`` They 're afraid so . '' Cecily sat down by her half filled basket and began to cry . Felicity said violently that she did n't believe it . `` I ca n't pick another apple to-day and I ai n't going to try , '' said Dan . None of us could . We went to the grown-ups and told them so ; and the grown-ups , with unaccustomed understanding and sympathy , told us that we need not . 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 XXXXX I had never seen her cry .
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