Those chickens sputtered themselves done at last, and the hot and
tired mother, with still the anxious look on her face, stooped and
took them from their fiery bed, and the father awoke with a yawn to
hear himself summoned to the feast. It was later than usual; many
things had detained them; four o'clock _quite_, and before the army
of dishes could be marshaled back into shape, the bell would
certainly toll for evening service. "Let the fear of the Lord be upon
you." And _He_ said, "Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy."

Dwight Brower was summoned, too, from his room; and his mother, who
had just realized the strangeness of his absence, looked up as he
came in, and said:

"Are you sick to-day, Dwight?"

"No, ma'am," he answered.

And something in his voice made her look again; and something in his
face made her keep looking, with a perplexed, half-awed air. What had
happened to Dwight? What change had come to him amid the afternoon
hours of that Sabbath day? Very different experiences can be passing
in the same house at the same time.

It was only across the street from the Browers' that little Mrs.
Matthews poured coffee for herself and husband, while Mollie, the
cook, stood on the side-piazza and sang in a loud, shrill, and yet
appreciative tone, "There is rest for the weary." Little Mrs.
Matthews had glowing cheeks, though she had done nothing more serious
than exchange her silken dress for a wrapper, and lie on the sofa and