"My Aunt Jane used to say that people needed a sermon on that
place once in a while," retorted Peter seriously.

"Do you mind the night I et the cucumbers and milk to make me dream?"
said Cecily.

And therewith we hunted out our old dream books to read them
again, and, forgetful of coming partings, laughed over them till
the old orchard echoed to our mirth. When we had finished we
stood in a circle around the well and pledged "eternal friendship"
in a cup of its unrivalled water.

Then we joined hands and sang "Auld Lang Syne." Sara Ray cried
bitterly in lieu of singing.

"Look here," said the Story Girl, as we turned to leave the old
orchard, "I want to ask a favour of you all. Don't say good-bye
to me tomorrow morning."

"Why not?" demanded Felicity in astonishment.

"Because it's such a hopeless sort of word. Don't let's SAY it at
all. Just see me off with a wave of your hands. It won't seem
half so bad then. And don't any of you cry if you can help it. I
want to remember you all smiling."

We went out of the old orchard where the autumn night wind was
beginning to make its weird music in the russet boughs, and shut
the little gate behind us. Our revels there were ended.