Yes, yes, father, that is very true, said they, so let us go to work again to-day: What is there to do? What will you give each of us to do?
Father.—Nothing at all; you will do no work with your hands for the whole day.
The Boys.—Oh, father, you are joking now, I see you are; you are laughing at us because we slept a little too long.
Father.—No, my dear boys, I am not joking. This day is Sunday, and God said, Six days shall thou labour, but the seventh is the Sabbath of the Lord thy God; and we will therefore celebrate it as we ought.
Jack.—Sunday! What, are there Sundays here? That is quite delightful! Oh, I will go and shoot my arrows, and I will walk about and play, and I will do no work the whole day.
Father.—Do you think, then, that it was solely for the purpose that people might amuse themselves, and indulge in idleness, that God reserved Sunday to himself? You mistake; what he intended was, that there should be a day set apart for worship and thanksgiving for all his goodness, and such an employment of our time ought to be our greatest pleasure.
Ernest.—I thought, father, that the worship of God consisted in going to church to hear a sermon and sing hymns: we have no church here, how then can we properly observe Sundays?
Francis.—And we have no organ either, and I am very sorry, for I like very much to hear it.
Jack.—You see then, papa, that it is not possible for us to celebrate Sunday in the way you propose.
Fritz.—How childishly you talk! Do you think that papa, who made sermons for us in our own country, cannot make them here? Is not God in every place, as certainly as in a church? And what should hinder us from singing without an organ? When there were soldiers encamped near our town, they had neither church nor organ, and yet the service of the church was performed to them: we have a good minister, and that is the principal thing.