"He won't know how to behave, for he's never been inside a church door in his life," she warned the Story Girl. "He'll likely do something awful, and then you'll feel ashamed and wish you'd never asked him to go, and we'll all be disgraced. It's all right to have our mite boxes for the heathen, and send missionaries to them. They're far away and we don't have to associate with them. But I don't want to have to sit in a pew with a hired boy."
But the Story Girl undauntedly continued to coax the reluctant Peter. It was not an easy matter. Peter did not come of a churchgoing stock; and besides, he alleged, he had not yet made up his mind whether to be a Presbyterian or a Methodist.
"It isn't a bit of difference which you are," pleaded the Story Girl. "They both go to heaven."
"But one way must be easier or better than the other, or else they'd all be one kind," argued Peter. "I want to find the easiest way. And I've got a hankering after the Methodists. My Aunt Jane was a Methodist."
"Isn't she one still?" asked Felicity pertly.
"Well, I don't know exactly. She's dead," said Peter rebukingly. "Do people go on being just the same after they're dead?"
"No, of course not. They're angels then—not Methodists or anything, but just angels. That is, if they go to heaven."
"S'posen they went to the other place?"
But Felicity's theology broke down at this point.
38
