had to ask him if he would soon have it ready, as I wanted to make
up the paper.

"It's done," said Peter, with an air of gloomy triumph. "It don't
amount to much, but anyhow I made it all out of my own head. Not
one word of it was ever printed or told before, and nobody can say
there was."

"Then I guess we have all the stuff in and I'll have Our Magazine
ready to read by tomorrow night," I said.

"I s'pose it will be the last one we'll have," sighed Cecily. "We
can't carry it on after you all go, and it has been such fun."

"Bev will be a real newspaper editor some day," declared the Story
Girl, on whom the spirit of prophecy suddenly descended that
night.

She was swinging on the bough of an apple tree, with a crimson
shawl wrapped about her head, and her eyes were bright with
roguish fire.

"How do you know he will?" asked Felicity.

"Oh, I can tell futures," answered the Story Girl mysteriously.
"I know what's going to happen to all of you. Shall I tell you?"

"Do, just for the fun of it," I said. "Then some day we'll know
just how near you came to guessing right. Go on. What else about me?"