"
"Oh, Fred, Fred, I'm a wicked woman. You're the last person in the world
who ought to tax me with it, but it is true. I don't go to church as I
ought. And yet I do mean to go. But if it isn't one thing which
prevents, it's another. Lucille must have every other Sunday morning,
and you seem so disappointed if I refuse to go skating or canoeing with
you and the children on the fine days that I foolishly yield."
"And you the daughter of a deacon," I continued, unsparingly. Let me
state by way of explanation that Josephine's late father was for many
years one of the pillars of the religious society to which he belonged.
"I know, I know. It is shameful. I--we are little better than heathens,
Fred. Only think of it, four times in three months!" she added, glancing
at the tell-tale sheet. "And I brought up to go regularly both morning
and afternoon in addition to Sunday-school! I am a heathen; and as for
you, I don't know what to call you!" she exclaimed, with a sad,
reproachful smile.
So long as Josephine was content to berate herself without including me
in her anathemas, I had been ready to acquiesce in what she said, but now
that she seemed disposed to drag me into the conversation I felt it
incumbent upon me to reply with dignity:
"Will you please explain, my dear, why it is that, though I used to be a
regular worshipper before we became man and wife, I have almost entirely
ceased to attend church since that time? Who is responsible for the
change, I wonder.
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