That gentleman, in silence, took out his wallet, extracted a note therefrom, and handed it gravely to the Story Girl.

“There are five dollars for you,” he said, “and your story was well worth it.  You are a wonder.  Some day you will make the world realize it.  I’ve been about a bit, and heard some good things, but I’ve never enjoyed anything more than that threadbare old story I heard in my cradle.  And now, will you do me a favour?”

“Of course,” said the delighted Story Girl.

“Recite the multiplication table for me,” said Mr. Campbell.

We stared.  Well might Mr. Campbell be called eccentric.  What on earth did he want the multiplication table recited for?  Even the Story Girl was surprised.  But she began promptly, with twice one and went through it to twelve times twelve.  She repeated it simply, but her voice changed from one tone to another as each in succession grew tired.  We had never dreamed that there was so much in the multiplication table.  As she announced it, the fact that three times three was nine was exquisitely ridiculous, five times six almost brought tears to our eyes, eight times seven was the most tragic and frightful thing ever heard of, and twelve times twelve rang like a trumpet call to victory.

Mr. Campbell nodded his satisfaction.

“I thought you could do it,” he said.  “The other day I found this statement in a book.  ’Her voice would have made the multiplication table charming!’ I thought of it when I heard yours.  I didn’t believe it before, but I do now.”

Then he let us go.

“You see,” said the Story Girl as we went home, “you need never be afraid of people.”

“But we are not all Story Girls,” said Cecily.

That night we heard Felicity talking to Cecily in their room.

“Mr. Campbell never noticed one of us except the Story Girl,” she said, “but if I had put on my best dress as she did maybe she wouldn’t have taken all the attention.”

“Could you ever do what Betty Sherman did, do you suppose?” asked Cecily absently.

“No; but I believe the Story Girl could,” answered Felicity rather snappishly.

CHAPTER VIII.  A TRAGEDY OF CHILDHOOD

The Story Girl went to Charlottetown for a week in June to visit Aunt Louisa.  Life seemed very colourless without her, and even Felicity admitted that it was lonesome.  But three days after her departure Felix told us something on the way home from school which lent some spice to existence immediately.

“What do you think?” he said in a very solemn, yet excited, tone.  “Jerry Cowan told me at recess this afternoon that he had seen A picture of god—­that he has it at home in an old, red-covered history of the world, and has looked at it often.”

To think that Jerry Cowan should have seen such a picture often!  We were as deeply impressed as Felix had meant us to be.