“The orchard doesn’t seem the same place by moonlight at all,” said the Story Girl dreamily.  “It’s lovely, but it’s different.  When I was very small I used to believe the fairies danced in it on moonlight nights.  I would like to believe it now but I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Oh, it’s so hard to believe things you know are not true.  It was Uncle Edward who told me there were no such things as fairies.  I was just seven.  He is a minister, so of course I knew he spoke the truth.  It was his duty to tell me, and I do not blame him, but I have never felt quite the same to Uncle Edward since.”

Ah, do we ever “feel quite the same” towards people who destroy our illusions?  Shall I ever be able to forgive the brutal creature who first told me there was no such person as Santa Claus?  He was a boy, three years older than myself; and he may now, for aught I know, be a most useful and respectable member of society, beloved by his kind.  But I know what he must ever seem to me!

We waited at Uncle Alec’s door for the others to come up.  Peter was by way of skulking shamefacedly past into the shadows; but the Story Girl’s brief, bitter anger had vanished.

“Wait for me, Peter,” she called.

She went over to him and held out her hand.

“I forgive you,” she said graciously.

Felix and I felt that it would really be worth while to offend her, just to be forgiven in such an adorable voice.  Peter eagerly grasped her hand.

“I tell you what, Story Girl, I’m awfully sorry I laughed in church, but you needn’t be afraid I ever will again.  No, sir!  And I’m going to church and Sunday School regular, and I’ll say my prayers every night.  I want to be like the rest of you.  And look here!  I’ve thought of the way my Aunt Jane used to give medicine to a cat.  You mix the powder in lard, and spread it on his paws and his sides and he’ll lick it off, ’cause a cat can’t stand being messy.  If Paddy isn’t any better to-morrow, we’ll do that.”

They went away together hand in hand, children-wise, up the lane of spruces crossed with bars of moonlight.  And there was peace over all that fresh and flowery land, and peace in our little hearts.

CHAPTER VI.  THE MYSTERY OF GOLDEN MILESTONE

Paddy was smeared with medicated lard the next day, all of us assisting at the rite, although the Story Girl was high priestess.  Then, out of regard for mats and cushions, he was kept in durance vile in the granary until he had licked his fur clean.  This treatment being repeated every day for a week, Pat recovered his usual health and spirits, and our minds were set at rest to enjoy the next excitement—­collecting for a school library fund.

Our teacher thought it would be an excellent thing to have a library in connection with the school; and he suggested that each of the pupils should try to see how much money he or she could raise for the project during the month of June.  We might earn it by honest toil, or gather it in by contributions levied on our friends.