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Updated: June 16, 2025
I guess I'll be a Presbyterian, 'cause I want to be like the rest of you. Yes, I'll be a Presbyterian." "I know a story about Judy Pineau and the word Presbyterian," said the Story Girl, "but I can't tell it now. If to-morrow isn't the Judgment Day I'll tell it Monday."
The Story Girl's voice expressed her scorn. For remorse she had understanding and sympathy; but fear of her fellow creatures was something unknown to her. "Didn't Judy Pineau promise you solemnly she wouldn't tell?" "Yes; but maybe some one who sees me there will mention it to ma." "Well, if you're so scared you'd better not go. It isn't too late. Here's your own gate," said Cecily.
The last person who died of the fever was Mademoiselle Pineau, in the mill-cottage. The old man and his son had died before her, the former of old age, the latter of fever. Who was the heir to the ruined factory and the empty cottage no one as yet knew, but, until he appeared, every thing had to be left as it was.
"The dew and heat will take all the curl out of yours and then you'll look like a scarecrow," warned Felicity. "No, I won't. I'm going to put my hair up in paper tonight and wet it with a curling-fluid that Judy Pineau uses. Sara brought me up a bottle of it. Judy says it is great stuff your hair will keep in curl for days, no matter how damp the weather is.
Charles Pineau Duclos was a French writer of biographies and novels, who lived and worked during the first half of the eighteenth century. He prospered sufficiently well, as a literary man, to be made secretary to the French Academy, and to be allowed to succeed Voltaire in the office of historiographer of France.
Mademoiselle Pineau was accustomed to have visions, ecstasies. Sometimes the angels lifted her from the ground into the air when she was at her prayers. Francis did not like that. He was young, and she came very often to the confessional, and told him of these visions and ecstasies. He discouraged them, and enjoined penances upon her.
She drew a picture of the grimacing ottoman on the margin of her dream book which so scared Sara Ray when she beheld it that she cried all the way home, and insisted on sleeping that night with Judy Pineau lest the furniture take to pursuing her also. Sara Ray's own dreams never amounted to much. She was always in trouble of some sort couldn't get her hair braided, or her shoes on the right feet.
Sara Ray had vowed tearfully the night before that she would be up in the morning to say farewell. But at this juncture Judy Pineau appeared to say that Sara, with her usual luck, had a sore throat, and that her mother consequently would not permit her to come. So Sara had written her parting words in a three-cornered pink note.
They always make me nervous." "I love them. They're so exciting," said the Story Girl. "Just think, this will be the second wedding of people we know," reflected Cecily. "Isn't that interesting?" "I only hope the next thing won't be a funeral," remarked Sara Ray gloomily. "There were three lighted lamps on our kitchen table last night, and Judy Pineau says that's a sure sign of a funeral."
"You said you knew a story that had something to do with Presbyterians," I said to the Story Girl. "Tell us it now." "Oh, no, it isn't the right kind of story to tell on Sunday," she replied. "But I'll tell it to-morrow morning." Accordingly, we heard it the next morning in the orchard. "Long ago, when Judy Pineau was young," said the Story Girl, "she was hired with Mrs.
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