One glimpse of his face told us that he was no bearer of glad tidings . He had been running hard and should have been rubicund . Instead , he was `` as pale as are the dead . '' I could not have asked him what was the matter had my life depended on it . It was Felicity who demanded impatiently of my shaking , voiceless brother : `` Felix King , what has scared you ? '' Felix held out the newspaper -- it was the Charlottetown Daily Enterprise . `` It 's there , '' he gasped . `` Look -- read -- oh , do you -- think it 's -- true ? The -- end of -- the world -- is coming to-morrow -- at two -- o'clock -- in the afternoon ! '' Crash ! Felicity had dropped the cup of clouded blue , which had passed unscathed through so many changing years , and now at last lay shattered on the stone of the well curb . At any other time we should all have been aghast over such a catastrophe , but it passed unnoticed now . What mattered it that all the cups in the world be broken to-day if the crack o ' doom must sound to-morrow ? `` Oh , Sara Stanley , do you believe it ? DO you ? '' gasped Felicity , clutching the Story Girl 's hand . Cecily 's prayer had been answered . Excitement had come with a vengeance , and under its stress Felicity had spoken first . But this , like the breaking of the cup , had no significance for us at the moment . The Story Girl snatched the paper and read the announcement to a group on which sudden , tense silence had fallen .
Under a sensational headline , `` The Last Trump will sound at Two O'clock To-morrow , '' was a paragraph to the effect that the leader of a certain noted sect in the United States had predicted that August twelfth would be the Judgment Day , and that all his numerous followers were preparing XXXXX the dread event by prayer , fasting , and the making of appropriate white garments for ascension robes .
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