"Ay," arose murmurously.
"Sister Mogridge."
"Ay."
"Sister Polly Mogridge."
"Ay."
"Brother Richardson."
"Ay."
"Sister Petter."
This time our tongues (I say "our" because I had joined unctuously in the Ay's) stopped short just in time as we remembered that Sister Petter was present. We all turned towards her. Her hand was over her eyes, and she was weeping.
"Sister Petter," called Brother Quappleworthy in a solemn voice. "You who scoffed to unbelievers of the ministrations of the Saints, You, I say!..."