“He’s praying that you’ll never be able to eat a bitter apple without making a face,” she said.  “He told Felicity and Felicity told me.  She said she thought it was real cute of him.  I think that is a dreadful way to talk about praying and I told her so.  She wanted me to promise not to tell you, but I wouldn’t promise, because I think it’s fair for you to know what is going on.”

Felix was very indignant—­and aggrieved as well.

“I don’t see why God should answer Peter’s prayers instead of mine,” he said bitterly.  “I’ve gone to church and Sunday School all my life, and Peter never went till this summer.  It isn’t fair.”

“Oh, Felix, don’t talk like that,” said Cecily, shocked.  “God MUST be fair.  I’ll tell you what I believe is the reason.  Peter prays three times a day regular—­in the morning and at dinner time and at night—­and besides that, any time through the day when he happens to think of it, he just prays, standing up.  Did you ever hear of such goings-on?”

“Well, he’s got to stop praying against me, anyhow,” said Felix resolutely.  “I won’t put up with it, and I’ll go and tell him so right off.”

Felix marched over to Uncle Roger’s, and we trailed after, scenting a scene.  We found Peter shelling beans in the granary, and whistling cheerily, as with a conscience void of offence towards all men.

“Look here, Peter,” said Felix ominously, “they tell me that you’ve been praying right along that I couldn’t eat a bitter apple.  Now, I tell you—­”

“I never did!” exclaimed Peter indignantly.  “I never mentioned your name.  I never prayed that you couldn’t eat a bitter apple.  I just prayed that I’d be the only one that could.”

“Well, that’s the same thing,” cried Felix.  “You’ve just been praying for the opposite to me out of spite.  And you’ve got to stop it, Peter Craig.”

“Well, I just guess I won’t,” said Peter angrily.  “I’ve just as good a right to pray for what I want as you, Felix King, even if you was brought up in Toronto.  I s’pose you think a hired boy hasn’t any business to pray for particular things, but I’ll show you.  I’ll just pray for what I please, and I’d like to see you try and stop me.”

“You’ll have to fight me, if you keep on praying against me,” said Felix.

The girls gasped; but Dan and I were jubilant, snuffing battle afar off.

“All right.  I can fight as well as pray.”

“Oh, don’t fight,” implored Cecily.  “I think it would be dreadful.  Surely you can arrange it some other way.  Let’s all give up the Ordeal, anyway.  There isn’t much fun in it.  And then neither of you need pray about it.”

“I don’t want to give up the Ordeal,” said Felix, “and I won’t.”

“Oh, well, surely you can settle it some way without fighting,” persisted Cecily.

“I’m not wanting to fight,” said Peter.  “It’s Felix.  If he don’t interfere with my prayers there’s no need of fighting.  But if he does there’s no other way to settle it.”