That evening at family prayer Cephas read about the institution of the Lord’s Supper and the betrayal of Christ: Joe shuffled his feet until a look from Aunt Rody quieted him; Judith looked as if she were listening, but she did not catch the meaning of a single sentence until something arrested her rapid, remorseful thinking: “And when they had kindled a fire in the midst of the hall, and were set down together, Peter sat down among them. But a certain maid beheld him as he sat by the fire, and earnestly looking upon him, and said, This man was also with him. And he denied him, saying: Woman I know him not.” Peter was afraid. He was afraid to tell that woman. The small disciple looked at the old lady sitting in her high straight-backed chair, with her long hands so still in her lap, her lips tight shut, her eyes roving from Joe to Judith, and then to Joe, then the dreadful round again, and she thought the woman that frightened Peter must have been like Aunt Rody. She knew how afraid Peter was. She did not hear one word of the long prayer; she knelt near Aunt Rody; she tried not to sob, or to be afraid, but she _was_ afraid; not now of being found out, but afraid that she was wicked. As long as she lived she would never dare to tell. And she never did tell, not as long as Aunt Rody lived. For many a day her heart was heavy with the sin of allowing the innocent to be suspected; but she was not a very brave small disciple. One night at prayers she surprised them all by saying suddenly and vehemently: “I don’t care if Peter _was_ so wicked; I like him better than anybody in the whole Bible.” XV. “FIRST AT ANTIOCH.” “How beautiful it is to be alive! To wake each morn as if the Maker’s grace Did us afresh from nothingness derive, That we might sing: How happy is our case, How beautiful it is to be alive.” —H. S. Sutton. It was Saturday afternoon; Judith had been busy in the kitchen all the morning with Aunt Rody, and she (not Aunt Rody) had kept her temper; that was one happening that made the day memorable and delightful, and then there were three others: one was her miracle, another the maidens that were going out to draw water, and the disciple from Antioch, and, most memorable of all, the plan for boarding-school. The miracle happened in this way: Aunt Rody sent her to take a basket of things to Nettie Evans, a “Sunday surprise,” Judith called it; tiny biscuits, jelly cake, and a little round box of figs. Nettie had had a wearisome day (very much more dreadful than a Saturday morning in the kitchen with Aunt Rody, Judith told herself), and Mrs. Evans thought it better for her not to go up to Nettie’s room, for the pain in her back was better, she had fallen asleep and she was afraid to have her disturbed.