The Woodburn household was at church quite early, and Beth sat gazing
out of the window at the parsonage across the road. It was so
home-like--a great square old brick, with a group of hollyhocks beside
the study window.

The services that day seemed unusually sweet, particularly the
Sunday-school hour. Beth's attention wandered from the lesson once or
twice, and she noticed Arthur in the opposite corner teaching a class of
little girls--little tots in white dresses. He looked so pleased and
self-forgetful. Beth had never seen him look like that before; and the
children were open-eyed. She saw him again at the close of the
Sunday-school, a little light-haired creature in his arms.

"Why, Arthur, I didn't think you were so fond of children."

"Oh, yes, I'm quite a grandfather, only minus the grey hair."

It was beautiful walking home that afternoon in the light June breeze.
She wondered what Clarence was doing just then. Home looked so sweet and
pleasant, too, as she opened the gate, and she thought how sorry she
should be to leave it to go to college in the fall.

Beth stayed in her room a little while, and then came down stairs.
Arthur was alone in the parlor, sitting by the north window, and Beth
sat down near. The wind had ceased, the sun was slowly sinking in the
west, a flock of sheep were resting in the shadow of the elms on the
distant hill-slope, and the white clouds paused in the blue as if moored
by unseen hands. Who has not been moved by the peace and beauty of the
closing hours of a summer Sabbath? Arthur and Beth were slow to begin
conversation, for silence seemed more pleasing.