“I don’t know,” said Mollie, dropping her voice.  “Mother is dreadfully worried over him.  And everybody is talking, Eb.  It just makes me squirm.  Flora Jane Fletcher asked me last night why father never testified, and him one of the elders.  She said the minister was perplexed about it.  I felt my face getting red.”

“Why didn’t you tell her it was no business of hers?” said Eben angrily.  “Old Flora Jane had better mind her own business.”

“But all the folks are talking about it, Eb.  And mother is fretting her heart out over it.  Father has never acted like himself since these meetings began.  He just goes there night after night, and sits like a mummy, with his head down.  And almost everybody else in Avonlea has testified.”

“Oh, no, there’s lots haven’t,” said Eben.  “Matthew Cuthbert never has, nor Uncle Elisha, nor any of the Whites.”

“But everybody knows they don’t believe in getting up and testifying, so nobody wonders when they don’t.  Besides,” Mollie laughed—­“Matthew could never get a word out in public, if he did believe in it.  He’d be too shy.  But,” she added with a sigh, “it isn’t that way with father.  He believes in testimony, so people wonder why he doesn’t get up.  Why, even old Josiah Sloane gets up every night.”

“With his whiskers sticking out every which way, and his hair ditto,” interjected the graceless Eben.

“When the minister calls for testimonials and all the folks look at our pew, I feel ready to sink through the floor for shame,” sighed Mollie.  “If father would get up just once!”

Miriam Bell entered the kitchen.  She was ready for the meeting, to which Major Spencer was to take her.  She was a tall, pale girl, with a serious face, and dark, thoughtful eyes, totally unlike Mollie.  She had “come under conviction” during the meetings, and had stood up for prayer and testimony several times.  The evangelist thought her very spiritual.  She heard Mollie’s concluding sentence and spoke reprovingly.

“You shouldn’t criticize your father, Mollie.  It isn’t for you to judge him.”

Eben had hastily slipped out.  He was afraid Miriam would begin talking religion to him if he stayed.  He had with difficulty escaped from an exhortation by Robert in the cow-stable.  There was no peace in Avonlea for the unregenerate, he reflected.  Robert and Miriam had both “come out,” and Mollie was hovering on the brink.

“Dad and I are the black sheep of the family,” he said, with a laugh, for which he at once felt guilty.  Eben had been brought up with a strict reverence for all religious matters.  On the surface he might sometimes laugh at them, but the deeps troubled him whenever he did so.

Indoors, Miriam touched her younger sister’s shoulder and looked at her affectionately.

“Won’t you decide to-night, Mollie?” she asked, in a voice tremulous with emotion.

Mollie crimsoned and turned her face away uncomfortably.  She did not know what answer to make, and was glad that a jingle of bells outside saved her the necessity of replying.