n bitter anticipation living over the martyrdom
of the morrow. On the way home she asked me seriously if I thought Mr.
Campbell would go to heaven when he died.

"Of course he will," I said. "Isn't he a member of the church?"

"Oh, yes, but I can't imagine him fitting into heaven. You know he isn't
really fond of anything but live stock."

"He's fond of teasing people, I guess," I responded. "Are you really
going to church to-morrow in that dress, Sis?"

"If mother'll let me I'll have to," said poor Cecily. "I won't let Mr.
Campbell triumph over me. And I DO want to have as many names as Kitty
has. And I DO want to help the poor little Korean children. But it will
be simply dreadful. I don't know whether I hope mother will or not."

I did not believe she would, but Aunt Janet sometimes could be depended
on for the unexpected. She laughed and told Cecily she could please
herself. Felicity was in a rage over it, and declared SHE wouldn't go to
church if Cecily went in such a rig. Dan sarcastically inquired if all
she went to church for was to show off her fine clothes and look at
other people's; then they quarrelled and didn't speak to each other for
two days, much to Cecily's distress.

I suspect poor Sis wished devoutly that it might rain the next day; but
it was gloriously fine. We were all waiting in the orchard for the Story
Girl who had not begun to dress for church until Cecily and Felicity
were ready. Felicity was her prettiest in flower-trimmed hat, crisp
muslin, floating ribbons and trim black slippers. Poor Cecily stood
beside her mute and pale, in her faded school garb and heavy copper-toed
boots. But her face, if pale, was very determined. Cecily, having put
her hand to the plough, was not of those who turn back.

"You do look just awful," said Felicity. "I don't care--I'm going to
sit in Uncle James' pew. I WON'T sit with you. There will be so many
strangers there, and all the Markdale people, and what will they think
of you? Some of them will never know the reason, either."

"I wish the Story Girl would hurry," was all poor Cecily said. "We're
going to be late. It wouldn't have been quite so hard if I could have
got there before anyone and slipped quietly into our pew."

"Here she comes at last," said Dan. "Why--what's she got on?"

The Story Girl joined us with a quizzical smile on her face. Dan
whistled. Cecily's pale cheeks flushed with understanding and gratitude.
The Story Girl wore her schoo