"Cecily," said Felicity in a hushed tone. "You are the best of us all. You open the parcel."
"Oh, I'm no gooder than the rest of you," breathed Cecily, "but I'll open it if you like."
With trembling fingers Cecily opened the parcel. We stood around, hardly breathing. She unfolded it and held it up. We saw it.
Suddenly Sara began to cry.
"Oh, oh, oh, does God look like that?" she wailed.
Felix and I spoke not. Disappointment, and something worse, sealed our speech. Did God look like that—like that stern, angrily frowning old man with the tossing hair and beard of the wood-cut Cecily held.
"I suppose He must, since that is His picture," said Dan miserably.
"He looks awful cross," said Peter simply.
"Oh, I wish we'd never, never seen it," cried Cecily.
We all wished that—too late. Our curiosity had led us into some Holy of Holies, not to be profaned by human eyes, and this was our punishment.
"I've always had a feeling right along," wept Sara, "that it wasn't right to buy—or look at—God's picture."
As we stood there wretchedly we heard flying feet below and a blithe voice calling,
"Where are you, children?"
The Story Girl had returned! At any other moment we would have rushed to meet her in wild joy. But now we were too crushed and miserable to move.
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