"You weren't at prayer meeting," he said.
"I had a headache," she lied. He expressed no sympathy.
"Miles Standish was telling me what you did today at the meeting
of the Jolly Seventeen." He had got the boot off at last; he lay
down beside her and pulled all the blankets off her onto
himself.
"That was kind of Miles." She jerked at the covers but he held
them tight. "What charming story did he tell this time?"
"Now look here, Prissie--Miles Standish isn't given to
fabrication. He said you told the Jolly Seventeen that next
Thanksgiving they ought to give a dance instead of an all-day
prayer service."
"Well--anything else?" She gave a tremendous tug at the
bedclothes and Kennicott was uncovered again.
"He said you suggested that they arrange a series of lectures on
modern religions, and invite Quakers and other radicals to speak
right here in Plymouth and tell us all about their beliefs. And
not only that but he said you suggested sending a message to the
Roman Catholic exiles from England, inviting them to make their
home with us. You must have made quite a little speech."
"Well this is the land of religious freedom, isn't it? That's
what you came here for, didn't you?" She sat up to deliver this
remark--a movement which enabled Kennicott to win back
seven-eighths of the bed covering.
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