"What would the ladies say to theatricals?" asked the woman with a baby.
"Good!" exclaimed Fanny Tweedie. "A play, the very thing, what a sweet idea."
"Fanny," said her mother, reprovingly, yet she liked the idea herself.
"A play!" gasped Mrs. Flint, in dismay.
"I am inclined to think favourably of the idea," replied Mrs. Tweedie, turning to the parson's wife.
"But the Church, Mrs. Tweedie, have you forgotten what we owe to our creed?" asked Mrs. Flint, anxiously.
"Oh, no, indeed," said Mrs. Tweedie, with a benevolent smile, "but the barriers between the stage and the Church are not so high as they were."
"They ain't so high," added Mrs. Stout, "but what most folks can peek over if they stand on tiptoes, and their minister ain't lookin'."
Mrs. Flint felt certain that the end of all things was at hand.
"I'm sure," she said, "I have no idea what Mr. Flint will say."