It was half-past five when we boys got up the next morning. We were joined on the stairs by Felicity, yawning and rosy.
"Oh, dear me, I overslept myself. Uncle Roger wanted breakfast at six. Well, I suppose the fire is on anyhow, for the Story Girl is up. I guess she got up early to knead the bread. She couldn't sleep all night for worrying over it."
The fire was on, and a flushed and triumphant Story Girl was taking a loaf of bread from the oven.
"Just look," she said proudly. "I have every bit of the bread baked. I got up at three, and it was lovely and light, so I just gave it a right good kneading and popped it into the oven. And it's all done and out of the way. But the loaves don't seem quite as big as they should be," she added doubtfully.
"Sara Stanley!" Felicity flew across the kitchen. "Do you mean that you put that bread right into the oven after you kneaded it without leaving it to rise a second time?"
The Story Girl turned quite pale.
"Yes, I did," she faltered. "Oh, Felicity, wasn't it right?"
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