"I came to call upon you, for I consider you one of my parishioners
now," he said to Amarilly, his face flushing at the unexpected encounter
with Colette.

Amarilly breathed a devout prayer of thankfulness that the last surplice
had been removed and was now being put to soak by her mother.

Colette's eyes were dancing with the delight of mischief-making as she
directed, in soft but mirthful tones:

"Tell Mr. St. John about your choir and concert."

Amarilly's eyes lowered in consternation. She was in great awe of this
young man whose square chin was in such extreme contradiction to his
softly luminous eyes, and she began to feel less fortified by the
reminder of the "cause."

"I'd ruther not," she faltered.

"Then don't, Amarilly," he said gently.

"Mebby that's why I'd orter," she acknowledged, lifting serious eyes to
his. "You said that Sunday that we wa'n't to turn out of the way fer
hard things."

"I don't want it to be hard for you to tell me anything, Amarilly," he
said reassuringly. "Suppose you show me that you trust me by telling me
about your concert."

So once more Amarilly gave a recital of her plan for raising money for