ives me
something to learn by heart,--a hymn or some lovely verses of poetry. I
suppose that his telling me what things in the Bible really mean keeps
me from being 'prickly' when other people talk about it. What made you
wish to be a missionary?" Betty inquired, with interest.

"Oh, there used to be some who came here and talked in the vestry Sunday
evenings about riding on donkeys and camels. Sometimes they would dress
up in Syrian costumes, and I used to look grandpa's 'Missionary Herald'
all through, to find their names afterward. It was so nice to hear about
their travels and the natives; but that was a long while ago," and Becky
rocked angrily, so that the boards creaked underneath.

"Last summer I used to go to such a dear old church, in the Isle of
Wight," said Betty. "You could look out of the open door by our pew and
see the old churchyard, and look away over the green downs and the blue
sea. You could see the red poppies in the fields, and hear the larks,
too."

"What kind of a church was it?" asked Mary, with suspicion. "Episcopal?"

"Yes," answered Betty. "Church of England, people say there."

"I heard somebody say once that your father was very lax in religious
matters," said Becky seriously.

"I'd rather be very lax and love my Sundays," said Betty severely. "I
don't think it makes any difference, really, about what one does in
church. I want to be good, and it helps me to be in church and think and
hear about it. Oh, dear! my foot's getting asleep," said Betty,
beginning to pound it up and down. The two girls did not like to look at
each other; they were considering questions that were very hard to talk
about.

"I suppose it's being good that made you run after Nelly Foster. I
wished that I had gone to see her more, when you went; but she used to
act hatefully sometimes before you came. She used to cry in school,
though," confessed Becky.

"I didn't 'run after' her. You do call things such dreadful names, Mary
Beck! There, I'm getting cross, my foot is all stinging."

"Turn it just the other way," advised Mary eagerly. "Let me pound it for
you," and she briskly went to the rescue. Betty wondered afresh why she
liked this friend herself so much, and yet disliked so many things that
she said and did.

Serena always said that Betty had a won't-you-please-like-me sort of way
with her, and Mary Beck felt it more than ever as she returned to her
rocking-chair and jogged on again, but she could not