But that will do no good . Here 's Mrs. Cotterell invited , and all the neighbouring auxiliaries notified -- and the men wo n't let us have the church . The point is , how are we going to get out of the scrape ? '' A helpless silence descended upon the classroom . The eyes of every woman present turned to Myra Wilson . Everyone could talk , but when it came to action they had a fashion of turning to Myra . She had a reputation for cleverness and originality . She never talked much . So far today she had not said a word . She was sitting on the sill of the window across from Lucy Knox . She swung her hat on her knee , and loose , moist rings of dark hair curled around her dark , alert face . There was a sparkle in her grey eyes that boded ill to the men who were peaceably pursuing their avocations , rashly indifferent to what the women might be saying in the maple-shaded classroom . `` Have you any suggestion to make , Miss Wilson ? '' said Mrs. Robbins , with a return to her official voice and manner . Myra put her long , slender index finger to her chin . `` I think , '' she said decidedly , `` that we must strike . '' * * * * * When Elder Knox went in to tea that evening he glanced somewhat apprehensively at his wife . They had had an altercation before she went to the meeting , and he supposed she had talked herself into another rage while there . But Mrs. Knox was placid and smiling . She had made his favourite soda biscuits for him and inquired amiably after his progress in hoeing turnips in the southeast meadow .
She made , however , no reference to the Auxiliary meeting , and when the biscuits and the maple syrup and two cups of matchless tea had nerved the elder up , his curiosity got the better of his prudence -- XXXXX even elders are human and curiosity knows no gender -- and he asked what they had done at the meeting .
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