"Do I have to go to Sunday School, ma?" whined Fridoline.
"Don't interrupt, Friddie dear," said his mother mildly. "You put me all out of mind of what I was goin' to say. Certainly you do have to go to Sabbath School. I ain't goin' to have it said that I ever let circumstances interfere with religion."
"I hate Sunday School," complained Fridoline; "I don't get no good going."
"Oh, yes you do, son," encouraged his mother. "You learn lots. Didn't you get promoted from primary to secondary less'n a month ago?"
"Yes," growled the boy, "en the only difference is that ye put a nickel in the collection instead of a cent. I'm goin' to be changed back agin."
"No, ye ain't," said his mother decidedly. "You get that church down on ye, and ye'll miss the Sunday School picnic. But I'll tell ye what ye can do, Friddie. After the picnic ye can all make a change and go to Mr. Lee's church. The Weatherbys have always been Baptists, but out of compliment to Mr. Lee I'm willin' to let you change. He's been so nice and neighbourly that I think he's deserved it. We won't say nothing about it, and some fine day we'll surprise him by five shinin' faces increasing his aujence."
The idea of a picnic and a surprise facilitated the dressing, and a half hour more saw the departure of the five Canarys in all the splendour of cleanliness and handed-down clothes. Mrs. Canary, standing in the doorway, viewed them with pride.
"Now mind yerselves," was her parting instruction. "Ye look like a little herd of white doves, and see that ye act so. Holly Belle, don't forget to lend Mikey your handkerchief when necessary. And conduct yerselves right during divine services."
"There goes Miss Billy," she added to herself, as her own little brood rounded the corner. "As chipper as a sparrer, an' a-carryin' something to the needy, I should judge by that Haverland chiny dish in her hand. Land o' love! She's turnin' into old man's Schultzsky's!"