In the afternoon we all repaired to the orchard, Bibles and hymn books in hand.  We did not think it necessary to inform the grown-ups of what was in the wind.  You could never tell what kink a grown-up would take.  They might not think it proper to play any sort of a game on Sunday, not even a Christian game.  Least said was soonest mended where grown-ups were concerned.

I mounted the pulpit steps, feeling rather nervous, and my audience sat gravely down on the grass before me.  Our opening exercises consisted solely of singing and reading.  We had agreed to omit prayer.  Neither Felix, Peter nor I felt equal to praying in public.  But we took up a collection.  The proceeds were to go to missions.  Dan passed the plate—­Felicity’s rosebud plate—­ looking as preternaturally solemn as Elder Frewen himself.  Every one put a cent on it.

Well, I preached my sermon.  And it fell horribly flat.  I realized that, before I was half way through it.  I think I preached it very well; and never a thump did I forget or misplace.  But my audience was plainly bored.  When I stepped down from the pulpit, after demanding passionately if we whose souls were lighted and so forth, I felt with secret humiliation that my sermon was a failure.  It had made no impression at all.  Felix would be sure to get the prize.

“That was a very good sermon for a first attempt,” said the Story Girl graciously.  “It sounded just like real sermons I have heard.”

For a moment the charm of her voice made me feel that I had not done so badly after all; but the other girls, thinking it their duty to pay me some sort of a compliment also, quickly dispelled that pleasing delusion.

“Every word of it was true,” said Cecily, her tone unconsciously implying that this was its sole merit.

“I often feel,” said Felicity primly, “that we don’t think enough about the heathens.  We ought to think a great deal more.”

Sara Ray put the finishing touch to my mortification.

“It was so nice and short,” she said.

“What was the matter with my sermon?” I asked Dan that night.  Since he was neither judge nor competitor I could discuss the matter with him.

“It was too much like a reg’lar sermon to be interesting,” said Dan frankly.

“I should think the more like a regular sermon it was, the better,” I said.

“Not if you want to make an impression,” said Dan seriously.  “You must have something sort of different for that.  Peter, now, HE’LL have something different.”

“Oh, Peter!  I don’t believe he can preach a sermon,” I said.

“Maybe not, but you’ll see he’ll make an impression,” said Dan.

Dan was neither the prophet nor the son of a prophet, but he had the second sight for once; Peter DID make an impression.

CHAPTER XXVI.  PETER MAKES AN IMPRESSION