quiver in her voice, "but it's no laughing matter to be so scared. I just feel sick, I was so frightened."
"I wouldn't mind if he'd laugh once and have done with it," said Felicity bitterly. "But he'll laugh at us for a year, and tell the story to every soul that comes to the place."
"You can't blame him for that," said the Story Girl. "I shall tell it, too. I don't care if the joke is as much on myself as any one. A story is a story, no matter who it's on. But it is hateful to be laughed at—and grown-ups always do it. I never will when I'm grown up. I'll remember better."
"It's all Peter's fault," said Felicity. "I do think he might have had more sense than to take a clock striking for a bell ringing."
"I never heard that kind of a strike before," protested Peter. "It don't sound a bit like other clocks. And the door was shut and the sound kind o' muffled. It's all very fine to say you would have known what it was, but I don't believe you would."
"I wouldn't have," said the Story Girl honestly. "I thought it was a bell when I heard it, and the door open, too. Let us be fair, Felicity."
"I'm dreadful tired," sighed Cecily.
We were all "dreadful tired," for this was the third night of late hours and nerve racking strain. But it was over two hours since we had eaten the cookies, and Felicity suggested that a saucerful apiece of raspberries and cream would not be hard to take. It was
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