March 10th, 1——
We went to church this morning, it being Sunday—Aunt Gwendolin, Uncle Theodore, and I. Grandmother was indisposed and did not go. It was my first attendance at church, for Aunt Gwendolin said I had nothing fit to wear until she dressed me up.
"Are you going, Theodore?" I heard my aunt, through the opening in the floor, say in a surprised tone, as if she were not accustomed to seeing him go.
"I think I'll go this morning," returned my uncle, continuing to brush his coat, which act had prompted my aunt's question. "I want to see how our fashionable way of worshipping God will impress the little Celestial. It will be her first attendance at church."
Aunt Gwendolin came up to my room and selected the gown I was to wear, in fact my whole outfit. She took from the wardrobe a white French cloth costume (it was very much in harmony with my feelings that I should appear in America's church for the first time in the colour which China uses for mourning), and one of the beehive hats with several birds on it.
"Oh, I can't wear that if anybody is going to see me," I cried when she brought out the hat.
"Well, if you are going to make a scene," said my aunt curtly, "wear this," and she brought from its bandbox a "sailor" covered with white drooping ostrich feathers. "You'll look sweet in that," she added; "and when you get more used to civilised head-gear you can wear the others."
"Do we go to church to look sweet?" I inquired.
"Oh, dear, no," she answered impatiently, "but there is nothing gained in being a fright—were there no Christians in your country to hold meetings?"