"Don't I know it!" Alberta said aloud.

Her hand closed about Sugar Stonewall's fingers like a steel vise. Dressed in a wrinkled rayon sports ensemble, he knelt on the pavement beside her. She had insisted that he be near her in this great hour of triumph, even though he had not been converted. But she did not look at him; her eyes were closed. Tears trickled down her smooth brown skin.

"Put your trust in The Lord," Sweet Prophet said.

Suddenly Alberta was on her feet. "I did!" she cried, arms upraised. "I did! I put my trust in Him and He sent me a dream because I had faith."

"Kneel down, honey," Sugar pleaded. "You're messing up the service."

But his plea went unheeded. Alberta was a big, muscular woman with a flat, pretty face, now contorted in ecstasy. Clad in a tight-fitting white maid's uniform, her long-fingered hands reaching toward the sky, she drew everyone's attention. Her ecstasy was contagious.

"Amen!" the converts chorused.

With the natural-born instinct of a master showman, Sweet Prophet sensed the sympathetic mood. He interrupted his dissertation and said, "Tell us your dream, sister."

"I dreamed I was baking three apple pies," she said. "And when I took them out the oven and set them on the table to cool the crusts busted open like three explosions and the whole kitchen was filled with hundred dollar bills."

"My God!" a worshiper exclaimed.

"Money!" another cried.

"Money! Money! Money!" others chorused.

Even Sweet Prophet looked impressed. "And did you have faith, sister?" he asked.

"I had faith!" Alberta declared.

"Hush up, honey, for Christ sake," Sugar Stonewall warned.

But she paid him no attention. "I had faith!" she repeated. "And God didn't fail me. God has set me free."

"Amen!" the worshipers chorused with heartfelt earnestness.

Upon this note Sweet Prophet stood and raised his hands for silence.