“Mr. Campbell never noticed one of us except the Story Girl,” she said, “but if I had put on MY best dress as she did maybe she wouldn’t have taken all the attention.” “Could you ever do what Betty Sherman did, do you suppose?” asked Cecily absently. “No; but I believe the Story Girl could,” answered Felicity rather snappishly. CHAPTER VIII. A TRAGEDY OF CHILDHOOD The Story Girl went to Charlottetown for a week in June to visit Aunt Louisa. Life seemed very colourless without her, and even Felicity admitted that it was lonesome. But three days after her departure Felix told us something on the way home from school which lent some spice to existence immediately. “What do you think?” he said in a very solemn, yet excited, tone. “Jerry Cowan told me at recess this afternoon that he HAD SEEN A PICTURE OF GOD--that he has it at home in an old, red-covered history of the world, and has looked at it OFTEN.” To think that Jerry Cowan should have seen such a picture often! We were as deeply impressed as Felix had meant us to be. “Did he say what it was like?” asked Peter. “No--only that it was a picture of God, walking in the garden of Eden.” “Oh,” whispered Felicity--we all spoke in low tones on the subject, for, by instinct and training, we thought and uttered the Great Name with reverence, in spite of our devouring curiosity--“oh, WOULD Jerry Cowan bring it to school and let us see it?” “I asked him that, soon as ever he told me,” said Felix. “He said he might, but he couldn’t promise, for he’d have to ask his mother if he could bring the book to school. If she’ll let him he’ll bring it to-morrow.” “Oh, I’ll be almost afraid to look at it,” said Sara Ray tremulously. I think we all shared her fear to some extent. Nevertheless, we went to school the next day burning with curiosity. And we were disappointed. Possibly night had brought counsel to Jerry Cowan; or perhaps his mother had put him up to it. At all events, he announced to us that he couldn’t bring the red-covered history to school, but if we wanted to buy the picture outright he would tear it out of the book and sell it to us for fifty cents. We talked the matter over in serious conclave in the orchard that evening. We were all rather short of hard cash, having devoted most of our spare means to the school library fund. But the general consensus of opinion was that we must have the picture, no matter what pecuniary sacrifices were involved. If we could each give about seven cents we would have the amount. Peter could only give four, but Dan gave eleven, which squared matters. “Fifty cents would be pretty dear for any other picture, but of course this is different,” said Dan. “And there’s a picture of Eden thrown in, too, you know,” added Felicity. “Fancy selling God’s picture,” said Cecily in a shocked, awed tone. “Nobody but a Cowan would do it, and that’s a fact,” said Dan.