Sunday always began with a Bible story, followed by a breakfast of baked
beans, which two things were much tangled up together in Philly's mind.
After breakfast the children studied their Sunday-school lessons, and
then the big carryall came round, and they drove to church, which was a
good mile off. It was a large, old-fashioned church, with galleries, and
long pews with high red-cushioned seats.

The choir sat at the end, behind a low, green curtain, which slipped
from side to side on rods. When the sermon began, they would draw the
curtain aside and show themselves, all ready to listen, but the rest of
the time they kept it shut. Katy always guessed that they must be having
good times behind the green curtain--eating orange-peel, perhaps, or
reading the Sunday-school books--and she often wished she might sit up
there among them.

The seat in Dr. Carr's pew was so high that none of the children, except
Katy, could touch the floor, even with the point of a toe. This made
their feet go to sleep; and when they felt the queer little pin-pricks
which drowsy feet use to rouse themselves with, they would slide off the
seat, and sit on the benches to get over it. Once there, and well hidden
from view, it was almost impossible not to whisper. Aunt Izzie would
frown and shake her head, but it did little good, especially as Phil and
Dorry were sleeping with their heads on her lap, and it took both her
hands to keep them from rolling off into the bottom of the pew. When
good old Dr. Stone said, "Finally, my brethren," she would begin waking
them up. It was hard work sometimes, but generally she succeeded, so
that during the last hymn the two stood together on the seat, quite
brisk and refreshed, sharing a hymn-book, and making believe to sing
like the older people.