Avonlea is more than lively since the evangelist came, ain't it,
though!"
Mollie Bell nodded. She was curling her hair before the tiny
mirror that hung on the whitewashed wall and distorted her round,
pink-and-white face into a grotesque caricature.
"Wonder who'll stand up to-night," said Eben reflectively,
sitting down on the edge of the wood-box. "There ain't many
sinners left in Avonlea--only a few hardened chaps like myself."
"You shouldn't talk like that," said Mollie rebukingly. "What if
father heard you?"
"Father wouldn't hear me if I shouted it in his ear," returned
Eben. "He goes around, these days, like a man in a dream and a
mighty bad dream at that. Father has always been a good man.
What's the matter with him?"
"I don't know," said Mollie, dropping her voice. "Mother is
dreadfully worried over him. And everybody is talking, Eb. It
just makes me squirm. Flora Jane Fletcher asked me last night
why father never testified, and him one of the elders. She said
the minister was perplexed about it. I felt my face getting
red."
"Why didn't you tell her it was no business of hers?" said Eben
angrily. "Old Flora Jane had better mind her own business."
"But all the folks are talking about it, Eb. And mother is
fretting her heart out over it. Father has never acted like
himself since these meetings began. He just goes there night
after night, and sits like a mummy, with his head down.
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