“But nobody has to eat it all at once,” retorted Uncle Roger, with another groan. “Oh, Sara Stanley, it’s a thankful man I am that your Aunt Olivia is to be home to-night. You’d have me kilt entirely by another day. I believe you did it on purpose to have a story to tell.” Uncle Roger hobbled off to the barn, still holding on to his stomach. “Do you think he really feels sick?” asked the Story Girl anxiously. “No, I don’t,” said Felicity. “You needn’t worry over him. There’s nothing the matter with him. I don’t believe there were any needles in that sawdust. Mother sifted it very carefully.” “I know a story about a man whose son swallowed a mouse,” said the Story Girl, who would probably have known a story and tried to tell it if she were being led to the stake. “And he ran and wakened up a very tired doctor just as he had got to sleep. “‘Oh, doctor, my son has swallowed a mouse,’ he cried. ‘What shall I do?’ “‘Tell him to swallow a cat,’ roared the poor doctor, and slammed his door. “Now, if Uncle Roger has swallowed any needles, maybe it would make it all right if he swallowed a pincushion.” We all laughed. But Felicity soon grew sober. “It seems awful to think of eating a sawdust pudding. How on earth did you make such a mistake?” “It looked just like cornmeal,” said the Story Girl, going from white to red in her shame. “Well, I’m going to give up trying to cook, and stick to things I can do. And if ever one of you mentions sawdust pudding to me I’ll never tell you another story as long as I live.” The threat was effectual. Never did we mention that unholy pudding. But the Story Girl could not so impose silence on the grown-ups, especially Uncle Roger. He tormented her for the rest of the summer. Never a breakfast did he sit down to, without gravely inquiring if they were sure there was no sawdust in the porridge. Not a tweak of rheumatism did he feel but he vowed it was due to a needle, travelling about his body. And Aunt Olivia was warned to label all the pincushions in the house. “Contents, sawdust; not intended for puddings.” CHAPTER XVIII. HOW KISSING WAS DISCOVERED An August evening, calm, golden, dewless, can be very lovely. At sunset, Felicity, Cecily, and Sara Ray, Dan, Felix, and I were in the orchard, sitting on the cool grasses at the base of the Pulpit Stone. In the west was a field of crocus sky over which pale cloud blossoms were scattered. Uncle Roger had gone to the station to meet the travellers, and the dining-room table was spread with a feast of fat things. “It’s been a jolly week, take it all round,” said Felix, “but I’m glad the grown-ups are coming back to-night, especially Uncle Alec.” “I wonder if they’ll bring us anything,” said Dan. “I’m thinking long to hear all about the wedding,” said Felicity, who was braiding timothy stalks into a collar for Pat. “You girls are always thinking about weddings and getting married,” said Dan contemptuously.