When they parted at the door of their home, Blunt looked up and wrung Jem's hand.
"Thankye kindly," he said. "If ye don't mind, I should like to come next Sunday."
Mrs. Blunt, like a wise woman, did not stop to speak, but followed her husband into their room,where their little daughter Kittie stood, clean and smiling, ready to meet them, with their frugal meal set out on the table.
All day long the two sat out under the apple-trees basking in the sunshine.—p. 220.
That was a happy Sunday. How Dickie was praised for sitting so still, and what a soft little colour mantled in his face when he heard that they were pleased with him!
That evening Meg left Cherry to take care of Dickie, and went to the service with her husband.
When they came home, the sound of singing on the staircase made them pause. It came from the top of the house, and Jem and Meg went up to see who it could be.
Their mother's door was ajar, and through it they could see Cherry sitting by the fire, singing in a clear, bell-like voice, Dickie resting on her lap. Miss Hobson's door was open, and she lay propped up on her pillow listening with a peaceful look on her face.
"Whiter than the snow!