GOING TO SUNDAY SCHOOL
IT was a Saturday morning, and Mrs. Jones was in the midst of the important business of ironing one of her husband's shirts when there came a knock at the back door, and, glancing out of the window, she saw her little neighbour, Melina Berryman.
"Come in, child!" she called out. "Oh, you've come to return my dish, I see," she said, as Melina entered the kitchen and laid the article in question on the table.
"Yes," assented Melina; "and Gran said I was to thank you for the custard, please, ma'am."
"I hope your grandmother is better?"
"Yes, thank you, ma'am."
"She hasn't lost her cough, though, I hear. Sit down, child, and talk to me whilst I finish this shirt."
Melina took a chair, secretly very gratified, for she had never been inside her neighbour's house before. What a comfortable kitchen it was, she thought, as she looked about her. The walls were colour-washed a pretty blue; there was linoleum on the floor; and the tins on the mantelpiece shone like silver. Everything was as clean and fresh as a new pin.
"I always cook on Saturdays," explained Mrs. Jones, as she put down her iron for a minute to peep into the oven, in which there was a shelf of little cakes. "I don't hold with cooking on Sundays if one can help it; besides, my husband and I like to go to church together, and we couldn't do that if there was a hot meal to be cooked. If you'll wait a few minutes, you shall have one of these rock-cakes for your lunch."
"Oh, thank you so much!" Melina said, feeling grateful, but puzzled too, for Mrs. Jones had hitherto had but little to say or do with her. "What a nice room this is!" she exclaimed a moment later, in an admiring tone.