"As soon as we can get ready; hurry up!" his brother answered.
"But, you see," said Ray, remembering his promise now, "I can't go."
"Why not, I'd like to know?" asked his brother.
"Because I have promised to be at Sunday-school," answered he, ruefully.
"That's a good one." And the brother sat down on the bed and laughed loud and long at the very idea of Ray's giving up a fishing trip to go to a Sunday-school. Catching his breath finally, he suggested: "Tell the parson you hadn't been in so long, that you forgot what day they held it." And again he laughed at his own attempt at wit.
Provoked at his mirth, Ray sprang from the bed and began to dress himself, without saying a word. The brother, taking it for granted that the boy would soon join them for the trip, left the room. When, however, he came down to breakfast, with a clean shirt and collar on, his hair nicely combed, his clothes brushed, and his boots freshly blacked, the brother, with an oath, asked:
"Ain't you going with us, Ray?"
"Not if I know myself," he coolly replied; "I have a more pressing engagement." And as neither scorn nor threats moved him in his decision, the others finally went off without him.
As the hour approached for the morning service, Ray sought his sister-in-law, whom he in some way felt was most in sympathy with him, and said:
"Come, Betsy, go up to church and Sunday-school with me to-day. I shall feel like a fish on dry land up there alone."