Part 26 (1/2)

The service had now reached the stage of prayer for repentant sinners.

Reverend MacGill was doing the praying, but members of the congregation were interjecting, ”Glory Hallelujah!” ”Praise be His Name!” and the other wors.h.i.+pful e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.ns which make a sort of running accompaniment on such occasions. Missy thought the interruptions, though proper and lending an atmosphere of fervour, rather a pity because they spoiled the effective rise and fall of the minister's voice. There was one recurrent nasal falsetto which especially threw you off the religious track. It belonged to old Mrs. Lemon. Everybody knew she nagged at and overworked and half-starved that ragged little Sims orphan she'd adopted, but here she was making the biggest noise of all!

However, much as she wished old Mrs. Lemon to stop, Missy could not approve of what she, just then, saw take place in her own pew.

Genevieve was whispering and giggling again. Missy turned to look.

Genevieve pressed a paper-wad into Arthur's hand, whispered and giggled some more. And then, to Missy's horror, Arthur took surrept.i.tious but careful aim with the wad. It landed squarely on old Mrs. Lemon's ear, causing a ”Blessed be the Lo--” to part midway in scandalized astonishment. Missy herself was scandalized. Of course old Mrs. Lemon was a hypocrite--but to be hit on the ear while the name of the Saviour was on her lips! Right on the ear! Missy couldn't help mentally noting Arthur's fine marksmans.h.i.+p, but she felt it her duty to show disapproval of a deed so utterly profane.

She bestowed an openly withering look on the desecrators.

”She dared me to,” whispered Arthur--the excuse of the original Adam.

Without other comment Missy returned her stern gaze to the pulpit.

She held it there steadfast though she was conscious of Genevieve, undaunted, urging Arthur to throw another wad. He, however, refused.

That pleased Missy, for it made it easier to fix the blame for the breach of religious etiquette upon Genevieve alone. Of course, it was Genevieve who was really to blame. She was a frivolous, light-minded girl. She was a bad influence for Arthur.

Yet, when it came time for the ”crowd” to disperse and Arthur told her good night as though nothing had happened, Missy deemed it only consistent with dignity to maintain extreme reserve.

”Oh, fudge, Missy! Don't be so stand-offis.h.!.+” Arthur was very appealing when he looked at you like that--his eyes so mischievous under their upcurling lashes. But Missy made herself say firmly:

”You put me in a rather awkward position, Arthur. You know Reverend MacGill entrusted me to--”

”Oh, come out of it!” interrupted Arthur, grinning.

Missy sighed in her heart. She feared Arthur was utterly unregenerate.

Especially, when as he turned to Genevieve--who was tugging at his arm--he gave the Reverend MacGill's missionary an open wink. Missy watched the white fox furs, their light-minded wearer and her quarry all depart together; commiseration for the victim vied with resentment against the temptress. Poor Arthur!

She herself expected to be taken home by the O'Neills, but to her surprise she found her father waiting in the church vestibule. He said he had decided to come and hear the new minister, and Missy never suspected it was the unrest of a father who sees his little girl trying to become a big girl that had dragged him from his house-slippers and smoking-jacket this snowy evening.

They walked homeward through the swirling flakes in silence. That was one reason why Missy enjoyed being with her father--she could be so companionably silent with him. She trudged along beside him, half-consciously trying to match his stride, while her thoughts flew far afield.

But presently father spoke.

”He's very eloquent, isn't he?”

”He?--who?” She struggled to get her thoughts back home.

Her father peered at her through the feathery gloom.

”Why, the preacher--Reverend MacGill.”

”Oh, yes.” She shook herself mentally. ”He's perfectly fasci--” she broke off, remembering she was talking to a grown-up. ”He's very inspired,” she amended.

Another pause. Again it was father who spoke first.

”Who was the boy who threw the paper-wad?”

Involuntarily Missy's hold on his arm loosened. Then father had seen.

That was bad. Doubtless many others had seen--old people who didn't understand the circ.u.mstances. It was very bad for Arthur's reputation.