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verdict given was that a woman who had been "to burial borne" and

left for dead, who had been driven from her husband's door and



from her childhood home, "must be adjudged as dead in law and

fact," was no more daughter or wife, but was set free to form what



new ties she would. The climax of the whole selection came in the

line,



"The court pronounces the defendant--DEAD!" and the Story Girl was

wont to render it with such dramaticintensity and power that the



veriest dullard among her listeners could not have missed its

force and significance.



She swept along through the poem royally, playing on the emotions

of her audience as she had so often played on ours in the old



orchard. Pity, terror, indignation, suspense, possessed her

hearers in turn. In the court scene she surpassed herself. She



was, in very truth, the Florentine judge, stern, stately,

impassive. Her voice dropped into the solemnity of the all-



important line,

"'The court pronounces the defendant--'"



She paused for a breathless moment, the better to bring out the

tragic import of the last word.



"DEAD," piped up Sara Ray in her shrill, plaintive little voice.

The effect, to use a hackneyed but convenientphrase, can better



be imagined than described. Instead of the sigh of relieved

tension that should have swept over the audience at the conclusion



of the line, a burst of laughter greeted it. The Story Girl's

performance was completely spoiled. She dealt the luckless Sara a



glance that would have slain her on the spot could glances kill,

stumbled lamely and impotently through the few remaining lines of



her recitation, and fled with crimson cheeks to hide her

mortification in the little corner that had been curtained off for



a dressing-room. Mr. Perkins looked things not lawful to be

uttered, and the audience tittered at intervals for the rest of



the performance.

Sara Ray alone remained serenely satisfied until the close of the



concert, when we surrounded her with a whirlwind of reproaches.

"Why," she stammered aghast, "what did I do? I--I thought she was



stuck and that I ought to prompt her quick."

"You little fool, she just paused for effect," cried Felicity



angrily. Felicity might be rather jealous of the Story Girl's

gift, but she was furious at beholding "one of our family" made



ridiculous in such a fashion. "You have less sense than anyone I

ever heard of, Sara Ray."



Poor Sara dissolved in tears.

"I didn't know. I thought she was stuck," she wailed again.



She cried all the way home, but we did not try to comfort her. We

felt quite out of patience with her. Even Cecily was seriously



annoyed. This second blunder of Sara's was too much even for her

loyalty. We saw her turn in at her own gate and go sobbing up her



lane with no relenting.

The Story Girl was home before us, having fled from the



schoolhouse as soon as the programme was over. We tried to

sympathize with her but she would not be sympathized with.



"Please don't ever mention it to me again," she said, with

compressed lips. "I never want to be reminded of it. Oh, that



little IDIOT!"

"She spoiled Peter's sermon last summer and now she's spoiled your



recitation," said Felicity. "I think it's time we gave up

associating with Sara Ray."



"Oh, don't be quite so hard on her," pleaded Cecily. "Think of

the life the poor child has to live at home. I know she'll cry



all night."

"Oh, let's go to bed," growled Dan. "I'm good and ready for it.



I've had enough of school concerts."

CHAPTER XIX



BY WAY OF THE STARS

But for two of us the adventures of the night were not yet over.



Silence settled down over the old house--the eerie, whisperful,

creeping silence of night. Felix and Dan were already sound



asleep; I was drifting near the coast o' dreams when I was aroused

by a light tap on the door.



"Bev, are you asleep?" came in the Story Girl's whisper.

"No, what is it?"



"S-s-h. Get up and dress and come out. I want you."




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