o agree with her for once. We thought the Story Girl
was making fun of us. But I believe she really had a strange gift of
thinking in colours. In later years, when we were grown up, she told
me of it again. She said that everything had colour in her thought; the
months of the year ran through all the tints of the spectrum, the days
of the week were arrayed as Solomon in his glory, morning was golden,
noon orange, evening crystal blue, and night violet. Every idea came to
her mind robed in its own especial hue. Perhaps that was why her voice
and words had such a charm, conveying to the listeners' perception such
fine shadings of meaning and tint and music.

"Well, let's go and have something to eat," suggested Dan. "What colour
is eating, Sara?"

"Golden brown, just the colour of a molasses cooky," laughed the Story
Girl.

We sat on the ferny bank of the pool and ate of the generous basket Aunt
Janet had provided, with appetites sharpened by the keen spring air and
our wilderness rovings. Felicity had made some very nice sandwiches of
ham which we all appreciated except Dan, who declared he didn't like
things minced up and dug out of the basket a chunk of boiled pork which
he proceeded to saw up with a jack-knife and devour with gusto.

"I told ma to put this in for me. There's some CHEW to it," he said.

"You are not a bit refined," commented Felicity.

"Not a morsel, my love," grinned Dan.

"You make me think of a story I heard Uncle Roger telling about Cousin
Annetta King," said the Story Girl. "Great-uncle Jeremiah King used to
live where Uncle Roger lives now, when Grandfather King was alive and
Uncle Roger was a boy. In those days it was thought rather coarse for a
young lady to have too hearty an appetite, and she was more admired if
she was delicate about what she ate. Cousin Annetta set out to be very
refined indeed. She pretended to have no appetite at all. One afternoon
she was invited to tea at Grandfather King's when they had some special
company--people from Charlottetown. Cousin Annetta said she could hardly
eat anything. 'You know, Uncle Abraham,' she said, in a very affected,
fine-young-lady voice, 'I really hardly eat enough to keep a bird alive.
Mother says she wonders how I continue to exist.' And she picked and
pecked until Grandfather King declared he would like to throw something
at her. After tea Cousin Annetta went home, and just about dark
Grandfather King went over to Uncle Jeremiah's on