d rock their tiny little brown babies to sleep in the tulip cups. That
is the reason why tulip blooms last so much longer than other blossoms.
The pixy babies must have a cradle until they are grown up. They grow
very fast, you see, and the Awkward Man says on a spring evening, when
the tulips are out, you can hear the sweetest, softest, clearest, fairy
music in his garden, and it is the pixy folk singing as they rock the
pixy babies to sleep."

"Then the Awkward Man says what isn't true," said Felicity severely.

CHAPTER XIII. A SURPRISING ANNOUNCEMENT

"Nothing exciting has happened for ever so long," said the Story Girl
discontentedly, one late May evening, as we lingered under the wonderful
white bloom of the cherry trees. There was a long row of them in the
orchard, with a Lombardy poplar at either end, and a hedge of lilacs
behind. When the wind blew over them all the spicy breezes of Ceylon's
isle were never sweeter.

It was a time of wonder and marvel, of the soft touch of silver rain on
greening fields, of the incredible delicacy of young leaves, of blossom
in field and garden and wood. The whole world bloomed in a flush and
tremor of maiden loveliness, instinct with all the evasive, fleeting
charm of spring and girlhood and young morning. We felt and enjoyed it
all without understanding or analyzing it. It was enough to be glad and
young with spring on the golden road.

"I don't like excitement very much," said Cecily. "It makes one so
tired. I'm sure it was exciting enough when Paddy was missing, but we
didn't find that very pleasant."

"No, but it was interesting," returned the Story Girl thoughtfully.
"After all, I believe I'd rather be miserable than dull."

"I wouldn't then," said Felicity decidedly. "And you need never be dull
when you have work to do. 'Satan finds some mischief still for idle
hands to do!'"

"Well, mischief is interesting," laughed the Story Girl. "And I thought
you didn't think it lady-like to speak of that person, Felicity?"

"It's all right if you call him by his polite name," said Felicity
stiffly.

"Why does the Lombardy poplar hold its branches straight up in the
air like that, when all the other poplars hold theirs out or hang them
down?" interjected Peter, who had been gazing intently at the slender
spire showing darkly against the fine blue eastern sky.

"Because it grows that way," said Felicity.

"Oh I know a story about that," cried the Story Girl. "Onc