inister appeared in the pulpit
and Peg subsided into silence. She folded her bare, floury arms over her
breast and fastened her black eyes on the young preacher. Her behaviour
for the next half-hour was decorum itself, save that when the minister
prayed that we might all be charitable in judgment Peg ejaculated "Amen"
several times, loudly and forcibly, somewhat to the discomfiture of the
Young man, to whom Peg was a stranger. He opened his eyes, glanced at
our pew in a startled way, then collected himself and went on.

Peg listened to the sermon, silently and motionlessly, until Mr.
Davidson was half through. Then she suddenly got on her feet.

"This is too dull for me," she exclaimed. "I want something more
exciting."

Mr. Davidson stopped short and Peg marched down the aisle in the midst
of complete silence. Half way down the aisle she turned around and faced
the minister.

"There are so many hypocrites in this church that it isn't fit for
decent people to come to," she said. "Rather than be such hypocrites as
most of you are it would be better for you to go miles into the woods
and commit suicide."

Wheeling about, she strode to the door. Then she turned for a Parthian
shot.

"I've felt kind of worried for God sometimes, seeing He has so much to
attend to," she said, "but I see I needn't be, so long's there's plenty
of ministers to tell Him what to do."

With that Peg shook the dust of Carlisle church from her feet. Poor Mr.
Davidson resumed his discourse. Old Elder Bayley, whose attention
an earthquake could not have distracted from the sermon, afterwards
declared that it was an excellent and edifying exhortation, but I doubt
if anyone else in Carlisle church tasted it much or gained much good
therefrom. Certainly we of the King household did not. We could not even
remember the text when we reached home. Felicity was comfortless.

"Mr. Davidson would be sure to think she belonged to our family when she
was in our pew," she said bitterly. "Oh, I feel as if I could never
get over such a mortification! Peter, I do wish you wouldn't go telling
people they ought to go to church. It's all your fault that this
happened."

"Never mind, it will be a good story to tell sometime," remarked the
Story Girl with relish.

CHAPTER XXII. THE YANKEE STORM

In an August orchard six children and a grown-up were sitting around the
pulpit stone. The grown-up was Miss Reade, who had been up to give the
girls their