"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. She turned her
back on Peter and walked disdainfully away.

The Story Girl returned to the main point with a new argument.

"We have such a lovely minister, Peter. He looks just like the
picture of St. John my father sent me, only he is old and his
hair is white. I know you'd like him. And even if you are going
to be a Methodist it won't hurt you to go to the Presbyterian
church. The nearest Methodist church is six miles away, at
Markdale, and you can't attend there just now. Go to the