"So I was," declared unabashed Jerry. "Only I didn't know he was
going by, of course. That was just a mean accident. _I_ wasn't
praying in real earnest--I knew I had no chance of winning the
prize. So I was just getting what fun I could out of it. Walter
Blythe can pray bully. Why, he can pray as well as dad."

"Una is the only one of US who really likes praying," said Faith
pensively.

"Well, if praying scandalizes people so much we mustn't do it any
more," sighed Una.

"Shucks, you can pray all you want to, only not in the
graveyard--and don't make a game of it. That was what made it so
bad--that, and having a tea-party on the tombstones."

"We hadn't."

"Well, a soap-bubble party then. You had SOMETHING. The
over-harbour people swear you had a tea-party, but I'm willing to
take your word. And you used this tombstone as a table."

"Well, Martha wouldn't let us blow bubbles in the house. She was
awful cross that day," explained Jerry. "And this old slab made
such a jolly table."

"Weren't they pretty?" cried Faith, her eyes sparkling over the
remembrance. "They reflected the trees and the hills and the
harbour like little fairy worlds, and when we shook them loose