"Don't THEY take milk on Sundays ?" "Nope!" answered the boy.
The young couple looked each other in the face for a puzzled moment, then broke into a laugh.
"Well, we'll try it, anyway," said the preacher.

"You can go on bringing it Sundays till--till--" "Till you cave in an' tell me to stop," put in the boy.

"All right!" and he was off on the instant, the dipper jangling loud incredulity in his pail as he went.
The Wares exchanged another glance as he disappeared round the corner of the house, and another mutual laugh seemed imminent.

Then the wife's face clouded over, and she thrust her under-lip a trifle forward out of its place in the straight and gently firm profile.
"It's just what Wendell Phillips said," she declared.

"'The Puritan's idea of hell is a place where everybody has to mind his own business.'" The young minister stroked his chin thoughtfully, and let his gaze wander over the backyard in silence.