Peter took Dan and me aside one evening, as we were on our way to the with our dream books, saying significantly that he wanted our advice. Accordingly, we went round to the spruce wood, where the girls would not see us to the rousing of their curiosity, and then Peter told us of his .  
"Last night I dreamed I was in church," he said. "I thought it was full of people, and I walked up the to your pew and set down, as unconcerned as a pig on ice. And then I found that I hadn't a stitch of clothes on—NOT ONE BLESSED STITCH. Now"— Peter dropped his voice—"what is bothering me is this—would it be proper to tell a dream like that before the girls?"
 
I was of the opinion that it would be rather ; but Dan he didn't see why. HE'D tell it quick as any other dream. There was nothing bad in it.
 
"But they're your own relations," said Peter. "They're no relation to me, and that makes a difference. Besides, they're all such ladylike girls. I guess I'd better not risk it. I'm pretty sure Aunt Jane wouldn't think it was proper to tell such a dream. And I don't want to offend Fel—any of them."
 
So Peter never told that dream, nor did he write it down.
Instead, I remember seeing in his dream book, under the date of
September fifteenth, an entry to this effect:—
"Last nite i dremed a drem. it wasent a polit drem so i won't it down."
 
The girls saw this entry but, to their credit be it told, they never tried to find out what the "drem" was. As Peter said, they were "ladies" in the best and truest sense of that much abused . Full of fun and frolic and they were, with all the defects of their qualities and all the wayward faults of youth. But no indelicate thought or vulgar word could have been shaped or uttered in their presence. Had any of us boys ever been guilty of such, Cecily's pale face would have coloured with the blush of purity, Felicity's golden head would have lifted itself in the indignation of insulted womanhood, and the Story Girl's splendid eyes would have flashed with such anger and scorn as would have shrivelled the very soul of the wretched culprit.
 
Dan was once guilty of swearing. Uncle Alec whipped him for it—the only time he ever so punished any of his children. But it was because Cecily cried all night that Dan was filled with saving and . He vowed next day to Cecily that he would never swear again, and he kept his word.
 
All at once the Story Girl and Peter began to forge ahead in the matter of dreaming. Their dreams suddenly became so and dreadful and that it was hard for the rest of us to believe that they were not painting the lily rather freely in their accounts of them. But the Story Girl was the soul of honour; and Peter, early in life, had had his feet set in the path of by his Aunt Jane and had never been known to stray from it. When they assured us solemnly that their dreams all happened exactly as they described them we were compelled to believe them. But there was something up, we felt sure of that. Peter and the Story Girl certainly had a secret between them, which they kept for a whole fortnight. There was no finding it out from the Story Girl. She had a of keeping secrets, anyhow; and, moreover, all that fortnight she was strangely cranky and , and we found it was not wise to tease her. She was not well, so Aunt Olivia told Aunt Janet.
 
"I don't know what is the matter with the child," said the former anxiously. "She hasn't seemed like herself the past two weeks. She complains of headache, and she has no appetite, and she is a dreadful colour. I'll have to see a doctor about her if she doesn't get better soon."
 
"Give her a good dose of Mexican Tea and try that first," said Aunt Janet. "I've saved many a doctor's bill in my family by using Mexican Tea."
 
The Mexican Tea was duly administered, but produced no improvement in the condition of the Story Girl, who, however, went on dreaming after a fashion which soon made her dream book a veritable curiosity of literature.
 
"If we can't soon find out what makes Peter and the Story Girl dream like that, the rest of us might as well give up trying to write dream books," said Felix discontentedly.
 
Finally, we did find out. Felicity wormed the secret out of Peter by the employment of Delilah , such as have been the of many a male creature since Samson's day. She first threatened that she would never speak to him again if he didn't tell her; and then she promised him that, if he did, she would let him walk beside her to and from Sunday School all the rest of the summer, and carry her books for her. Peter was not proof against this double attack. He yielded and told the secret.
 
I expected the Story Girl would overwhelm him with scorn and indignation. But she took it very coolly.
 
"I knew Felicity would get it out of him sometime," she said. "I think he has done well to hold out this long."
 
Peter and the Story Girl, so it appeared, had wooed wild dreams to their pillows by the simple device of eating rich, indigestible things before they went to bed. Aunt Olivia knew nothing about it, of course. She permitted them only a plain, lunch at bed-time. But during the day the Story Girl would upstairs various tidbits from the pantry, putting half in Peter's room and half in her own; and the result was these visions which had been our despair.
 
"Last night I ate a piece of pie," she said, "and a lot of , and two grape jelly . But I guess I it, because I got real sick and couldn't sleep at all, so of course I didn't have any dreams. I should have stopped with the pie and pickles and left the tarts alone. Peter did, and he had an elegant dream that Bowen caught him and put him on to boil alive in that big black pot that hangs outside her door. He woke up before the water got hot, though. Well, Miss Felicity, you're pretty smart. But how will you like to walk to Sunday School with a boy who wears patched trousers?"
 
"I won't have to," said Felicity . "Peter is having a new suit made. It's to be ready by Saturday. I knew that before I promised."
 
Having discovered how to produce exciting dreams, we all followed the example of Peter and the Story Girl.
 
"There is no chance for me to have any dreams," Sara Ray, "because ma won't let me having anything at all to eat before I go to bed. I don't think it's fair."
 
"Can't you hide something away through the day as we do?" asked
Felicity.
"No." Sara shook her fawn-coloured head mournfully. "Ma always keeps the pantry locked, for fear Judy Pineau will treat her friends."
 
For a week we ate unlawful lunches and dreamed dreams after our own hearts—and, I regret to say, and squabbled throughout the daytime, for our went out of order and our tempers followed suit. Even the Story Girl and I had a fight—something that had never happened before. Peter was the only one who kept his normal . Nothing could upset that boy's stomach.
 
One night Cecily came into the pantry with a large cucumber, and proceeded to the greater part of it. The grown-ups were away that evening, attending a lecture at Markdale, so we ate our snacks openly, without any recourse to ways that were dark. I remember I supped that night off a solid hunk of fat pork, topped off with a of cold plum pudding.
 
"I thought you didn't like cucumber, Cecily," Dan remarked.
 
"Neither I do," said Cecily with a . "But Peter says they're splendid for dreaming. He et one that night he had the dream about being caught by cannibals. I'd eat three cucumbers if I could have a dream like that."
 
Cecily finished her cucumber, and then drank a glass of milk, just as we heard the wheels of Uncle Alec's buggy over the bridge in the hollow. Felicity quickly restored pork and pudding to their own places, and by the time Aunt Janet came in we were all in our respective beds. Soon the house was dark and silent. I was just dropping into an uneasy when I heard a ^............