“Can a queen do exactly as she pleases?” Sara Ray wanted to know.

“Not nowadays,” explained the Story Girl.

“Then I don’t see any use in being one,” Sara decided.

“A king can’t do as he pleases now, either,” said Felix.  “If he tries to, and if it isn’t what pleases other people, the Parliament or something squelches him.”

“Isn’t ‘squelch’ a lovely word?” said the Story Girl irrelevantly.  “It’s so expressive.  Squ-u-e-l-ch!”

Certainly it was a lovely word, as the Story Girl said it.  Even a king would not have minded being squelched, if it were done to music like that.

“Uncle Roger says that Martin Forbes’ wife has squelched him,” said Felicity.  “He says Martin can’t call his soul his own since he was married.”

“I’m glad of it,” said Cecily vindictively.

We all stared.  This was so very unlike Cecily.

“Martin Forbes is the brother of a horrid man in Summerside who called me Johnny, that’s why,” she explained.  “He was visiting here with his wife two years ago, and he called me Johnny every time he spoke to me.  Just you fancy!  I’ll never forgive him.”

“That isn’t a Christian spirit,” said Felicity rebukingly.

“I don’t care.  Would you forgive James Forbes if he had called you Johnny?” demanded Cecily.

“I know a story about Martin Forbes’ grandfather,” said the Story Girl.  “Long ago they didn’t have any choir in the Carlisle church—­just a precentor you know.  But at last they got a choir, and Andrew McPherson was to sing bass in it.  Old Mr. Forbes hadn’t gone to church for years, because he was so rheumatic, but he went the first Sunday the choir sang, because he had never heard any one sing bass, and wanted to hear what it was like.  Grandfather King asked him what he thought of the choir.  Mr. Forbes said it was ‘verra guid,’ but as for Andrew’s bass, ’there was nae bass aboot it—­it was just a bur-r-r-r the hale time.’”

If you could have heard the Story Girl’s “bur-r-r-r!” Not old Mr. Forbes himself could have invested it with more of Doric scorn.  We rolled over in the cool grass and screamed with laughter.

“Poor Dan,” said Cecily compassionately.  “He’s up there all alone in his room, missing all the fun.  I suppose it’s mean of us to be having such a good time here, when he has to stay in bed.”

“If Dan hadn’t done wrong eating the bad berries when he was told not to, he wouldn’t be sick,” said Felicity.  “You’re bound to catch it when you do wrong.  It was just a Providence he didn’t die.”

“That makes me think of another story about old Mr. Scott,” said the Story Girl.  “You know, I told you he was very angry because the Presbytery made him retire.  There were two ministers in particular he blamed for being at the bottom of it.  One time a friend of his was trying to console him, and said to him,