Part 7 (1/2)
”I can't,” said Sara, with pa.s.sionate defiance. ”I think He ought to take that into account.”
”Don't worry, dear,” said Cecily, who always poured balm. ”If you can't collect any money everybody will know it isn't your fault.”
”I won't ever feel like reading a single book in the library if I can't give something to it,” mourned Sara.
Dan and the girls and I were sitting in a row on Aunt Olivia's garden fence, watching Felix weed. Felix worked well, although he did not like weeding--”fat boys never do,” Felicity informed him. Felix pretended not to hear her, but I knew he did, because his ears grew red. Felix's face never blushed, but his ears always gave him away. As for Felicity, she did not say things like that out of malice prepense. It never occurred to her that Felix did not like to be called fat.
”I always feel so sorry for the poor weeds,” said the Story Girl dreamily. ”It must be very hard to be rooted up.”
”They shouldn't grow in the wrong place,” said Felicity mercilessly.
”When weeds go to heaven I suppose they will be flowers,” continued the Story Girl.
”You do think such queer things,” said Felicity.
”A rich man in Toronto has a floral clock in his garden,” I said. ”It looks just like the face of a clock, and there are flowers in it that open at every hour, so that you can always tell the time.”
”Oh, I wish we had one here,” exclaimed Cecily.
”What would be the use of it?” asked the Story Girl a little disdainfully. ”n.o.body ever wants to know the time in a garden.”
I slipped away at this point, suddenly remembering that it was time to take a dose of magic seed. I had bought it from Billy Robinson three days before in school. Billy had a.s.sured me that it would make me grow fast.
I was beginning to feel secretly worried because I did not grow. I had overheard Aunt Janet say I was going to be short, like Uncle Alec. Now, I loved Uncle Alec, but I wanted to be taller than he was. So when Billy confided to me, under solemn promise of secrecy, that he had some ”magic seed,” which would make boys grow, and would sell me a box of it for ten cents, I jumped at the offer. Billy was taller than any boy of his age in Carlisle, and he a.s.sured me it all came from taking magic seed.
”I was a regular runt before I begun,” he said, ”and look at me now. I got it from Peg Bowen. She's a witch, you know. I wouldn't go near her again for a bushel of magic seed. It was an awful experience. I haven't much left, but I guess I've enough to do me till I'm as tall as I want to be. You must take a pinch of the seed every three hours, walking backward, and you must never tell a soul you're taking it, or it won't work. I wouldn't spare any of it to any one but you.”
I felt deeply grateful to Billy, and sorry that I had not liked him better. Somehow, n.o.body did like Billy Robinson over and above. But I vowed I WOULD like him in future. I paid him the ten cents cheerfully and took the magic seed as directed, measuring myself carefully every day by a mark on the hall door. I could not see any advance in growth yet, but then I had been taking it only three days.
One day the Story Girl had an inspiration.
”Let us go and ask the Awkward Man and Mr. Campbell for a contribution to the library fund,” she said. ”I am sure no one else has asked them, because n.o.body in Carlisle is related to them. Let us all go, and if they give us anything we'll divide it equally among us.”
It was a daring proposition, for both Mr. Campbell and the Awkward Man were regarded as eccentric personages; and Mr. Campbell was supposed to detest children. But where the Story Girl led we would follow to the death. The next day being Sat.u.r.day, we started out in the afternoon.
We took a short cut to Golden Milestone, over a long, green, dewy land full of placid meadows, where suns.h.i.+ne had fallen asleep. At first all was not harmonious. Felicity was in an ill humour; she had wanted to wear her second best dress, but Aunt Janet had decreed that her school clothes were good enough to go ”traipsing about in the dust.” Then the Story Girl arrived, arrayed not in any second best but in her very best dress and hat, which her father had sent her from Paris--a dress of soft, crimson silk, and a white leghorn hat encircled by flame-red poppies. Neither Felicity nor Cecily could have worn it; but it became the Story Girl perfectly. In it she was a thing of fire and laughter and glow, as if the singular charm of her temperament were visible and tangible in its vivid colouring and silken texture.
”I shouldn't think you'd put on your best clothes to go begging for the library in,” said Felicity cuttingly.
”Aunt Olivia says that when you are going to have an important interview with a man you ought to look your very best,” said the Story Girl, giving her skirt a l.u.s.trous swirl and enjoying the effect.
”Aunt Olivia spoils you,” said Felicity.
”She doesn't either, Felicity King! Aunt Olivia is just sweet. She kisses me good-night every night, and your mother NEVER kisses you.”
”My mother doesn't make kisses so common,” retorted Felicity. ”But she gives us pie for dinner every day.”
”So does Aunt Olivia.”
”Yes, but look at the difference in the size of the pieces! And Aunt Olivia only gives you skim milk. My mother gives us cream.”
”Aunt Olivia's skim milk is as good as your mother's cream,” cried the Story Girl hotly.
”Oh, girls, don't fight,” said Cecily, the peacemaker. ”It's such a nice day, and we'll have a nice time if you don't spoil it by fighting.”