"Jesus' happy Sunday," answered the little one; "and, oh, didn't He mate a nice one!"
Other people than Bertie thought so; a nice one indeed.
It was the softest, sweetest, warmest of May Sundays. A busy little breeze, carrying with it the perfume of the apple-blossoms over which it had passed, stole in at the open windows of the church, and wandered around among aisles, pillars, and pews, now fluttering the leaves of a book, now toying with a ribbon, now tossing a curl upon some sunny head, now fanning some cheek flushed with a walk in the almost summer heat. A robin, saucy birdie, swung himself lightly to and fro on the branch of one of the fine old elms outside the church-door, and poured forth his hymn of praise; while from far and near came the answering notes of his mates; and mingling with his song were heard the voices of the children in the Sunday school beyond, as they sang the closing hymn.
Then they came trooping in gently, and with soft footsteps, as became the house of God (honoring His name and His word had taught them also to honor the place where He was worshipped), and took their places beside their parents and friends.
Watching them from one of the pews which ran by the side of the pulpit, were a pair of roguish, dancing eyes, which Rosie Pierson and Mattie Prime recognized at once. They were those of the little girl who had peeped at them through the railing of the Beechgrove grounds. Now they were peeping over the top of the pew-door as she stood at its foot, her hands crossed upon it, her chin resting upon them. What a bright, merry, laughing face it was, and how like Daisy's! General and Mrs. Forster had noticed it from their seat, which commanded a full view of that of the strangers.
Beside the little girl sat a gentleman, half turned from the congregation, his face partly shaded by his hand; but there could be no doubt that he was the man who was so like the General. Mrs. Forster saw the likeness at once, even in the turn and shape of his head. Beyond him was a lady in deep mourning, closely veiled.
"Frank must find out who they are," said Mrs. Forster to herself. "That child is so like Daisy. Can it be—oh, can it be?" Then she tried to collect her thoughts and bring them back to the service of Him whom she had come to worship.
Daisy came in a little behind the rest of the infant class (she had lingered for a word with her teacher), and took her seat. Almost immediately her eye fell on the new-comers to Glenwood. Mrs. Forster saw her start, flush all over, neck and face, and press her small hands tightly together, as if trying to keep back some exclamation which rose to her lips.
With a beating heart the child watched the strangers, striving in vain to get a better view of the face of the gentleman, gazing from him to the veiled lady, and then at the little girl.