I
The repentant mood induced by the spectacle of the football game and
John Moore’s visit still lay upon Grace the next morning when she went
down to the Durland eight o’clock Sunday breakfast.
“I’m sorry you hurried down,” said her mother cheerily. “I don’t want
you girls to come into the kitchen Sunday mornings; you’re both tired
from your week’s work and I want you to make the Sabbath a real day of
rest.”
“Oh, I’m for getting up when I wake up,” Grace answered. “I’m feeling
fine. Let me do the toast, Ethel. I just love toasting.”
She led the talk at the table, recurring to the football game,
exploring the newspaper for the sporting page to clarify her
impressions of certain points in the contest.
“John was simply a scream! He talked of everything under the sun. You
might have thought he didn’t want me to know what was going on at all!”
John was the safest of topics; they had all liked him; and Grace
related many stories illustrative of the young man’s determination to
refuse no task by which he could earn the dollars he needed to lodge,
clothe and feed himself while gaining his education. Now that they
had seen him at their own table they could the better enjoy Grace’s
enumeration of John’s sturdy qualities.
This was the happiest breakfast the Durlands had known since Grace
came home. It was in her heart to do her full share in promoting the
cheer of the household. The unfortunate revelation of her duplicity of
Friday night would no doubt be forgotten if she behaved herself; and
she had no intention of repeating the offense. Nevertheless she was
glad that she had asserted herself. It had done no harm to declare her
right to independent action and the exercise of her own judgment in the
choice of friends; she would have had no peace, she assured herself,
if she hadn’t taken a stand against an espionage that would have been
intolerable. She persuaded herself that her mother and sister were
treating her with much more respect now that she had shown that she
couldn’t be frightened or cowed by their criticisms.
Before breakfast was over Ethel asked quite casually whether Grace
wouldn’t go to church with her, and Mrs. Durland promptly approved the
invitation.
“You can go as well as not, Grace. Ethel has her Sunday school class
first, but she can meet you right afterwards. I don’t want you girls
bothering with the Sunday dinner.”
Grace didn’t question that this matter had been canvassed privately
by Ethel and her mother; very likely it had been Ethel’s suggestion;
but she decided instantly that it would be good policy to go. Her
church-going had always been desultory and her mother had ceased to
insist on it. But the situation called for a concession on her part.
“Why, yes; thank you ever so much, Ethel,” she said. “I haven’t been in
ages. I’d meant to do some sewing but that can wait.”
“I think,” said Mrs. Durland, “we all need the help and inspiration
of the church. Stephen, wouldn’t you like to go with the girls? I
don’t believe you’ve ever heard Dr. Ridgley; he’s very liberal and a
stimulating speaker.”
Durland mumbled an incoherent rejection of the idea; then looked up
from his reading to explain that he had some things to attend to at
the shop. There was nothing surprising in the explanation. He always
went to his shop on Sunday mornings. Even in the old days of his
identification with Cummings-Durland he had betaken himself every
Sunday to the factory to ponder his problems.