Coming back to the house she had an uneasy feeling that she was doing something wrong.  Then she remembered Edythe, dry-eyed and pale, and her fears vanished.  Pearl had recited once at a Band of Hope meeting a poem of her own choosing—­this was before the regulations excluding secular subjects became so rigid.  Pearl’s recitation dealt with a captive knight who languished in a mouldy prison.  He begged a temporary respite—­his prayer was heard—­a year was given him.  He went back to his wife and child and lived the year in peace and happiness.  The hour came to part, friends entreated—­wife and child wept—­the knight alone was calm.

He stepped through the casement, a proud flush on his cheek, casting aside wife, child, friends.  “What are wife and child to the word of a knight?” he said.  “And behold the dawn has come!”

Pearl had lived the scene over and over; to her it stood for all that was brave and heroic.  Coming up through the weeds that day, she was that man.  Her step was proud, her head was thrown back, her brown eyes glowed and burned; there was strength and grace in every motion.

When Tom Motherwell furtively left his father’s house, and made his way to the little grove where his best clothes were secreted, his movements were followed by two anxious brown eyes that looked out of the little window in the rear of the house.

The men came in from the barn, and the night hush settled down upon the household.  Mr. and Mrs. Motherwell went to their repose, little dreaming that their only son had entered society, and, worse still, was exposed to the baneful charms of the reckless young woman who was known to have a preference for baking powder and canned goods, and curled her hair with the curling tongs.

CHAPTER XVIII THE PARTY AT SLATER’S

“I wonder how we are going to get all the people in to-night,” Edith Slater said gravely as the family sat at supper.  “I am afraid the walls will be bulged out to-morrow.”

“The new chicken-house and the cellar will do for the overflow meetings,” George remarked.

“I borrow the pantry if it comes to a crush, you and I, Camilla,” Peter Slater said, helping himself to another piece of pie.  Camilla had come out in the afternoon to help with the preparations.

“No, Camilla is my partner,” Fred said severely.  “Peter is growing up too fast, don’t you think so, mother?  Since I lent him my razor to play with there’s no end to the airs he gives himself.  I think he should go to bed at eight o’clock to-night, same as other nights.”

Peter laughed scornfully, but Nellie interposed.

“You boys needn’t quarrel over Camilla for Jim Russell is coming, and when Camilla sees him, what chance do you suppose you’ll have?”

“And when Jim sees Camilla, what chance will you have, Nell?” George asked.

“Not one in a hundred; but I am prepared for the worst,” Nellie answered, good-naturedly.