"I am," cried Mats, who couldn't bear to be left out of anything. "And of course I want to go to heaven."
"Then you must be a saint." Paula was inexorable. "Only saints go to heaven."
"But - do you have any fun?" wailed Mats.
"FUN! We are saving our souls. Would you," demanded Paula hollowly, "rather have fun and go to - to - a place too dreadful to speak of?"
"No - no." Mats was quite subdued and willing - temporarily - to do and surrender everything.
"To-morrow then - at nine o'clock - under the lone pine," said Paula.
The very tone of her voice as she uttered "lone pine" gave you a thrilling sense of mystery and consecration. Marigold and Mats went home, the former expectant and excited, the latter very dubious.
"Paula's always got some bee in her bonnet," she grumbled. "Last summer she read a book called Rob Roy, and she made all us girls call ourselves a clan and have a chieftain and wear thistles and tartans. Of course SHE was chieftain. But there was some fun in that. I don't believe this religious game will be as good."
"But it's not a game," Marigold was shocked.
"Maybe not. But you don't know Paula Pengelly."
Marigold felt she did - better than Mats - better than anybody. She longed for Monday and the lone pine.
"Old Pengelly's her father," said Mats. "He used to be a minister long ago - but he did something dreadful and they put him out. I think he used to get drunk. He's - " Mats tapped her forehead with a significant gesture, as she had seen her elders do. "He preaches a lot yet, though in barns and places like that. I'm scared to death of him but lots of people say he's a real good man and very badly used. They live in that little house on the other side of the pond. Paula's aunt keeps house for them. Her mother is long since dead. Some people say she has Indian blood in her. She's never decently dressed - all cobbled together with safety pins, Ma says. Are you really going to the head of the pond tomorrow?"
"Of course."
"Well," Mats sighed, "I s'pose I'll have to go too. But I guess our good times are over."
3
Monday and the lone pine came though Marigold thought they never would. She told Aunt Anne and Uncle Charlie at the breakfast-table where she was going, and Uncle Charlie looked questioningly at Aunt Anne. As Marigold went out, he asked,
"What is that young devil in petticoats up to now?"
Marigold thought he was referring to her and wondered what on earth she had done to be called a young devil. Her conduct had really been very blameless. But she forgot all such minor problems when they reached the lone pine. Paula was awaiting them there - still rapt, still ecstatic. She had not, so she informed them, slept a wink all night.
"I couldn't - thinking of all the people in the world who are going to be - LOST."
Marigold immediately felt it was dreadful of her to have slept so soundly. She and Mats sat down, as commanded, on the grass. Paula gave a harangue, mainly compounded of scraps of her father's theology. But Marigold did not know that, and she thought Paula more wonderful than ever. Mats merely felt uncomfortable. Paula hadn't even told them to sit in the shade. All very fine if you had the Lesley pink-and-white or the Pengelly brown. But when you hadn't! Right here in the boiling sun! It must be admitted, I am afraid, that Mats just then was much more concerned with her freckles than with her soul.
"And now," concluded Paula with tragic earnestness, "both of you ask yourselves this question, 'Am I a child of God or of the devil?'"
Mats thought it was horrid to be confronted with such a problem.
"Of course I'm not a child of the devil," she said indignantly.
But Marigold was all at sea. Under the spell of Paula's eloquence she did not know what her ancestry ought to be.
"What'll - we do - about it - if we are?" she asked unsteadily.
"Repent. Repent of your sins."
"Oh, I haven't any sins to repent of," said Mats, relieved.
"You can never go to heaven if you haven't committed sins, because you can't repent of them and be forgiven," said Paula inexorably.
This new kind of theology dumbfounded Mats. While she was wrestling with it, Paula's mesmeric eyes were on Marigold.
"What would - you call sins?" Marigold asked timidly.
"Have you ever read stories that weren't true?" demanded Paula.
"Ye-es - and - " Marigold was seized with the torturing delight of confession, "and - made them up - too."
"Do you mean to say you've LIED?"
"Oh, no. Not lies. Not lies. I mean - "
"They must be lies if they weren't true."
"Well - perhaps. And I've thought of - things - when Uncle Charlie was having family prayers."
"What things?" said Paula relentlessly.
"I - I thought of a door in a picture on the wall - I thought of opening it - and going in - seeing what was inside - what people lived there - "
Paula waved her hand. After all what did it matter if Marigold did think of queer things while Charlie Marshall was praying? What did HIS prayers matter? Paula was after things that mattered.
"Have you ever eaten meat?"
"Why - yes - is that - "
"Its wicked - very wicked. To sacrifice life to your appetites. Oh, shame!"
Shame, indeed!
Marigold writhed with it. It was intolerable to have Paula looking at her in such scorn. Paula saw the shame and promptly assuaged it.
"Never mind. You didn't know. I've et meat - too - till last spring. I had an awful rash. I knew it was a judgment because I'd done something wrong. I knew it was eating meat - Father said so. He said the finger of God had touched me. So I vowed I'd never eat any more. Oh, how my conscience vexed me. It was awful how I suffered."
There was real anguish in Paula's voice. She stood, a flaming, fascinating figure under the old pine - a young priestess, inspired, devoted. Marigold felt she would follow her to the stake.
"What are we going to do about it?" said that detestable practical Mats.
"We are going to form a society for saving our souls and the world," said Paula. "I've thought it all out. We'll call ourselves the Lighted Lamps. Don't you think that's a splendid name? I'll be head of it and you must do just as I tell you. We will live such beautiful lives that everybody will admire us and want to join us. We will be just as good every day as we are on Sunday" - here Mats emitted a "marvellous grisly groan" - "but we will be very exclusive. No one can come in who is not ready to be a martyr."
"But what are we to DO?" said Mats with a sigh. She must go where Marigold went, but her chubby personality had no heritage of martyrdom.
Paula allowed herself to sit down.
"First, we must NEVER eat anything more than is absolutely necessary. No meat - no pudding - no cake - "
"Oh, I have to eat SOME," cried Marigold sorrowfully. "Aunty would think I was sick or something and send me home."
"Well, then, there must be no second helpings," said Paula inexorably. They pledged themselves - Marigold thinking guiltily of the delicious little strawberry shortcakes Aunt Anne had said she was going to make for dinner.
"We must never read or tell anything that isn't strictly true. Never PRETEND anything" - Marigold gave a gasp but recovered herself gallantly - "never wear any jewelry - and NEVER play silly games."
"Can't we play at all?" implored Mats.
"Play. In a world where we must prepare for eternity? YOU can play if you like but I shall not."
"What will we do if we can't play?" asked Marigold humbly.
"Work. The world is full of work waiting to be done."
"I always help Aunt Anne every way I can. But when I get through what can I do?"