The Story Girl

you can be always wondering

me. We knew only that a cousin, Sara Stanley, whose mother, our Aunt Felicity, was dead, was living down on the Island with Uncle Roger and Aunt Olivia King, on a farm adjoining the old King homestead in Carlisle. We supposed we should get acquainted with her when we reached there

lled out of Toronto. We were faring forth on a long road; and, though we had some idea what would be at the end o

it-an affection that had never waned in all his years of exile. We had a vague feeling that we, somehow, belonged there, in that cradle of our family, though we had never seen it. We had always looked forward eagerly to the promised day when father would take us "do

nt the temporary breaking up of our home. Our mother had died before either of us was old enough to remember her; father could not take us to Rio de Janeiro. In the end he decided to send us to Uncle Alec and Aunt Janet down on the homestead; and our housekeeper, who belonged to the Island and was now returnin

le you're winking as the thin one. But the only safe way to travel with those youn

mal result that he became fatter all the time. He vowed that he didn't care; but he DID care terribly, and he glowered at Mrs. Mac

hom we loved from the moment we saw him. He was a small man, with thin, delicate features, close-clipped gray beard, and large, tired, blue eyes-father's eyes over again. We knew that Uncle Alec was fond of children and wa

e up the lane of the old King homestead on the hill. Behind us a young moon was hanging over southwestern meadows of

," whispered Felix excitedly

e returned one evening from ploughing in the brook field and stuck

ed in its shadow; and now it was a massive thing, with a huge girth of tr

mb it to-morrow,"

ant spruces and firs, was the old, whitewashed house-from which presently a light gleamed through an op

rom which substantial hams and flitches of bacon were hanging. Everything was just

ould be too busy eating to see them. We tried to stare at them when THEY were eating; an

t once. His mouth was his own, however, for it was like to no mouth on either the King or the Ward side; and nobody would have been anxious to claim it, fo

of Uncle Felix. Aunt Felicity and Uncle Felix, as father had often told us, had died o

s. She was plump and dimpled, with big, dark-blue, heavy-lidded eyes, soft, feathery, golden curls, and a pink and white skin-"the King complexion." The Kings were noted for th

ing Dan said, that she had "dressed up" in honour of our coming. This made us feel quite important. So

e her; but she had dainty little features, smooth brown hair of satin sheen, and mild brown eyes, with just a hint of demureness in them now and again. We remembered that

y. But, with the swift and unerring intuition of childhood, which feels in a moment what it sometimes takes maturity much

see you," said Uncle Alec. "She's been qui

t Olivia wouldn't let her come out in the night air. She made h

Story Girl?"

it-and partly because Sara Ray, who lives at the foot of the hill, often comes up to play with us, and it is awkward to have two

the information that Peter had also been intending to come ov

ned. I had never h

His name is Peter Craig, and he is a real smart little c

Felicity's beau,

onsense, Dan," said

den head and shot an un

ly to have a hired boy f

affected. Evidently Peter was not an

nt Janet always spread!-we discovered that we were very tired also-too tired to go o

s noted patchwork quilts was over us. The window was open and we heard the frogs singing down in the swamp of the brook meadow. We had heard frogs sing in Ontario, of course; but certainly Prince Edward Island frogs were more tuneful and mellow. Or was it simply the glamour of old family traditions and tales which was over us, lending its magi

rogs father listened to when he w

lly, not feeling very certain about the possible longev

s he heard," said Felix, "and they're sing

ere preparing for bed, and talking rather more loudly than they might

ink of the boys

ut Felix is too fat," an

think I would like Felicity. It might not be altogether her fault th

th nice and nice lo

littl

hink of them," said Felicity, as if,

at if the Story Girl did not approve of us it

ory Girl is pretty,

hink she is while she's talking to you. Everybody does. It's only when y

over the house. We drifted into the land of s