absolutely final.

Desire had been collecting Mr. McClintock's beliefs carefully. They
fascinated her. She often woke up in the night thinking of them,
wondering at their strange diversity and speculating as to the ultimate
discovery of some missing piece which might make them all fit in. It
was because she was afraid of missing this master-bit that she went to
church so regularly.

The Sunday after the reception was exceptionally hot. It was
exceptionally dusty too, for Bainbridge tolerated no water carts on
Sunday. It was one of those Sundays when people have headaches. Aunt
Caroline had a head-ache. She felt that it would be most unwise to
venture out. She even suggested that, no doubt, Desire had a headache,
too.

"But I haven't," said that downright young person, looking provokingly
cool and energetic. Her husband groaned.

"Don't look at me," he said hastily. "My excuse is not hallowed by
antiquity like Aunt's but it is equally effective. I have to go down to
the cellar to make ice-cream."

This, as Desire knew, was perfectly legitimate. No ice-cream of any
kind could be bought in Bainbridge on Sunday. Therefore a certain
proportion of the population had to descend into its cellars and make
it. It was even possible to tell, if one were curious, how many
families were going to have ice-cream for dinner by counting the empty
seats at morning service. Nearly all of the more prominent families
owned freezers while many of those who were freezerless did not go to
church, anyway. From which it would seem that, in Bainbridge at least,
the righteous had prospered.

On this hot morning, therefore, Desire collected Mr. McClintock's
belief alone. It was an especially puzzling one, having to do with the
origin and meaning of pain and founded upon the text, "Whom the Lord
loveth he chasteneth."

"There is a tendency among modern translators," began Mr. McClintock,
"a tendency which I deplore, to render the word 'chasteneth' as
'teacheth or directeth.' This rendering, in my opinion, is regrettably
lax. We will therefore confine our attention to the older version. It
is my belief that...."

Desire listened attentively to a lengthy and blood-curdling exposition
of this belief and was still in the daze which followed the hearty
singing of the doxology on top of it when the assistant Sunday School
Superintendent asked her to take a class. He was a very hot assistant
and a very hurried one. Even while he spoke to Desire