“He will be,” said Cecily. “If it’s the Judgment Day for Prince Edward Island it will be for Europe, too.” “I wish we could just KNOW whether what the paper says is true or not,” said Felix desperately. “It seems to me I could brace up if I just KNEW.” But to whom could we appeal? Uncle Alec was away and would not be back until late that night. Neither Aunt Janet nor Uncle Roger were people to whom we cared to apply in such a crisis. We were afraid of the Judgment Day; but we were almost equally afraid of being laughed at. How about Aunt Olivia? “No, Aunt Olivia has gone to bed with a sick headache and mustn’t be disturbed,” said the Story Girl. “She said I must get dinner ready, because there was plenty of cold meat, and nothing to do but boil the potatoes and peas, and set the table. I don’t know how I can put my thoughts into it when the Judgment Day may be to-morrow. Besides, what is the good of asking the grown-ups? They don’t know anything more about this than we do.” “But if they’d just SAY they didn’t believe it, it would be a sort of comfort,” said Cecily. “I suppose the minister would know, but he’s away on his vacation” said Felicity. “Anyhow, I’ll go and ask mother what she thinks of it.” Felicity picked up the _Enterprise_ and betook herself to the house. We awaited her return in dire suspense. “Well, what does she say?” asked Cecily tremulously. “She said, ‘Run away and don’t bother me. I haven’t any time for your nonsense.’” responded Felicity in an injured tone. “And I said, ‘But, ma, the paper SAYS to-morrow is the Judgment Day,’ and ma just said ‘Judgment Fiddlesticks!’” “Well, that’s kind of comforting,” said Peter. “She can’t put any faith in it, or she’d be more worked up.” “If it only wasn’t PRINTED!” said Dan gloomily. “Let’s all go over and ask Uncle Roger,” said Felix desperately. That we should make Uncle Roger a court of last resort indicated all too clearly the state of our minds. But we went. Uncle Roger was in his barn-yard, hitching his black mare into the buggy. His copy of the _Enterprise_ was sticking out of his pocket. He looked, as we saw with sinking hearts, unusually grave and preoccupied. There was not a glimmer of a smile about his face. “You ask him,” said Felicity, nudging the Story Girl. “Uncle Roger,” said the Story Girl, the golden notes of her voice threaded with fear and appeal, “the _Enterprise_ says that to-morrow is the Judgment Day? IS it? Do YOU think it is?” “I’m afraid so,” said Uncle Roger gravely. “The _Enterprise_ is always very careful to print only reliable news.” “But mother doesn’t believe it,” cried Felicity. Uncle Roger shook his head. “That is just the trouble,” he said. “People won’t believe it till it’s too late. I’m going straight to Markdale to pay a man there some money I owe him, and after dinner I’m going to Summerside to buy me a new suit. My old one is too shabby for the Judgment Day.”