"You wish then to be confirmed?" said the pastor, looking Johanson directly in the eye.
"I wish to receive the instruction, and it will be your duty to judge of my fitness afterwards," was the reply.
"Perhaps I could find time to teach you privately, though it is a busy season, with all the certificates of removal and that kind of thing," said the pastor doubtfully.
"I would rather be taught as you teach these young people," said Johanson. "Please try to forget that I am not a boy."
That was a hard duty to impose on the pastor, who looked into the browned face and the troubled dark eyes. He did not promise, but simply said, "The class, as you heard, will meet in the dining-room at the parsonage on Wednesday afternoon. I hope the instructions may be blessed to you," and they parted.
Wednesday came. The available chairs in the pastor's simple home had been ranged in long rows on each side of the dining-room.
"May I sit here, dear, with my work?" said the pastor's wife, coming in with a basket of stockings in one hand, her needle and yarn for darning in the other.
She did not expect to be refused, nor was she, though a little girl of five years old, her only child, held pertinaciously on to her dress. "I may come too, papa; I am sure I may," said a sweet, cheery voice, and only a pleasant smile was the reply. The mother sat down in one of the chairs still at the table, and the little girl took joyously a place at her side.
"I always like to hear your confirmation instructions, for many reasons," said the wife. "I seem to take a fresh start in the right direction with the children."
The pastor seated himself at the head of the table, with his books before him, laying near them the list of the names of the class.