The children, happy in having done a kindness, hurried to their mother, and were soon showing and admiring the papers and cards; she, mother-like, very naturally shared their pleasure, but thought of the stranger with a pang of regret, for she feared that he would take the road leading into an unsettled region, infested with wild beasts and roving Indians. After admiring the pictures, she told the children all she knew of the Sunday-school, for which these beautiful things were made, at the same time hoping that her husband’s opposition to them might be removed.
“I wish there was Sunday-school here,” said George.
“Won’t there be Sunday-school here, mother?” exclaimed both at once.
“I’m afraid not,” said their mother, sorrowfully, knowing the hostility of many of the neighbors toward anything of the kind.
“Why not, mother?” innocently asked the children.
This was one of those questions children often ask, and which it is so hard to answer.
“I don’t know,” she replied, evasively, adding, “go give your father and Mr. Kerr their cards. They are at the barn.”
Hurrying out, their noisy delight soon arrested the attention of the men.
“What in the world is up now?” wondered their father.
“See here, father, see here!” exclaimed the children, holding out the cards.