Polly was utterly unconscious of the unfriendly glances cast in her direction as she came running into the garden, leading the widow's two children.

She nodded gaily to Julia Strong, who was coming through the gate, then hurried to Mrs. Willoughby, begging that the children be allowed to remain a little longer. She was making up a new game, she said, and needed Willie and Jennie for the set.

"My children do not play in promiscuous games," said the widow, icily.

"Oh, but this isn't pro-pro-pro"--Polly stammered. "It's a new game. You put two here, and two here, and----"

"I don't care to know." The widow turned away, and pretended to talk to Julia.

"Oh!" gasped Polly, stunned by the widow's rebuff.

She stood with bowed head in the centre of the circle. The blood flew from her cheeks, then she turned to go.

Douglas stepped quickly to her side. "Wait a minute," he said. She paused, all eyes were turned upon them. "Is this a game that grown-ups can play?"

"Why, yes, of course."

"Good! Then I'll make up your set. I need a little amus.e.m.e.nt just now.

Excuse me," he added, turning to the deacons. Then he ran with her out through the trees.

The deacons and the women stared at each other, aghast.

"Well, what do you think of that?" said Mrs. Willoughby, as the flying skirts of the girl and the black figure of the man disappeared up the path.

"I think it's scandalous, if you are talking to me," said Miss Perkins.

"The idea of a full-grown parson a-runnin' off to play children's games with a circus ridin' girl!"

"She isn't such a child," sneered Julia.

"It's ENOUGH to make folks talk," put in Mrs. Willoughby, with a sly look at the deacons.

"And me a-waitin' to discuss the new church service," bellowed Strong.

"And me a-waiting to give him Mrs. Elverson's message," piped Elverson.

"The church bore all this in silence so long as that girl was sick,"

snapped Miss Perkins. "But now she's perfectly well, and still a-hanging on. No wonder folks are talking."

"Who's talking?" thundered Strong.

"Didn't you know?" simpered Mrs. Willoughby, not knowing herself nor caring, so long as the suspicion grew.

"Know what?" yelled the excited deacon. Mrs. Willoughby floundered. Miss Perkins rushed into the breach.

"Well, if _I_ was deacon of this church, it seems to me I'd know something about what's going on in it."

"What IS goin' on?" shrieked the now desperate deacon.

The women looked at him pityingly, exchanged knowing glances, then shook their heads at his hopeless stupidity.

Strong was not accustomed to criticism. He prided himself upon his acuteness, and was, above all, vain about his connection with the church. He looked from one woman to the other. He was seething with helpless rage. The little deacon at his side coughed nervously. Strong's pent up wrath exploded. "Why didn't YOU tell me, Elverson, that people was a-talkin'," he roared in the frightened man's ear.

Elverson sputtered and stammered, but nothing definite came of the sounds; so Strong again turned to Miss Perkins:

"What is going on?" he demanded.

The spinster shrugged her shoulders and lifted her eyes heavenward, knowing that nothing could so madden the deacon as this mysterious inference of things too terrible to mention. She was right. Strong uttered a desperate "Bah!" and began pacing up and down the garden with reckless strides.

Mrs. Willoughby watched him with secret delight, and when he came to a halt, she wriggled to his side with simpering sweetness.

"What COULD folks say?" she asked. "A minister and a young circus riding girl living here like this with no one to--" She found no words at this point and Strong, now thoroughly roused, declared that the congregation should have no further cause for gossip, and went out quickly in search of Douglas.

When Strong was gone, Elverson looked at the set faces of the women, and attempted a weak apology for the pastor. "I dare say the young man was very lonely--very--before she came."

"Lonely?" snapped Miss Perkins. "Well, if HE was LONELY, _I_ didn't know it."

The deacon excused himself nervously, and went to join Strong.

The women gathered up their buntings, and retired with bland smiles to the Sunday-school-room, feeling that they had accomplished enough for the time being.

Strong and Elverson crossed the yard, still in search of the pastor.

They turned at the sound of fluttering leaves and beheld Douglas, hatless, tearing down the path. Strong called to him, but Douglas darted quickly behind the hedge. The deacons looked at one another in speechless astonishment. Presently the silence was broken by the distant voice of Polly counting from one to one hundred. The secret was out! The pastor, a leader of the church, was playing hide-and-seek.

"Mr. Douglas!" shouted Strong, when his breath had returned.

"Hush, hush!" whispered Douglas, looking over the hedge. He peeped cautiously about him, then came toward the men with a sigh of relief.

"It's all right. She has gone the other way."

"It'll be a good thing for you if she never comes back," said Strong, and Douglas's quick ear caught an unpleasant meaning in his tone.

"What's that?" the pastor asked, in a low, steady voice.

"We don't like some of the things that are going on here, and I want to talk to you about 'em."

"Very well, but see if you can't talk in a lower key."

"Never mind about the key," shouted Strong, angrily.

"But I DO mind." Something in his eyes made the deacon lower his voice.

"We want to know how much longer that girl is goin' to stay here?"

"Indeed! And why?" The colour was leaving Douglas's face, and his jaw was becoming very square.

"Because she's been here long enough."

"I don't agree with you there."