I says, solemn-like, 'Dad, there's something I've got to tell you, and I don't know how you'll take it, but it can't be helped,' I says.

Dad looked pretty sober, and he says, says he, 'What have you been up to, Peter?
Don't be afraid to tell me.

I've been forgiven to seventy times seven, so surely I can forgive a little, too ?' 'Well,' I says, desperate-like, 'the truth is, father, I'm a Presbyterian.

I made up my mind last summer, the time of the Judgment Day, that I'd be a Presbyterian, and I've got to stick to it.

I'm sorry I can't be a Methodist, like you and mother and Aunt Jane, but I can't and that's all there is to it,' I says.