“They mightn’t have kept good as long as they did if they hadn’t lived in a garden,” said the Story Girl.

We were now summoned to breakfast.  Peter and the Story Girl slipped away through the gap, followed by Paddy, and the rest of us walked up the orchard to the house.

“Well, what do you think of the Story Girl?” asked Felicity.

“She’s just fine,” said Felix, enthusiastically.  “I never heard anything like her to tell stories.”

“She can’t cook,” said Felicity, “and she hasn’t a good complexion.  Mind you, she says she’s going to be an actress when she grows up.  Isn’t that dreadful?”

We didn’t exactly see why.

“Oh, because actresses are always wicked people,” said Felicity in a shocked tone.  “But I daresay the Story Girl will go and be one just as soon as she can.  Her father will back her up in it.  He is an artist, you know.”

Evidently Felicity thought artists and actresses and all such poor trash were members one of another.

“Aunt Olivia says the Story Girl is fascinating,” said Cecily.

The very adjective!  Felix and I recognized its beautiful fitness at once.  Yes, the Story Girl was fascinating and that was the final word to be said on the subject.

Dan did not come down until breakfast was half over, and Aunt Janet talked to him after a fashion which made us realize that it would be well to keep, as the piquant country phrase went, from the rough side of her tongue.  But all things considered, we liked the prospect of our summer very much.  Felicity to look at—­the Story Girl to tell us tales of wonder—­Cecily to admire us—­Dan and Peter to play with—­what more could reasonable fellows want?

CHAPTER IV.  THE WEDDING VEIL OF THE PROUD PRINCESS

When we had lived for a fortnight in Carlisle we belonged there, and the freedom of all its small fry was conferred on us.  With Peter and Dan, with Felicity and Cecily and the Story Girl, with pale, gray-eyed little Sara Ray, we were boon companions.  We went to school, of course; and certain home chores were assigned to each of us for the faithful performance of which we were held responsible.  But we had long hours for play.  Even Peter had plenty of spare time when the planting was over.

We got along very well with each other in the main, in spite of some minor differences of opinion.  As for the grown-up denizens of our small world, they suited us also.

We adored Aunt Olivia; she was pretty and merry and kind; and, above all, she had mastered to perfection the rare art of letting children alone.  If we kept ourselves tolerably clean, and refrained from quarrelling or talking slang, Aunt Olivia did not worry us.  Aunt Janet, on the contrary, gave us so much good advice and was so constantly telling us to do this or not to do the other thing, that we could not remember half her instructions, and did not try.