The night was scented and mysterious.  The wind was playing an eerie fleshless melody in the reeds of the brook hollow.  The sky was dark and starry, and across it the Milky Way flung its shimmering misty ribbons.

“There’s four hundred million stars in the Milky Way,” quoth Peter, who frequently astonished us by knowing more than any hired boy could be expected to.  He had a retentive memory, and never forgot anything he heard or read.  The few books left to him by his oft-referred-to Aunt Jane had stocked his mind with a miscellaneous information which sometimes made Felix and me doubt if we knew as much as Peter after all.  Felicity was so impressed by his knowledge of astronomy that she dropped back from the other girls and walked beside him.  She had not done so before because he was barefooted.  It was permissible for hired boys to go to public meetings—­when not held in the church—­with bare feet, and no particular disgrace attached to it.  But Felicity would not walk with a barefooted companion.  It was dark now, so nobody would notice his feet.

“I know a story about the Milky Way,” said the Story Girl, brightening up.  “I read it in a book of Aunt Louisa’s in town, and I learned it off by heart.  Once there were two archangels in heaven, named Zerah and Zulamith—­”

“Have angels names—­same as people?” interrupted Peter.

“Yes, of course.  They must have.  They’d be all mixed up if they hadn’t.”

“And when I’m an angel—­if I ever get to be one—­will my name still be Peter?”

“No.  You’ll have a new name up there,” said Cecily gently.  “It says so in the Bible.”

“Well, I’m glad of that.  Peter would be such a funny name for an angel.  And what is the difference between angels and archangels?”

“Oh, archangels are angels that have been angels so long that they’ve had time to grow better and brighter and more beautiful than newer angels,” said the Story Girl, who probably made that explanation up on the spur of the moment, just to pacify Peter.

“How long does it take for an angel to grow into an archangel?” pursued Peter.

“Oh, I don’t know.  Millions of years likely.  And even then I don’t suppose all the angels do.  A good many of them must just stay plain angels, I expect.”

“I shall be satisfied just to be a plain angel,” said Felicity modestly.

“Oh, see here, if you’re going to interrupt and argue over everything, we’ll never get the story told,” said Felix.  “Dry up, all of you, and let the Story Girl go on.”

We dried up, and the Story Girl went on.