Opposite him sat a small girl in a pink and white checked frock. He often whiled away the dullest hours of Sunday-school by putting out his tongue at her or throwing paper pellets at her (manufactured previously for the purpose). But to-day, meeting her serious eye, he looked away hastily.
"And we must all help someone," went on the urgent voice. "If we have turned ourselves, we must help someone else to turn...."
Determined and eager was the eye that the small girl turned upon William, and William realised that his time had come. He was to be converted. He felt almost thrilled by the prospect. He was so enthralled that he received absent-mindedly, and without gratitude, the mountainous bull's-eye passed to him from Ginger, and only gave a half-hearted smile when a well-aimed pellet from Henry's hand sent one of the prophetess's cherries swinging high in the air.
After the class the pink-checked girl (whose name most appropriately was Deborah) stalked William for several yards and finally cornered him.
"William," she said, "are you going to turn?"
"I'm goin' to think about it," said William guardedly.
"William, I think you ought to turn. I'll help you," she added sweetly.
William drew a deep breath. "All right, I will," he said.
She heaved a sigh of relief.
"You'll begin now, won't you?" she said earnestly.