“Why couldn’t I go with you to Africa or China and sing the songs, and you could pray and teach and I’d mind the babies while you stitched up the white dresses?” Thurley rattled on. “Let’s be missionaries together—listen, I’ll sing some songs.” “Granny, fetch all the dolls—they can be heathen—that’s the ship we’re going on—and there is Africa all full of savages—get my Bible, Thurley, and my bag—we’ll pretend we’re there now.” Philena’s crutch tapped quickly over the floor. Betsey Pilrig, supposed to be busy with her mending, paused to listen to Philena pray for the heathen, her crutch laid aside, kneeling on the floor of “awful Africa,” alias the south room alcove. The heathen, six subdued, disinterested dolls and a fast unravelling Teddy-bear, stood in a row listening to her sweet, thin voice conclude: “Oh, Lord, you have sent us here to save these people, and, if they don’t understand what I mean and how wrong it is to sacrifice their young and eat us up—Thurley, isn’t it awful to have to say that to the Lord?—but it’s so—may their hearts be inspired by the sweet, _sweet_ voiced singer who has come with me into the wilderness, forsaking wealth and love to serve the cause. Amen. Now, ladies of Africa,” finished Philena, opening her eyes, “Miss Precore will sing.” She picked up her crutch and gave way to Thurley. Whereat Thurley, balancing Philena’s pink parasol with one hand and a pretended hymnal in the other, sang “Throw Out the Life Line” and “Onward, Christian Soldiers,” until Betsey Pilrig, unable to remain incognito any longer, came to the doorway to say, “Thurley, Thurley, how did you ever learn to sing?” Annoyed that the game be interrupted Thurley answered shortly, “God taught me, I guess, but He made my long legs, too. And now, Mrs. Pilrig, unless we finish, we may be taken prisoner any minute and roasted to ashes—look out, Philena, that big one is after you,” brandishing her parasol to ward him off. Properly rebuked Mrs. Pilrig stole away to prepare the missionaries’ supper, while Thurley and Philena drew up a compact, signing and dating it to read as follows: “Thurley Precore and Philena Pilrig of Birge’s Corners do swear they will go as missionaries to convert the heathen from eating flesh and all the other bad things they do. Thurley will sing the songs and mind the babies so the mothers can attend the meetings and Philena is to preach and pray and make white dresses for every one. If Lorraine McDowell wants to she can travel in America and raise funds for the cause but nobody shall ever be the same _dear_ friends as Thurley Precore and Philena Pilrig. Amen. “THURLEY PRECORE and PHILENA PILRIG.” They put it between the pages of the illustrated Bible and then, descending to things of the earth earthy, fell upon a batch of newly-baked cookies with the ferocity of the unconverted savages.