They all went to bed by daylight on those light nights, and Bella, as she stretched out her weary body restfully on her little white bed, could see through the open window the stars come up one by one in the deep blue-black sky.
She was always quite rested by the time Sunday came, and was up and out early for a look at her garden before getting ready for Sunday-School. She loved the Sunday-School, and she loved her teacher, and the service after in the dear old creeper-covered church, where the leaves peeped in at the open windows, and the birds came in and flew about overhead, and all the people knew and greeted one another in a friendly spirit.
On Sundays, too, it was an understood thing that Bella should go to tea with Aunt Maggie, and this was to her, perhaps, one of the happiest hours of the whole week, for Aunt Maggie had a little harmonium, to the music of which they sang hymns. Sometimes, too, she told stories of the days when she was young, and of people and places she had seen—told them so interestingly, that to Bella the people and places seemed as real as though she had known them herself. They had long talks, too, about all that Bella was doing, and the things that puzzled her, and her plans for the present and the future.
"You never seem to be years and years older than me, Aunt Maggie," Bella said one day, "for you always seem to understand and to like what I like."
Aunt Maggie smiled. "Some people's hearts don't grow old as fast as their bodies," she said thoughtfully. "I think it must be that which makes them understand."
"I hope my heart won't ever get old," said Bella seriously. "It must be dreadful not to take any interest in people or anything."
One Sunday, the last of this old life, so comparatively happy and free of care, Mrs. Langley stopped Bella just as she was leaving.
"I want you to come in to see me to-morrow," she said, "and bring Tom with you. I am making a print frock for you, and a holland coat for him to wear to market on Saturdays. They'll be much more comfortable for you both than your thick cloth ones." Then, in answer to Bella's cry of delight, "You must thank your Aunt Emma, too; 'twas she thought of it first, and I told her that if she'd get the stuff I'd make the things. There now, run away home, it is time you were putting Margery to bed. No, I shall not tell you the colour," laughing, as she loosened Bella's arms which she had flung round her in her delight; "you will know to-morrow."
"I hope it is pink," said Bella earnestly, eyeing her aunt closely, to see if she could read anything from her face, but Mrs. Langley only smiled.
"Well, you will know by this time to-morrow. Now, run away, or they will be wondering what has become of you."