Worms　will　turn；　and　even　meek；　mild；　obedient　little　souls　like　Cecily　may　be　goaded　to　the　point　of　wild；　sheer　rebellion。
  〃II　won't！〃　she　cried　passionately。
  Mr。　Perkins；　martinet　though　he　was；　would　hardly；　I　think；　have　inflicted　such　a　punishment　on　Cecily；　who　was　a　favourite　of　his；　had　he　known　the　real　nature　of　that　luckless　missive。　　But；　as　he　afterwards　admitted；　he　thought　it　was　merely　a　note　from　some　other　girl；　of　such　trifling　sort　as　school…girls　are　wont　to　write；　and　moreover；　he　had　already　committed　himself　to　the　decree；　which；　like　those　of　Mede　and　Persian；　must　not　alter。　　To　let　Cecily　off；　after　her　mad　defiance；　would　be　to　establish　a　revolutionary　precedent。
  〃So　you　really　think　you　won't？〃　he　queried　smilingly。　　〃Well；　on　second　thoughts；　you　may　take　your　choice。　　Either　you　will　do　as　I　have　bidden　you；　or　you　will　sit　for　three　days　with〃Mr。　Perkins'　eye　skimmed　over　the　school…room　to　find　a　boy　who　was　sitting　alone〃with　Cyrus　Brisk。〃
  This　choice　of　Mr。　Perkins；　who　knew　nothing　of　the　little　drama　of　emotions　that　went　on　under　the　routine　of　lessons　and　exercises　in　his　domain；　was　purely　accidental；　but　we　took　it　at　the　time　as　a　stroke　of　diabolical　genius。　　It　left　Cecily　no　choice。　　She　would　have　done　almost　anything　before　she　would　have　sat　with　Cyrus　Brisk。　　With　flashing　eyes　she　tore　open　the　letter；　snatched　up　the　chalk；　and　dashed　at　the　blackboard。
  In　a　few　minutes　the　contents　of　that　letter　graced　the　expanse　usually　sacred　to　more　prosaic　compositions。　　I　cannot　reproduce　it　verbatim；　for　I　had　no　after　opportunity　of　refreshing　my　memory。　　But　I　remember　that　it　was　exceedingly　sentimental　and　exceedingly　ill…spelledfor　Cecily　mercilessly　copied　down　poor　Cyrus'　mistakes。　　He　wrote　her　that　he　wore　her　hare　over　his　hart〃and　he　stole　it；〃　Cecily　threw　passionately　over　her　shoulder　at　Mr。　Perkinsthat　her　eyes　were　so　sweet　and　lovely　that　he　couldn't　find　words　nice　enuf　to　describ　them；　that　he　could　never　forget　how　butiful　she　had　looked　in　prar　meeting　the　evening　before；　and　that　some　meels　he　couldn't　eat　for　thinking　of　her；　with　more　to　the　same　effect　and　he　signed　it　〃yours　till　deth　us　do　part；　Cyrus　Brisk。〃
  As　the　writing　proceeded　we　scholars　exploded　into　smothered　laughter；　despite　our　awe　of　Mr。　Perkins。　　Mr。　Perkins　himself　could　not　keep　a　straight　face。　　He　turned　abruptly　away　and　looked　out　of　the　window；　but　we　could　see　his　shoulders　shaking。　　When　Cecily　had　finished　and　had　thrown　down　the　chalk　with　bitter　vehemence；　he　turned　around　with　a　very　red　face。
  〃That　will　do。　　You　may　sit　down。　　Cyrus；　since　it　seems　you　are　the　guilty　person；　take　the　eraser　and　wipe　that　off　the　board。　　Then　go　stand　in　the　corner；　facing　the　room；　and　hold　your　arms　straight　above　your　head　until　I　tell　you　to　take　them　down。〃
  Cyrus　obeyed　and　Cecily　fled　to　her　seat　and　wept；　nor　did　Mr。　Perkins　meddle　with　her　more　that　day。　　She　bore　her　burden　of　humiliation　bitterly　for　several　days；　until　she　was　suddenly　comforted　by　a　realization　that　Cyrus　had　ceased　to　persecute　her。　　He　wrote　no　more　letters；　he　gazed　no　longer　in　rapt　adoration；　he　brought　no　more　votive　offerings　of　gum　and　pencils　to　her　shrine。　　At　first　we　thought　he　had　been　cured　by　the　unmerciful　chaffing　he　had　to　undergo　from　his　mates；　but　eventually　his　sister　told　Cecily　the　true　reason。　　Cyrus　had　at　last　been　driven　to　believe　that　Cecily's　aversion　to　him　was　real；　and　not　merely　the　defence　of　maiden　coyness。　　If　she　hated　him　so　intensely　that　she　would　rather　write　that　note　on　the　blackboard　than　sit　with　him；　what　use　was　it　to　sigh　like　a　furnace　longer　for　her？　　Mr。　Perkins　had　blighted　love's　young　dream　for　Cyrus　with　a　killing　frost。　　Thenceforth　sweet　Cecily　kept　the　noiseless　tenor　of　her　way　unvexed　by　the　attentions　of　enamoured　swains。
  CHAPTER　XVI
  AUNT　UNA'S　STORY
  Felicity；　and　Cecily；　Dan；　Felix；　Sara　Ray　and　I　were　sitting　one　evening　on　the　mossy　stones　in　Uncle　Roger's　hill　pasture；　where　we　had　sat　the　morning　the　Story　Girl　told　us　the　tale　of　the　Wedding　Veil　of　the　Proud　Princess。　　But　it　was　evening　now　and　the　valley　beneath　us　was　brimmed　up　with　the　glow　of　the　afterlight。　　Behind　us；　two　tall；　shapely　spruce　trees　rose　up　against　the　sunset；　and　through　the　dark　oriel　of　their　sundered　branches　an　evening　star　looked　down。　　We　sat　on　a　little　strip　of　emerald　grassland　and　before　us　was　a　sloping　meadow　all　white　with　daisies。
  We　were　waiting　for　Peter　and　the　Story　Girl。　　Peter　had　gone　to　Markdale　after　dinner　to　spend　the　afternoon　with　his　reunited　parents　because　it　was　his　birthday。　　He　had　left　us　grimly　determined　to　confess　to　his　father　the　dark　secret　of　his　Presbyterianism；　and　we　were　anxious　to　know　what　the　result　had　been。　　The　Story　Girl　had　gone　that　morning　with　Miss　Reade　to　visit　the　latter's　home　near　Charlottetown；　and　we　expected　soon　to　see　her　coming　gaily　along　over　the　fields　from　the　Armstrong　place。
  Presently　Peter　came　jauntily　stepping　along　the　field　path　up　the　hill。
  〃Hasn't　Peter　got　tall？〃　said　Cecily。
  〃Peter　is　growing　to　be　a　very　fine　looking　boy；〃　decreed　Felicity。
  〃I　notice　he's　got　ever　so　much　handsomer　since　his　father　came　home；〃　said　Dan；　with　a　killing　sarcasm　that　was　wholly　lost　on　Felicity；　who　gravely　responded　that　she　supposed　it　was　because　Peter　felt　so　much　freer　from　care　and　responsibility。
  〃What　luck；　Peter？〃　yelled　Dan；　as　soon　as　Peter　was　within　earshot。
  〃Everything's　all　right；〃　he　shouted　jubilantly。　　〃I　told　father　right　off；　licketty…split；　as　soon　as　I　got　home；〃　he　added　when　he　reached　us。　　〃I　was　anxious　to　have　it　over　with。　　I　says；　solemn…like；　'Dad；　there's　something　I've　got　to　tell　you；　and　I　don't　know　how　you'll　take　it；　but　it　can't　be　helped；'　I　says。　　Dad　looked　pretty　sober；　and　he　says；　says　he；　'What　have　you　been　up　to；　Peter？　　Don't　be　afraid　to　tell　me。　　I've　been　forgiven　to　seventy　times　seven；　so　surely　I　can　forgive　a　little；　too？'　'Well；'　I　says；　desperate…like；　'the　truth　is；　father；　I'm　a　Presbyterian。　　I　made　up　my　mind　last　summer；　the　time　of　the　Judgment　Day；　that　I'd　be　a　Presbyterian；　and　I've　got　to　stick　to　it。　　I'm　sorry　I　can't　be　a　Methodist；　like　you　and　mother　and　Aunt　Jane；　but　I　can't　and　that's　all　there　is　to　it；'　I　says。　　Then　I　waited；　scared…like。　　But　father；　he　just　looked　relieved　and　he　says；　says　he；　'Goodness；　boy；　you　can　be　a　Presbyterian　or　anything　else　you　like；　so　long　as　it's　Protestant。　　I'm　not　caring；'　he　says。　　'The　main　thing　is　that　you　must　be　good　and　do　what's　right。'　I　tell　you；〃　concluded　Peter　emphatically；　〃father　is　a　Christian　all　right。〃
  〃Well；　I　suppose　your　mind　will　be　at　rest　now；〃　said　Felicity。　　〃What's　that　you　have　in　your　buttonhole？〃
  〃That's　a　four…leaved　clover；〃　answered　Peter　exultantly。　　〃That　means　good　luck　for　the　summer。　　I　found　it　in　Markdale。　　There　ain't　much　clover　in　Carlisle　this　year　of　any　kind　of　leaf。　　The　crop　is　going　to　be　a　failure。　　Your　Uncle　Roger　says　it's　because　there　ain't　enough　old　maids　in　Carlisle。　　There's　lots　of　them　in　Markdale；　and　that's　the　reason；　he　says；　why　they　always　have　such　good　clover　crops　there。〃
  〃What　on　earth　have　old　maids　to　do　with　it？〃　cried　Cecily。
  〃I　don't　believe　they've　a　single　thing　to　do　with　it；　but　Mr。　Roger　says　they　have；　and　he　says　a　man　called　Darwin　proved　it。　　This　is　the　rigmarole　he　got　off　to　me　the　other　day。　　The　clover　crop　depends　on　there　being　plenty　of　bumble…bees；　because　they　are　the　only　insects　with　tongues　long　enough　totofer　fertilizeI　think　he　called　it　the　blossoms。　　But　mice　eat　bumble…bees　and　cats　eat　mice　and　old　maids　keep　cats。　　So　your　Uncle　Roger　says　the　more　old　maids　the　more　cats；　and　the　more　cats　the　fewer　field…mice；　and　the　fewer　field…mice　the　more　bumble…bees；　and　the　more　bumble…bees　the　better　clover　crops。〃
  〃So　don't　worry　if　you　do　get　to　be　old　maids；　girls；〃　said　Dan。　　〃Remember；　you'll　be　helping　the　clover　crops。〃
  〃I　never　heard　such　stuff　as　you　boys　talk；〃　said　Felicity；　〃and　Uncle　Roger　is　no　better。〃
  〃There　comes　the　Story　Girl；〃　cried　Cecily　eagerly。　　〃Now　we'll　hear　all　about　Beautiful　Alice's　home。〃
  The　Story　Girl　was　bombarded　with　eager　questions　as　soon　as　she　arrived。　　Miss　Reade's　home　was　a　dream　of　a　place；　it　appeared。　　The　house　was　just　covered　with　ivy　and　there　was　a　most　delightful　old　garden〃and；〃　added　the　Story　Girl；　with　the　joy　of　a　connoisseur　who　has　found　a　rare　gem；　〃the　sweetest　little　story　connected　with　it。　　And　I　saw　the　hero　of　the　story　too。〃
  〃Where　was　the　heroine？〃　queried　Cecily。
  〃She　is　dead。〃
  〃Oh；　of　course　she'd　have　to　die；〃　exclaimed　Dan　in　disgust。　　〃I'd　like　a　story　where　somebody　lived　once　in　awhile。〃
  〃I've　told　you　heaps　of　stories　where　people　lived；〃　retorted　the　Story　Girl。　　〃If　this　heroine　hadn't　died　there　wouldn't　have　been　any　story。　　She　was　Miss　Reade's　aunt　and　her　name　was　Una；　and　I　believe　she　must　have　been　just　like　Miss　Reade　herself。　　Miss　Reade　told　me　all　about　her。　　When　we　went　into　the　garden　I　saw　in　one　corner　of　it　an　old　stone　bench　arched　over　by　a　couple　of　pear　trees　and　all　grown　about　with　grass　and　violets。　　And　an　old　man　w