We watched her white-clad figure pass through the gate and enter the front door. A few minutes passed—or a few years—we could not have told which. Then Cecily came running at full speed back to us. But when she reached us she trembled so much that at first she could not speak.
“What is it? Is it past two?” implored the Story Girl.
“It’s—it’s four,” said Cecily with a gasp. “The old clock isn’t going. Mother forgot to wind it up last night and it stopped. But it’s four by the kitchen clock—so it isn’t the Judgment Day—and tea is ready—and mother says to come in.”
We looked at each other, realizing what our dread had been, now that it was lifted. It was not the Judgment Day. The world and life were still before us, with all their potent lure of years unknown.
“I’ll never believe anything I read in the papers again,” said Dan, rushing to the opposite extreme.
“I told you the Bible was more to be depended on than the newspapers,” said Cecily triumphantly.
Sara Ray and Peter and the Story Girl went home, and we went in to tea with royal appetites. Afterwards, as we dressed for Sunday School upstairs, our spirits carried us away to such an extent that Aunt Janet had to come twice to the foot of the stairs and inquire severely, “Children, have you forgotten what day this is?”
“Isn’t it nice that we’re going to live a spell longer in this nice world?” said Felix, as we walked down the hill.
“Yes, and Felicity and the Story Girl are speaking again,” said Cecily happily.
“And Felicity DID speak first,” I said.