Just as the lingering June twilight was beginning to darken--the most peaceful hour of the day--Missy walked off sedately between her grandparents. She was wearing her white “best dress.” It seemed appropriate that your best clothes should be always involved in the matter of church going; that the spiritual beatification within should be reflected by the garments without. The Methodist church in Cherryvale prided itself that it was not “new-fangled.” It was not nearly so pretentious in appearance as was the Presbyterian church. Missy, in her heart, preferred stained-glass windows and their glorious reflections, as an asset to religion; but at night services you were not apt to note that deficiency. She sat well up front with her grandparents, as befitted their position as pillars of the church, and from this vantage had a good view of the proceedings. She could see every one in the choir, seated up there behind the organ on the side platform. Polly Currier was in the choir; she wasn't a Methodist, but she had a flute-like soprano voice, and the Methodists--whom all the town knew had “poor singing”--had overstepped the boundaries of sectarianism for this revival. Polly looked like an angel in pink lawn and rose-wreathed leghorn hat; she couldn't know that Missy gazed upon her with secret adoration as a creature of Romance--one who had been kissed! Missy continued to gaze at Polly during the preliminary songs--tunes rather disappointing, not so beautiful as Missy's own favourite hymns--till the preacher appeared. The Reverend Poole--“Brother” Poole as grandpa called him, though he wasn't a relation--was a very tall, thin man with a blonde, rather vacuous face; but at exhortation and prayer he “had the gift.” For so good a man, he had a remarkably poor opinion of the virtues of his fellow-men. Missy couldn't understand half his fiery eloquence; but she felt his inspiration; and she gathered that most of the congregation must be sinners. Knowing herself to be a sinner, she wasn't so much surprised at that. Finally Brother Poole, with quavering voice, urged all sinners to come forward and kneel at the feet of Jesus, and pray to be “washed in the blood of the lamb.” Thus would their sins be forgiven them, and their souls be born anew. Missy's soul quivered and stretched up to be born anew. So, with several other sinners--including grandpa and grandma whom she had never before suspected of sin--she unhesitatingly walked forward. She invoked the grace of God; her head, her body, her feet seemed very light and remote as she walked; she seemed, rather, to float; her feet scarcely touched the red-ingrain aisle “runner”--she was nearly all spirit. She knelt before the altar between grandpa and grandma, one hand tight-clasped in grandpa's.