Elder Frewen , a tall , pale man , with long , sandy side-whiskers , appeared at the door of our pew with the collection plate . We knew Elder Frewen quite well and like him ; he was Aunt Janet 's cousin and often visited her . The contrast between his week-day jollity and the unearthly solemnity of his countenance on Sundays always struck us as very funny . It seemed so to strike Peter ; for as Peter dropped his cent into the plate he laughed aloud ! Everybody looked at our pew . I have always wondered why Felicity did not die of mortification on the spot . The Story Girl turned white , and Cecily turned red . As for that poor , unlucky Peter , the shame of his countenance was pitiful to behold . He never lifted his head for the remainder of the service ; and he followed us down the aisle and across the graveyard like a beaten dog . None of us uttered a word until we reached the road , lying in the white moonshine of the May night . Then Felicity broke the tense silence by remarking to the Story Girl , `` I told you so ! '' The Story Girl made no response . Peter sidled up to her . `` I 'm awful sorry , '' he said contritely . `` I never meant to laugh . It just happened before I could stop myself . It was this way -- '' `` Do n't you ever speak to me again , '' said the Story Girl , in a tone of cold concentrated fury . `` Go and be a Methodist , or a Mohammedan , or ANYTHING ! I do n't care what you are ! You have HUMILIATED me ! ''
She marched off with Sara Ray , and XXXXX dropped back to us with a frightened face .
Cecily Frewen Janet Mohammedan Peter jollity moonshine night pew side-whiskers