Church bells were ringing, reminding them that it was Sunday morning. For Judy and Peter this was never a day for sleeping. Usually they drove to Farringdon and attended church with Judy’s parents and Peter’s grandparents. Horace never missed a Sunday.
“Honey will be there, too. And Lois and Lorraine and all the other girls I knew in high school,” thought Judy.
But when she suggested church to Mrs. Riker the young woman protested that she didn’t want to meet people.
“Not here,” she said. “Not yet.”
What did she mean? Judy had suggested the little white church in Dry Brook Hollow, as it was already too late to drive to Farringdon, and the children had not yet returned.
“We might look for them in Sunday school if Peter isn’t back by ten o’clock.”
Judy felt sure some of the neighborhood children might have invited them. She didn’t know why, but she just couldn’t share Mrs. Riker’s anxiety, although she could sympathize with her. The pancake batter was ready. Ten o’clock came and still no children. Mrs. Riker was the first one to suggest walking over to the Sunday school.
They arrived just as all the children were singing:
“Come, ye thankful people, come,
Raise the song of harvest-home.