There was more colour than usual in the child’s face, more brightness in her eyes, more strength in her voice and in her movements. The mother folded her closely to her heart, and seemed almost to breathe a prayer over her.
“Mamma,” said Winifred earnestly, “may I go to church to-day? I should so like to. I haven’t been for six Sundays, and I do so want to go just once more, before—before the winter comes. I do feel so strong to-day.”
“I will talk to papa, darling. We should like to please you if we can. We will talk it over together, and see what can be done.”
“Thank you, mamma,” answered Winnie brightly. She was standing by the window now, and presently she added with a smile: “Mamma, if the weather keeps warm like this, it will be a long while before the swallows go, won’t it?”
“It will make a little difference, no doubt, dear,” answered the mother.
“I don’t feel as though I was quite ready for them to go yet,” continued Winifred gravely. “It would be nice if they would stay just a little longer.”
Mrs. Digby went away, and returned by-and-by to say that Winifred might be driven to church by Charley in the little pony-carriage, and then she would be able to enjoy the service, and walk back without too much fatigue. The child was very much pleased, and was ready in good time for the promised drive.
It was a lovely autumn day; the sun shone, the birds twittered, the air seemed full of sweet sounds, and everything looked as bright and happy as if such things as frost and cold and winter winds did not exist—as if summer were perpetual.
“Oh, Charley, isn’t it lovely?” cried Winifred with clasped hands and flushed cheeks. “Isn’t it just a perfect Sunday morning? I think it feels as if everything knew it was Sunday, birds and flowers and everything. Do you think they do?”
“I don’t know, Winnie,” answered Charley; but he did not laugh at her fancy.