flected
Salome in her pew self-reproachfully. "But, O dear, I'm afraid she'll
never forgive me, and how can I live if she doesn't? But I must endure
it for Lionel Hezekiah's sake; my weakness has perhaps done him great
harm already. They say that what a child learns in the first seven years
never leaves him; so Lionel Hezekiah has only another year to get set
right about these things. Oh, if I've left it till too late!"

When the people began to come in, Salome felt painfully the curious
glances directed at her. Look where she would, she met them, unless
she looked out of the window; so out of the window she did look
unswervingly, her delicate little face burning crimson with
self-consciousness. She could see her home and its back yard plainly,
with Lionel Hezekiah making mud-pies joyfully in the corner. Presently
she saw Judith come out of the house and stride away to the pine wood
behind it. Judith always betook herself to the pines in time of mental
stress and strain.

Salome could see the sunlight shining on Lionel Hezekiah's bare head as
he mixed his pies. In the pleasure of watching him she forgot where she
was and the curious eyes turned on her.

Suddenly Lionel Hezekiah ceased concocting pies, and betook himself to
the corner of the summer kitchen, where he proceeded to climb up to the
top of the storm-fence and from there to mount the sloping kitchen roof.
Salome clasped her hands in agony. What if the child should fall? Oh!
why had Judith gone away and left him alone? What if--what if--and then,
while her brain with lightning-like rapidity pictured forth a dozen
possible catastrophes, something really did happen. Lionel Hezekiah
slipped, sprawled wildly, slid down, and fell off the roof, in a
bewildering whirl of arms and legs, plump into the big rain-water
hogshead under the spout, which was generally full to the brim with
rain-water, a hogshead big and deep enough to swallow up half a dozen
small boys who went climbing kitchen roofs on a Sunday.

Then something took place that is talked of in Carmody to this day, and
even fiercely wrangled over, so many and conflicting are the opinions on
the subject. Salome Marsh, who had not walked a step without assistance
for fifteen years, suddenly sprang to her feet with a shriek, ran down
the aisle, and out of the door!

Every man, woman, and child in the Carmody church followed her, even to
the minister, who had just announced his text. When they got out, Salome