"Ye-es, I s'pose so; kind of a one; but foreigners' religions are
never right--ours is the only good one." This was from Candace,
the deacon's daughter.

"I do think it must be dreadful, being born with a religion and
growing up with it, and then finding out it's no use and all your
time wasted!" Here Rebecca sighed, chewed a straw, and looked
troubled.

"Well, that's your punishment for being a heathen," retorted
Candace, who had been brought up strictly.

"But I can't for the life of me see how you can help being a
heathen if you're born in Africa," persisted Persis, who was well
named.

"You can't." Rebecca was clear on this point. "I had that all out
with Mrs. Burch when she was visiting Aunt Miranda. She says they
can't help being heathen, but if there's a single mission station
in the whole of Africa, they're accountable if they don't go
there and get saved."

"Are there plenty of stages and railroads?" asked Alice; "because
there must be dreadfully long distances, and what if they
couldn't pay the fare?"

"That part of it is so dreadfully puzzly we mustn't talk about
it, please," said Rebecca, her sensitive face quivering with the
force of the problem. Poor little soul! She did not realize that
her superiors in age and intellect had spent many a sleepless