OUR LAST EVENING TOGETHER


IT was the evening before the day on which the Story Girl and
Uncle Blair were to leave us, and we were keeping our last tryst
together in the orchard where we had spent so many happy hours.
We had made a pilgrimage to all the old haunts--the hill field,
the spruce wood, the dairy, Grandfather King's willow, the Pulpit
Stone, Pat's grave, and Uncle Stephen's Walk; and now we
foregathered in the sere grasses about the old well and feasted on
the little jam turnovers Felicity had made that day specially for
the occasion.

"I wonder if we'll ever all be together again," sighed Cecily.

"I wonder when I'll get jam turnovers like this again," said the
Story Girl, trying to be gay but not making much of a success of
it.

"If Paris wasn't so far away I could send you a box of nice things
now and then," said Felicity forlornly, "but I suppose there's no
use thinking of that. Dear knows what they'll give you to eat
over there."

"Oh, the French have the reputation of being the best cooks in the
world," rejoined the Story Girl, "but I know they can't beat your
jam turnovers and plum puffs, Felicity. Many a time I'll be
hankering after them."

"If we ever do meet again you'll be grown up," said Felicity