“I want to explain something,” she said, “and I want to do it now because everybody will hear it that heard the other.  People are saying that Una and I stayed home last Sunday and cleaned house instead of going to Sunday School.  Well, we did—­but we didn’t mean to.  We got mixed up in the days of the week.  It was all Elder Baxter’s fault”—­sensation in Baxter’s pew—­“because he went and changed the prayer-meeting to Wednesday night and then we thought Thursday was Friday and so on till we thought Saturday was Sunday.  Carl was laid up sick and so was Aunt Martha, so they couldn’t put us right.  We went to Sunday School in all that rain on Saturday and nobody came.  And then we thought we’d clean house on Monday and stop old cats from talking about how dirty the manse was”—­general sensation all over the church—­“and we did.  I shook the rugs in the Methodist graveyard because it was such a convenient place and not because I meant to be disrespectful of the dead.  It isn’t the dead folks who have made the fuss over this—­it’s the living folks.  And it isn’t right for any of you to blame my father for this, because he was away and didn’t know, and anyhow we thought it was Monday.  He’s just the best father that ever lived in the world and we love him with all our hearts.”

Faith’s bravado ebbed out in a sob.  She ran down the steps and flashed out of the side door of the church.  There the friendly starlit, summer night comforted her and the ache went out of her eyes and throat.  She felt very happy.  The dreadful explanation was over and everybody knew now that her father wasn’t to blame and that she and Una were not so wicked as to have cleaned house knowingly on Sunday.

Inside the church people gazed blankly at each other, but Thomas Douglas rose and walked up the aisle with a set face.  His duty was clear; the collection must be taken if the skies fell.  Taken it was; the choir sang the anthem, with a dismal conviction that it fell terribly flat, and Dr. Cooper gave out the concluding hymn and pronounced the benediction with considerably less unction than usual.  The Reverend Doctor had a sense of humour and Faith’s performance tickled him.  Besides, John Meredith was well known in Presbyterian circles.

Mr. Meredith returned home the next afternoon, but before his coming Faith contrived to scandalize Glen St. Mary again.  In the reaction from Sunday evening’s intensity and strain she was especially full of what Miss Cornelia would have called “devilment” on Monday.  This led her to dare Walter Blythe to ride through Main Street on a pig, while she rode another one.