land, "and heard their mystic voices calling, from fairy knolland haunted hill. " Not till the fire died down into ashes did we leavethe grove. Then we found that the full moon was gleaming lustrously froma cloudless sky across the valley. Between us and her stretched up atall pine, wondrously straight and slender and branchless to its verytop, where it overflowed in a crest of dark boughs against the silverysplendour behind it. Beyond, the hill farms were lying in a suave, whiteradiance. 

"Doesn't it seem a long, long time to you since we left home thisafternoon?" asked the Story Girl. "And yet it is only a few hours. "

Only a few hours--true; yet such hours were worth a cycle of commonyears untouched by the glory and the dream. 

CHAPTER XXIX. WE LOSE A FRIEND

Our beautiful October was marred by one day of black tragedy--the dayPaddy died. For Paddy, after seven years of as happy a life as evera cat lived, died suddenly--of poison, as was supposed. Where he hadwandered in the darkness to meet his doom we did not know, but in thefrosty dawnlight he dragged himself home to die. We found him lyingon the doorstep when we got up, and it did not need Aunt Janet's curtannouncement, or Uncle Blair's reluctant shake of the head, to tell usthat there was no chance of our pet recovering this time. We felt thatnothing could be done. Lard and sulphur on his paws would be of no use, nor would any visit to Peg Bowen avail. We stood around in mournfulsilence; the Story Girl sat down on the step and took poor Paddy uponher lap. 

"I s'pose there's no use even in praying now, " said Cecily desperately. 

"It wouldn't do any harm to try, " sobbed Felicity. 

"You needn't waste your prayers, " said Dan mournfully, "Pat is beyondhuman aid. You can tell that by his eyes. Besides, I don't believe itwas the praying cured him last time. "

"No, it was Peg Bowen, " declared Peter, "but she couldn't have bewitchedhim this time for she's been away for months, nobody knows where. "

"If he could only TELL us where he feels the worst!" said Cecilypiteously. "It's so dreadful to see him suffering and not be able to doa single thing to help him!"

"I don't think he's suffering much now, " I said comfortingly. 

The Story Girl said nothing. She passed and repassed her long brown handgently over her pet's glossy fur. Pat lifted his head and essayed tocreep a little nearer to his beloved mistress. The Story Girl drew hislimp body close in her arms. There was a plaintive little mew--a longquiver--and Paddy's friendly soul had fared forth to wherever it is thatgood cats go. 

"Well, he's gone, " said Dan, turning his back abruptly to us. 

"It doesn't seem as if it can be true, " sobbed Cecily. "This timeyesterday morning he was full of life. "

"He drank two full saucers of cream, " moaned Felicity, "and I saw himcatch a mouse in the evening. Maybe it was the last one he ever caught. "

"He did for many a mouse in his day, " said Peter, anxious to pay histribute to the departed. 

"'He was a cat--take him for all in all. We shall not look upon his likeagain, '" quoted Uncle Blair. 

Felicity and Cecily and Sara Ray cried so much that Aunt Janet lostpatience completely and told them sharply that they would have somethingto cry for some day--which did not seem to comfort them much. The StoryGirl shed no tears, though the look in her eyes hurt more than weeping. 

"After all, perhaps it's for the best, " she said drearily. "I've beenfeeling so badly over having to go away and leave Paddy. No matter howkind you'd all be to him I know he'd miss me terribly. He wasn't likemost cats who don't care who comes and goes as long as they get plentyto eat. Paddy wouldn't have been contented without me. "

"Oh, no-o-o, oh, no-o-o, " wailed Sara Ray lugubriously. 

Felix shot a disgusted glance at her. 

"I don't see what YOU are making such a fuss about, " he saidunfeelingly. "He wasn't your cat. "

"But I l-l-oved him, " sobbed Sara, "and I always feel bad when myfriends d-do. "

"I wish we could believe that cats went to heaven, like people, " sighedCecily. "Do you really think it isn't possible?"

Uncle Blair shook his head. 

"I'm afraid not. I'd like to think cats have a chance for heaven, but Ican't. There's nothing heavenly about cats, delightful creatures thoughthey are. "

"Blair, I'm really surprised to hear the things you say to thechildren, " said Aunt Janet severely. 

"Surely you wouldn't prefer me to tell them that cats DO go to heaven, "protested Uncle Blair. 

"I think it's wicked to carry on about an animal as those children do, "answered Aunt Janet decidedly, "and you shouldn't encourage them. Herenow, children, stop making a fuss. Bury that cat and get off to yourapple picking. "

We had to go to our work, but Paddy was not to be buried in any suchoff-hand fashion as that. It was agreed that we should bury him inthe orchard at sunset that evening, and Sara Ray, who had to go home, declared she would be back for it, and implored us to wait for her ifshe didn't come exactly on time. 

"I mayn't be able to get away till after milking, " she sniffed, "but Idon't want to miss it. Even a cat's funeral is better than none at all. "

"Horrid thing!" said Felicity, barely waiting until Sara was out ofearshot. 

We worked with heavy hearts that day; the girls cried bitterly most ofthe time and we boys whistled defiantly. But as evening drew on we beganto feel a sneaking interest in the details of the funeral. As Dan said, the thing should be done properly, since Paddy was no common cat. TheStory Girl selected the spot for the grave, in a little corner behindthe cherry copse, where early violets enskied the grass in spring, andwe boys dug the grave, making it "soft and narrow, " as the heroine ofthe old ballad wanted hers made. Sara Ray, who managed to come in timeafter all, and Felicity stood and watched us, but Cecily and the StoryGirl kept far aloof. 

"This time last night you never thought you'd be digging Pat's graveto-night, " sighed Felicity. 

"We little k-know what a day will bring forth, " sobbed Sara. "I've heardthe minister say that and it is true. "

"Of course it's true. It's in the Bible; but I don't think you shouldrepeat it in connection with a cat, " said Felicity dubiously. 

When all was in readiness the Story Girl brought her pet through theorchard where he had so often frisked and prowled. No useless coffinenclosed his breast but he reposed in a neat cardboard box. 

"I wonder if it would be right to say 'ashes to ashes and dust todust, '" said Peter. 

"No, it wouldn't, " averred Felicity. "It would be real wicked. "

"I think we ought to sing a hymn, anyway, " asseverated Sara Ray. 

"Well, we might do that, if it isn't a very religious one, " concededFelicity. 

"How would 'Pull for the shore, sailor, pull for the shore, ' do?" askedCecily. "That never seemed to me a very religious hymn. "

"But it doesn't seem very appropriate to a funeral occasion either, "said Felicity. 

"I think 'Lead, kindly light, ' would be ever so much more suitable, "suggested Sara Ray, "and it is kind of soothing and melancholy too. "

"We are not going to sing anything, " said the Story Girl coldly. "Doyou want to make the affair ridiculous? We will just fill up the gravequietly and put a flat stone over the top. "

"It isn't much like my idea of a funeral, " muttered Sara Raydiscontentedly. 

"Never mind, we're going to have a real obituary about him in OurMagazine, " whispered Cecily consolingly. 

"And Peter is going to cut his name on top of the stone, " addedFelicity. "Only we mustn't let on to the grown-ups until it is done, because they might say it wasn't right. "

We left the orchard, a sober little band, with the wind of the graytwilight blowing round us. Uncle Roger passed us at the gate. 

"So the last sad obsequies are over?" he remarked with a grin. 

And we hated Uncle Roger. But we loved Uncle Blair because he saidquietly, "And so you've buried your little comrade?"

So much may depend on the way a thing is said. But not even UncleBlair's sympathy could take the sting out of the fact that there wasno Paddy to get the froth that night at milking time. Felicity criedbitterly all the time she was straining the milk. Many human beings havegone to their graves unattended by as much real regret as followed thatone gray pussy cat to his. 

CHAPTER XXX. PROPHECIES

"Here's a letter for you from father, " said Felix, tossing it to me ashe came through the orchard gate. We had been picking apples all day, but were taking a mid-afternoon rest around the well, with a cup of itssparkling cold water to refresh us. 

I opened the letter rather indifferently, for father, with all hisexcellent and lovable traits, was but a poor correspondent; his letterswere usually very brief and very unimportant. 

This letter was brief enough, but it was freighted with a message ofweighty import. I sat gazing stupidly at the sheet after I had read ituntil Felix exclaimed, "Bev, what's the matter with you? What's in that letter?"

"Father is coming home, " I said dazedly. "He is to leave South Americain a fortnight and will be here in November to take us back to Toronto. "

Everybody gasped. Sara Ray, of course, began to cry, which aggravated meunreasonably. 

"Well, " said Felix, when he got his second wind, "I'll be awful gladto see father again, but I tell you I don't like the thought of leavinghere. "

I felt exactly the same but, in view of Sara Ray's tears, admit it Iwould not; so I sat in grum silence while the other tongues wagged. 

"If I were not going away myself I'd feel just terrible, " said the StoryGirl. "Even as it is I'm real sorry. I'd like to be able to think ofyou as all here together when I'm gone, having good times and writing meabout them. "

"It'll be awfully dull when you fellows go, " muttered Dan. 

"I'm sure I don't know what we're ever going to do here this winter, "said Felicity, with the calmness of despair. 

"Thank goodness there are no more fathers to come back, " breathed Cecilywith a vicious earnestness that made us all laugh, even in the midst ofour dismay. 

We worked very half-heartedly the rest of the day, and it was not untilwe assembled in the orchard in the evening that our spirits recoveredsomething like their wonted level. It was clear and slightly frosty; thesun had declined behind a birch on a distant hill and it seemed a treewith a blazing heart of fire. The great golden willow at the lane gatewas laughter-shaken in the wind of evening. Even amid all the changes ofour shifting world we could not be hopelessly low-spirited--except SaraRay, who was often so, and Peter, who was rarely so. But Peter had beensorely vexed in spirit for several days. The time was approaching forthe October issue of Our Magazine and he had no genuine fiction readyfor it. He had taken so much to heart Felicity's taunt that his storieswere all true that he had determined to have a really-truly false onein the next number. But the difficulty was to get anyone to write it. Hehad asked the Story Girl to do it, but she refused; then he appealed tome and I shirked. Finally Peter determined to write a story himself. 

"It oughtn't to be any harder than writing a poem and I managed that, "he said dolefully. 

He worked at it in the evenings in the granary loft, and the rest of usforebore to question him concerning it, because he evidently dislikedtalking about his literary efforts. But this evening I had to ask him ifhe would soon have it ready, as I wanted to make up the paper. 

"It's done, " said Peter, with an air of gloomy triumph. "It don't amountto much, but anyhow I made it all out of my own head. Not one word of itwas ever printed or told before, and nobody can say there was. "

"Then I guess we have all the stuff in and I'll have Our Magazine readyto read by tomorrow night, " I said. 

"I s'pose it will be the last one we'll have, " sighed Cecily. "We can'tcarry it on after you all go, and it has been such fun. "

"Bev will be a real newspaper editor some day, " declared the Story Girl, on whom the spirit of prophecy suddenly descended that night. 

She was swinging on the bough of an apple tree, with a crimson shawlwrapped about her head, and her eyes were bright with roguish fire. 

"How do you know he will?" asked Felicity. 

"Oh, I can tell futures, " answered the Story Girl mysteriously. "I knowwhat's going to happen to all of you. Shall I tell you?"

"Do, just for the fun of it, " I said. "Then some day we'll know just hownear you came to guessing right. Go on. What else about me?"

"You'll write books, too, and travel all over the world, " continued theStory Girl. "Felix will be fat to the end of his life, and he will be agrandfather before he is fifty, and he will wear a long black beard. "

"I won't, " cried Felix disgustedly. "I hate whiskers. Maybe I can't helpthe grandfather part, but I CAN help having a beard. "

"You can't. It's written in the stars. "

"'Tain't. The stars can't prevent me from shaving. "

"Won't Grandpa Felix sound awful funny?" reflected Felicity. 

"Peter will be a minister, " went on the Story Girl. 

"Well, I might be something worse, " remarked Peter, in a not ungratifiedtone. 

"Dan will be a farmer and will marry a girl whose name begins with K andhe will have eleven children. And he'll vote Grit. "

"I won't, " cried scandalized Dan. "You don't know a thing aboutit. Catch ME ever voting Grit! As for the rest of it--I don't care. Farming's well enough, though I'd rather be a sailor. "

"Don't talk such nonsense, " protested Felicity sharply. "What on earthdo you want to be a sailor for and be drowned?"

"All sailors aren't drowned, " said Dan. 

"Most of them are. Look at Uncle Stephen. "

"You ain't sure he was drowned. "

"Well, he disappeared, and that is worse. "

"How do you know? Disappearing might be real easy. "

"It's not very easy for your family. "

"Hush, let's hear the rest of the predictions, " said Cecily. 

"Felicity, " resumed the Story Girl gravely, "will marry a minister. "

Sara Ray giggled and Felicity blushed. Peter tried hard not to look tooself-consciously delighted. 

"She will be a perfect housekeeper and will teach a Sunday School classand be very happy all her life. "

"Will her husband be happy?" queried Dan solemnly. 

"I guess he'll be as happy as your wife, " retorted Felicity reddening. 

"He'll be the happiest man in the world, " declared Peter warmly. 

"What about me?" asked Sara Ray. 

The Story Girl looked rather puzzled. It was so hard to imagine Sara Rayas having any kind of future. Yet Sara was plainly anxious to have herfortune told and must be gratified. 

"You'll be married, " said the Story Girl recklessly, "and you'll live tobe nearly a hundred years old, and go to dozens of funerals and have agreat many sick spells. You will learn not to cry after you are seventy;but your husband will never go to church. "

"I'm glad you warned me, " said Sara Ray solemnly, "because now I knowI'll make him promise before I marry him that he will go. "

"He won't keep the promise, " said the Story Girl, shaking her head. "Butit is getting cold and Cecily is coughing. Let us go in. "

"You haven't told my fortune, " protested Cecily disappointedly. 

The Story Girl looked very tenderly at Cecily--at the smooth littlebrown head, at the soft, shining eyes, at the cheeks that were oftenover-rosy after slight exertion, at the little sunburned hands that werealways busy doing faithful work or quiet kindnesses. A very strange lookcame over the Story Girl's face; her eyes grew sad and far-reaching, asif of a verity they pierced beyond the mists of hidden years. 

"I couldn't tell any fortune half good enough for you, dearest, " shesaid, slipping her arm round Cecily. "You deserve everything good andlovely. But you know I've only been in fun--of course I don't knowanything about what's going to happen to us. "

"Perhaps you know more than you think for, " said Sara Ray, who seemedmuch pleased with her fortune and anxious to believe it, despite thehusband who wouldn't go to church. 

"But I'd like to be told my fortune, even in fun, " persisted Cecily. 

"Everybody you meet will love you as long as you live. " said the StoryGirl. "There that's the very nicest fortune I can tell you, and it willcome true whether the others do or not, and now we must go in. "

We went, Cecily still a little disappointed. In later years I oftenwondered why the Story Girl refused to tell her fortune that night. Did some strange gleam of foreknowledge fall for a moment across hermirth-making? Did she realize in a flash of prescience that there wasno earthly future for our sweet Cecily? Not for her were to be thelengthening shadows or the fading garland. The end was to come whilethe rainbow still sparkled on her wine of life, ere a single petal hadfallen from her rose of joy. Long life was before all the others whotrysted that night in the old homestead orchard; but Cecily's maidenfeet were never to leave the golden road. 

CHAPTER XXXI. THE LAST NUMBER OF OUR MAGAZINE

EDITORIAL

It is with heartfelt regret that we take up our pen to announce thatthis will be the last number of Our Magazine. We have edited ten numbersof it and it has been successful beyond our expectations. It has to bediscontinued by reason of circumstances over which we have no controland not because we have lost interest in it. Everybody has done his orher best for Our Magazine. Prince Edward Island expected everyone to dohis and her duty and everyone did it. 

Mr. Dan King conducted the etiquette department in a way worthy of theFamily Guide itself. He is especially entitled to commendation becausehe laboured under the disadvantage of having to furnish most of thequestions as well as the answers. Miss Felicity King has edited ourhelpful household department very ably, and Miss Cecily King's fashionnotes were always up to date. The personal column was well looked afterby Miss Sara Stanley and the story page has been a marked success underthe able management of Mr. Peter Craig, to whose original story inthis issue, "The Battle of the Partridge Eggs, " we would call especialattention. The Exciting Adventure series has also been very popular. 

And now, in closing, we bid farewell to our staff and thank them one andall for their help and co-operation in the past year. We have enjoyedour work and we trust that they have too. We wish them all happinessand success in years to come, and we hope that the recollection ofOur Magazine will not be held least dear among the memories of theirchildhood. 

(SOBS FROM THE GIRLS): "INDEED IT WON'T!"

OBITUARY

On October eighteenth, Patrick Grayfur departed for that bourne whenceno traveller returns. He was only a cat, but he had been our faithfulfriend for a long time and we aren't ashamed to be sorry for him. Thereare lots of people who are not as friendly and gentlemanly as Paddy was, and he was a great mouser. We buried all that was mortal of poor Pat inthe orchard and we are never going to forget him. We have resolvedthat whenever the date of his death comes round we'll bow our heads andpronounce his name at the hour of his funeral. If we are anywhere wherewe can't say the name out loud we'll whisper it. 

"Farewell, dearest Paddy, in all the years that are to be We'll cherishyour memory faithfully. "[1]

MY MOST EXCITING ADVENTURE

My most exciting adventure was the day I fell off Uncle Roger's loft twoyears ago. I wasn't excited until it was all over because I hadn't timeto be. The Story Girl and I were looking for eggs in the loft. It wasfilled with wheat straw nearly to the roof and it was an awful distancefrom us to the floor. And wheat straw is so slippery. I made a littlespring and the straw slipped from under my feet and there I was goinghead first down from the loft. It seemed to me I was an awful long timefalling, but the Story Girl says I couldn't have been more than threeseconds. But I know that I thought five thoughts and there seemed to bequite a long time between them. The first thing I thought was, what hashappened, because I really didn't know at first, it was so sudden. Thenafter a spell I thought the answer, I am falling off the loft. And thenI thought, what will happen to me when I strike the floor, and afteranother little spell I thought, I'll be killed. And then I thought, well, I don't care. I really wasn't a bit frightened. I just was quitewilling to be killed. If there hadn't been a big pile of chaff on thebarn floor these words would never have been written. But there was andI fell on it and wasn't a bit hurt, only my hair and mouth and eyesand ears got all full of chaff. The strange part is that I wasn't a bitfrightened when I thought I was going to be killed, but after all thedanger was over I was awfully frightened and trembled so the Story Girlhad to help me into the house. 

 FELICITY KING. 

THE BATTLE OF THE PARTRIDGE EGGS

Once upon a time there lived about half a mile from a forrest a farmerand his wife and his sons and daughters and a granddaughter. The farmerand his wife loved this little girl very much but she caused them greattrouble by running away into the woods and they often spent haf dayslooking for her. One day she wondered further into the forrest thanusual and she begun to be hungry. Then night closed in. She asked a foxwhere she could get something to eat. The fox told her he knew wherethere was a partridges nest and a bluejays nest full of eggs. So he ledher to the nests and she took five eggs out of each. When the birds camehome they missed the eggs and flew into a rage. The bluejay put on histopcoat and was going to the partridge for law when he met the partridgecoming to him. They lit up a fire and commenced sining their deeds whenthey heard a tremendous howl close behind them. They jumped up and putout the fire and were immejutly attacked by five great wolves. The nextday the little girl was rambelling through the woods when they saw herand took her prisoner. After she had confessed that she had stole theeggs they told her to raise an army. They would have to fight over thenests of eggs and whoever one would have the eggs. So the partridgeraised a great army of all kinds of birds except robins and the littlegirl got all the robins and foxes and bees and wasps. And best of allthe little girl had a gun and plenty of ammunishun. The leader of herarmy was a wolf. The result of the battle was that all the birds werekilled except the partridge and the bluejay and they were taken prisonerand starved to death. 

The little girl was then taken prisoner by a witch and cast into adunjun full of snakes where she died from their bites and people whowent through the forrest after that were taken prisoner by her ghost andcast into the same dunjun where they died. About a year after the woodturned into a gold castle and one morning everything had vanished excepta piece of a tree. 

 PETER CRAIG. 

(DAN, WITH A WHISTLE:--"Well, I guess nobody can say Peter can't writefiction after THAT. "

SARA RAY, WIPING AWAY HER TEARS:--"It's a very interesting story, but itends SO sadly. "

FELIX:--"What made you call it The Battle of the Partridge Eggs when thebluejay had just as much to do with it?"

PETER, SHORTLY:--"Because it sounded better that way. "

FELICITY:--"Did she eat the eggs raw?"

SARA RAY:--"Poor little thing, I suppose if you're starving you can't bevery particular. "

CECILY, SIGHING:--"I wish you'd let her go home safe, Peter, and not puther to such a cruel death. "

BEVERLEY:--"I don't quite understand where the little girl got her gunand ammunition. "

PETER, SUSPECTING THAT HE IS BEING MADE FUN OF:--"If you could write abetter story, why didn't you? I give you the chance. "

THE STORY GIRL, WITH A PRETERNATURALLY SOLEMN FACE:--"You shouldn'tcriticize Peter's story like that. It's a fairy tale, you know, andanything can happen in a fairy tale. "

FELICITY:--"There isn't a word about fairies in it!"

CECILY:--"Besides, fairy tales always end nicely and this doesn't. "

PETER, SULKILY:--"I wanted to punish her for running away from home. "

DAN:--"Well, I guess you did it all right. "

CECILY:--"Oh, well, it was very interesting, and that is all that isreally necessary in a story. " )

PERSONALS

Mr. Blair Stanley is visiting friends and relatives in Carlisle. Heintends returning to Europe shortly. His daughter, Miss Sara, willaccompany him. 

Mr. Alan King is expected home from South America next month. His sonswill return with him to Toronto. Beverley and Felix have made hosts offriends during their stay in Carlisle and will be much missed in socialcircles. 

The Mission Band of Carlisle Presbyterian Church completed theirmissionary quilt last week. Miss Cecily King collected the largest sumon her square. Congratulations, Cecily. 

Mr. Peter Craig will be residing in Markdale after October and willattend school there this winter. Peter is a good fellow and we all wishhim success and prosperity. 

Apple picking is almost ended. There was an unusually heavy crop thisyear. Potatoes, not so good. 

HOUSEHOLD DEPARTMENT

Apple pies are the order of the day. 

Eggs are a very good price now. Uncle Roger says it isn't fair to haveto pay as much for a dozen little eggs as a dozen big ones, but they gojust as far. 

 FELICITY KING. 

ETIQUETTE DEPARTMENT

F-l-t-y. Is it considered good form to eat peppermints in church? Ans. ;No, not if a witch gives them to you. 

No, F-l-x, we would not call Treasure Island or the Pilgrim's Progressdime novels. 

Yes, P-t-r, when you call on a young lady and her mother offers you aslice of bread and jam it is quite polite for you to accept it. 

 DAN KING. 

FASHION NOTES

Necklaces of roseberries are very much worn now. 

It is considered smart to wear your school hat tilted over your lefteye. 

Bangs are coming in. Em Frewen has them. She went to Summerside for avisit and came back with them. All the girls in school are going to bangtheir hair as soon as their mothers will let them. But I do not intendto bang mine. 

 CECILY KING. 

(SARA RAY, DESPAIRINGLY:--"I know ma will never let ME have bangs. ")

FUNNY PARAGRAPHS

D-n. What are details? C-l-y. I am not sure, but I think they are thingsthat are left over. 

(CECILY, WONDERINGLY:--"I don't see why that was put among thefunny paragraphs. Shouldn't it have gone in the General Informationdepartment?")

Old Mr. McIntyre's son on the Markdale Road had been very sick forseveral years and somebody was sympathizing with him because his son wasgoing to die. "Oh, " Mr. McIntyre said, quite easy, "he might as weel beawa'. He's only retarding buzziness. "

 FELIX KING. 

GENERAL INFORMATION BUREAU

P-t-r. What kind of people live in uninhabited places?

Ans. : Cannibals, likely. 

 FELIX KING. 

[Footnote 1: The obituary was written by Mr. Felix King, but the twolines of poetry were composed by Miss Sara Ray. ]

CHAPTER XXXII. OUR LAST EVENING TOGETHER

IT was the evening before the day on which the Story Girl and UncleBlair were to leave us, and we were keeping our last tryst togetherin the orchard where we had spent so many happy hours. We had made apilgrimage to all the old haunts--the hill field, the spruce wood, thedairy, Grandfather King's willow, the Pulpit Stone, Pat's grave, andUncle Stephen's Walk; and now we foregathered in the sere grasses aboutthe old well and feasted on the little jam turnovers Felicity had madethat day specially for the occasion. 

"I wonder if we'll ever all be together again, " sighed Cecily. 

"I wonder when I'll get jam turnovers like this again, " said the StoryGirl, trying to be gay but not making much of a success of it. 

"If Paris wasn't so far away I could send you a box of nice thingsnow and then, " said Felicity forlornly, "but I suppose there's no usethinking of that. Dear knows what they'll give you to eat over there. "

"Oh, the French have the reputation of being the best cooks in theworld, " rejoined the Story Girl, "but I know they can't beat your jamturnovers and plum puffs, Felicity. Many a time I'll be hankering afterthem. "

"If we ever do meet again you'll be grown up, " said Felicity gloomily. 

"Well, you won't have stood still yourselves, you know. "

"No, but that's just the worst of it. We'll all be different andeverything will be changed. "

"Just think, " said Cecily, "last New Year's Eve we were wondering whatwould happen this year; and what a lot of things have happened that wenever expected. Oh, dear!"

"If things never happened life would be pretty dull, " said the StoryGirl briskly. "Oh, don't look so dismal, all of you. "

"It's hard to be cheerful when everybody's going away, " sighed Cecily. 

"Well, let's pretend to be, anyway, " insisted the Story Girl. "Don'tlet's think of parting. Let's think instead of how much we've laughedthis last year or so. I'm sure I shall never forget this dear old place. We've had so many good times here. "

"And some bad times, too, " reminded Felix. 

"Remember when Dan et the bad berries last summer?"

"And the time we were so scared over that bell ringing in the house, "grinned Peter. 

"And the Judgment Day, " added Dan. 

"And the time Paddy was bewitched, " suggested Sara Ray. 

"And when Peter was dying of the measles, " said Felicity. 

"And the time Jimmy Patterson was lost, " said Dan. "Gee-whiz, but thatscared me out of a year's growth. "

"Do you remember the time we took the magic seed, " grinned Peter. 

"Weren't we silly?" said Felicity. "I really can never look BillyRobinson in the face when I meet him. I'm always sure he's laughing atme in his sleeve. "

"It's Billy Robinson who ought to be ashamed when he meets you or any ofus, " commented Cecily severely. "I'd rather be cheated than cheat otherpeople. "

"Do you mind the time we bought God's picture?" asked Peter. 

"I wonder if it's where we buried it yet, " speculated Felix. 

"I put a stone over it, just as we did over Pat, " said Cecily. 

"I wish I could forget what God looks like, " sighed Sara Ray. "I can'tforget it--and I can't forget what the bad place is like either, eversince Peter preached that sermon on it. "

"When you get to be a real minister you'll have to preach that sermonover again, Peter, " grinned Dan. 

"My Aunt Jane used to say that people needed a sermon on that place oncein a while, " retorted Peter seriously. 

"Do you mind the night I et the cucumbers and milk to make me dream?"said Cecily. 

And therewith we hunted out our old dream books to read them again, and, forgetful of coming partings, laughed over them till the old orchardechoed to our mirth. When we had finished we stood in a circle aroundthe well and pledged "eternal friendship" in a cup of its unrivalledwater. 

Then we joined hands and sang "Auld Lang Syne. " Sara Ray cried bitterlyin lieu of singing. 

"Look here, " said the Story Girl, as we turned to leave the old orchard, "I want to ask a favour of you all. Don't say good-bye to me tomorrowmorning. "

"Why not?" demanded Felicity in astonishment. 

"Because it's such a hopeless sort of word. Don't let's SAY it at all. Just see me off with a wave of your hands. It won't seem half so badthen. And don't any of you cry if you can help it. I want to rememberyou all smiling. "

We went out of the old orchard where the autumn night wind was beginningto make its weird music in the russet boughs, and shut the little gatebehind us. Our revels there were ended. 

CHAPTER XXXIII. THE STORY GIRL GOES

The morning dawned, rosy and clear and frosty. Everybody was up early, for the travellers must leave in time to catch the nine o'clock train. The horse was harnessed and Uncle Alec was waiting by the door. AuntJanet was crying, but everybody else was making a valiant effort not to. The Awkward Man and Mrs. Dale came to see the last of their favourite. Mrs. Dale had brought her a glorious sheaf of chrysanthemums, and theAwkward Man gave her, quite gracefully, another little, old, limp bookfrom his library. 

"Read it when you are sad or happy or lonely or discouraged or hopeful, "he said gravely. 

"He has really improved very much since he got married, " whisperedFelicity to me. 

Sara Stanley wore a smart new travelling suit and a blue felt hat with awhite feather. She looked so horribly grown up in it that we felt as ifshe were lost to us already. 

Sara Ray had vowed tearfully the night before that she would be up inthe morning to say farewell. But at this juncture Judy Pineau appearedto say that Sara, with her usual luck, had a sore throat, and that hermother consequently would not permit her to come. So Sara had writtenher parting words in a three-cornered pink note. 

 "My OWN DARLING FRIEND:--WORDS CANNOT EXPRESS my feelings over not being able to go up this morning to say good-bye to one I so FONDLY ADORE. When I think that I cannot SEE YOU AGAIN my heart is almost TOO FULL FOR UTTERANCE. But mother says I cannot and I MUST OBEY. But I will be present IN SPIRIT. It just BREAKS MY HEART that you are going SO FAR AWAY. You have always been SO KIND to me and never hurt my feelings AS SOME DO and I shall miss you SO MUCH. But I earnestly HOPE AND PRAY that you will be HAPPY AND PROSPEROUS wherever YOUR LOT IS CAST and not be seasick on THE GREAT OCEAN. I hope you will find time AMONG YOUR MANY DUTIES to write me a letter ONCE IN A WHILE. I shall ALWAYS REMEMBER YOU and please remember me. I hope we WILL MEET AGAIN sometime, but if not may we meet in A FAR BETTER WORLD where there are no SAD PARTINGS. 

 "Your true and loving friend, "SARA RAY"

"Poor little Sara, " said the Story Girl, with a queer catch in hervoice, as she slipped the tear-blotted note into her pocket. "She isn'ta bad little soul, and I'm sorry I couldn't see her once more, thoughmaybe it's just as well for she'd have to cry and set us all off. IWON'T cry. Felicity, don't you dare. Oh, you dear, darling people, Ilove you all so much and I'll go on loving you always. "

"Mind you write us every week at the very least, " said Felicity, winkingfuriously. 

"Blair, Blair, watch over the child well, " said Aunt Janet. "Remember, she has no mother. "

The Story Girl ran over to the buggy and climbed in. Uncle Blairfollowed her. Her arms were full of Mrs. Dale's chrysanthemums, heldclose up to her face, and her beautiful eyes shone softly at us overthem. No good-byes were said, as she wished. We all smiled bravely andwaved our hands as they drove out of the lane and down the moist redroad into the shadows of the fir wood in the valley. But we still stoodthere, for we knew we should see the Story Girl once more. Beyond thefir wood was an open curve in the road and she had promised to wave alast farewell as they passed around it. 

We watched the curve in silence, standing in a sorrowful little groupin the sunshine of the autumn morning. The delight of the world had beenours on the golden road. It had enticed us with daisies and rewardedus with roses. Blossom and lyric had waited on our wishes. Thoughts, careless and sweet, had visited us. Laughter had been our comrade andfearless Hope our guide. But now the shadow of change was over it. 

"There she is, " cried Felicity. 

The Story Girl stood up and waved her chrysanthemums at us. We wavedwildly back until the buggy had driven around the curve. Then we wentslowly and silently back to the house. The Story Girl was gone.