“We should have known better than to trust Billy Robinson,” said Felicity, summing up the case one evening when all had been made known.  “After all, what could you expect from a pig but a grunt?”

We were not surprised to find that Billy Robinson’s contribution to the library fund was the largest handed in by any of the scholars.  Cecily said she didn’t envy him his conscience.  But I am afraid she measured his conscience by her own.  I doubt very much if Billy’s troubled him at all.

CHAPTER X. A DAUGHTER OF EVE

“I hate the thought of growing up,” said the Story Girl reflectively, “because I can never go barefooted then, and nobody will ever see what beautiful feet I have.”

She was sitting, the July sunlight, on the ledge of the open hayloft window in Uncle Roger’s big barn; and the bare feet below her print skirt were beautiful.  They were slender and shapely and satin smooth with arched insteps, the daintiest of toes, and nails like pink shells.

We were all the hayloft.  The Story Girl had been telling us a tale

    “Of old, unhappy, far-off things,
    And battles long ago.”

Felicity and Cecily were curled up in a corner, and we boys sprawled idly on the fragrant, sun-warm heaps.  We had “stowed” the hay in the loft that morning for Uncle Roger, so we felt that we had earned the right to loll on our sweet-smelling couch.  Haylofts are delicious places, with just enough of shadow and soft, uncertain noises to give an agreeable tang of mystery.  The swallows flew in and out of their nest above our heads, and whenever a sunbeam fell through a chink the air swarmed with golden dust.  Outside of the loft was a vast, sunshiny gulf of blue sky and mellow air, wherein floated argosies of fluffy cloud, and airy tops of maple and spruce.

Pat was with us, of course, prowling about stealthily, or making frantic, bootless leaps at the swallows.  A cat in a hayloft is a beautiful example of the eternal fitness of things.  We had not heard of this fitness then, but we all felt that Paddy was in his own place in a hayloft.

“I think it is very vain to talk about anything you have yourself being beautiful,” said Felicity.

“I am not a bit vain,” said the Story Girl, with entire truthfulness.  “It is not vanity to know your own good points.  It would just be stupidity if you didn’t.  It’s only vanity when you get puffed up about them.  I am not a bit pretty.  My only good points are my hair and eyes and feet.  So I think it’s real mean that one of them has to be covered up the most of the time.  I’m always glad when it gets warm enough to go barefooted.  But, when I grow up they’ll have to covered all the time.  It is mean.”

“You’ll have to put your shoes and stockings on when you go to the magic lantern show to-night,” said Felicity in a tone of satisfaction.