He
often whiled away the dullest hours of Sunday-school by putting out
his tongue at her or throwing paper pellets at her (manufactured
previously for the purpose). But to-day, meeting her serious eye, he
looked away hastily.
"And we must all _help someone_," went on the urgent voice. "If we
have _turned_ ourselves, we must help someone else to _turn_...."
Determined and eager was the eye that the small girl turned upon
William, and William realised that his time had come. He was to be
converted. He felt almost thrilled by the prospect. He was so
enthralled that he received absent-mindedly, and without gratitude,
the mountainous bull's-eye passed to him from Ginger, and only gave a
half-hearted smile when a well-aimed pellet from Henry's hand sent one
of the prophetess's cherries swinging high in the air.
After the class the pink-checked girl (whose name most appropriately
was Deborah) stalked William for several yards and finally cornered
him.
"William," she said, "are you going to _turn_?"
"I'm goin' to think about it," said William guardedly.
"William, I think you ought to turn. I'll help you," she added
sweetly.
William drew a deep breath. "All right, I will," he said.
She heaved a sigh of relief.
"You'll begin _now_, won't you?" she said earnestly.
William considered. There were several things that he had wanted to do
for some time, but hadn't managed to do yet. He had not tried turning
off the water at the main, and hiding the key and seeing what would
happen; he hadn't tried shutting up the cat in the hen-house; he
hadn't tried painting his long-suffering mongrel Jumble with the pot
of green paint that was in the tool shed; he hadn't tried pouring
water into the receiver of the telephone; he hadn't tried locking the
cook into the larder.
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