So Gila sat and meditated, with a strange, sweet thrill in the thought of a new experience; for, young as she was, she had found the pleasures of her existence pall upon her many times.

Suddenly her ear was caught by the sermon.  The ugly little man in the pulpit, with the strange eyes that seemed to look through you, was telling a story of a garden, with One calling, and a pair of naked souls guilty and in fear before Him.  It was as though she had been one of them!  What right had he to flaunt such truths before a congregation?

She was not familiar enough with Bible truths to know where he got the story.  It did not seem a story.  It was just her Eden where she walked and ate what fruit she might desire every day without a thought of any command that might have been issued.  She recognized no commands.  What right had God to command her?  The serpent had whispered early to her, “Thou shalt not surely die.”  Her only question was ever whether the fruit was pleasant to the eyes and a tree to be desired to make one wise.  Till now there had been no Lord God walking in her garden in the cool of the day.  Only her mother, and she was easy to evade.  She had never been really afraid, nor felt her little soul naked till now, with the ugly little man’s bright brown eyes upon her, and his words shivering through her like winds about the unprotected.  Hideous things she had forgotten flung into view and challenged her; and somewhere in the room there seemed to be One who dared to call her to account.  She looked fiercely back to the speaker, her delicate brows drawn darkly, her great blue-black eyes fierce in their intensity, her whole face and attitude a challenge to the sermon.  Courtland, absorbed as he was in what the speaker had to say, thrilling with the message that came to his soul welcomely, became aware of the tense little figure by his side, and, looking down, was pleased that she had forgotten her nonsense and was listening, and somehow missed the defiance in her attitude.

Gila did not smile when service was over.  She went out haughtily, impatiently, looking about on the throng contemptuously.  When Courtland asked her if she would like to stop a minute and meet the preacher she threw up her chin with a toss and a “No, indeed!” that left no doubt for lingering.

Out in the street, away from the crowd somewhat, she suddenly stopped and stamped her little foot:  “I think that man is perfectly disgusting!” she cried.  “He ought to be arrested!  I don’t know why such a man is allowed at large!”

She was fairly panting in her anger.  It was as if he had put her to shame before an assembly.

Courtland turned wonderingly toward her.

“He is outrageous!” she went on.  “He has no right!  I hate him!”

Courtland watched her in amazement.  “You can’t mean the minister!”

“Minister!  He’s no minister!” declared Gila.  “He’s a fanatic!  One of the worst kind.  He’s a fake!  He’s uncanny!  The idea of daring to talk about God that way as if He was always around every where!  I think it’s awful!  I should think he’d have everybody in hysterics!”