She had been over to Uncle Roger 's yard to hear the latest bulletin from the sick room . Hitherto they had been of a non-committal nature ; but now it was only too evident that she had bad news . `` Peter is very , very sick , '' she said miserably . `` He has caught cold someway -- and the measles have struck in -- and -- and -- '' the Story Girl wrung her brown hands together -- `` the doctor is afraid he -- he -- wo n't get better . '' We all stood around , stricken , incredulous . `` Do you mean , '' said Felix , finding voice at length , `` that Peter is going to die ? '' The Story Girl nodded miserably . `` 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 XXXXX US -- of our merry little band -- should die was unbelievable .
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