“Well, when Alan Dunbar knew that he must go to California in the _Fanny_ he was in despair. He felt that he could NEVER go so far away for so long and leave his Margaret behind. And Margaret felt that she could never let him go. I know EXACTLY how she felt.” “How can you know?” interrupted Peter suddenly. “You ain’t old enough to have a beau. How can you know?” The Story Girl looked at Peter with a frown. She did not like to be interrupted when telling a story. “Those are not things one KNOWS about,” she said with dignity. “One FEELS about them.” Peter, crushed but not convinced, subsided, and the Story Girl went on. “Finally, Margaret ran away with Alan, and they were married in Charlottetown. Alan intended to take his wife with him to California in the _Fanny_. If it was a hard journey for a man it was harder still for a woman, but Margaret would have dared anything for Alan’s sake. They had three days--ONLY three days--of happiness, and then the blow fell. The crew and the passengers of the _Fanny_ refused to let Captain Dunbar take his wife with him. They told him he must leave her behind. And all his prayers were of no avail. They say he stood on the deck of the _Fanny_ and pleaded with the men while the tears ran down his face; but they would not yield, and he had to leave Margaret behind. Oh, what a parting it was!” There was heartbreak in the Story Girl’s voice and tears came into our eyes. There, in the green bower of Uncle Stephen’s Walk, we cried over the pathos of a parting whose anguish had been stilled for many years. “When it was all over, Margaret’s father and mother forgave her, and she went back home to wait--to WAIT. Oh, it is so dreadful just to WAIT, and do nothing else. Margaret waited for nearly a year. How long it must have seemed to her! And at last there came a letter--but not from Alan. Alan was DEAD. He had died in California and had been buried there. While Margaret had been thinking of him and longing for him and praying for him he had been lying in his lonely, faraway grave.” Cecily sprang up, shaking with sobs. “Oh, don’t--don’t go on,” she implored. “I CAN’T bear any more.” “There is no more,” said the Story Girl. “That was the end of it--the end of everything for Margaret. It didn’t kill HER, but her heart died.” “I just wish I’d hold of those fellows who wouldn’t let the Captain take his wife,” said Peter savagely. “Well, it was awful said,” said Felicity, wiping her eyes. “But it was long ago and we can’t do any good by crying over it now. Let us go and get something to eat. I made some nice little rhubarb tarts this morning.” We went. In spite of new disappointments and old heartbreaks we had appetites. And Felicity did make scrumptious rhubarb tarts! CHAPTER IX. MAGIC SEED When the time came to hand in our collections for the library fund Peter had the largest--three dollars. Felicity was a good second with two and a half. This was simply because the hens had laid so well.