"I do like a road, because you can be always wondering what is at the end of it."The Story Girl said that once upon a time. Felix and I, on the May morning when we leftToronto for Prince Edward Island, had not then heard her say it, and, indeed, were butbarely aware of the existence of such a person as the Story Girl. We did not know her at allunder that name. We knew only that a cousin, Sara Stanley, whose mother, our AuntFelicity, was dead, was living down on the Island with Uncle Roger and Aunt Olivia King, ona farm adjoining the old King homestead in Carlisle. We supposed we should get acquaintedwith her when we reached there, and we had an idea, from Aunt Olivia's letters to father, that she would be quite a jolly creature. Further than that we did not think about her. Wewere more interested in Felicity and Cecily and Dan, who lived on the homestead andwould therefore be our roofmates for a season.But the spirit of the Story Girl's yet unuttered remark was thrilling in our hearts thatmorning, as the train pulled out of Toronto. We were faring forth on a long road; and, though we had some idea what would be at the end of it, there was enough glamour of theunknown about it to lend a wonderful charm to our speculations concerning i.
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