the Story Girl in our midst carrying Paddy hugged against her shoulder。 Never did April stars look down on a happier band of travellers on the golden road。 There was a little gray wind out in the meadows that night； and it danced along beside us on viewless； fairy feet； and sang a delicate song of the lovely； waiting years； while the night laid her beautiful hands of blessing over the world。
〃You see what Peg's wishbone did；〃 said Peter triumphantly。
〃Now； look here； Peter； don't talk nonsense；〃 expostulated Dan。 〃The Awkward Man found Paddy this morning and had started to bring us word before Cecily ever thought of the wishbone。 Do you mean to say you believe he wouldn't have come walking up our lane just when he did if she had never thought of it？〃
〃I mean to say that I wouldn't mind if I had several wishbones of the same kind；〃 retorted Peter stubbornly。
〃Of course I don't think the wishbone had really anything to do with our getting Paddy back； but I'm glad I tried it； for all that；〃 remarked Cecily in a tone of satisfaction。
〃Well； anyhow； we've got Pat and that's the main thing；〃 said Felix。
〃And I hope it will be a lesson to him to stay home after this；〃 commented Felicity。
〃They say the barrens are full of mayflowers；〃 said the Story Girl。 〃Let us have a mayflower picnic tomorrow to celebrate Paddy's safe return。〃
CHAPTER XII
FLOWERS O' MAY
Accordingly we went a…maying； following the lure of dancing winds to a certain westward sloping hill lying under the spirit…like blue of spring skies； feathered over with lisping young pines and firs； which cupped little hollows and corners where the sunshine got in and never got out again； but stayed there and grew mellow； coaxing dear things to bloom long before they would dream of waking up elsewhere。
'Twas there we found our mayflowers； after faithful seeking。 Mayflowers； you must know； never flaunt themselves； they must be sought as becomes them； and then they will yield up their treasures to the seekerclusters of star…white and dawn…pink that have in them the very soul of all the springs that ever were； re… incarnated in something it seems gross to call perfume； so exquisite and spiritual is it。
We wandered gaily over the hill； calling to each other with laughter and jest； getting parted and delightfully lost in that little pathless wilderness； and finding each other unexpectedly in nooks and dips and sunny silences； where the wind purred and gentled and went softly。 When the sun began to hang low； sending great fan…like streamers of radiance up to the zenith； we foregathered in a tiny； sequestered valley； full of young green fern； lying in the shadow of a wooded hill。 In it was a shallow poola glimmering green sheet of water on whose banks nymphs might dance as blithely as ever they did on Argive hill or in Cretan dale。 There we sat and stripped the faded leaves and stems from our spoil； making up the blossoms into bouquets to fill our baskets with sweetness。 The Story Girl twisted a spray of divinest pink in her brown curls； and told us an old legend of a beautiful Indian maiden who died of a broken heart when the first snows of winter were falling； because she believed her long…absent lover was false。 But he came back in the spring time from his long captivity； and when he heard that she was dead he sought her grave to mourn her； and lo； under the dead leaves of the old year he found sweet sprays of a blossom never seen before； and knew that it was a message of love and remembrance from his dark…eyed sweet…heart。
〃Except in stories Indian girls are called squaws；〃 remarked practical Dan； tying his mayflowers together in one huge； solid； cabbage…like bunch。 Not for Dan the bother of filling his basket with the loose sprays； mingled with feathery elephant's…ears and trails of creeping spruce； as the rest of us； following the Story Girl's example； did。 Nor would he admit that ours looked any better than his。
〃I like things of one kind together。 I don't like them mixed；〃 he said。
〃You have no taste；〃 said Felicity。
〃Except in my mouth； best beloved；〃 responded Dan。
〃You do think you are so smart；〃 retorted Felicity； flushing with anger。
〃Don't quarrel this lovely day；〃 implored Cecily。
〃Nobody's quarrelling； Sis。 I ain't a bit mad。 It's Felicity。 What on earth is that at the bottom of your basket； Cecily？〃
〃It's a History of the Reformation in France；〃 confessed poor Cecily； 〃by a man named D…a…u…b…i…g…n…y。 I can't pronounce it。 I heard Mr。 Marwood saying it was a book everyone ought to read； so I began it last Sunday。 I brought it along today to read when I got tired picking flowers。 I'd ever so much rather have brought Ester Reid。 There's so much in the history I can't understand； and it is so dreadful to read of people being burned to death。 But I felt I OUGHT to read it。〃
〃Do you really think your mind has improved any？〃 asked Sara Ray seriously； wreathing the handle of her basket with creeping spruce。
〃No； I'm afraid it hasn't one bit；〃 answered Cecily sadly。 〃I feel that I haven't succeeded very well in keeping my resolutions。〃
〃I've kept mine；〃 said Felicity complacently。
〃It's easy to keep just one；〃 retorted Cecily； rather resentfully。
〃It's not so easy to think beautiful thoughts；〃 answered Felicity。
〃It's the easiest thing in the world；〃 said the Story Girl； tiptoeing to the edge of the pool to peep at her own arch reflection； as some nymph left over from the golden age might do。 〃Beautiful thoughts just crowd into your mind at times。〃
〃Oh； yes； AT TIMES。 But that's different from thinking one REGULARLY at a given hour。 And mother is always calling up the stairs for me to hurry up and get dressed； and it's VERY hard sometimes。〃
〃That's so；〃 conceded the Story Girl。 〃There ARE times when I can't think anything but gray thoughts。 Then； other days； I think pink and blue and gold and purple and rainbow thoughts all the time。〃
〃The idea！ As if thoughts were coloured；〃 giggled Felicity。
〃Oh； they are！〃 cried the Story Girl。 〃Why； I can always SEE the colour of any thought I think。 Can't you？〃
〃I never heard of such a thing；〃 declared Felicity； 〃and I don't believe it。 I believe you are just making that up。〃
〃Indeed I'm not。 Why； I always supposed everyone thought in colours。 It must be very tiresome if you don't。〃
〃When you think of me what colour is it？〃 asked Peter curiously。
〃Yellow；〃 answered the Story Girl promptly。 〃And Cecily is a sweet pink； like those mayflowers； and Sara Ray is very pale blue； and Dan is red and Felix is yellow； like Peter； and Bev is striped。〃
〃What colour am I？〃 asked Felicity； amid the laughter at my expense。
〃You'reyou're like a rainbow；〃 answered the Story Girl rather reluctantly。 She had to be honest； but she would rather not have complimented Felicity。 〃And you needn't laugh at Bev。 His stripes are beautiful。 It isn't HE that is striped。 It's just the THOUGHT of him。 Peg Bowen is a queer sort of yellowish green and the Awkward Man is lilac。 Aunt Olivia is pansy…purple mixed with gold； and Uncle Roger is navy blue。〃
〃I never heard such nonsense；〃 declared Felicity。 The rest of us were rather inclined to 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 companypeople from