We all exploded with laughter on the spot, much to the horror of Mrs. Abraham Ward, who was just driving past, and who came up the next day and told Aunt Janet we had “acted scandalous” on the road home from church. We felt ashamed ourselves, because we knew people should conduct themselves decently and in order on Sunday farings-forth. But, as with Peter, it “had laughed itself.” Even Felicity laughed. Felicity was not nearly so angry with Peter as might have been expected. She even walked beside him and let him carry her Bible. They talked quite confidentially. Perhaps she forgave him the more easily, because he had justified her in her predictions, and thus afforded her a decided triumph over the Story Girl. “I’m going to keep on going to church,” Peter told her. “I like it. Sermons are more int’resting than I thought, and I like the singing. I wish I could make up my mind whether to be a Presbyterian or a Methodist. I s’pose I might ask the ministers about it.” “Oh, no, no, don’t do that,” said Felicity in alarm. “Ministers wouldn’t want to be bothered with such questions.” “Why not? What are ministers for if they ain’t to tell people how to get to heaven?” “Oh, well, it’s all right for grown-ups to ask them things, of course. But it isn’t respectful for little boys--especially hired boys.” “I don’t see why. But anyhow, I s’pose it wouldn’t be much use, because if he was a Presbyterian minister he’d say I ought to be a Presbyterian, and if he was a Methodist he’d tell me to be one, too. Look here, Felicity, what IS the difference between them?” “I--I don’t know,” said Felicity reluctantly. “I s’pose children can’t understand such things. There must be a great deal of difference, of course, if we only knew what it was. Anyhow, I am a Presbyterian, and I’m glad of it.” We walked on in silence for a time, thinking our own young thoughts. Presently they were scattered by an abrupt and startling question from Peter. “What does God look like?” he said. It appeared that none of us had any idea. “The Story Girl would prob’ly know,” said Cecily. “I wish I knew,” said Peter gravely. “I wish I could see a picture of God. It would make Him seem lots more real.” “I’ve often wondered myself what he looks like,” said Felicity in a burst of confidence. Even in Felicity, so it would seem, there were depths of thought unplumbed. “I’ve seen pictures of Jesus,” said Felix meditatively. “He looks just like a man, only better and kinder. But now that I come to think of it, I’ve never seen a picture of God.” “Well, if there isn’t one in Toronto it isn’t likely there’s one anywhere,” said Peter disappointedly. “I saw a picture of the devil once,” he added. “It was in a book my Aunt Jane had. She got it for a prize in school. My Aunt Jane was clever.” “It couldn’t have been a very good book if there was such a picture in it,” said Felicity. “It was a real good book. My Aunt Jane wouldn’t have a book that wasn’t good,” retorted Peter sulkily.