Felicity is Edith—and Dan is so obliging that way."
"What is Peter like?" I asked.
"Peter is splendid. His mother lives on the Markdale road and washes for a living. Peter's father ran away and left them when Peter was only three years old. He has never come back, and they don't know whether he is alive or dead. Isn't that a nice way to behave to your family? Peter has worked for his board ever since he was six. Uncle Roger sends him to school, and pays him wages in summer. We all like Peter, except Felicity."
"I like Peter well enough in his place," said Felicity primly, "but you make far too much of him, mother says. He is only a hired boy, and he hasn't been well brought up, and hasn't much education. I don't think you should make such an equal of him as you do."
Laughter rippled over the Story Girl's face as shadow waves go over ripe wheat before a wind.
"Peter is a real gentleman, and he is more interesting than you could ever be, if you were brought up and educated for a hundred years," she said.
"He can hardly write," said Felicity.
"William the Conqueror couldn't write at all," said the Story Girl crushingly.
"He never goes to church, and he never says his prayers," retorted Felicity, uncrushed.
"I do, too," said Peter himself, suddenly appearing through a little gap in the hedge. "I say my prayers sometimes."
31
