When the Story Girl 's voice entreated it was not easy to resist its temptation , even if you wanted to . That evening , when we started for the schoolhouse , Sara Ray was among us , decked out in borrowed plumes . `` Suppose she DOES catch the measles ? '' Felicity said aside . `` I do n't believe there 'll be anybody there from Markdale . The lecturer is going to Markdale next week . They 'll wait for that , '' said the Story Girl airily . It was a cool , dewy evening , and we walked down the long , red hill in the highest of spirits . Over a valley filled with beech and spruce was a sunset afterglow -- creamy yellow and a hue that was not so much red as the dream of red , with a young moon swung low in it . The air was sweet with the breath of mown hayfields where swaths of clover had been steeping in the sun . Wild roses grew pinkly along the fences , and the roadsides were star-dusted with buttercups . Those of us who had nothing the matter with our consciences enjoyed our walk to the little whitewashed schoolhouse in the valley . Felicity and Cecily were void of offence towards all men . The Story Girl walked uprightly like an incarnate flame in her crimson silk . Her pretty feet were hidden in the tan-coloured , buttoned Paris boots which were the secret envy of every school girl in Carlisle . But Sara Ray was not happy . Her face was so melancholy that the Story Girl lost patience with her . The Story Girl herself was not altogether at ease . Probably her own conscience was troubling her . But admit it she would not .
`` Now , Sara , '' she said , `` you just take my advice and go into this XXXXX all your heart if you go at all .
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