“He can see it anyhow, without you’re doing anything,” said Cecily.

“Well, my conscience will feel better.”

“I don’t believe Presbyterians ever do penance,” said Felicity dubiously.  “I never heard of one doing it.”

But the rest of us rather looked with favour on the Story Girl’s idea.  We felt sure that she would do penance as picturesquely and thoroughly as she did everything else.

“You might put peas in your shoes, you know,” suggested Peter.

“The very thing!  I never thought of that.  I’ll get some after breakfast.  I’m not going to eat a single thing all day, except bread and water—­and not much of that!”

This, we felt, was a heroic measure indeed.  To sit down to one of Aunt Janet’s meals, in ordinary health and appetite, and eat nothing but bread and water—­that would be penance with a vengeance!  We felt we could never do it.  But the Story Girl did it.  We admired and pitied her.  But now I do not think that she either needed our pity or deserved our admiration.  Her ascetic fare was really sweeter to her than honey of Hymettus.  She was, though quite unconsciously, acting a part, and tasting all the subtle joy of the artist, which is so much more exquisite than any material pleasure.

Aunt Janet, of course, noticed the Story Girl’s abstinence and asked if she was sick.

“No.  I am just doing penance, Aunt Janet, for a sin I committed.  I can’t confess it, because that would bring trouble on another person.  So I’m going to do penance all day.  You don’t mind, do you?”

Aunt Janet was in a very good humour that morning, so she merely laughed.

“Not if you don’t go too far with your nonsense,” she said tolerantly.

“Thank you.  And will you give me a handful of hard peas after breakfast, Aunt Janet?  I want to put them in my shoes.”

“There isn’t any; I used the last in the soup yesterday.”

“Oh!” The Story Girl was much disappointed.  “Then I suppose I’ll have to do without.  The new peas wouldn’t hurt enough.  They’re so soft they’d just squash flat.”

“I’ll tell you,” said Peter, “I’ll pick up a lot of those little round pebbles on Mr. King’s front walk.  They’ll be just as good as peas.”

“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” said Aunt Janet.  “Sara must not do penance in that way.  She would wear holes in her stockings, and might seriously bruise her feet.”

“What would you say if I took a whip and whipped my bare shoulders till the blood came?” demanded the Story Girl aggrieved.

“I wouldn’t say anything,” retorted Aunt Janet.  “I’d simply turn you over my knee and give you a sound, solid spanking, Miss Sara.  You’d find that penance enough.”

The Story Girl was crimson with indignation.  To have such a remark made to you—­when you were fourteen and a half—­and before the boys, too!  Really, Aunt Janet could be very dreadful.