“Of course there are woods,” said Nan.  “Mother can’t live without trees and I can’t, so what would be the use of going to heaven if there weren’t any trees?”

“There are cities, too,” said the young dreamer, “splendid cities—­coloured just like the sunset, with sapphire towers and rainbow domes.  They are built of gold and diamonds—­whole streets of diamonds, flashing like the sun.  In the squares there are crystal fountains kissed by the light, and everywhere the asphodel blooms—­the flower of heaven.”

“Fancy!” said Mary.  “I saw the main street in Charlottetown once and I thought it was real grand, but I s’pose it’s nothing to heaven.  Well, it all sounds gorgeous the way you tell it, but won’t it be kind of dull, too?”

“Oh, I guess we can have some fun when the angels’ backs are turned,” said Faith comfortably.

“Heaven is all fun,” declared Di.

“The Bible doesn’t say so,” cried Mary, who had read so much of the Bible on Sunday afternoons under Miss Cornelia’s eye that she now considered herself quite an authority on it.

“Mother says the Bible language is figurative,” said Nan.

“Does that mean that it isn’t true?” asked Mary hopefully.

“No—­not exactly—­but I think it means that heaven will be just like what you’d like it to be.”

“I’d like it to be just like Rainbow Valley,” said Mary, “with all you kids to gas and play with.  That’s good enough for me.  Anyhow, we can’t go to heaven till we’re dead and maybe not then, so what’s the use of worrying?  Here’s Jem with a string of trout and it’s my turn to fry them.”

“We ought to know more about heaven than Walter does when we’re the minister’s family,” said Una, as they walked home that night.

“We know just as much, but Walter can imagine,” said Faith.  “Mrs. Elliott says he gets it from his mother.”

“I do wish we hadn’t made that mistake about Sunday,” sighed Una.

“Don’t worry over that.  I’ve thought of a great plan to explain so that everybody will know,” said Faith.  “Just wait till to-morrow night.”

CHAPTER XII.  AN EXPLANATION AND A DARE

The Rev. Dr. Cooper preached in Glen St. Mary the next evening and the Presbyterian Church was crowded with people from near and far.  The Reverend Doctor was reputed to be a very eloquent speaker; and, bearing in mind the old dictum that a minister should take his best clothes to the city and his best sermons to the country, he delivered a very scholarly and impressive discourse.  But when the folks went home that night it was not of Dr. Cooper’s sermon they talked.  They had completely forgotten all about it.