“I think I’ll wrap it up and keep it in my box,” he said. “I’ve an old Bible of Aunt Jane’s at home that I can use. I s’pose it’s just the same, even if it is old, isn’t it?” “Oh, yes,” Cecily had assured him. “The Bible is always the same.” “I thought maybe they’d got some new improvements on it since Aunt Jane’s day,” said Peter, relieved. “Sara Ray is coming along the lane, and she’s crying,” announced Dan, who was peering out of a knot-hole on the opposite side of the loft. “Sara Ray is crying half her time,” said Cecily impatiently. “I’m sure she cries a quartful of tears a month. There are times when you can’t help crying. But I hide then. Sara just goes and cries in public.” The lachrymose Sara presently joined us and we discovered the cause of her tears to be the doleful fact that her mother had forbidden her to go to the magic lantern show that night. We all showed the sympathy we felt. “She SAID yesterday you could go,” said the Story Girl indignantly. “Why has she changed her mind?” “Because of the measles in Markdale,” sobbed Sara. “She says Markdale is full of them, and there’ll be sure to be some of the Markdale people at the show. So I’m not to go. And I’ve never seen a magic lantern--I’ve never seen ANYTHING.” “I don’t believe there’s any danger of catching measles,” said Felicity. “If there was we wouldn’t be allowed to go.” “I wish I COULD get the measles,” said Sara defiantly. “Maybe I’d be of some importance to ma then.” “Suppose Cecily goes down with you and coaxes your mother,” suggested the Story Girl. “Perhaps she’d let you go then. She likes Cecily. She doesn’t like either Felicity or me, so it would only make matters worse for us to try.” “Ma’s gone to town--pa and her went this afternoon--and they’re not coming back till to-morrow. There’s nobody home but Judy Pineau and me.” “Then,” said the Story Girl, “why don’t you just go to the show anyhow? Your mother won’t ever know, if you coax Judy to hold her tongue.” “Oh, but that’s wrong,” said Felicity. “You shouldn’t put Sara up to disobeying her mother.” Now, Felicity for once was undoubtedly right. The Story Girl’s suggestion WAS wrong; and if it had been Cecily who protested, the Story Girl would probably have listened to her, and proceeded no further in the matter. But Felicity was one of those unfortunate people whose protests against wrong-doing serve only to drive the wrong-doer further on her sinful way. The Story Girl resented Felicity’s superior tone, and proceeded to tempt Sara in right good earnest. The rest of us held our tongues. It was, we told ourselves, Sara’s own lookout. “I have a good mind to do it,” said Sara, “but I can’t get my good clothes; they’re in the spare room, and ma locked the door, for fear somebody would get at the fruit cake. I haven’t a single thing to wear, except my school gingham.”