filled with joy--that yet
carried a pang of remorse.

It was a little later, just as Tilly was leaving the room, that Cordelia
turned abruptly.

"Tilly, I did have on my hat and coat," she burst out hurriedly. "I did
think we were going to drive 'way off somewhere to church. But I found
out and hid them in Genevieve's room, so you would not know and--and
tease me," she finished breathlessly.

Tilly turned back with a laugh.

"You little rogue!" she began; then she stopped short. Her face changed.
"But--why in the world did you tell me now?" she demanded curiously.

"I thought I ought to."

"Ought to!--ought to let me tease you!" echoed the dumfounded Tilly.

Cordelia stirred restlessly.

"Not that, of course, exactly," she stammered. "It's only that--that it
seemed somehow like--deceiving you."

For a moment Tilly stared; then, suddenly, she darted across the room
and put both arms around the minister's niece. Cordelia was not quite
sure whether she was hugging her, or shaking her.

"Oh, you--you--I don't know _what_ you are!" Tilly was exclaiming. "But
you're a dear, anyhow!" And it was actually a sob that the astounded
Cordelia heard as Tilly turned and fled from the room.

* * * * *

To Sunbridge eyes, "church" that morning was something very new and
novel. At eleven o'clock Genevieve and her father piloted their guests
to the back gallery where seats had been reserved for them. The
minister, a dark-haired, tired-looking man with kind eyes, had arrived
some time before on horseback. To Mrs. Kennedy, especially, he looked a
little too unconventional in his heavy boots and coarse garments which,
though plainly recently brushed, still showed the dust of the prairie in
spots. He sat now at one side talking with Mr. Tim while his
"congregation" was gathering.

And what a congregation it was! As Genevieve had said, everybody on the
ranch came, except those whose duties prohibited them from coming.
Singly, or in picturesque groups, they settled themselves comfortably on
the back gallery, or along the covered way leading to the dining-room.
Even Teresa, in a huge fresh apron that made her great bulk look even
greater, sat just outside the dining-room door, where she could easily
run in from time to time, to see that the roast chickens in the oven
were not burning, nor the beets on the stove boiling dry.

The "pulpit" was a little stand placed at the house-end of the covered
w