“Why in the world should a man from Baltimore want it?” Mrs. Parton asked; and the question was echoed on all sides.  Not to live in, at all events, it appeared, as weeks passed and it remained undisturbed.

Nor was this the only unanswered question.  There was the ring.  Miss Betty said it might as well have been left in the spinet, for all the good it did any one.

Allan had his own unanswered question; without doubt his mother had hers, as had Celia Fair, but they gave no sign to the outside world, nor asked any help in finding an answer.

And now came a new excitement.  Dr. Pierce, the Presbyterian minister, announced impressively one Sunday that on a week from that day his pulpit would be occupied by his distinguished friend, Dr. Hollingsworth.

It was explained that he had been South on business relating to a bequest to the university, and found it convenient to stop over on his way home.  Still, with several large cities within easy reach, his presence was an undoubted compliment to the village, and Friendship began at once to refresh its memory in regard to its expected guest.

Mrs. Molesworth came across the street to ask Mrs. Parton if she had ever heard Dr. Hollingsworth was not orthodox.

Mrs. Parton had not, and seemed to consider it a minor matter, for she went on to tell how pleasant he was, and how fully he appreciated the joke of being taken for a detective by Belle.

“I trust, indeed, it is not true,” said Mrs. Molesworth, going back to the original question.

“Well, I shouldn’t worry, Cornelia.  He is not likely to do much harm in one sermon,” Mrs. Parton answered easily.

Mrs. Molesworth shook her head.  “You can never be sure.  It is not for myself I fear, but for the boys.  I have tried to protect them.”

“If your boys are like mine, they won’t get any harm from a sermon.  I do manage to drag them to church, but it is like taking a horse to water—­it is another matter to make them listen.”

Mrs. Molesworth returned home feeling that Mary Parton treated serious subjects with undue levity.  Mrs. Parton, seeing Miss Betty Bishop approaching, lingered at the gate.

“Well, Betty, I suppose you know we are to have Dr. Hollingsworth at our church Sunday.”

She had heard it, but did not seem disposed to enlarge upon it, as was her custom with a piece of news.

“Cornelia Molesworth is worrying because she has heard he is not orthodox.”

“She is not obliged to hear him, is she?  Nobody can amount to anything nowadays without being accused of heresy; however, I fancy Dr. Hollingsworth can bear up under Mrs. Molesworth’s disapproval.”

Mrs. Parton surveyed Miss Betty with a twinkle in her eye.  “I declare, Betty,” she remarked, irrelevantly, “you are growing younger.  You look nearer twenty than forty this minute.”

“Perhaps it is my new hat,” Miss Betty suggested; but surely she had passed the age when one flushes over the possession of a becoming hat.