“I guess he knows as much about it as a Tory would,” retorted the Story Girl.  Uncle Roger was a Liberal and Uncle Alec a Conservative, and the girls held fast to the political traditions of their respective households.  “But it isn’t really the Enterprise editor at all who is saying it—­it’s a man in the States who claims to be a prophet.  If he IS a prophet perhaps he has found out somehow.”

“And it’s in the paper, too, and that’s printed as well as the Bible,” said Dan.

“Well, I’m going to depend on the Bible,” said Cecily.  “I don’t believe it’s the Judgment Day to-morrow—­but I’m scared, for all that,” she added piteously.

That was exactly the position of us all.  As in the case of the bell-ringing ghost, we did not believe but we trembled.

“Nobody might have known when the Bible was written,” said Dan, “but maybe somebody knows now.  Why, the Bible was written thousands of years ago, and that paper was printed this very morning.  There’s been time to find out ever so much more.”

“I want to do so many things,” said the Story Girl, plucking off her crown of buttercup gold with a tragic gesture, “but if it’s the Judgment Day to-morrow I won’t have time to do any of them.”

“It can’t be much worse than dying, I s’pose,” said Felix, grasping at any straw of comfort.

“I’m awful glad I’ve got into the habit of going to church and Sunday School this summer,” said Peter very soberly.  “I wish I’d made up my mind before this whether to be a Presbyterian or a Methodist.  Do you s’pose it’s too late now?”

“Oh, that doesn’t matter,” said Cecily earnestly.  “If—­if you’re a Christian, Peter, that is all that’s necessary.”

“But it’s too late for that,” said Peter miserably.  “I can’t turn into a Christian between this and two o’clock to-morrow.  I’ll just have to be satisfied with making up my mind to be a Presbyterian or a Methodist.  I wanted to wait till I got old enough to make out what was the difference between them, but I’ll have to chance it now.  I guess I’ll be a Presbyterian, ’cause I want to be like the rest of you.  Yes, I’ll be a Presbyterian.”

“I know a story about Judy Pineau and the word Presbyterian,” said the Story Girl, “but I can’t tell it now.  If to-morrow isn’t the Judgment Day I’ll tell it Monday.”

“If I had known that to-morrow might be the Judgment Day I wouldn’t have quarrelled with you last Monday, Sara Stanley, or been so horrid and sulky all the week.  Indeed I wouldn’t,” said Felicity, with very unusual humility.

Ah, Felicity!  We were all, in the depths of our pitiful little souls, reviewing the innumerable things we would or would not have done “if we had known.”  What a black and endless list they made—­those sins of omission and commission that rushed accusingly across our young memories!  For us the leaves of the Book of Judgment were already opened; and we stood at the bar of our own consciences,