“What a lovely story,” sighed Sara Ray, who had been wooed to a temporary forgetfulness of her woes by its charm.
The rest of us came back to earth, feeling that we had been wandering among the hosts of heaven. We were not old enough to appreciate fully the wonderful meaning of the legend; but we felt its beauty and its appeal. To us forevermore the Milky Way would be, not Peter’s overwhelming garland of suns, but the lucent bridge, love-created, on which the banished archangels crossed from star to star.
We had to go up Sara Ray’s lane with her to her very door, for she was afraid Peg Bowen would catch her if she went alone. Then the Story Girl and I walked up the hill together. Peter and Felicity lagged behind. Cecily and Dan and Felix were walking before us, hand in hand, singing a hymn. Cecily had a very sweet voice, and I listened in delight. But the Story Girl sighed.
“What if Sara does take the measles?” she asked miserably.
“Everyone has to have the measles sometime,” I said comfortingly, “and the younger you are the better.”
CHAPTER XI. THE STORY GIRL DOES PENANCE
Ten days later, Aunt Olivia and Uncle Roger went to town one evening, to remain over night, and the next day. Peter and the Story Girl were to stay at Uncle Alec’s during their absence.
We were in the orchard at sunset, listening to the story of King Cophetua and the beggar maid—all of us, except Peter, who was hoeing turnips, and Felicity, who had gone down the hill on an errand to Mrs. Ray.
The Story Girl impersonated the beggar maid so vividly, and with such an illusion of beauty, that we did not wonder in the least at the king’s love for her. I had read the story before, and it had been my opinion that it was “rot.” No king, I felt certain, would ever marry a beggar maid when he had princesses galore from whom to choose. But now I understood it all.