“How dare you quarrel when you are going to look at a picture of God to-day?”

Owing to the rain we could not foregather in the orchard, where we had meant to transact the business with Jerry.  We did not wish our grown-ups around at our great moment, so we betook ourselves to the loft of the granary in the spruce wood, from whose window we could see the main road and hail Jerry.  Sara Ray had joined us, very pale and nervous, having had, so it appeared, a difference of opinion with her mother about coming up the hill in the rain.

“I’m afraid I did very wrong to come against ma’s will,” she said miserably, “but I couldn’t wait.  I wanted to see the picture as soon as you did.”

We waited and watched at the window.  The valley was full of mist, and the rain was coming down in slanting lines over the tops of the spruces.  But as we waited the clouds broke away and the sun came out flashingly; the drops on the spruce boughs glittered like diamonds.

“I don’t believe Jerry can be coming,” said Cecily in despair.  “I suppose his mother must have thought it was dreadful, after all, to sell such a picture.”

“There he is now!” cried Dan, waving excitedly from the window.

“He’s carrying a fish-basket,” said Felicity.  “You surely don’t suppose he would bring that picture in a fish-basket!”

Jerry had brought it in a fish-basket, as appeared when he mounted the granary stairs shortly afterwards.  It was folded up in a newspaper packet on top of the dried herring with which the basket was filled.  We paid him his money, but we would not open the packet until he had gone.

“Cecily,” said Felicity in a hushed tone.  “You are the best of us all.  You open the parcel.”

“Oh, I’m no gooder than the rest of you,” breathed Cecily, “but I’ll open it if you like.”

With trembling fingers Cecily opened the parcel.  We stood around, hardly breathing.  She unfolded it and held it up.  We saw it.

Suddenly Sara began to cry.

“Oh, oh, oh, does God look like that?” she wailed.

Felix and I spoke not.  Disappointment, and something worse, sealed our speech.  Did God look like that—­like that stern, angrily frowning old man with the tossing hair and beard of the wood-cut Cecily held.

“I suppose He must, since that is His picture,” said Dan miserably.

“He looks awful cross,” said Peter simply.

“Oh, I wish we’d never, never seen it,” cried Cecily.

We all wished that—­too late.  Our curiosity had led us into some Holy of Holies, not to be profaned by human eyes, and this was our punishment.

“I’ve always had a feeling right along,” wept Sara, “that it wasn’t right to buy—­or look at—­God’s picture.”

As we stood there wretchedly we heard flying feet below and a blithe voice calling,