a corrective to William's inherent
wickedness, but they knew that no Sabbath peace or calm was humanly
possible while William was in the house. So they brushed and cleaned
and tidied him at 2.45 and sent him, pained and protesting, down the
road every Sunday afternoon. Their only regret was that Sunday-school
did not begin earlier and end later.

Fortunately for William, most of his friends' parents were inspired by
the same zeal, so that he met his old cronies of the week-days--Henry,
Ginger, Douglas and all the rest--and together they beguiled the monotony
of the Sabbath.

But this Sunday the tall, pale lady who, for her sins, essayed to lead
William and his friends along the straight and narrow path of virtue,
was almost inspired. She was like some prophetess of old. She was so
emphatic that the red cherries that hung coquettishly over the edge of
her hat rattled against it as though in applause.

"We must all _start afresh_," she said. "We must all be
_turned_--that's what _conversion_ means."

William's fascinated eye wandered from the cherries to the distant
view out of the window. He thought suddenly of the noble burglar who
had turned his back upon the mysterious, nefarious tools of his trade
and now dispensed margarine to his former victims.

Opposite him sat a small girl in a pink and white checked frock. He
often whiled away the dullest hours of Sunday-school by putting out
his tongue at her or throwing paper pellets at her (manufactured
previously for the purpose). But to-day, meeting her serious eye, he
looked away hastily.

"And we must all _help someone_," went on the urgent voice. "If we
have _turned_ ourselves, we must help someone else to _turn_...."

Determined and eager was the eye that the small girl turned upon
William, and William realised that his time had come. He was to be
converted. He felt almost thrilled by the prospect. He was so
enthralled that he received absent-mindedly, and without gratitude,
the mountainous bull's-eye passed to him from Ginger, and only gave a
half-hearted smile when a well-aimed pellet from Henry's hand sent one
of the prophetess's cherries swinging high in the air.

After the class the pink-checked girl (whose name most appropriately
was Deborah) stalked William for several yards and finally cornered
him.

"William," she said, "are you going to _turn_?"

"I'm goin' to think about it," said William guardedly.

"William, I think you ought to turn. I'll he