last time; and it all went so pleasantly: they had done no wrong for such
a long while and all their sins had already been forgiven two or three
times over, yesterday and the day before. They sat in two long rows
waiting their turns and thinking over, right away back to their far-off
babyhood, whether nothing had been forgotten or omitted: their little
hearts must be quite stainless now and pure. When they were tired of
examining their consciences, they fell to praying, with their eyes fixed
upon the saint who stood before them on his pedestal, or else watched the
other youngsters going in and out by turns.

The little church looked its best, neat as a new pin: the floor was
freshly scrubbed and the chairs placed side by side in straight rows; the
brasswork shone like gold; and a new communion-cloth hung, like a
snow-white barrier, in front of the sanctuary. The velvet banners were
stripped of their linen covers; and the blue vases, with bright flowers
and silver bunches of grapes, were put out on the altar, as on
feast-days. And all of this was for to-morrow! And for them!

All the time it was deathly still, with not a sound but that of the
youngsters going in and out of the creaking confessional. Now and then
the church-door flapped open and banged to, when one of the children had
finished and went away. Their little souls were white as new-fallen snow
and bedight with indulgences and prayers. On their faces lay the fresh
innocence of babes brought to baptism or of laughing angels' heads and in
their wide eyes everything was reflected festively and at its best; they
felt so light and lived on little but longing and a holy fear of their
own worthiness: that great, incredible thing of the morrow was suddenly
going to change them from children into grown-up people!

They just gave themselves time to have their dinners in a hurry; and then