“No, Aunt Olivia has gone to bed with a sick headache and mustn’t be disturbed,” said the Story Girl. “She said I must get dinner ready, because there was plenty of cold meat, and nothing to do but boil the potatoes and peas, and set the table. I don’t know how I can put my thoughts into it when the Judgment Day may be to-morrow. Besides, what is the good of asking the grown-ups? They don’t know anything more about this than we do.”
“But if they’d just SAY they didn’t believe it, it would be a sort of comfort,” said Cecily.
“I suppose the minister would know, but he’s away on his vacation” said Felicity. “Anyhow, I’ll go and ask mother what she thinks of it.”
Felicity picked up the Enterprise and betook herself to the house. We awaited her return in dire suspense.
“Well, what does she say?” asked Cecily tremulously.
“She said, ‘Run away and don’t bother me. I haven’t any time for your nonsense.’” responded Felicity in an injured tone. “And I said, ‘But, ma, the paper SAYS to-morrow is the Judgment Day,’ and ma just said ‘Judgment Fiddlesticks!’”
“Well, that’s kind of comforting,” said Peter. “She can’t put any faith in it, or she’d be more worked up.”
“If it only wasn’t PRINTED!” said Dan gloomily.
“Let’s all go over and ask Uncle Roger,” said Felix desperately.
That we should make Uncle Roger a court of last resort indicated all too clearly the state of our minds. But we went. Uncle Roger was in his barn-yard, hitching his black mare into the buggy. His copy of the Enterprise was sticking out of his pocket. He looked, as we saw with sinking hearts, unusually grave and preoccupied. There was not a glimmer of a smile about his face.