"Let's!" Cindy said eagerly.
"Play tag, when the border's opening tomorrow?" Alec questioned.
"Oh!" the freckle-face bristled. "So you're too good to play tag with us!"
He swaggered up to Alec, raised a threatening hand, and the battle was about to be joined when Cindy brought her shoe sharply down on the freckle-face's bare foot. He cried "Ooh!" and began to hop about on one foot. Seizing Alec's hand, Cindy ran like a deer.
She led him around a wagon, dodged around another, then ducked behind a tent. They stopped running and peered cautiously around the tent. Freckle-face and his friends were hunting determinedly for them. But they were hunting in the wrong direction.
"I could have licked him!" Alec glowered.
"But not him and all his friends," Cindy reminded her brother. "Besides, Mother doesn't want you fighting at all, and even Father would be angry if you fought on Sunday. We'd better get back to our own wagon, or we'll be late for church services."
For the first time, the hubbub quieted as people gathered to worship. The church was an open space among the camps and wagons, the pulpit a wagon box, and the preacher an unlettered farmer named John Taber. But his heart was sincere, and his beliefs were honest. Attempting no great oration, he spoke of brotherly love, of peace, and of helpful activities. He reminded all present that, regardless of how bitter or harsh their future struggles might seem, they would never be alone or deserted, for He who was above all would never forsake them. All along the 200-mile border, similar services were taking place.
For a while after religious services the people were calmer, but few could stay that way.