“Well, for one thing I’ll feel awful bad to go away from you all. I’ll miss you just dreadful, and I won’t even be able to go to the same school. I’ll have to go to Markdale school.”
“But you must come and see us often,” said Felicity graciously. “Markdale isn’t so far away, and you could spend every other Saturday afternoon with us anyway.”
Peter’s black eyes filled with adoring gratitude.
“That’s so kind of you, Felicity. I’ll come as often as I can, of course; but it won’t be the same as being around with you all the time. The other thing is even worse. You see, it was a Methodist revival father got converted in, and so of course he joined the Methodist church. He wasn’t anything before. He used to say he was a Nothingarian and lived up to it—kind of bragging like. But he’s a strong Methodist now, and is going to go to Markdale Methodist church and pay to the salary. Now what’ll he say when I tell him I’m a Presbyterian?”
“You haven’t told him, yet?” asked the Story Girl.
“No, I didn’t dare. I was scared he’d say I’d have to be a Methodist.”
“Well, Methodists are pretty near as good as Presbyterians,” said Felicity, with the air of one making a great concession.
“I guess they’re every bit as good,” retorted Peter. “But that ain’t the point. I’ve got to be a Presbyterian, ‘cause I stick to a thing when I once decide it. But I expect father will be mad when he finds out.”
“If he’s converted he oughtn’t to get mad,” said Dan.
“Well, lots o’ people do. But if he isn’t mad he’ll be sorry, and that’ll be even worse, for a Presbyterian I’m bound to be. But I expect it will make things unpleasant.”