"Have you tormented any one into eating more bad berries, Felicity?" he demanded.
"Oh, Uncle Roger, don"t go in," implored Felicity seriously. "There"s something dreadful in there--something that rings a bell. Peter heard it. Don"t go in."
"There"s no use asking the meaning of this, I suppose," said Uncle Roger with the calm of despair. "I"ve gave up trying to fathom you young ones.
Peter, where"s the key? What yarn have you been telling?"
"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" m.u.f.fled. 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 c.u.mbered 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.
In spite of her disaster with the bread, the Story Girl had been taking cooking lessons from Felicity all the week, and getting on tolerably well, although, mindful of her former mistake, she never ventured on anything without Felicity"s approval. But Felicity had no time to oversee her this morning.
"You must attend to the pudding yourself," she said. "The recipe"s so plain and simple even you can"t go astray, and if there"s anything you don"t understand you can ask me. But don"t bother me if you can help it."
The Story Girl did not bother her once. The pudding was concocted and baked, as the Story Girl proudly informed us when we came to the dinner-table, all on her own hook. She was very proud of it; and certainly as far as appearance went it justified her triumph. The slices were smooth and golden; and, smothered in the luscious maple sugar sauce which Cecily had compounded, were very fair to view. Nevertheless, although none of us, not even Uncle Roger or Felicity, said a word at the time, for fear of hurting the Story Girl"s feelings, the pudding did not taste exactly as it should. It was tough--decidedly tough--and lacked the richness of flavour which was customary in Aunt Janet"s cornmeal puddings. If it had not been for the abundant supply of sauce it would have been very dry eating indeed. Eaten it was, however, to the last crumb. If it were not just what a cornmeal pudding might be, the rest of the bill of fare had been extra good and our appet.i.tes matched it.
"I wish I was twins so"s I could eat more," said Dan, when he simply had to stop.
"What good would being twins do you?" asked Peter. "People who squint can"t eat any more than people who don"t squint, can they?"
We could not see any connection between Peter"s two questions.
"What has squinting got to do with twins?" asked Dan.
"Why, twins are just people that squint, aren"t they?" said Peter.
We thought he was trying to be funny, until we found out that he was quite in earnest. Then we laughed until Peter got sulky.
"I don"t care," he said. "How"s a fellow to know? Tommy and Adam Cowan, over at Markdale, are twins; and they"re both cross-eyed. So I s"posed that was what being twins meant. It"s all very fine for you fellows to laugh. I never went to school half as much as you did; and you was brought up in Toronto, too. If you"d worked out ever since you was seven, and just got to school in the winter, there"d be lots of things you wouldn"t know, either."
"Never mind, Peter," said Cecily. "You know lots of things they don"t."
But Peter was not to be conciliated, and took himself off in high dudgeon. To be laughed at before Felicity--to be laughed at BY Felicity--was something he could not endure. Let Cecily and the Story Girl cackle all they wanted to, and let those stuck-up Toronto boys grin like chessy-cats; but when Felicity laughed at him the iron entered into Peter"s soul.
If the Story Girl laughed at Peter the mills of the G.o.ds ground out his revenge for him in mid-afternoon. Felicity, having used up all the available cooking materials in the house, had to stop perforce; and she now determined to stuff two new pincushions she had been making for her room. We heard her rummaging in the pantry as we sat on the cool, spruce-shadowed cellar door outside, where Uncle Roger was showing us how to make elderberry pop-guns. Presently she came out, frowning.
"Cecily, do you know where mother put the sawdust she emptied out of that old beaded pincushion of Grandmother King"s, after she had sifted the needles out of it? I thought it was in the tin box."
"So it is," said Cecily.
"It isn"t. There isn"t a speck of sawdust in that box."
The Story Girl"s face wore a quite indescribable expression, compound of horror and shame. She need not have confessed. If she had but held her tongue the mystery of the sawdust"s disappearance might have forever remained a mystery. She WOULD have held her tongue, as she afterwards confided to me, if it had not been for a horrible fear which flashed into her mind that possibly sawdust puddings were not healthy for people to eat--especially if there might be needles in them--and that if any mischief had been done in that direction it was her duty to undo it if possible at any cost of ridicule to herself.
"Oh, Felicity," she said, her voice expressing a very anguish of humiliation, "I--I--thought that stuff in the box was cornmeal and used it to make the pudding."
Felicity and Cecily stared blankly at the Story Girl. We boys began to laugh, but were checked midway by Uncle Roger. He was rocking himself back and forth, with his hand pressed against his stomach.
"Oh," he groaned, "I"ve been wondering what these sharp pains I"ve been feeling ever since dinner meant. I know now. I must have swallowed a needle--several needles, perhaps. I"m done for!"
The poor Story Girl went very white.
"Oh, Uncle Roger, could it be possible? You COULDN"T have swallowed a needle without knowing it. It would have stuck in your tongue or teeth."
"I didn"t chew the pudding," groaned Uncle Roger. "It was too tough--I just swallowed the chunks whole."
He groaned and twisted and doubled himself up. But he overdid it. He was not as good an actor as the Story Girl. Felicity looked scornfully at him.
"Uncle Roger, you are not one bit sick," she said deliberately. "You are just putting on."
"Felicity, if I die from the effects of eating sawdust pudding, flavoured with needles, you"ll be sorry you ever said such a thing to your poor old uncle," said Uncle Roger reproachfully. "Even if there were no needles in it, sixty-year-old sawdust can"t be good for my tummy. I daresay it wasn"t even clean."
"Well, you know every one has to eat a peck of dirt in his life,"
giggled Felicity.