“But there might be a mistake,” sobbed Sara. “It might be two o’clock to-night instead of to-morrow.”
It might, indeed. This was a new horror, which had not occurred to us.
“I’m sure I won’t sleep a wink to-night,” said Felix.
“The paper SAYS two o’clock to-morrow,” said Dan. “You needn’t worry, Sara.”
But Sara departed, weeping. She did not, however, forget to carry the forget-me-not jug with her. All things considered, her departure was a relief. Such a constantly tearful damsel was not a pleasant companion. Cecily and Felicity and the Story Girl did not cry. They were made of finer, firmer stuff. Dry-eyed, with such courage as they might, they faced whatever might be in store for them.
“I wonder where we’ll all be this time to-morrow night,” said Felix mournfully, as we watched the sunset between the dark fir boughs. It was an ominous sunset. The sun dropped down amid dark, livid clouds, that turned sullen shades of purple and fiery red behind him.
“I hope we’ll be all together, wherever we are,” said Cecily gently. “Nothing can be so very bad then.”
“I’m going to read the Bible all to-morrow forenoon,” said Peter.
When Aunt Olivia came out to go home the Story Girl asked her permission to stay all night with Felicity and Cecily. Aunt Olivia assented lightly, swinging her hat on her arm and including us all in a friendly smile. She looked very pretty, with her big blue eyes and warm-hued golden hair. We loved Aunt Olivia; but just now we resented her having laughed at us with Aunt Janet, and we refused to smile back.
“What a sulky, sulky lot of little people,” said Aunt Olivia, going away across the yard, holding her pretty dress up from the dewy grass.