Dead silence.
“Doesn’t any one know the Golden Text?”
“Miss Smith doesn’t do that way,” suggested some one. “She always says: ‘Peter, you may tell us the Golden Text.’”
197“Very well,” agreed Hannah hurriedly. “Peter, you may tell us the Golden Text.”
“Let me,” cried Elsmere. “I know ’bout lambs. Mary had a little lamb, fleeciswhitissnow.”
“Elsmere,” said Hannah sternly. “I asked Peter to tell us the Golden Text.”
“Mine is a walker,” said Peter loudly.
Hannah looked mystified.
“Pooh!” remarked the Hamilton girl loftily. “That ain’t this Sunday’s. ‘Wine is a mocker’ was to-morrow’s. ’Tain’t this Sunday’s.”
“What is this Sunday’s?” asked Hannah hopefully. “Doesn’t anybody know? ‘I am’–don’t you remember? ‘I am the good–’: