"The best half," said sweet Cecily simply.

"I'll try to obey mother ALWAYS," wrote Sara Ray, with a
tremendous sigh, as if she fully realized the difficulty of
keeping such a resolution. "And that's all I'm going to make."

"Felicity has only made one," said the Story Girl.

"I think it better to make just one and keep it than make a lot
and break them," said Felicity loftily.

She had the last word on the subject, for it was time for Sara Ray
to go, and our circle broke up. Sara and Felix departed and we
watched them down the lane in the moonlight--Sara walking demurely
in one runner track, and Felix stalking grimly along in the other.
I fear the romantic beauty of that silver shining night was
entirely thrown away on my mischievous brother.

And it was, as I remember it, a most exquisite night--a white
poem, a frosty, starry lyric of light. It was one of those nights
on which one might fall asleep and dream happy dreams of gardens
of mirth and song, feeling all the while through one's sleep the
soft splendour and radiance of the white moon-world outside, as
one hears soft, far-away music sounding through the thoughts and
words that are born of it.

As a matter of fact, however, Cecily dreamed that night that she
saw three full moons in the sky, and wakened up crying with the
horror of it.