"Hurt? Harm, you mean. If she should just hurt a person that could be mended. Harm was what she did!"
"What harm?" persisted Babe.
"Madam, you see your children are all growing up like heathens. There arn't any of the parents whose sons and daughters were here last night, who won't think a long time before they allow them to come again. You understand, don't you, that that squatter covered with germs of all kinds drank from your daughter's cup."
Mrs. Graves started preceptibly. She was noted for a fear of germs.
"Teola, your mouth must be scoured with peroxide ... Oh, if some one would only tell me how it all happened!"
Frederick rose from his chair and impulsively laid his hand on his mother's shoulder. To Teola he looked so tall and strong, so capable of explaining, that she rose, too.
"I will tell you mother," said the student. "The girl was in distress. In some way she had been led to believe that prayers, effective prayers, could bring about any desired result. She simply came to ask us to pray for her father."
Teola was by his side now, reassuringly pressing his arm.
"And where would she go," she broke in suddenly, "if not to a minister's home?"
The pastor's whole family, at least the members that had been submissive—for Babe had always challenged her father's commands—was rising against him. His wife, instead of taking her willful children to task, was weeping; his son and daughter stood beside her refuting every word he said. He brought down his hand with a bang, his eyes narrowing into a slit.