"I suggested what we have been trying to arrange for the last year—a teachers' study class. We have voted on it a dozen times, but always there was an overwhelming majority against it, because their evenings were so full of other things. And I—although there were a few who wanted it—I guess I was a quitter myself. I said if the teachers did not want or need it, I had no time to waste on it."
"No one could expect you to give up a whole evening for people who were not interested," cried Doris loyally.
"Miss Munsing and I picked out Tuesday night, and she and I are going to have a Teachers' Study Class. The others will be invited and urged to come. But Miss Munsing will be here, and I will be here—and we are going to have that class if nobody else ever does show up. It was not your fault, Treasure, and it was not Miss Munsing's fault, for she did her best. It was really I to blame, for I should have counted the evening well spent if it helped even one teacher in her work. Much obliged, Treasure."
Then he went up-stairs.
"What in the world did he mean by 'Much obliged'?" puzzled Treasure. "It was my fault, too, for now it means another evening of hard work for him, and his evenings were so busy anyhow. And then he says 'Much obliged.' Preachers are funny, even father."
Sunday afternoon in the manse was supposed to be comfortably quiet—not prosy. And for the first hour after the dinner work was finished things went smoothly indeed. The girls read their Sunday-school papers. Then Treasure and Zee had a game of Bible Prophets—enlivening it by betting pennies on the outcome—"Not gambling at all," insisted Zee. "Because the pennies go into the mission box on the kitchen shelf, no matter who wins. The only difference is, if you win, you get the credit on the Lord's account-book, and if I win, I get it."
As long as Doris did not find out why that afternoon game of Prophets was one of such intense and absorbing interest to the lively girls, all went well enough.
The Sabbath never failed to bring a problem for Rosalie.
"Oh, General," she cried, dancing away from the telephone. "Our little crowd is going for a long auto ride out to Miriam's for supper—a nice Sunday supper of bread and jelly and milk and pie—and may I go, darling General?"
"But Christian Endeavor—"