“I DID hear a bell ring,” said Peter stubbornly. Uncle Roger unlocked and flung open the front door. As he did so, clear and sweet, rang out ten bell-like chimes. “That’s what I heard,” cried Peter. “There’s the bell!” We had to wait until Uncle Roger stopped laughing before we heard the explanation. We thought he never WOULD stop. “That’s Grandfather King’s old clock striking,” he said, as soon as he was able to speak. “Sammy Prott came along after tea, when you were away to the forge, Peter, and I gave him permission to clean the old clock. He had it going merrily in no time. And now it has almost frightened you poor little monkeys to death.” We heard Uncle Roger chuckling all the way to the barn. “Uncle Roger can laugh,” said Cecily, with a quiver in her voice, “but it’s no laughing matter to be so scared. I just feel sick, I was so frightened.” “I wouldn’t mind if he’d laugh once and have it done with it,” said Felicity bitterly. “But he’ll laugh at us for a year, and tell the story to every soul that comes to the place.” “You can’t blame him for that,” said the Story Girl. “I shall tell it, too. I don’t care if the joke is as much on myself as any one. A story is a story, no matter who it’s on. But it IS hateful to be laughed at--and grown-ups always do it. I never will when I’m grown up. I’ll remember better.” “It’s all Peter’s fault,” said Felicity. “I do think he might have had more sense than to take a clock striking for a bell ringing.” “I never heard that kind of a strike before,” protested Peter. “It don’t sound a bit like other clocks. And the door was shut and the sound kind o’ muffled. It’s all very fine to say you would have known what it was, but I don’t believe you would.” “I wouldn’t have,” said the Story Girl honestly. “I thought it WAS a bell when I heard it, and the door open, too. Let us be fair, Felicity.” “I’m dreadful tired,” sighed Cecily. We were all “dreadful tired,” for this was the third night of late hours and nerve racking strain. But it was over two hours since we had eaten the cookies, and Felicity suggested that a saucerful apiece of raspberries and cream would not be hard to take. It was not, for any one but Cecily, who couldn’t swallow a mouthful. “I’m glad father and mother will be back to-morrow night,” she said. “It’s too exciting when they’re away. That’s my opinion.” CHAPTER XVII. THE PROOF OF THE PUDDING Felicity was cumbered with many cares the next morning. For one thing, the whole house must be put in apple pie order; and for another, an elaborate supper must be prepared for the expected return of the travellers that night. Felicity devoted her whole attention to this, and left the secondary preparation of the regular meals to Cecily and the Story Girl. It was agreed that the latter was to make a cornmeal pudding for dinner.