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The Story Girl

The Wedding Veil Of The Proud Princess
When we had lived for a fortnight in Carlisle we belonged there, and the freedom of all
its small fry was conferred on us. With Peter and Dan, with Felicity and Cecily and the
Story Girl, with pale, gray-eyed little Sara Ray, we were boon companions. We went to
school, of course; and certain home chores were assigned to each of us for the faithful
performance of which we were held responsible. But we had long hours for play. Even
Peter had plenty of spare time when the planting was over.
We got along very well with each other in the main, in spite of some minor differences of
opinion. As for the grown-up denizens of our small world, they suited us also.
We adored Aunt Olivia; she was pretty and merry and kind; and, above all, she had
mastered to perfection the rare art of letting children alone. If we kept ourselves tolerably
clean, and refrained from quarrelling or talking slang, Aunt Olivia did not worry us. Aunt
Janet, on the contrary, gave us so much good advice and was so constantly telling us to
do this or not to do the other thing, that we could not remember half her instructions, and
did not try.
Uncle Roger was, as we had been informed, quite jolly and fond of teasing. We liked
him; but we had an uncomfortable feeling that the meaning of his remarks was not
always that which met the ear. Sometimes we believed Uncle Roger was making fun of
us, and the deadly seriousness of youth in us resented that.
The Uncle Alec we gave our warmest love. We felt that we always had a friend at court
in Uncle Alec, no matter what we did or left undone. And we never had to turn HIS
speeches inside out to discover their meaning.
The social life of juvenile Carlisle centred in the day and Sunday Schools. We were
especially interested in our Sunday School, for we were fortunate enough to be assigned
to a teacher who made our lessons so interesting that we no longer regarded Sunday
School attendance as a disagreeable weekly duty; but instead looked forward to it with
pleasure, and tried to carry out our teacher's gentle precepts--at least on Mondays and
Tuesdays. I am afraid the remembrance grew a little dim the rest of the week.
She was also deeply interested in missions; and one talk on this subject inspired the Story
Girl to do a little home missionary work on her own account. The only thing she could
think of, along this line, was to persuade Peter to go to church.
Felicity did not approve of the design, and said so plainly.
"He won't know how to behave, for he's never been inside a church door in his life," she
warned the Story Girl. "He'll likely do something awful, and then you'll feel ashamed and
wish you'd never asked him to go, and we'll all be disgraced. It's all right to have our mite
 
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