The weird spell of the tale rested on us for some
moments after the Story Girl had finished. We
had walked with her in the place of death and grown
cold with the horror that chilled the heart of the
poor princess. Dan presently broke the spell.
“You see it doesn’t do to be too proud,
Felicity,” he remarked, giving her a poke.
“You’d better not say too much about Peter’s
patches.”
There was no Sunday School the next afternoon, as
superintendent and teachers wished to attend a communion
service at Markdale. The Carlisle service was
in the evening, and at sunset we were waiting at Uncle
Alec’s front door for Peter and the Story Girl.
None of the grown-ups were going to church.
Aunt Olivia had a sick headache and Uncle Roger stayed
home with her. Aunt Janet and Uncle Alec had
gone to the Markdale service and had not yet returned.
Felicity and Cecily were wearing their new summer
muslins for the first time—and were acutely
conscious of the fact. Felicity, her pink and
white face shadowed by her drooping, forget-me-not-wreathed,
leghorn hat, was as beautiful as usual; but Cecily,
having tortured her hair with curl papers all night,
had a rampant bush of curls all about her head which
quite destroyed the sweet, nun-like expression of
her little features. Cecily cherished a grudge
against fate because she had not been given naturally
curly hair as had the other two girls. But she
attained the desire of her heart on Sundays at least,
and was quite well satisfied. It was impossible
to convince her that the satin smooth lustre of her
week-day tresses was much more becoming to her.
Presently Peter and the Story Girl appeared, and we
were all more or less relieved to see that Peter looked
quite respectable, despite the indisputable patch
on his trousers. His face was rosy, his thick
black curls were smoothly combed, and his tie was
neatly bowed; but it was his legs which we scrutinized
most anxiously. At first glance they seemed
well enough; but closer inspection revealed something
not altogether customary.
“What is the matter with your stockings, Peter?”
asked Dan bluntly.
“Oh, I hadn’t a pair without holes in
the legs,” answered Peter easily, “because
ma hadn’t time to darn them this week.
So I put on two pairs. The holes don’t
come in the same places, and you’d never notice
them unless you looked right close.”
“Have you got a cent for collection?”
demanded Felicity.
“I’ve got a Yankee cent. I s’pose
it will do, won’t it?”
Felicity shook her head vehemently.
“Oh, no, no. It may be all right to pass
a Yankee cent on a store keeper or an egg peddler,
but it would never do for church.”
“I’ll have to go without any, then,”
said Peter. “I haven’t another cent.
I only get fifty cents a week and I give it all to
ma last night.”
