Oh, day of rest and gladness!
There was one hour in the week when Doris felt she could lean back and sigh aloud in relief and contentment, with every member of her little family before her and mischief out of the question—the hour of the Sabbath morning worship. Father was in the pulpit, Rosalie was at her side in the choir loft—and Rosalie in the choir loft was a changed being, for some inner, inherent sense of fineness restrained the naughty fairies in her witching eyes for that one hour only. And down in the eighth pew to the right sat Treasure and Zee, very respectable, very reverent, very austere.
Rosalie never missed one word of her father's discourses, but Doris, strangely enough, once in a while went wandering. It was so blissful to see the brood safe sheltered before her eyes. It really was the only time when she could think with any degree of consistency or comfort, without fear of violent and climactic interruption.
But one morning, just as she was getting pleasantly relaxed, and father was nicely started in Point One—she opened her eyes wide, and leaned forward. There in the ninth pew next to the aisle—Deacon Fenton's pew, and how annoyed he would be when he arrived in the middle of Point Two—right there, as sure as you're born, sat that aggravating, infuriating, mysterious Mr. Wizard that nobody knew.
His eyes were upon her, and though his face remained properly grave and in keeping with a Presbyterian service, gay greeting flashed from his eyes to her, and Doris— Well, it was more than human frailty could stand. She smiled, and then she blushed, and could not keep her eyes away from that serene provoking face, though she did try desperately and was ashamed of herself all the time. Father was doing splendidly—she was subconsciously aware of that, and was so proud of him. It had never before been quite so imperatively necessary that he "do well." Rosalie looked very sweet and dignified, altogether in keeping with a manse and a church, and not a bit frivolous as she had at the Country Club da—party—that was a comfort. She was sorry she could not point out Treasure and Zee to him also, they did look so spiritual and fine in their Sunday clothes—it was really once in a lifetime to designate them as manse material. He seemed to be paying close attention to father— Whoever in the world could he be? And there came Deacon Fenton, sure enough—with his usual prejudice against the first point—and he got very red in the face, but the Exasperating Thing smiled pleasantly and shoved along in the seat, and settled down where he could see father when he looked at the pulpit, and could see Doris when he looked at the choir loft, and—Doris openly and deliberately nudged her sister.
The Exasperating Thing lowered his eyes at her reprovingly, but Doris could not resist.
"Who is that in Deacon Fenton's pew?" she whispered.
Rosalie looked that way unconcernedly—she did not seem to notice how romantic and curious and compelling he was—and shook her head. Doris subsided then, but when she came down from the choir loft and found him waiting for her at the side entrance, she was glad. She held out her hand.
"Rosalie did not know you either," she said. "I asked her. Will you come and meet father?"