CHAPTER XI.  THE STORY GIRL DOES PENANCE

Ten days later, Aunt Olivia and Uncle Roger went to town one evening, to remain over night, and the next day.  Peter and the Story Girl were to stay at Uncle Alec’s during their absence.

We were in the orchard at sunset, listening to the story of King Cophetua and the beggar maid—­all of us, except Peter, who was hoeing turnips, and Felicity, who had gone down the hill on an errand to Mrs. Ray.

The Story Girl impersonated the beggar maid so vividly, and with such an illusion of beauty, that we did not wonder in the least at the king’s love for her.  I had read the story before, and it had been my opinion that it was “rot.”  No king, I felt certain, would ever marry a beggar maid when he had princesses galore from whom to choose.  But now I understood it all.

When Felicity returned we concluded from her expression that she had news.  And she had.

“Sara is real sick,” she said, with regret, and something that was not regret mingled in her voice.  “She has a cold and sore throat, and she is feverish.  Mrs. Ray says if she isn’t better by the morning she’s going to send for the doctor.  And she is afraid it’s the measles.”

Felicity flung the last sentence at the Story Girl, who turned very pale.

“Oh, do you suppose she caught them at the magic lantern show?” she said miserably.

“Where else could she have caught them?” said Felicity mercilessly.  “I didn’t see her, of course—­Mrs. Ray met me at the door and told me not to come in.  But Mrs. Ray says the measles always go awful hard with the Rays—­if they don’t die completely of them it leaves them deaf or half blind, or something like that.  Of course,” added Felicity, her heart melting at sight of the misery in the Story Girl’s piteous eyes, “Mrs. Ray always looks on the dark side, and it may not be the measles Sara has after all.”

But Felicity had done her work too thoroughly.  The Story Girl was not to be comforted.

“I’d give anything if I’d never put Sara up to going to that show,” she said.  “It’s all my fault—­but the punishment falls on Sara, and that isn’t fair.  I’d go this minute and confess the whole thing to Mrs. Ray; but if I did it might get Sara into more trouble, and I mustn’t do that.  I sha’n’t sleep a wink to-night.”

I don’t think she did.  She looked very pale and woebegone when she came down to breakfast.  But, for all that, there was a certain exhilaration about her.

“I’m going to do penance all day for coaxing Sara to disobey her mother,” she announced with chastened triumph.

“Penance?” we murmured in bewilderment.

“Yes.  I’m going to deny myself everything I like, and do everything I can think of that I don’t like, just to punish myself for being so wicked.  And if any of you think of anything I don’t, just mention it to me.  I thought it out last night.  Maybe Sara won’t be so very sick if God sees I’m truly sorry.”