I went noiselessly down the stairs. All was silent below, except for the
peaceful snoring of Mrs. Philander and the little Keelers, which was
responded to from some remote western corner of the Ark by the
triumphant snores of Grandma and Grandpa Keeler.

I attempted to kindle a fire in the stove, but it sizzled a little
while, spitefully, as much as to say, "What, Sunday morning? Not I!" and
went out. So I concluded to put on some wraps and go out and warm myself
in the sun.

I climbed the long hill back of the Ark, descended, and walked along the
bank of the river. It was a beautiful morning. The air was--everything
that could be desired in the way of air, but I felt a desperate need of
something more substantial.

Standing alone with nature, on the bank of the lovely river, I thought,
with tears in my eyes, of the delicious breakfast already recuperating
the exhausted energies of my far-away home friends.

When I got back to the house, Mrs. Philander, in simple and unaffected
attire, was bustling busily about the stove.

The snores from Grandma and Grandpa's quarter had ceased, signifying
that they, also, had advanced a stage in the grand processes of Sunday
morning.

The children came teasing me to dress them, so I fastened for them a
variety of small articles which I flattered myself on having combined in
a very ingenious and artistic manner, though I believe those infant