Mrs. Gano turned and looked at the child over the back of her arm-chair. There was a gleam of amused tolerance in the steely eyes. Val was quick to detect it.
"You see, it's not worth while to waste the whole morning nearly when the only thing you can join in is a piece they don't do every Sunday."
"Which is that?" asked Mrs. Gano, in an odd voice.
She had turned away again, and Val couldn't see her face now.
"That long piece about the weather."
"The weather?"
"Yes—lightnings, and whales, and things. Don't you know that one? It's like this." She put her hands behind her, and shrilly intoned: "'O ye green things, angels and fowls of the air, praise Him and magnify Him for-r-rever. O ye—'"
"That will do," interrupted Mrs. Gano, in a stifled voice.
Val felt snubbed; there was a lot more that, with encouragement, she would have endeavored to do justice to. She felt for the door-handle, but paused again on the threshold.
"Mayn't I go and sit with father?"