than which for youth or eld, there can be no more dread tribunal.  I thought of all the evil deeds of my short life—­of pinching Felix to make him cry out at family prayers, of playing truant from Sunday School and going fishing one day, of a certain fib—­no, no away from this awful hour with all such euphonious evasions—­of a LIE I had once told, of many a selfish and unkind word and thought and action.  And to-morrow might be the great and terrible day of the last accounting!  Oh, if I had only been a better boy!

“The quarrel was as much my fault as yours, Felicity,” said the Story Girl, putting her arm around Felicity.  “We can’t undo it now.  But if to-morrow isn’t the Judgment Day we must be careful never to quarrel again.  Oh, I wish father was here.”

“He will be,” said Cecily.  “If it’s the Judgment Day for Prince Edward Island it will be for Europe, too.”

“I wish we could just KNOW whether what the paper says is true or not,” said Felix desperately.  “It seems to me I could brace up if I just KNEW.”

But to whom could we appeal?  Uncle Alec was away and would not be back until late that night.  Neither Aunt Janet nor Uncle Roger were people to whom we cared to apply in such a crisis.  We were afraid of the Judgment Day; but we were almost equally afraid of being laughed at.  How about Aunt Olivia?

“No, Aunt Olivia has gone to bed with a sick headache and mustn’t be disturbed,” said the Story Girl.  “She said I must get dinner ready, because there was plenty of cold meat, and nothing to do but boil the potatoes and peas, and set the table.  I don’t know how I can put my thoughts into it when the Judgment Day may be to-morrow.  Besides, what is the good of asking the grown-ups?  They don’t know anything more about this than we do.”

“But if they’d just SAY they didn’t believe it, it would be a sort of comfort,” said Cecily.

“I suppose the minister would know, but he’s away on his vacation” said Felicity.  “Anyhow, I’ll go and ask mother what she thinks of it.”

Felicity picked up the Enterprise and betook herself to the house.  We awaited her return in dire suspense.

“Well, what does she say?” asked Cecily tremulously.

“She said, ’Run away and don’t bother me.  I haven’t any time for your nonsense.’” responded Felicity in an injured tone.  “And I said, ‘But, ma, the paper SAYS to-morrow is the Judgment Day,’ and ma just said ‘Judgment Fiddlesticks!’”

“Well, that’s kind of comforting,” said Peter.  “She can’t put any faith in it, or she’d be more worked up.”

“If it only wasn’t PRINTED!” said Dan gloomily.

“Let’s all go over and ask Uncle Roger,” said Felix desperately.

That we should make Uncle Roger a court of last resort indicated all too clearly the state of our minds.  But we went.  Uncle Roger was in his barn-yard, hitching his black mare into the buggy.  His copy of the Enterprise was sticking out of his pocket.  He looked, as we saw with sinking hearts, unusually grave and preoccupied.  There was not a glimmer of a smile about his face.