Miss Allen heard her voice in the lower hall, and came running down-stairs to meet her.  “Come up,” she cried eagerly, “come on up.”

And before Prudence was fairly inside the door, she demanded, “What is it?  Did you find out?  Is it my fault?”

Then Prudence blushed and stammered, “Why—­it sounds—­silly but—­they think you are a—­heretic.”

Miss Allen gasped.  Then she laughed.  Then she walked to her dressing-table and picked up a long hatpin.  “Will you kindly jab this into me?” she said.  “I’m having a nightmare.”

Prudence explained in detail.  At first Miss Allen laughed, it must be confessed.  Then she grew very sober.  “It is really my fault,” she said, “for I should have remembered that young people read a ton of meaning into a pound of words.  Of course, I am not guilty, Miss Starr.  Professor Duke and Miss Adams can swear to that.  They call me Goody-goody.  They say I am an old-fashioned apostle, and they accuse me of wanting to burn them both at the stake!  Now, sit down and let me explain.”

Prudence sat down.  She was glad, so glad, that this sweet-faced, bright-eyed woman was an “ordinary Christian,” and not a “priest and a Levite!”

“About the allegory business, it is very simple.  What I said was this,—­’The Bible is full of allegory.’  I did not say, ’The Bible is allegory.’  I said the Bible is full of allegory, and so it is.  The parables, for instance,—­what are they?  Do you see the difference?—­But it is really more serious about poor little Hattie Simpson.  As the twins told you, her parents are atheists.  Her father is a loud-voiced, bragging, boastful, coarse-hearted fellow.  Hattie herself does not know what her parents believe, and what they do not.  She simply follows blindly after them.  She thinks she is an eyesore in Mount Mark because of it.  She resents it bitterly, but she feels the only decent thing for her to do is to stand by her folks.  Let me tell you about our conversation.  I tried to make friends with her, for I truly pity her.  She has no friends, she slinks about as though constantly ashamed of herself.  She trusts no one, herself least of all.  I tried to draw her out, and with partial success.  She told me how she feels about it all.  I said, ’Hattie, won’t you let some one—­some minister, who knows how—­tell you about Christianity, and explain to you what Christians really believe?’ ‘No,’ she said passionately, ‘I’ll stand by my folks.’  Then I saw she was not ready yet.  I said, ’Well, perhaps it is just as well for the present, for you are too young now to take any definite stand for yourself.  It is true,’ I told her, ’that many church members are not Christians, and are bad immoral people,—­as your father says.  They are not Christians.  And it is true that many outside of the church are good moral people,—­but they are not Christians, either.’  And then I said, ’Don’t worry your head just now about whether people are Catholics or Jews or Protestants, or what they are.  Just try to love everybody, and try to grow up to be such a sweet, kind, loving woman that you will be a blessing to the world.  And what is more,’ I said, ’do not puzzle your head now about why some believe the Bible, and some do not.  Just wait.  When you are older, you shall go into things for yourself, and make your own decision.’”