Dan was the oldest; he was my age—­thirteen.  He was a lean, freckled fellow with rather long, lank, brown hair and the shapely King nose.  We recognized it at once.  His mouth was his own, however, for it was like to no mouth on either the King or the Ward side; and nobody would have been anxious to claim it, for it was an undeniably ugly one—­long and narrow and twisted.  But it could grin in friendly fashion, and both Felix and I felt that we were going to like Dan.

Felicity was twelve.  She had been called after Aunt Felicity, who was the twin sister of Uncle Felix.  Aunt Felicity and Uncle Felix, as father had often told us, had died on the same day, far apart, and were buried side by side in the old Carlisle graveyard.

We had known from Aunt Olivia’s letters, that Felicity was the beauty of the connection, and we had been curious to see her on that account.  She fully justified our expectations.  She was plump and dimpled, with big, dark-blue, heavy-lidded eyes, soft, feathery, golden curls, and a pink and white skin—­“the King complexion.”  The Kings were noted for their noses and complexion.  Felicity had also delightful hands and wrists.  At every turn of them a dimple showed itself.  It was a pleasure to wonder what her elbows must be like.

She was very nicely dressed in a pink print and a frilled muslin apron; and we understood, from something Dan said, that she had “dressed up” in honour of our coming.  This made us feel quite important.  So far as we knew, no feminine creatures had ever gone to the pains of dressing up on our account before.

Cecily, who was eleven, was pretty also—­or would have been had Felicity not been there.  Felicity rather took the colour from other girls.  Cecily looked pale and thin beside her; but she had dainty little features, smooth brown hair of satin sheen, and mild brown eyes, with just a hint of demureness in them now and again.  We remembered that Aunt Olivia had written to father that Cecily was a true Ward—­she had no sense of humour.  We did not know what this meant, but we thought it was not exactly complimentary.

Still, we were both inclined to think we would like Cecily better than Felicity.  To be sure, Felicity was a stunning beauty.  But, with the swift and unerring intuition of childhood, which feels in a moment what it sometimes takes maturity much time to perceive, we realized that she was rather too well aware of her good looks.  In brief, we saw that Felicity was vain.

“It’s a wonder the Story Girl isn’t over to see you,” said Uncle Alec.  “She’s been quite wild with excitement about your coming.”

“She hasn’t been very well all day,” explained Cecily, “and Aunt Olivia wouldn’t let her come out in the night air.  She made her go to bed instead.  The Story Girl was awfully disappointed.”

“Who is the Story Girl?” asked Felix.

“Oh, Sara—­Sara Stanley.  We call her the Story Girl partly because she’s such a hand to tell stories—­oh, I can’t begin to describe it—­and partly because Sara Ray, who lives at the foot of the hill, often comes up to play with us, and it is awkward to have two girls of the same name in the same crowd.  Besides, Sara Stanley doesn’t like her name and she’d rather be called the Story Girl.”