"Can't we
spread out and make her think the pew is full?"
But the manoeuvre was too late. The only result was that Felicity
and the Story Girl in moving over left a vacant space between them
and Peg promptly plumped down in it.
"Well, I'm here," she remarked aloud. "I did say once I'd never
darken the door of Carlisle church again, but what that boy
there"--nodding at Peter--"said last winter set me thinking, and I
concluded maybe I'd better come once in a while, to be on the safe
side."
Those poor girls were in an agony. Everybody in the church was
looking at our pew and smiling. We all felt that we were terribly
disgraced; but we could do nothing. Peg was enjoying herself
hugely, beyond all doubt. From where she sat she could see the
whole church, including pulpit and gallery, and her black eyes
darted over it with restless glances.
"Bless me, there's Sam Kinnaird," she exclaimed, still aloud.
"He's the man that dunned Jacob Marr for four cents on the church
steps one Sunday. I heard him. 'I think, Jacob, you owe me four
cents on that cow you bought last fall. Rec'llect you couldn't
make the change?' Well, you know, 'twould a-made a cat laugh. The
Kinnairds were all mighty close, I can tell you. That's how they
got rich.
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