“I know they do.  That’s the Methodist way and it is all right for them.  I haven’t a word to say against Methodists.  My Aunt Jane was one, and I might have been one myself if I hadn’t been so scared of the Judgment Day.  But you ain’t a Methodist.  You’re a Presbyterian, ain’t you?”

“Yes, of course.  I was born that way.”

“Very well then, you’ve got to do things the Presbyterian way.  Don’t let me hear any more of your amens or I’ll amen you.”

“Oh, don’t anybody interrupt again,” implored the Story Girl.  “It isn’t fair.  How can any one preach a good sermon if he is always being interrupted?  Nobody interrupted Beverley.”

“Bev didn’t get up there and pitch into us like that,” muttered Dan.

“You mustn’t fight,” resumed Peter undauntedly.  “That is, you mustn’t fight for the fun of fighting, nor out of bad temper.  You must not say bad words or swear.  You mustn’t get drunk—­although of course you wouldn’t be likely to do that before you grow up, and the girls never.  There’s prob’ly a good many other things you mustn’t do, but these I’ve named are the most important.  Of course, I’m not saying you’ll go to the bad place for sure if you do them.  I only say you’re running a risk.  The devil is looking out for the people who do these things and he’ll be more likely to get after them than to waste time over the people who don’t do them.  And that’s all about the first head of my sermon.”

At this point Sara Ray arrived, somewhat out of breath.  Peter looked at her reproachfully.

“You’ve missed my whole first head, Sara,” he said. “that isn’t fair, when you’re to be one of the judges.  I think I ought to preach it over again for you.”

“That was really done once.  I know a story about it,” said the Story Girl.

“Who’s interrupting now?” aid Dan slyly.

“Never mind, tell us the story,” said the preacher himself, eagerly leaning over the pulpit.

“It was Mr. Scott who did it,” said the Story Girl.  “He was preaching somewhere in Nova Scotia, and when he was more than half way through his sermon—­and you know sermons were VERY long in those days—­a man walked in.  Mr. Scott stopped until he had taken his seat.  Then he said, ’My friend, you are very late for this service.  I hope you won’t be late for heaven.  The congregation will excuse me if I recapitulate the sermon for our friend’s benefit.’  And then he just preached the sermon over again from the beginning.  It is said that that particular man was never known to be late for church again.”

“It served him right,” said Dan, “but it was pretty hard lines on the rest of the congregation.”

“Now, let’s be quiet so Peter can go on with his sermon,” said Cecily.

Peter squared his shoulders and took hold of the edge of the pulpit.  Never a thump had he thumped, but I realized that his way of leaning forward and fixing this one or that one of his hearers with his eye was much more effective.