Free The Four Graces by D. E. Stevenson

dried that one would lose all one’s freedom of belief. Religion is a kind of scientific research and every faith and creed is a part of the truth. ‘No creed does more than shadow imperfectly forth some one side of the truth.’ I can’t remember who said that, but it was well said.”
    â€œFather Hall in John Inglesant ,” said Sal in a low voice.
    â€œI can always depend on Sal,” said Mr. Grace, smiling at his second daughter.
    â€œBecause I never went to school,” explained Sal. She was alarmed at the trend of the conversation (for it was impossible to foretell what Roderick would say next), but it was pretty certain that Addie would rise to that bait.
    Addie did. “Oh, what rot!” exclaimed Addie. “You’re always down on schools because you didn’t go to one yourself. School taught Tilly and I all sorts of important things we couldn’t have learned at home.”
    â€œWhat a pity it didn’t teach you grammar,” said Sal, smiling.
    â€œWe did learn grammar—parsing and all that,” declared Addie indignantly. “I must say none of us were very keen on parsing. What use is it?”
    â€œApparently none,” said Mr. Grace dryly.
    William laughed.
    â€œI suppose it’s a funny joke, but I didn’t see it,” said Tilly with regret.
    â€œSal only meant she had more time for reading,” observed Liz. “And of course that’s true. I think it depends what sort of person you are whether school is the right thing for you. I was terribly happy at Hill House School.”
    â€œI wasn’t,” said Tilly, with a sigh.
    Roderick had not seen the joke either. He returned to the attack. He was evidently of a persistent nature.
    â€œBut, sir,” said Roderick. “If every creed is part of the truth, why not put them all together and make a whole truth?”
    â€œWho could do that?” asked Mr. Grace, smiling at him. “Who could make a path broad enough and narrow enough for every man who calls himself a Christian?”
    Addie was talking to Liz, who was sitting next her. “It doesn’t suit me,” she was saying earnestly. “Some girls look their best in uniform but not me. I must have another frock—honestly—something decent to wear. So I thought perhaps if you could spare a few coupons—I mean you can’t want many clothes here . You wear breeches most of the time, don’t you?”
    â€œI’ll see,” said Liz vaguely.
    Tilly was talking to William—they all called him William now—she was saying: “If you really like sardine sandwiches that’s too easy. We’ve got lots of tinned sardines in the store cupboard because we laid in a stock of them when it said on the wireless that everyone was to lay in a store of food in case of invasion…and then, of course, it changed its mind and said people who stored food were food hoarders and ought to be shot, but by that time the deed was done.”
    â€œYou weren’t shot,” said William.
    â€œNobody knew,” replied Tilly, dimpling.
    Supper was over now and the party was breaking up. Roderick was saying good-bye for he had to be back in camp at nine o’clock.
    â€œI’ll wash the dishes,” said Sal.
    â€œIt’s Tilly and me tonight,” declared Liz, gathering the dishes onto her tray. “Come on, Tilly—our turn.”
    Tilly was nothing loath, for it was fun washing up with Liz. She did it, as she did everything, with tremendous gusto; she flung herself into the job with zest, clearing the table, piling the dishes in the sink, turning on the taps full cock so that the water gushed out and the steam rose and enveloped her.
    â€œHa-ha!” she cried, rolling up her sleeves and plunging her arms into the sink. “Ha-ha! I love hot water. It’s one of the pleasures of life!”
    Everything in life was a pleasure to Liz—hot water, cold