Then we roamed about in our wretchedness and tried to comfort one another . We avoided the orchard ; it was for us too full of happy memories to accord with our bitterness of soul . Instead , we resorted to the spruce wood , where the hush and the sombre shadows and the soft , melancholy sighing of the wind in the branches over us did not jar harshly on our new sorrow . We could not really believe that Peter was going to die -- to DIE . Old people died . Grown-up people died . Even children of whom we had heard died . But that one of US -- of our merry little band -- should die was unbelievable . We could not believe it . And yet the possibility struck us in the face like a blow . We sat on the mossy stones under the dark old evergreens and gave ourselves up to wretchedness . We all , even Dan , cried , except the Story Girl . `` I do n't see how you can be so unfeeling , Sara Stanley , '' said Felicity reproachfully . `` You 've always been such friends with Peter -- and made out you thought so much of him -- and now you ai n't shedding a tear for him . '' I looked at the Story Girl 's dry , piteous eyes , and suddenly remembered that I had never seen her cry . When she told us sad tales , in a voice laden with all the tears that had ever been shed , she had never shed one of her own . `` I ca n't cry , '' she said drearily . `` I wish I could . I 've a dreadful feeling here -- '' she touched her slender throat -- `` and if I could cry I think it would make it better . But I ca n't . ''
`` Maybe XXXXX will get better after all , '' said Dan , swallowing a sob .
Dan Peter Stanley US blow children evergreens jar people stones