growled Dan, subsiding reluctantly into silence under the reproachful looks of the girls.
"You must not play any games on Sunday," went on Peter, "that is, any week-day games—or whisper in church, or laugh in church—I did that once but I was awful sorry—and you mustn't take any notice of Paddy—I mean of the family cat at family prayers, not even if he climbs right up on your back. And you mustn't call names or make faces."
"Amen," cried Felix, who had suffered many things because Felicity so often made faces at him.
Peter stopped and glared at him over the edge of the Pulpit Stone.
"You haven't any business to call out a thing like that right in the middle of a sermon," he said.
"They do it in the Methodist church at Markdale," protested Felix, somewhat abashed. "I've heard them."
"I know they do. That's the Methodist way and it is all right for them. I haven't a word to say against Methodists. My Aunt Jane was one, and I might have been one myself if I hadn't been so scared of the Judgment Day. But you ain't a Methodist. You're a Presbyterian, ain't you?"
"Yes, of course. I was born that way."
"Very well then, you've got to do things the Presbyterian way. Don't let me hear any more of your amens or I'll amen you."
"Oh, don't anybody interrupt again," implored the Story Girl. "It isn't fair. How can any one preach
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