"Yes—I 'member," said Dickie. "Shall we be like that?"
"I 'spose so. Them as is washed, He can't see no spot on us, more than we can on the snow."
"Mother-Meg says as there ain't no sin in Heaven," murmured Dickie. "Let's go to sleep now, Cherry."
So Meg and Jem came in at that, and Jem carried him down-stairs at once to his own little bed, too sleepy to say more than a very soft "It is nice!" as he laid his head on his pillow.
After that Cherry prepared the supper which she was allowed to stay up for, as it was Sunday night—a great treat, but Meg liked nice things to happen on Sundays.
"That child sings like the angels," said Miss Hobson, when Mrs. Seymour came in from her service. "She's been up here this hour, and I feel as if I'd been nigh the gate of heaven."
"How's she learnt them?" asked Mrs. Seymour.
"Before her mother died. She's got a book full of 'em. She says when she was alone up in that attic she used to sing 'em to Dickie pretty near all day; and what's more, I've heard it often through the window, but o' course I didn't know as it was her."
"We didn't guess as we should ever come to know and love any one livin' in that house, did we, Miss Hobson? It shows us how some nice things can come out of bad things!"
Miss Hobson shook her head assentingly, but her mind was running on something else.