inclination to make an unlucky speech until the next day, which was
Sunday, came, and with it the question, "Are you going to church?" It
was always our custom to go to the village church each Sabbath, and I
enjoyed the sermons of Mr. Davis, then our minister, very much. He was a
man of broad soul and genial spirit, and very generally liked. His
sermons were never a re-hash but were quickened and brightened by new
ideas originally expressed. Now, however, when this little lady asked,
"Are you going to church?" I did not think at all of a good sermon, but
of the shabbiness of my best bonnet, and I bit my tongue to check the
speech which rose to my lips--"We generally go, but I'd rather not go
with you"--while mother answered,

"Yes, Mrs. Desmonde" ("Clara, if you please," the lady interposed), "we
always go; would you like to go with us?"

"Oh, yes, thank you, it is a delightful day."

I kept thinking about those shabby ribbons and wondering if I could not
cover them up with my brown veil, and after breakfast was over, I
actually did re-make an old lemon-colored bow to adorn myself with. I
felt shabby enough, however, when we were all ready to start and my poor
cotton gloves came in contact with the delicate kids of our guest, when
she grasped my hand to say, "You cannot know, Emily dear, how happy I
am."

Somehow she made me forget all about how I looked, but the sermon that
day was all lost. My eyes divided their light between herself and
Halbert, and my heart kept thumping heavily, "Hal goes away to-morrow."
I think Hal knew my thoughts, for he sat next to me in our pew, and once
when tears were in my eyes, tears which came with thoughts of his