Felicity had made for us. Felicity's turnovers were perfection. I looked at her and wondered why it was not enough that she should be so pretty and capable of making such turnovers. If she were only more interesting! Felicity had not a particle of the nameless charm and allurement which hung about every motion of the Story Girl, and made itself manifest in her lightest word and most careless glance. Ah well, one cannot have every good gift! The Story Girl had no dimples at her slim, brown wrists.
We all enjoyed our turnovers except Sara Ray. She ate hers but she knew she should not have done so. Her mother did not approve of snacks between meals, or of jam turnovers at any time. Once, when Sara was in a brown study, I asked her what she was thinking of.
"I'm trying to think of something ma hasn't forbid," she answered with a sigh.
We were all glad to hear that Peter was going to church, except Felicity. She was full of gloomy forebodings and warnings.
"I'm surprised at you, Felicity King," said Cecily severely. "You ought to be glad that poor boy is going to get started in the right way."
"There's a great big patch on his best pair of trousers," protested Felicity.
"Well, that's better than a hole," said the Story Girl, addressing herself daintily to her turnover. "God won't notice the patch."
"No, but the Carlisle people will," retorted
40
